Heart Pangs

This holiday season has been so incredibly blessed for us.  After several very painful holiday seasons, I cannot begin to explain the happiness I felt as I cuddled my little man on Christmas morning.

Christmas has always been one of those big benchmarks where, as a person experiencing infertility, you say, "We will definitely have a baby by (insert some big event)."  For the last four years, we were certain we would have a baby of our own at the next Christmas gathering. But every year, Christmas came and went without a baby and was just a huge reminder of our heartbreak and failure.  This year we finally have so much to celebrate.  For the first time, our family photo did not entail me holding my dog while my sisters clung to their beaming babies--this time I held my own beautiful bundle of goodness!

That isn't to say that there haven't still been painful moments this holiday season.  Today, we received a late holiday card in which our friends announced the impending birth of their third child.  Reading this announcement set off a pang in my heart.  There is still this unexplainable longing when I hear friends talk about being pregnant.  That longing is less painful than in the past--I can now walk down the hall and peer into the peaceful, sleeping face of my little angel, and the pain dissipates.  I cannot fully explain the longing that I still feel, and that inability to explain is part of what makes it so difficult to deal with.  There is a huge part of me that feels if I talk about--or even acknowledge--the longing that it makes me less of a mother or less grateful for the gift we have been given through adoption.  But, I know that without talking about the pain and longing, I will never be able to move on and fully heal. I am grateful for the strong women in my life who have talked about their continued struggles with infertility, even after having/adopting babies.  Knowing that I am not alone makes me feel less crazy and makes this wacky journey more bearable! 

Life After Baby

I have taken a break from blogging for quite some time. 

During the few months that I was away, we had yet another match with a birthmom, got word that the match had fallen through, were told the match was back on again, and now have a beautiful seven-week-old son.  Talk about ups and downs!

During the adoption process I considered what would become of my blog.  I was under the allusion that my infertility woes would disappear once we finally had the baby we had been longing for and believed that I would end my blog once I was finally a mommy.  Perhaps I was jumping the gun.

As much as I tried to tell myself that my infertility pains were over, I have noticed the sadness and jealous still creeping up on me—albeit far less often then before.  When I look at my nephew, who is a mirror image of my sister, I feel a pang of envy because I know that I will never look into a face and see a melding of my husband and me.   When I see a pregnant belly, I still find myself looking the other way because I continue to carry so much jealousy over the fact that I will never experience the feeling of a tiny life inside of me.  When Aunt Flo came a week ago—for the first time since having my son—I felt the usual pain in my chest.  I have tried to suppress those feeling, writing them off as lingering “habits” that would eventually go away.

A couple of days ago I called a pregnant friend of mine.  I happened to catch her as she was leaving a doctors appointment.  She gushed about how amazing it was to hear the baby’s heartbeat and see the ultrasound.  After I hung up the phone, I felt a wave of sadness wash over me and was overcome with tears.  And then the anger arrived—I feel angry with myself, because maybe I am not grateful enough for the beautiful gift of my son and maybe I am a bad mom for still grieving the loss of my fertility.  For the last two days I have been apologizing to my son for the feelings of loss I still carry.  Even though I love him more than I ever knew it was possible to love another person, I worry that it is not enough and I am a horrible mother because I still can’t seem to shake the infertility blues.  

The path to motherhood has been extremely turbulent and painful for me.  I know that it is unrealistic to expect the sadness and jealousy to disappear overnight but I hope those feelings continue to dissipate and that I can let go of the anger that these feelings have brought on.

Some Thoughts For Loved Ones About What to Say (or Not Say)

I recently spent time with extended family that I haven't seen for almost a year.  None of them acknowledged or asked about how things are going with our adoption or how we are dealing with our infertility issues.  I know in my head that their lack of acknowledgment is probably because they don't know what to say, but it doesn't negate the fact that it hurts in my heart and feels as if they don't care.  

The following information is from a group called Life Medals.  It is meant for people with loved ones dealing with infertility.  I posted both of the lists on my facebook page a couple of years ago and they really made a big difference in my interactions with family and friends.  Many of my friends thanked me for sharing it because it helped them know how to be more supportive.  So, I am passing it on to you all and encourage you to share it with your family and friends.

