I follow Resolve on Facebook and they are pretty good about posting relevant articles about infertility issues. Today's article was this. Change 'career' to 'yourself,' 'each other,' or 'time to do other things,' in the "Aren't you glad you have more time for your career?' one and I've heard them all and so many more. I understand that no harm is meant but it hurts nonetheless. Heck, most people don't even know we're going through infertility (although many couples aren't married as long as we have been without a child being added in to the mix...) so how would they know to be sensitive? This article could have been written better but the gist is clear: if you don't know a couple's story (but especially if you do!) please remember to try and be sensitive and think before you speak...a good rule to apply to life in general!
Thursday, March 19, 2015
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
I just want to be a mom - is that so terrible?
My father-in-law would love to see me pursue an advanced degree once Jason graduates with his doctorate this coming May. In fact, he's counting on it. But what he fails to see is that what works for one person may not for another. I have no desire to pursue my Master's. It would be an immense waste of time, money, and energy. For me. For Jason, his Master's was a gateway to what he ultimately wanted to become: a professor of music. And he will achieve that goal in just three short months after five laborious years. But his passion for the subject, and his own drive to achieve his ultimate goal pushed him ever onward. You need that when you're reaching for those stars. As for me, I am happy with my Bachelors. If I wanted to get a Master's in creative writing, I would first of all need to have a desire to either teach writing or write professionally...I would love to write children's books and have a memoir-type book in the works related to heart health but I'm not going to be an Author. Author with a capitol 'A'. At least not at this stage of my life. Secondly, if I didn't want to teach writing or write professionally, I would need to switch gears entirely and opt for something else in a related field of study.
When my father-in-law first mentioned his want for me to go to grad school a few years ago, I approached the idea with trepidation but I was still young-ish and thought, "Well, maybe by some miracle the fertility treatments will work and we'll have a little one soon and when they're in pre-school perhaps I'll be ready." So I dug around a bit and found that I had some interest in a Master's in Children's Literature. But then we had our miscarriage. And then and then and then. Fast forward four years and we're still without child and we have a mountain of debt because Jason has spent the last five years pursuing his doctorate which has meant we've had to make due on my very meager income. All of which my father-in-law fails to consider, because just last month he mentioned grad school to me again. "Once Jason graduates, it'll be your turn." Despite the fact that I have repeatedly told him, very kindly -- a few times kindly and firmly -- that I really have no interest. We really don't have the money. I really don't want to get my Master's. Really, I don't. And yet, I feel guilty. Because sometimes I feel like I should want more. And once upon a time, I did want more. I look around and so many of my friends have advanced degrees or licenses {and children} and then there's me.
But my priorities have shifted and I have my reasons.
My biggest reason? I just want to be a mom. And for us, that means money. For us, that means taking any "extra" we have and putting it towards IVF or surrogacy or adoption. I'm turning 31 one week from today. I no longer have the luxury of time that even our fertility doctors felt compelled to tell us I had because I'm not 24 anymore. We started this journey six years ago and we are no closer today than we were then.
Motherhood. That's my dream. That's what I want. Parenthood. That's our dream. That's what WE want. So once we're back to a double income, that's what our money will be put towards. It's time.
Is that so terrible?
When my father-in-law first mentioned his want for me to go to grad school a few years ago, I approached the idea with trepidation but I was still young-ish and thought, "Well, maybe by some miracle the fertility treatments will work and we'll have a little one soon and when they're in pre-school perhaps I'll be ready." So I dug around a bit and found that I had some interest in a Master's in Children's Literature. But then we had our miscarriage. And then and then and then. Fast forward four years and we're still without child and we have a mountain of debt because Jason has spent the last five years pursuing his doctorate which has meant we've had to make due on my very meager income. All of which my father-in-law fails to consider, because just last month he mentioned grad school to me again. "Once Jason graduates, it'll be your turn." Despite the fact that I have repeatedly told him, very kindly -- a few times kindly and firmly -- that I really have no interest. We really don't have the money. I really don't want to get my Master's. Really, I don't. And yet, I feel guilty. Because sometimes I feel like I should want more. And once upon a time, I did want more. I look around and so many of my friends have advanced degrees or licenses {and children} and then there's me.
