It has struck me, on occasion, how differently some of us handle our IF than others. All of us are facing the same uphill battle (no matter the diagnosis) to build our families. And I'm not just talking about different choices of treatments, or adoption, but of completely different outlooks on why this is happening and how it will all play out.
On the one hand you have the perpetually-optimistic, "it will all work out in time" and "trusting in God's plan" women. These are the blogs that I tend to avoid, as they differ so drastically from my own, personal outlook. It's not that they are wrong -- in fact, I have much respect and admiration for women whose faith is not shaken by infertility. I envy their confidence and assurance that everything will, eventually, work out for the best.
On the other end of the spectrum you have, well, me. I (and others like me) have had our faith shaken to the very core. We see no rhyme or reason to infertility, and have no confidence in any greater good that may come out of it. I see procreation as a simple biological fact, and not a part of any plan for my life.
I say all this because just tonight I had dinner with a woman who falls on the far opposite of the spectrum from me. She is a fellow IF-er, and our hostess for our trip to Dr. Down-to-Earth. She and her husband have done multiple IUI's and two IVF's with no luck. They are currently on a break, and she has been a fantastic sounding board for all things infertility: from meds to doctors to hormone upheavals, we've bitched and moaned together. She is an amazing, strong, and brave woman and I have the utmost respect for her. And while I know we differ on our own personal belief systems (she is religious, I am decidedly-not), I didn't realize how very opposite she and I fell on the IF spectrum until a conversation we had at dinner. I mentioned that a friend of mine from high school had FB'd me and asked to meet for lunch while I was in town, and how I probably wouldn't because she had two young kids and I just wasn't up for it. My hostess seemed very shocked by this, and told me not to be like that. It's a choice, she said. Don't be bitter.
The thing is, I AM bitter. And I didn't tell her this, because she is a wonderful hostess and a good friend and the time wasn't right for me to just blast out with my feelings in the middle of the restaurant (after all, that's what blogs are for). But IF has had a much different effect on me than it has on her. She still believes in God, and his hand in reproduction. She still believes that, in time, it will be her turn and that everything will work out for the best.
And I just -- don't. While I am very hopeful for our upcoming cycle (I honestly think that we stand a great chance of success), I DON'T believe 100% that everything will work out eventually. I don't see children as a foregone conclusion any more. I have (quite clearly) begun to picture what my life would be like without children. I want them desperately, and I think I will never be as happy without them as I would be with them. But they are no longer a given for me, or for others like me.
And that got me wondering. How can two women go through so many similar life experiences, and end up with such very different outlooks? Am I a weaker person because my faith wasn't able to withstand the "tests" of infertility? Is she a better person than me? I tend to think I'm a pretty strong individual, as I've dealt with my fair share of trials the past ten years. And yet I question whether its strength or just stubbornness that has kept me on this path.
I don't have any answers. I don't know why she clings to her faith or why I have so decidedly discarded mine. I don't know why this "great divide" exists, nor how to bridge it, nor if its even necessary to do so. I don't know if I will always feel this way, or if, some day in the distant future, I will be able to somehow begin to make sense of all of this and find my way back to the person I was before.
I do know this: twice I have found myself lying in bed, begging with every single fiber of my being for the life of my unborn child. For whatever reason, those lives were taken from me. And that experience changed me, fundamentally, and to the core. I can't go back -- I will never, ever, ever be the same. And I know hundreds of other women who feel the same.
Happy endings are not a guarantee, and I can't pretend that they are. The fact of the matter is babies die, and it fucking sucks. Does that make me bitter? It sure as hell does. Is that a choice that I make? Maybe. But it's also real -- and painful -- and worth acknowledging.
Two women. Two very similar paths. Two very different perspectives.
I wonder how each of our stories will end?
Sunday, June 19, 2011
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With everything that has happened to me in my life I can't believe in an interventionist god - or that things will 'work out in the end.' I think they only do so because we make them happen but I try not to ruin anyone else's belief.
ReplyDeleteBitterness I wave at occasionally but again try to avoid because it gets me down. I wouldn't blame anyone in our situation for getting lost in either bitterness or blind optimism. Whatever gets you through the night. x
It can be difficult to believe in a compassionate higher power when you get beaten down over and over again. Some people are able to do it, but many of us cannot. I do not think it is a failing, but just an example of differences in human nature.
ReplyDeleteI get it. I really do.
ReplyDeleteI'm like you and my DH is the opposite. At times I wanted to scream about his optimism. I don't think one is weaker or stronger - just different. But you are right, "babies die and it fucking sucks". I think once you've experienced that, you are changed forever.
ReplyDeleteI completely agree with your statement "I see procreation as a simple biological fact, and not a part of any plan for my life." So true.
ReplyDeleteAny other explanation makes no sense, not only for my infertility but for the many abusive and neglectful parents who conceive with ease. (Can't imagine a benevolent G-d *chooses* to send innocent children into these homes for some "higher purpose.")