Top 6 things to say to a woman struggling to conceive

Due to the sexual nature of infertility there is a shame and stigma attached to this life and medical crisis. Bringing awareness is key to changing the way people feel about and react to the issue of infertility.   

Simply acknowledging those suffering will help fortify their spirits.  Here are some things you can say:  

1. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you. 

2. I am sorry you are going through this. 

3. I don’t know what to say, but I am here for you. 

4. Do you want to talk about it? 

5. I will support whatever decisions you make. 

6. What can I do to help? 

Studies have shown that infertility is as stressful as battling cancer or being diagnosed with a disease such as diabetes or HIV.  Offer the same support you would to someone who had lost a loved one or was battling a life-threatening disease.  

Be respectful and try to understand their grief.  Infertility is extremely difficult emotionally, physically, and financially.  Relationships suffer and some fail due to the stress, and repeated disappointments.  Acknowledging their pain and not minimizing it, goes a long way. 

Top 6 things NOT to say to a woman trying to conceive 

More than 6 million Americans are affected by infertility. Their pain is similar to the grief of losing a loved one, but this grief reoccurs month after month, sometimes year after year. Infertility is a tough enough rollercoaster ride without hurtful comments.  Here is what NOT to say: 

1. “Just Relax.” 
It minimizes a diagnosable medical problem. These type of comments add to their stress.  Would you tell someone with cancer to just relax?  I didn’t think so. 

2. “Enjoy being able to travel, sleep late, have free time, etc.”  
Don’t minimize their pain. Being able sleep late does not provide comfort to someone who has always dreamed of being a parent.  Your hectic life making memories sounds pretty good compared to an empty house wondering if you will ever be a part of “first steps”, soccer games, watching your child graduate. Would you tell someone who just lost their home how lucky they are now that they don’t have a lawn to mow? 


3. “Maybe you aren’t meant to be a mom/dad.” 

Do you notice all the abusive, neglectful, drug-addicted parents out there? Do they ‘deserve’ to be parents??? Enough said. 

4. “Why don’t you just adopt?” 
Do you ask this of ‘fertile” couples?  Why not?  Many people dream of having a child that is biologically related to them, to experience pregnancy, and birth. Many infertiles become parents by adoption, but adoption is not easy or  inexpensive. It is it’s own difficult journey. 

 5. “You should try In-Vitro, my naturopath, supplements, etc.” 

Infertility is a complicated problem to diagnose and you probably do not know all the facts. Don’t play doctor and don’t give unsolicited advice.  Anyone dealing with infertility has seriously considered or tried IVF, if they can afford it.  In-Vitro Fertilization is very costly.  If you are under 40 your chances for success are around 25% at a cost of at least $12,000 a try.  Maybe for medical reasons they cannot pursue IVF.  Alternative health practices may work for you and you can mention it, but don’t push it.  You have no idea how much they have researched and tried to figure out what will work for their situation. It is disrespectful to push your treatment plan. 

6. “Being pregnant isn’t fun” 

If you are pregnant, do not complain about your pregnancy to someone struggling to have a baby.  Leave these complaints for others that have children. It is painful enough to be infertile and be surrounded by women that easily get pregnant, to watch their bellies grow. Your infertile friend would give and do ANYTHING to feel your discomfort, weight gain, etc.   

The "Weighting" Game

When my husband and I first spoke with the doctors about medical interventions for infertility, they warned that one of the side effects would probably weight gain.  Since I felt pretty confident that the treatments would lead to a baby, I didn't mind.  I wanted a baby so badly, I didn't care about the potential damage to my body.  

Three years and 30 pounds later, there was no baby.  But, there was depression.  Then the adoption fell through.  I spent two weeks laying in bed, crying, and eating cookies--none of which helped me to feel any better, but I did gain another eight pounds.  And now, because of all of the fertility drugs, my hormones are so out of whack that I am beginning menopause, which of course, doesn't help with the weight issues.