But my priorities have shifted and I have my reasons.
My biggest reason? I just want to be a mom. And for us, that means money. For us, that means taking any "extra" we have and putting it towards IVF or surrogacy or adoption. I'm turning 31 one week from today. I no longer have the luxury of time that even our fertility doctors felt compelled to tell us I had because I'm not 24 anymore. We started this journey six years ago and we are no closer today than we were then.
Motherhood. That's my dream. That's what I want. Parenthood. That's our dream. That's what WE want. So once we're back to a double income, that's what our money will be put towards. It's time.
Is that so terrible?
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
In Which I Declare My Intentions
I have a confession to make, and really, it's not unexpected:
I'm DONE with being childless. Six (going on seven) years is six years far too long. I feel this way throughout the year but the holidays only exacerbate it.
I want this Christmas to be the LAST one we spend without some idea of when or how our family will be expanded. I fully understand that come Christmas 2015, it is nearly 100% unlikely that we'll have a child in our arms, or even one on the way (what with our move following Jason's graduation and starting our new life in a new place and all the upheaval that comes with that. including but not limited to our extreme lack of funds) but I'd like to be actively trying again. I'd like to be seeing a new RE and getting to the bottom of why we can't conceive and what needs to be done to remedy that. And I fully understand it won't be easy. I'm not naive. Jaded, perhaps. But naive, no. We're ready to explore the reality of IVF. I'm ready to undergo further testing. Maybe this time, at the age of 31, we'll be taken seriously. I never felt we were at the two other clinics we went to, as we were 24 years old the first time, and 27 the second time. Even though nothing was working, and there was no clear explanation, we were told time and again, "but you're young, you still have time." We were even told that following our miscarriage, right after, "This is progress. At least you got pregnant this time."
The time we've spent in Indiana has been precious. We've healed and have taken some time away from the pressures, emotions, and let-downs of infertility. We desperately needed the break and we're better for having taken it. Our relationship with ourselves and each other is stronger and better because of it and I'm so grateful and thankful for the perspective and for the mental place the space allowed me to arrive at. It was all necessary and we wouldn't change our decision. That being said...
2015 is the year that's going to find us back on the road to baby. Somehow, some way, we're going to be parents. We're ready. It's so past due it's painful. We've been married eight years. I know that life isn't a race and we're all on our own journeys but our hearts are bursting with love to give to a child. I can't explain how it feels. I can only try and share with you what my heart knows to be true, without reservation or hesitation or fear: it's time.
It may take us a year, it will most likely take us more. But this is the beginning of the end of the childless years.
I'm DONE with being childless. Six (going on seven) years is six years far too long. I feel this way throughout the year but the holidays only exacerbate it.
I want this Christmas to be the LAST one we spend without some idea of when or how our family will be expanded. I fully understand that come Christmas 2015, it is nearly 100% unlikely that we'll have a child in our arms, or even one on the way (what with our move following Jason's graduation and starting our new life in a new place and all the upheaval that comes with that. including but not limited to our extreme lack of funds) but I'd like to be actively trying again. I'd like to be seeing a new RE and getting to the bottom of why we can't conceive and what needs to be done to remedy that. And I fully understand it won't be easy. I'm not naive. Jaded, perhaps. But naive, no. We're ready to explore the reality of IVF. I'm ready to undergo further testing. Maybe this time, at the age of 31, we'll be taken seriously. I never felt we were at the two other clinics we went to, as we were 24 years old the first time, and 27 the second time. Even though nothing was working, and there was no clear explanation, we were told time and again, "but you're young, you still have time." We were even told that following our miscarriage, right after, "This is progress. At least you got pregnant this time."
The time we've spent in Indiana has been precious. We've healed and have taken some time away from the pressures, emotions, and let-downs of infertility. We desperately needed the break and we're better for having taken it. Our relationship with ourselves and each other is stronger and better because of it and I'm so grateful and thankful for the perspective and for the mental place the space allowed me to arrive at. It was all necessary and we wouldn't change our decision. That being said...
