The Problem With IF Blogs....

...is that, eventually, most of them turn into pregnancy blogs, and then parenting blogs.  I know I'm not the first blogger to write about this phenomenon, but its been circulating a lot in my brain lately.  Perhaps its the slew of personal anniversaries I've had in the past month, perhaps its the plethora of pregnancy announcements and births that seem to be ricocheting around the blogosphere as of late.  Whatever the reason, I am finding myself deleting more and more of my familiar blogs from my reader, and seeking out new ones.  The problem with new ones, of course, aside from all the little things that come with getting to know a new bloggy "friend" is that most of the newbies are just that -- new.  They are alternately full of enthusiasm or despair -- both of which I can relate to -- and yet neither of which resonate with me much any more.  I am full of tired, and have more than once found myself sighing "been there, done that" and clicking on.

I joined ICLW last month in hopes that it would bring me some new blogs, and it did.  I even gained a few new followers (hi, there!).  But even that list seemed heavy with pregnant or parenting-after-IF blogs -- much more so than in years past.

We've now surpassed that looming milestone that's been hanging like an albatross for the past 12 months.  We have -- unsuccessfully -- tried to conceive for a decade now.  Ten years TTC, six years post-diagnosis, four years of treatments, three years of blogging, two years since our first loss, and still no partridge in our pear tree.

The numbers keep swirling in my head, over and over and over again.

120 cycles without contraceptives.

10 months of Clomid.

4 IUI's.

2 IVF's.

1 FET.

3 miscarriages.

0 babies.

I'm exhausted.  I want to keep plugging along, but I just can't seem to find the energy.  I need a hit of adrenaline, something to keep me motivated, because honestly?  I've lost sight of the light at the end of the tunnel. I'm beginning to think that we are living our life on repeat -- playing the same song over and over and over again.   Am I destined to keep chasing the unattainable forever?  Will what I want always remain just ahead around the corner -- right out of arms reach?

Or will this finally be the year that I can make that transition myself -- from IF, to pregnant or parenting?

If only I could see what the future has in store, this would all be so much easier to bear.

I'm Not Done

Today was our third day of foster/adoption training.  Like the previous two days, it focused mainly on fostering.  I think we've had a grand total of 45 minutes of actual discussions about adoption.  Which makes for a long day, full of (what I hope) is irrelevant tragedies and horror stories.

Like the previous two days, I left feeling frustrated and overwhelmed. This time, though, my frustration is directed more at my fellow attendants and our instructors than at the system.  It makes no sense, I know, but that's honestly how I feel.  EVERYONE in our class has children.  One of our instructors today has FIVE children (all bio-babies) under the age of 7.  He made some lame joke about "who knows how many kids we'll have under the age of five in the next five years."  I literally wanted to throw our training manual at him.  I know that DHS is not known for their sensitivity training, but surely we're not the ONLY infertiles they have encountered in their line of work?  After today, though, Mo and I certainly feel as though we are.

There is nothing like spending the day in a room full of holier-than-thou fertiles to make you feel as though you are stranded on an island, way out in the middle of nowhere.  If one more person tells me that I don't know what I'm in for, or that I should enjoy my childless existence while I still can, or even that it's all part of God's plan, I think I am going to scream.  I actually walked out of the room for a while this afternoon, choosing to take an unauthorized break rather than lose my marbles.

The ride home was full of mutual venting.  We will power through, given that there is just a half-day left, and who knows?  The right situation might still present itself.  But more and more I am starting to believe that the only way to have the family I want is to continue with treatments.

We can't afford an agency adoption.  I'm not willing to gamble on IVF again (though Mo said, once again, that he is).  All I want is a baby, or two, with just the normal amount of heartache.  Is it wrong to want a family that isn't in recovery mode from the moment it is formed?

Fostering is a wonderful, selfless and generous act.  Someday I hope to be in a place where I can do it.  But tonight, all I want is to come home to my own babies, tucked safe and sound in their beds.

It's a dream I've had my entire life, and despite ten years of setbacks, its the dream that just won't die.

Closure

Mo and I attended a funeral yesterday.  We weren't close to the deceased (it was the father of a co-worker), but I was still amazed at the emotions that it raised in me.

It was the first funeral I've attended since the death of my father-in-law, nearly four years ago.  So, of course, it brought that back, and all the ensuing madness that followed.  But, even more than that, I found myself thinking of our babies.

When my FIL died, we had yet to conceive, despite seven years of TTC.  That loss was by far the closest in proximity to a loved one I had ever experienced. (I lost my dad's parents in childhood, but we didn't live close or see each other often).  And it struck me yesterday that I've experienced three traumatic losses since -- and had no funeral for any.

Because, really, it's not appropriate.  No one hold a funeral for a 10-week-old fetus.  But why?  Do we not grieve the loss of our babies the same way (though maybe not the same magnitude) that we grieve the loss of our parents?  A funeral gives people a chance at closure -- though the pain isn't going to go away any time soon, its a chance to be recognized as having a legitimate sorrow and to be held up by those who love and care for you.

With miscarriage, we get none of that.  We may get cards, or FB posts, or emails of "I'm sorry."  But the legitimacy of our loss is often questioned, and a quick recovery is expected.  Whereas everyone recognizes the grief process when a funeral is held, people wonder why we're so sad after a pregnancy loss.