In the beginning, I thought gaining weight was no big deal because I would get a baby out of it.  I figured getting a baby was worth any toll on my body.  But, in the end, I have no baby and can barely handle looking in the mirror.

When I think about our infertility journey and when I talk with others about infertility, I usually only acknowledge the emotional pain.  Rarely do I speak about the toll that this journey has taken on my body.  But the physical toll is ever-present.  I don't think an hour goes by that I don't think about how uncomfortable I am in my own skin.  And, the weight that I now carry is another reminder of how my body has failed, and continues to fail, me.    

Trying to Scrape Myself Off the Floor, While Being Honest

I am a bad blogger.....I have been missing for awhile again.  Over the last month and a half, I have sat in front of the computer numerous times trying to write, but it has been too painful.  Writing meant having to explain, one more time, what happened.  Explaining hurts.  Anyone dealing with infertility knows how explaining hurts.  Explaining why you don't have kids, explaining that your latest treatment hasn't worked, explaining why "just relaxing" isn't going to get you pregnant, explaining, explaining, explaining.  Blah!!  But, I suppose it's part of the journey and in some way, it must make us stronger (even if I can't see it right now!).

Our birthmother gave birth to a boy on March 9th.  She called on her way to the hospital asking me if I was ready to be a mom.  She called after he was born to congratulate me on finally becoming a mommy.  We talked throughout the night.  I was on cloud nine.  But then, at 8:00 am the following morning, our caseworker called to tell us that she had changed her mind and was going to keep the baby.  I was frozen, as I felt my world collapse around me.

It is surprising how this failed adoption has brought back so much of my deepest, darkest infertility baggage.  For so long, I felt like I was in a much better place than I had been for a long, long time.  I felt like I had really dealt with a lot of my grief and loss issues related to our infertility.  But then, BAM, it hit me right in the gut.  A not-so-gentle reminder of how my body has failed me and how because of this failure, if I ever want to be a mom, I will have to keep putting myself through the wringer.  I feel like I am back where I was two years ago--at my lowest point in the infertility journey.  Clearly I have a lot more work to do.

After the fateful call from our worker, I went into hiding.   I sent a message to my friends telling them I wasn't ready to talk and that I needed some time to myself.  I allowed myself two weeks to feel miserable--crying, lying in bed, crying, eating cookies, crying, crying, and more crying.  After two weeks, I decided it was time to get back to living.  What I found out was that living is hard, especially when you have to do so much explaining.  Everyone wants to know what happened, why it happened, and all of the dirty details.  Augh.

And here we are, right back to the infertility dance.  It seems like when you are dealing with infertility, or any other kind of loss for that matter, the person who is grieving ends up spending a lot of time trying to care for everyone else's feelings. When going through fertility treatments everyone wants to know how things are going.  When you explain that the treatments aren't working, they start apologizing and saying all of those things that people say to try to make you feel better.  And then, for me (and I think many other people), this weird thing happens where I feel like I need to comfort the other person; to tell them, "Oh, it's okay, I am fine...blah, blah, blah."  Why don't we ever say, "Yeah, the pain in my heart is debilitating and most days I don't think I can go on living."  Nope, instead we tell everyone that we are fine so that they don't feel uncomfortable.

After I returned to the world of the living, after my two-week cry-fest, I jumped right back into the lies; telling everyone I was okay, when most days I struggled to even get out of bed.  I went to lunch with a friend who chastised me "disappearing off the face of the earth for two week."   She was upset that I wasn't there for her--she too was upset that we lost the baby.  I am now able to see how absurd it was for her to expect me to be there for her, but, of course, I starting apologizing and trying to comfort her.  I need to work on this.  I need to let people feel what they feel, but more importantly, allow myself to feel what I feel and to be honest with myself and other about my emotions.

To all of you reading this who are dealing with infertility, I challenge you to be truthful about your journey.  This doesn't mean you have to tell everyone the details of the process but be honest.  Allow yourself to be sad when you are sad, to hurt when you hurt, and don't apologize.  You deserve to feel what you are feeling, without apology.