2015 is the year that's going to find us back on the road to baby. Somehow, some way, we're going to be parents. We're ready. It's so past due it's painful. We've been married eight years. I know that life isn't a race and we're all on our own journeys but our hearts are bursting with love to give to a child. I can't explain how it feels. I can only try and share with you what my heart knows to be true, without reservation or hesitation or fear: it's time.
It may take us a year, it will most likely take us more. But this is the beginning of the end of the childless years.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Not So Holly Jolly
Some years are just harder than others. I know that. But it doesn't mean it's any less disappointing to muddle through a more challenging holiday season.
Our dog, Kobe, was diagnosed with cancer in November. Thankfully, it was confined to a mass on his tail so it didn't spread and we didn't have to make any tough decisions but it did mean he had to have his tail amputated on December 1. His beautiful, sweeping tail. So now, he has a little nub about 5 inches or so long and he looks like a long-legged over-sized 75 lb Corgie. But he's here with us and he's going to be okay and that's the main thing. That all being said, he hasn't had an easy time with the amputation, which has meant that we haven't had an easy time, either. He won't leave his nub alone long enough for it to heal and he's constantly ripping open his wound, even while wearing the largest cone we could fine (seriously, it's made to fit a St. Bernard) and even with his nub wrapped. Last night was particularly rough. Jason is gone through tomorrow so it's just been me and the pets and Kobe has been on high alert: barking throughout the night, which is very unlike him, and yes, you guessed it, ripping open his scab. Bloody mess at 4am. Last Tuesday, it took me an hour to get all of the blood up from the carpet so thankfully, last night's little fiasco wasn't nearly as traumatic but at 4am, it felt pretty brutal. And then after cleaning up and rewrapping his tail (and I'd already been jarred awake a few times by his barking over a several hour span), I couldn't get back to sleep. Which in turn led to a meltdown. Because it all seemed like too much. Most things do at 4am. We spent money we didn't have on his biopsy and amputation surgeries, and this whole ordeal has been going on since the end of October. Nearly two months. Again, we're so very thankful he's going to be okay but it's been a struggle. Jason has had an extremely taxing semester at school while also applying for professor positions so the timing was just bad. (Ha! Like there's ever a good time.) Next step: a soft mesh muzzle. Per the vet's instructions. I hate the idea but quite honestly, we're out of options. It must be left alone to heal and he's not allowing it to, despite everything we've tried.
And this has nothing to do with anything but we bought this gorgeous Grand Fir tree on November 29 from a local tree farm. It was full and beautifully shaped and smelled like tangerines. But it died a week after we brought it home. Dropped needles like it was going out of style. We did nothing different than we ever do, just a freak thing. Thankfully, the tree farm was kind enough to replace it for us free of charge but it was still a bummer.
Anyway. I'm just tired. And finding it difficult to get in to the holiday spirit. I can't believe next week is already Christmas. I don't feel ready. I don't feel festive. I just feel defeated. And I keep trying REALLY hard. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm always the jolliest of them all this time of year. My enthusiasm normally rivals that of a child's. This year...not so much. My mom came out for about 5 days last week and it was so wonderful to spend some of this season with her - we had our fun and the time flew by so fast. But it was clouded by school stuff going on with Jason and, of course, bloody messes caused by the dog's inability to leave his little nubbie alone. I'm just so anxious about it all. Just anxious in general I guess. Normally, no matter what is going on, the holidays never let me down. I seem to always find my holiday cheer just in time. But I have to admit...I'm afraid Christmas might fail me this year. It's not over yet, though. We still have a week to find my little Christmas miracle: my holly jolly holiday cheer.