I tried to express all of this to Mo on the way home, and then felt horribly guilty.  "I know it's not the same," I cried, "because your dad was a real person and...."

He cut me off.

"Our babies were real," he said.  Quiet, sincere.  "I miss our children, too, you know."

It was exactly what I needed to hear.  Society may never give me the closure I need to move on, to find my life without our biological children.  But my husband?  He gets it.

And really, that's all I need to know.

 

Training Recap

It's taken me a week or so to fully process everything that happened last weekend.  I want to document our adoption process in the same way I've written about infertility -- which means sooner rather than later.  But the emotions that our first two classes brought to the surface were much more difficult, and complicated, than I ever imagined.  

The training itself was long and intense.  The program we are working with condenses 13 weeks of classes into two weekends.  So, we had 16 hours of fast-paced, gut-wrenching instruction (10 one day, 6 the next) that focused mainly on the struggles faced by foster parents.  It was so much harder than I expected.  The first night, I cried in the car on the way home, needing desperately a cathartic release of a myriad of emotions.

I am overwhelmed by the needs of these children and their birth families.  I am frustrated by my own inability to have a family.  And I am angry.  Angry  that it is so hard for some of us, and so easy for others.  Angry that some people are unable to care for their own children, and put them through such horrible experiences that can't help but scar them for life.  I don't understand the universe, despite trying to make sense of it all.  I don't know that I ever will.

I want to help.  I want to be a sea of calm in these children's rocky lives. At the same time, I am looking for MY forever family. We were repeatedly reminded last weekend that our role as foster parents would be to care for someone else's child.  That's not what we're looking for -- we are looking for OUR child. .  It sounds selfish, but I don't want to "compete" with an older child's birth parents.  I want to be my child's mother -- I just don't have it in my heart to support the conflicting loyalties experienced by a child who has been traumatized by neglect or abuse, and yet who (quite naturally) still longs for his or her birth family.  I want my babies to be mine -- whether I've birthed them or not.  Does that sound awful?
 

Last weekend just confirmed that we are rock-solid now in our preference to not foster, a decision I know many won't understand.  I totally support the need for foster parents and for reunification efforts.  Birth parents need education and support, children need a safe place to stay.  If at all possible, children and their families need help to return to a healthy state.  Many of the other couples in our class are excited to help make that happen. We just....can't.  Maybe its the years of working in poverty schools and seeing day-in and day-out the results of neglect and abuse.   We're just not in that place right now where we want to deal with all the struggles that come with fostering -- sharing parental responsibilities, the emotional ups and downs, the prolonged waiting, the back and forth with the courts, etc.


The best part to come out of last weekend was the chance it gave Mo and I to talk about our future plans.  I am so, so, so grateful that we are still on the same page.   We are going to continue the training (just one more weekend!) and leave ourselves open to the right adoption situation should it come along.  We're not entirely sure what that looks like, but we are getting more and more clear about what it does NOT look like.  And that's a start.

As we talked, Mo also brought up (of his own accord!) the possibility of going with DS.   It's a secret thought I've harbored for months, but I've been hesitant to broach it with him while genetic children were still an option.  I had planned on bringing it up post-final-FET.  I was so relieved to hear him say he's open to the idea.  He said that he didn't want to deny me the chance to be a mother.  I've done more research lately into Embryo Adoption also, but was surprised to find out how expensive it can be.  Mo even offered to do IVF again -- but my heart isn't in it.  It is all too much -- too much money, too much time, too much emotional upheaval to risk on another miscarriage.  I think I could do DS -- IUI's are so much simpler, though a loss would still be difficult to digest.  Still, it would answer the question of whether or not I am even capable of carrying a pregnancy.  So, we have options.  And I'm glad -- because the more I learn about foster care and adoption, the more terrified I become.

It's been a really, really, really long time -- but I think its similar to how I felt when I first realized we were battling infertility.  Though IVF was a long way off (I had no idea HOW long), I remember thinking: "What if THAT doesn't work?  If the be-all, end-all in treatments leaves us childless?  THEN what?"  I couldn't wrap my 24 year-old brain around it at the time.  And yet, six years later, I'm as nonchalant about IVF as any other seasoned veteran.  It's a process, one that can only be tackled one step at a time.  I have a strange suspicion that adoption will be similar, and I hope that when I look back on this journey, it won't be nearly as scary as I imagine it to be.

Raw

Yesterday was our first foster/adoption training class -- and the two year anniversary of our first loss.  I didn't think anything of it, until we were fifteen minutes into the introductions and I started bawling in a room full of strangers.  I was the crazy overly-emotional infertile amidst a sea of fertiles.  Seriously -- twenty couples, ALL of whom had multiple children, except us.  I tried to introduce myself in the same casual way that they did.  I just....couldn't.  I can think about our losses without losing it.  I do it every single day.  But, apparently, I still can't talk about it.

Grief is a sneaky bastard, hiding behind those seemingly innocuous conversations and startling you with its sudden severity. Like a wound that has scabbed over and yet not quite healed -- the bleeding has been stemmed, but its still painful -- raw, even -- to the touch. And if you shake it too hard -- or god-forbid begin to pick at it -- it can bleed just as freshly as the day it first occurred.

A New Year, A New Mantra