And to those of you reading who love someone who is dealing with infertility, I challenge you to support, acknowledge, and validate the feelings of those you love.  Infertility is often a very lonely journey because people tend to keep their pain inside.  Encourage your loved ones to talk about how they feel--how they really feel.  It will make a world of difference to them.

Hope on the Rocks

This is a poem that was posted in a recent issue of the "Stepping Stones" newsletter from Bethany.  This poem beautifully captures how I feel everyday so I thought I would post it here. I imagine it is how many of you feel as well.


Hope on the Rocks
by Kim Caloca

Today someone's hopes lay dying against the rocks
Today the waves come crashing down
Reminding her of what is not to be
Reminding her that in nine months there will be no tiny feet
Her husband's eyes won't be staring back
Her nose won't be crinkled on another little face
She beats the ground with her balled up fist
She wipes the tears and puts on a calm face
Wondering if this dream will ever come to pass
Wondering if this nightmare will ever fade at last
Advice is offered once again, it's not the right time
Advice is offered once again, relax and it will happen
But the pain still feels the same, gut-wrenching
But the pain still feels the same, heart-breaking
And no amount of comfort can be offered
And no consoling words can bring relief
She watches other ships in the distance
She watches other families grow and evolve
In the flotsam and jetsam she waits, struggling to stay afloat
In the cold harsh water she clings to the cross she bears

"Maybe Once You Adopt You Will Get Pregnant With a REAL Child"

I apologize that I have been M.I.A. for awhile.  Much has happened since I last wrote.  We have moved, opened a new business, and got the much anticipated call from the adoption agency.

It is amazing how much the impending adoption feels like the "infertility wait".  Those painful two weeks at the end of your cycle--waiting to see if you might actually have a baby or if the bottom will drop out, AGAIN.  Now, we wait to see if the birth mother will change her mind--if this new bottom will drop out.  And, there is still the ever-present infertility grief, constantly tugging at my heart strings.

And, even though we may have a baby soon, I still find myself dealing with the CrAzY fertility-related comments from well-meaning people.

Even before we started pursuing adoption, I must have heard the "adoption leads to pregnancy" comment a million times.  It seems everyone "knows someone, who knows someone" who got pregnant after  adopting.  I can't count the number of times in the last three years that I have been told, "Well, why don't you just adopt, then you will get pregnant?!"  Like somehow adopting will jump-start my non-functioning ovaries.  

The reality is, this is NOT TRUE.  Research shows that in only 8% of cases do infertile couples get pregnant after adoption (Psychosomatic Medicine, Vol. 33, No. 6).   The fact of the matter is, adoption doesn't cure infertility.  And, to insinuate that it does is a slap in the face.  It is like telling me that my infertility is just in my head and not a medical condition.  My non-functioning ovaries will not start functioning just because we adopt. Those two things are not related.  

Infertility is a medical condition.  My ovaries do not work.  Adopting a baby will not fix that anymore than adopting a new puppy will.   Inferring that adoption will "cure me" is a slap in the face, minimizing the years of pain I have experienced because of my infertility.

And, a note related more to adoption than to infertility:  Saying that all I need to do to get pregnant is to adopt infers that I am using my adopted child to get what you deem as more desirable--a biological child.  I will love my adopted child as if I had grown it in my own womb.  

The Monthly Reminder of My Failure

I think any woman who has dealt with, or is dealing with, infertility can agree that the day your period comes is one of the hardest days of the month.  Not because of the bloating, the cramps, or the crabbiness; but because of what it symbolizes--another month gone by without the prospect of a baby.  For me, it also serves as a reminder of my failure.  And, while I know that my ability to get pregnant isn't in my control, I still feel as though I have somehow failed.  

Even now, when we are no longer receiving infertility treatments, and we are moving towards adoption, I still feel a bit crushed when my "monthly visitor" arrives.  It's like somehow there's a part of me that's still holding out hope--believing that maybe my body will decide to begin working properly and "Aunt Flo" won't come for a visit again.  Logically, I know how unrealistic this is--I know you can't get pregnant when you don't ovulate--but still, once a month, I am crushed.