Our dog, Kobe, was diagnosed with cancer in November. Thankfully, it was confined to a mass on his tail so it didn't spread and we didn't have to make any tough decisions but it did mean he had to have his tail amputated on December 1. His beautiful, sweeping tail. So now, he has a little nub about 5 inches or so long and he looks like a long-legged over-sized 75 lb Corgie. But he's here with us and he's going to be okay and that's the main thing. That all being said, he hasn't had an easy time with the amputation, which has meant that we haven't had an easy time, either. He won't leave his nub alone long enough for it to heal and he's constantly ripping open his wound, even while wearing the largest cone we could fine (seriously, it's made to fit a St. Bernard) and even with his nub wrapped. Last night was particularly rough. Jason is gone through tomorrow so it's just been me and the pets and Kobe has been on high alert: barking throughout the night, which is very unlike him, and yes, you guessed it, ripping open his scab. Bloody mess at 4am. Last Tuesday, it took me an hour to get all of the blood up from the carpet so thankfully, last night's little fiasco wasn't nearly as traumatic but at 4am, it felt pretty brutal. And then after cleaning up and rewrapping his tail (and I'd already been jarred awake a few times by his barking over a several hour span), I couldn't get back to sleep. Which in turn led to a meltdown. Because it all seemed like too much. Most things do at 4am. We spent money we didn't have on his biopsy and amputation surgeries, and this whole ordeal has been going on since the end of October. Nearly two months. Again, we're so very thankful he's going to be okay but it's been a struggle. Jason has had an extremely taxing semester at school while also applying for professor positions so the timing was just bad. (Ha! Like there's ever a good time.) Next step: a soft mesh muzzle. Per the vet's instructions. I hate the idea but quite honestly, we're out of options. It must be left alone to heal and he's not allowing it to, despite everything we've tried.
And this has nothing to do with anything but we bought this gorgeous Grand Fir tree on November 29 from a local tree farm. It was full and beautifully shaped and smelled like tangerines. But it died a week after we brought it home. Dropped needles like it was going out of style. We did nothing different than we ever do, just a freak thing. Thankfully, the tree farm was kind enough to replace it for us free of charge but it was still a bummer.
Anyway. I'm just tired. And finding it difficult to get in to the holiday spirit. I can't believe next week is already Christmas. I don't feel ready. I don't feel festive. I just feel defeated. And I keep trying REALLY hard. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm always the jolliest of them all this time of year. My enthusiasm normally rivals that of a child's. This year...not so much. My mom came out for about 5 days last week and it was so wonderful to spend some of this season with her - we had our fun and the time flew by so fast. But it was clouded by school stuff going on with Jason and, of course, bloody messes caused by the dog's inability to leave his little nubbie alone. I'm just so anxious about it all. Just anxious in general I guess. Normally, no matter what is going on, the holidays never let me down. I seem to always find my holiday cheer just in time. But I have to admit...I'm afraid Christmas might fail me this year. It's not over yet, though. We still have a week to find my little Christmas miracle: my holly jolly holiday cheer.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Commence Holiday Season
As much as I love the holidays (and I do, kind of an immense amount bordering on intense) this is indeed a very hard time of year to be childless. It starts with Halloween - all of the incredibly cute children dressed up for the festivities, and none of them are ours. We 'like' everyone else's cute-kid-in-a-costume photos on Facebook but we have none to add to the mix. Instead, all I had to contribute was a photo of me dressed up for Halloween and for the first time I felt kind of weird about sharing it. Because the day before I had posted a picture of me from Halloween past, circa 1986, and I had also posted a picture of me on Instagram, age 1.5, sitting on a pumpkin in a pumpkin patch. Everyone was posting pictures of their kids and I was posting pictures of myself. It felt strange and it made me feel even more self conscious of the fact that we don't have a child. I felt like I didn't belong, like I had a huge "Childless" sticker on my forehead. I realize that much of this feeling was most likely generated internally and not really obvious or apparent from an outside perspective but still. It was hard to shake the feeling of "otherness".
And it's just the beginning. People are taking family photos in preparation for their holiday cards. Soon, people will begin their various holiday rituals with their families, many of which are kid-centric. And thanks to social media, it's a daily onslaught of reminders that we don't belong to that particular "club" yet and we don't really know when our membership will arrive.
We should have a toddler. Our baby would be 2.5 - this holiday season might have very well been the one he or she would have begun to anticipate Christmas with some level of understanding and excitement. But most people don't know we should have a toddler. Most people don't know how hard it is for us to go through this time of year and still generate merriment and joy for ourselves. Most people don't understand how hard it is for us to see, day after day, countless memories being made with children who are not ours.
It's hard year-round. But it's a whole other level of difficulty during the holidays. And while we're so thankful that the family and friends who do know about our loss and our challenging journey to parenthood try their best to empathize with us and keep our baby in their hearts this time of year, no one can truly know what it's like unless you've experienced it yourself.
