This is More Personal

It’s been a while since I’ve posted an update, and a lot of things have quietly progressed in moving me (us) away from my (our) life as an infertile, and towards whatever my (our) life “after” infertility will be.

• We cleaned out the fridge, and donated all of our unused IVF meds, syringes, and sharps containers back to the clinic to distribute to patients who don’t have insurance coverage for them.
• I canceled my appointment with the RE, and I’m officially transferring my health care back to my gynecologist.
• Which means, I WENT BACK TO MY GYNECOLOGIST. If you were on Twitter, you probably witness my not so subtle freak out/melt down yesterday morning. It’s been over two years since I’ve been in that office, and I certainly did not intend to go back under these circumstances. So, there were tears and anger and frustration; it was inevitable. But, I survived, and am moving on.
• My gyno and I developed a plan for dealing with my awful awful PMS, and endo symptoms. I am going back on BCP. I had an u/s at the appointment, and big surprise, the right ovary is doing something weird. So, I’ll go to a radiologist in 6 weeks to have another super-fancy u/s. I’m really glad we’re monitoring things, cause these ovaries are really not behaving. I am also going to go to an endocrinologist - the spotting I had two months ago concerned her a little, and we started talking about my thyroid, and decided to have some tests just to see what’s going on. I think this is a really smart idea, and I probably should have done this years ago. Finally, I asked about the endometriosis specialist a Tweep recommended to me, and the doc said he was fantastic and I should definitely make an appointment when I’m ready. Even though the gyno appointment got off to a rough start, I am happy with this plan.

So, basically, we are officially not trying to conceive anymore. I am on the pill. I am no longer a patient at a fertility clinic.

It’s weird. It’s hard. Harder than I thought. And that doesn’t mean that I wish I was getting treatments again, or that I am doubting our adoption decision. TTC and infertility have been a huge part of my life for the past three years. THREE YEARS. Infertility defined me for the past two years. (I hate to say that, but it’s true.) I put everything I had into understanding what was wrong, and how we could treat it. I put literally everything I had into trying to make a baby.

That’s over for now. Officially.

Obviously I’m of the “once infertile, always infertile” persuasion. I know my infertility isn’t something I can forgot or move on from completely. But, I am not trying to get pregnant anymore. Not even the tiny little 1% chance we have each month, on our own.

This is a new phase. A new adventure. I accept this. I am ready for it. This is absolutely the right thing.

But, I’m still saying goodbye to that life I envisioned. Goodbye to the person I’ve been for the past three years. Goodbye to a part of myself.

It’s now been nearly three years of TTC - natural and assisted. I’ve hit all the highs and lows of this emotional roller coaster. Along the way, I’ve watched a number of my IF friends, tweeps, and bloggers move on to pregnancy and parenting and continue to struggle with the pain of infertility. The phrase #alwaysinfertile gets used a lot. It’s been helpful to watch other women go through this process. I think it’s easy to hope (desperately) that once you’re pregnant or parenting all of this pain will melt away. To hope that we will finally be “normal.” We will escape the agony that’s overwhelmed our lives. But, we all know that for most of us, as much as we wish it would, infertility never completely fades away.

I’ve made a lot of emotional progress in recent months. I can feel myself healing in so many ways. Since we’ve decided to pursue adoption, I feel a sense of relief and calm about family building. The underlying terror that treatments wouldn’t work is gone. I know that I will have a family someday. It’s made it easier to interact with my friends and family who have children. Yet, a couple of events in the past two weeks have put me back in that “always infertile” place.

The hard thing about birth announcements is reading them. And then re-reading them. And then deleting them. And then going into my trash folder and re-reading them again. And then officially deleting it forever. And then remembering every word of the announcement, and repeating it to myself in my head. Over and over. Until it is impossible for me to forget just how this joyous, wondrous moment has been expressed by the new parent. These announcements nearly are always written by the father. And they usually have some reference to how “in awe” the father is of the mother/baby/birth process. Knowing that my husband will (probably) never stand beside me in a birthing room and never be in awe of my body and the baby that it’s birthing - well, this kinda makes me want to curl up and die. This makes me feel like a fucking failure all over again. This reminds me of everything that is painful and unfair about infertility.

The pregnancy announcements are similar. God help me if the person actually reveals any details about the TTC process or - seriously - the POAS story. Then I launch into the above obsessive re-reading/re-telling of the story to myself, until it is burned in my brain. Then I can obsess over the fact that I will (probably) never have those stories. If a story is not shared (thank you), I can still think about how this couple likely had SEX in order to get pregnant. This simply doesn’t make sense to me anymore - I am literally amazed that this actually works for some people. I mean, really? You just had sex, and now you’re pregnant? My infertile brain cannot comprehend this premise after everything I’ve been through. It’s an extreme spectrum of procreation methods - either it involves an orgasm or needles. If you’re on the needles side, it is heartbreaking to hear about the orgasm side of spectrum. And, this whole thing just makes me re-feel the failure of my body, the anger that this has been denied me, and the jealousy of other couples who get to share this loving experience. Another very special level of pain comes when I feel that, for some reason, this couple does not “deserve” a baby as much as I do. So, not only am I a failure, but I have been wronged by the universe. Again.

Cue tears. And bourbon drinking.

I do find that my reactions are not as extreme as they had been. It’s not devastating, anymore. I cry, but just for an hour or a day - not a week. Or two. Maybe it’s that it’s happened many times now, so announcements are no longer a trauma. Maybe I’ve healed this wound well-enough to survive the announcements. Maybe I’m better at coping. Maybe I’m just a little bit numb.

As much as I’m working on accepting my infertility (not that I’m OK with it, but that I accept its reality and what that means for me), I think I also need to accept that these things will always hurt a bit. A part of me will always be infertile.