Some months are worse then others.  The all time low came about a year and a half ago.  I had begun seeing a new doctor who swore that our infertility woes would be solved by simply giving me a higher dosage of Clomid (a drug to induce ovulation).  She felt that my previous doctor hadn't given me a high enough dose and that, by increasing my dosage, I would become pregnant.  She was so confident that she repeatedly told me that she "had a good feeling about this" and "this was gonna be the month".  Her nurse jumped on board too, assuring us that we would be back in a month to verify our positive pregnancy test.  Against my better judgement, I allowed myself to get swallowed up in the anticipation and I got my hopes up--way up.  So, the day my period arrived that month I hit rock bottom.  I cried for days.  It seemed to symbolize not only my failure, but also the fact that we would never have a baby.  I lost all hope.

Obviously, I was eventually able to crawl out of the depths of that dark place, but I must admit that each month, I still catch a glimpse of that darkness.  "Aunt Flo" came to visit me this past week and I found myself sitting in the bathroom crying once again.  I struggle to fully grasp the reason for my tears--knowing that we are in the midst of an adoption, I feel confident that we will, one day, have a baby.  I hope that when that time comes,  I will no longer find myself sprawled on bathroom floor each month.  But, who knows.  I suppose I may always feel this deep sense of loss and each month I will be forced to grieve that loss.  As with any loss, the grief gets easier to cope with and the pain does dissipate.  Nowadays, instead of lasting for days, my sadness generally only last a few hours after "Aunt Flo" arrives.  I am able to remind myself of all of the blessings in my life and to move on with my day.  Granted, the pain doesn't ever completely go away, but the debilitating sadness seems to have diminished.

Maybe I am Not so Crazy!!!

Before I met the women in my infertility support group I thought I was insane, completely nuts.  I think many of the women in the group felt the same way about themselves.  Realizing that I wasn't as nuts as I thought I was one of the many blessings these women brought into my life.

I remember walking though the mall with Mark about two years ago and saying, "If I see one more pregnant woman, I think I am going to scream!"  Okay, so maybe this wasn't just one time, maybe it's every time we go to the mall and maybe once or twice there was a comment about going a little further than just screaming!!  See what I mean about being a little crazy?!?

I don't think my fertile friends get how painful it is to see pregnant women or women with new babies, so I try to keep these comments to myself.   I don't want everyone else in the world to know what a lunatic I am.  But all of my craziness came spewing out in the first meeting of my infertility support group, and to my surprise every single woman in the group had experienced the same feelings.  One of the women even admitted to not having gone to the mall for over a year because she just couldn't deal with it.  For some reason, hearing this was like a huge weight being lifted off of my shoulders.  I think knowing that what I was feeling was "normal" made me feel a little less alone in this journey.

I don't know why the mall is one of the most painful places to go.  Perhaps it is because of the army of strollers coming at you as you walk through the mall or the protruding bellies that seem to appear on every-other woman you see.  Or, maybe it is the ominous play area that reminds me what a failure my ovaries have been to me.  I long to be the woman strolling through the mall, going into Motherhood Maternity and picking out a cute new outfit to accentuate my blossoming belly.  I long to be pushing a stroller with my beautiful bundle of joy inside.  Instead, I am bombarded with constant reminders of all the things I will probably miss out on because of my bum ovaries.

For women who have been given the dreaded diagnosis (infertility), being surrounded by pregnant women can be painful.   For me, I don't know that it is as much about jealousy as it is about being reminded that I may never get to experience the joy of being pregnant or having a baby.  Some of the things I grieve I know seem silly to the everyday Fertile Myrtle.  I grieve not getting to feel a baby move inside me, I grieve not getting to experience childbirth, I grieve not getting to breastfeed.  But it's not just the physical stuff.  It's the silly little things like not getting to give my baby a bath or go to a parent-teacher conference. 