Each year, I am determined not to let my emotions dampen my holiday spirit. Each year, I am resolved to enjoy the holidays to the full extent possible - we have initiated new traditions and continue the traditions that we've always enjoyed, and anxiously await the time when we can include our own children. And I believe that time is coming. Next year, following Jason's graduation and our move to wherever it is that he gets a job, we will be back on the road to baby. And this time, we're not stopping until we turn our family of two into a family of three (or more, who knows?). Time is no longer a luxury, nor is it on our side. So, whether through IVF, surrogacy, or adoption, we won't stop trying until we successfully begin our family. And I can't tell you how exciting that prospect is - but I would be remiss if I didn't also admit how terrified we are. Because this journey can be excruciatingly hard and the reality is that we could face some real challenges ahead - perhaps even more so than we already have. But it's time. We're ready. We have no idea how long it will take or where the road will lead but we do know this: we'll get there together.
And it's just the beginning. People are taking family photos in preparation for their holiday cards. Soon, people will begin their various holiday rituals with their families, many of which are kid-centric. And thanks to social media, it's a daily onslaught of reminders that we don't belong to that particular "club" yet and we don't really know when our membership will arrive.
We should have a toddler. Our baby would be 2.5 - this holiday season might have very well been the one he or she would have begun to anticipate Christmas with some level of understanding and excitement. But most people don't know we should have a toddler. Most people don't know how hard it is for us to go through this time of year and still generate merriment and joy for ourselves. Most people don't understand how hard it is for us to see, day after day, countless memories being made with children who are not ours.
It's hard year-round. But it's a whole other level of difficulty during the holidays. And while we're so thankful that the family and friends who do know about our loss and our challenging journey to parenthood try their best to empathize with us and keep our baby in their hearts this time of year, no one can truly know what it's like unless you've experienced it yourself.
Each year, I am determined not to let my emotions dampen my holiday spirit. Each year, I am resolved to enjoy the holidays to the full extent possible - we have initiated new traditions and continue the traditions that we've always enjoyed, and anxiously await the time when we can include our own children. And I believe that time is coming. Next year, following Jason's graduation and our move to wherever it is that he gets a job, we will be back on the road to baby. And this time, we're not stopping until we turn our family of two into a family of three (or more, who knows?). Time is no longer a luxury, nor is it on our side. So, whether through IVF, surrogacy, or adoption, we won't stop trying until we successfully begin our family. And I can't tell you how exciting that prospect is - but I would be remiss if I didn't also admit how terrified we are. Because this journey can be excruciatingly hard and the reality is that we could face some real challenges ahead - perhaps even more so than we already have. But it's time. We're ready. We have no idea how long it will take or where the road will lead but we do know this: we'll get there together.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Babies, Babies, Everywhere
It's still there. My uncomfortable week, that is. Which I suppose I can now call a month. Just in a funk, I guess. That hollowed out pit feeling in my stomach is back, as is the nagging feeling of desperation and fear. I've found myself on the verge of tears several times lately. I hate this, the feeling of vulnerability crossed with envy. Such an ugly hybrid.
I'm rewatching the entire Sex and the City series so in the spirit of Carrie Bradshaw....
"I couldn't help but wonder: When will it be our turn?"
I'm rewatching the entire Sex and the City series so in the spirit of Carrie Bradshaw....
"I couldn't help but wonder: When will it be our turn?"
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
It's Been a Week
{Disclaimer: If we're friends in real life and you have children and/or you're pregnant, please know this isn't about any of you. Truly. This isn't an attack and I'm not trying to make you feel badly. That is NEVER my intention. But I do need a space to vent. And this is my space. If you've been invited to read this blog, it's because I love you. But being infertile is hard. Even when you're not actively trying. And I know that parenting is hard, in different and maybe even in similar ways, but this is my story, a big part of my story, and because of privacy and social constructs and the ugly taboo-ness that infertility carries around with it like an anvel, I don't get to talk about it on Facebook and I've come to limit what I even say out loud to family and friends when we're in person because...well, there's only so much a person can say. So this is where I get to just say it. Without apology.}
For the most part, I'm better. I can get through a conversation (or multiple!) about babies and parenting without wanting to run away screaming or fighting back tears. I can hold babies, snuggle babies, feed babies, and coo over their cuteness without feeling like I'm going to lose it. But every once in awhile, I'm bombarded.