I don't have the answers either. I think, to a degree, these are questions which are unanswerable.
I actually had a similar conversation with another IF gal this weekend. She said that she has "chosen" not to be miserable or bitter about it. I understand that that may be an accurate description of how she has acted, but it implies that only people who choose to be bitter are bitter. I don't agree. I don't doubt that some defects of character can be blamed, at least in part, for my anger and trust issues and generally black outlook (I was always on the cynical side by temperament, but I really did believe that all the things in my life would work out for the best before IF came along). I am pretty religious, and though I don't practice my faith in the same diligent way that I did many years ago (Mass and Rosaries every day, Adoration every week, etc.), I still go to Mass every Sunday and on other days (should be more), continue to believe the teachings of the Catholic Church, try to say prayers every day. Intellectually I believe that God wills good for us and that there is a reason even for the suffering we're called to bear. In my heart I believe He hates me and has chosen to make me suffer because He is malicious. And that, let me tell you, is not a choice. I can choose to indulge it more or to rein it in; but the inclination is there, every day, every minute, no matter how I try to fight it. No matter how many times I pray for trust, or peace, or to discern His will. At this point all I can hope for is that some day I will stop being angry and bitter (hoping for a child some day is sort of an exercise in fiction at this point).
ReplyDeleteAnd I have thought a lot about what separates the hopeful from the not-so-hopeful. A lot. I don't have a lot of answers. I have some thoughts: there are a lot more "hopefuls" in the ranks of those who've been required to suffer less. People who've only been trying 2-3 years; who have never miscarried; who have not endured serious financial hardship for their treatments; who have never gone through a failed adoption. I have personally witnessed (in rare cases, with blinding clarity) some of those hopeful people get ground down until they almost resemble us. In most cases, all it takes is time and heaping helpings of suffering. Some significant component of that positive outlook must be composed of the lived experience that life is more good than bad. Present the person with very different evidence, and the conclusion may change. Related to this, I think that most of the hopefuls are carrying only one extremely heavy cross. For those of us who were already staggering along BEFORE the IF diagnosis (or who were slammed with that and another major burden at about the same time - here I'm thinking of serious marital difficulties, but there could be other things), how positive might we have been if we could have used all our stamina just to cope with the IF - and had the added benefit of a consistently supportive marriage and family? But this doesn't answer all of the questions. There are people who've taken a lot worse beatings than I have who continue to have a better attitude. With some of them, they're just sunny, and in this case I think the obvious explanation is drugs (and I'd like to know which ones). Some of them have a much more realistic grasp of the grimness of reality and are finding joy IN SPITE of that - these people I find much more sympathetic.
Some day I hope to be old and gray and not bitter or angry or resentful. Some day I hope to look at a mother with young children and have the thought that she didn't deserve them any more than I - never enter my head. Some day I hope I wake up every morning in a good mood, and never think about infertility at all. I have no idea whether that will ever happen.
And, sorry for the novel.
ReplyDeleteI'm in between you and your friend. I believe in God and I also believe that he has "a plan for my life". I, however, am bitter. I just can't help it! I also believe that no matter how much I pray or wish or hope to have a child, doing so does not equal a child. God's "plan" for my life may not include children and that sucks! Infertility has definitely rocked my faith. It has also allowed me to share with my church and let others know what it's like to be infertile and how hard it is (there's a link to our talk on my blog if you're interested). I wish infertility didn't exist, plain and simple! I'm sorry for your losses Jo!
ReplyDeleteReading this post, i think of all the time and energy I put into *trying* to think about my IF in a positive, or at least pragmatic state of reason. I tried to be Zen, I tried to at least be neutral. I just couldn't do it, at least not in any sustainable way. Even though I was not 'religious' by most standards, I did start praying a lot because I felt trapped inside my own mind and my own negative thoughts and my hurting heart and I wanted 'Some one else' to take over....I admire people like your friend who can really not let IF take over their lives....I was not one of those people. I get where you are coming from.
ReplyDeletei don't think being bitter means you're weak, i also don't think being bitter is something we 'choose' - do i want to feel like i do so often? god no, nothing could be further from the truth but yet i do and it's a burden i have to deal with and work through.
ReplyDeletethe difference between you and her? while yes she has been through a lot in her infertility journey and is yet to have a bub of her own but by the sounds of it she hasn't experienced loss, in the sense of a pregnancy/child - that's the difference. i believe once you've been pregnant and then lost that baby, it changes you completely, it stops you from believing in the most simplest of things and yes it can and does make you bitter - to have a child and to lose it, it makes you feel like a failure, like you couldn't protect him/her.
don't beat yourself up, i think your feelings are perfectly normal and understandable and i could have easily written this post.
xxx
People cope in such different ways, don't we? I also have moved away from the "perfect plan" philosophy, but at the same time, I don't feel alone in all this (and granted, I'm not fighting the fertility fight right now--that is one battle that is uniquely hard on the soul).
ReplyDelete