Another item on the list of things I grieve is never getting to have a baby shower.  The dreaded baby shower.  I think any infertile woman can relate to the pain of the baby shower.  In fact, my infertile friends and I have spent many hours exchanging excuses to use to get out of having to go to baby showers.  Now, it's not that we don't love our fertile friends--we do.  It is simply that spending two hours gushing over how wonderful it is to be pregnant and what a joy the new baby will be is like a knife to the heart of the infertile woman.  OUCH!  Sitting as the mom-to-be opens all of her adorable gifts always brings a tear to my eye because I know that that will probably never be me.  As much as I want to rejoice about my friend's impending miracle, the bigger part of my wants to go home, crawl under the covers, and cry about hole in my heart/uterus that is never going to be filled.

About a year ago, during a conversation about a baby shower, I said that I just can't do it (throw or attend another shower) and the response I got was, "You are going to have to get over it someday."  I know I can't expect the average Fertile Myrtle to understand but in that moment, I wasn't able to find my voice and explain why it is so painful to watch "everyone" around me having babies while I am left with a barrage of shots, medications, and unfulfilled dreams. 

I have to say, that three years into this journey, it is getting better and I am slowly finding my voice.  Most days I can handle the mall and maybe even a baby shower here and there.  I still have days where I just can't handle looking at another preggo or seeing facebook posts about my friends' kids, but I suppose I have developed better coping skills as time has gone on.  I am more aware of my feelings and know when I need to shut of the computer or not answer a call from a fertile friend.  And, I have learned that it is okay to just send a gift and skip the baby shower.  I need to take care of me and part of that is knowing and naming my boundaries.  It is often hard to draw those lines but take it from this line-drawing lady, creating boundaries helps cut back on those tear-filled days spent curled up under the covers.

Thanks!!

This evening I sent out emails to my friends and co-workers about the blog and have gotten a great response!  Thank you everyone for all of your support.

I am especially grateful to Stacey Pawlak, the therapist at the fertility clinic at the University Hospital.  She has added the link to my blog to the hand-out she gives to her infertility patients!

Thanks for helping me get the word out!

In the beginning.....

My husband, Mark, and I have been on quite the journey over the past three year.  After a long struggle with trying to get pregnant, we now find ourselves in the midst of a new journey--the journey to adoption.

It all started when we decided to try to have a baby 3 years ago.  We tried....and tried....and tried.  And, obviously, nothing happened.  So, we began pursuing infertility treatment.  That was a long, painful, and inevitably, fruitless endeavor.  In the midst of the infertility battle we got licensed for foster care/adoption through the state and took a little boy who we thought was going to be the answer to our prayers.  In the end, it didn't work out and we were left to grieve yet another loss.  Also, in the midst of treatments, I started an infertility support group.  Through the group, I connected with several amazing, strong, and determined women who helped me down my path.

And, here we are today...after lots of failed attempts at starting a family, we have finally turned to a private adoption agency.  For the first time in three years, we are at peace with where we are in our journey.  We are working with an agency in Chicago, Adoption Link, and are so blessed to have found them.  Finding an agency that was in-line with our beliefs and convictions was difficult but finding Adoption Link has been a miracle.  We have an incredible worker who is responsive and caring and we are confident that we are exactly where we should be.

I am starting this blog for many reasons...

First of all, just to write.  This journey has been hard and painful and I have found that "talking" about it has helped me in ways that I never imagined it could.

Second, I am writing because my friends and family members are always asking where we are in the process, so I figured this would be a good forum to keep people informed.

But, most importantly, I am hoping my blog can reach people who are silently dealing with infertility.  As I settled into my infertility diagnosis, I began talking.  And, as I began talking, I found so many women who had been suffering silently and who felt isolated and alone.  Most statistics say that 2.1 million women in the US experience infertility.  Chances are someone you know is silently suffering--maybe your sister, your cousin, or even your best friend.  I want to break down the shrouds of silence and talk about it.  Women need to know that they are not alone.

Also, along the way, I have found that people don't know what to say to those they love who are dealing with infertility.  I hope to give some suggestions and support to those who love someone with infertility.