This week has been a bombardment week.
We've all heard about the Royal's impending arrival. Surprisingly, I wasn't shocked. The announcement didn't make me jealous or angry or envious of their situation. After all, they already live under a microscope and this development will only intensify it even more. What I dread is all the additional media coverage of Baby Royal. What is Kate shopping for today? What will they name it? Will it be a brother or a sister for the little Prince? What maternity outfit is Kate sporting today? And on and on and on.
Between the Royals and other pregnant celebs, checking on my people (you know, at People.com) will be quite the daunting task.
And then there's Facebook. Dear, sweet Facebook, who never fails to succeed when it comes to sabotaging my good mood when I least expect it, with it's endless pregnancy and birth announcements. Today's highlight: A simple baby on board picture. That wasn't so bad. It was a comment below it that irked me. "Welcome to the club!" I. Loathe. That. Statement. Once again, I'm the outsider looking in, eager face pressed against the window, breath fogging up the glass. It's such an exclusive club, too. Only one way to get in that one -- very specific, non-negotiable qualifications and I just don't have what it takes. Yet. I must make myself add the "yet."
And we mustn't forget the folks who list their every pregnancy gripe. Including but certainly not limited to not being able to enjoy the various pumpkin and autumn themed beers and lagers that appear with the season. Honestly, I would give up alcohol in every form for the rest of my life if it meant I could carry a healthy child to term. I do try to look at it from their perspective -- they don't know my sorrow, and they don't need to censor their lives just because of someone else's predicament -- but it's just hard sometimes.
Maybe it's because we're approaching the hardest time of the year to be childless. Maybe it's because I'm just so tired of not being a parent, despite years of trying and thousands upon thousands of dollars. Maybe it's because I'm just flat-out tired, in general. But it's already been a week. And it's only Tuesday.
For the most part, I'm better. I can get through a conversation (or multiple!) about babies and parenting without wanting to run away screaming or fighting back tears. I can hold babies, snuggle babies, feed babies, and coo over their cuteness without feeling like I'm going to lose it. But every once in awhile, I'm bombarded.
This week has been a bombardment week.
We've all heard about the Royal's impending arrival. Surprisingly, I wasn't shocked. The announcement didn't make me jealous or angry or envious of their situation. After all, they already live under a microscope and this development will only intensify it even more. What I dread is all the additional media coverage of Baby Royal. What is Kate shopping for today? What will they name it? Will it be a brother or a sister for the little Prince? What maternity outfit is Kate sporting today? And on and on and on.
Between the Royals and other pregnant celebs, checking on my people (you know, at People.com) will be quite the daunting task.
And then there's Facebook. Dear, sweet Facebook, who never fails to succeed when it comes to sabotaging my good mood when I least expect it, with it's endless pregnancy and birth announcements. Today's highlight: A simple baby on board picture. That wasn't so bad. It was a comment below it that irked me. "Welcome to the club!" I. Loathe. That. Statement. Once again, I'm the outsider looking in, eager face pressed against the window, breath fogging up the glass. It's such an exclusive club, too. Only one way to get in that one -- very specific, non-negotiable qualifications and I just don't have what it takes. Yet. I must make myself add the "yet."
And we mustn't forget the folks who list their every pregnancy gripe. Including but certainly not limited to not being able to enjoy the various pumpkin and autumn themed beers and lagers that appear with the season. Honestly, I would give up alcohol in every form for the rest of my life if it meant I could carry a healthy child to term. I do try to look at it from their perspective -- they don't know my sorrow, and they don't need to censor their lives just because of someone else's predicament -- but it's just hard sometimes.
Maybe it's because we're approaching the hardest time of the year to be childless. Maybe it's because I'm just so tired of not being a parent, despite years of trying and thousands upon thousands of dollars. Maybe it's because I'm just flat-out tired, in general. But it's already been a week. And it's only Tuesday.
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