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>After my last post, I had to go out of town for a week. I do plan to keep posting, though, and it was encouraging to read your comments. Thanks! 🙂
I spent the week visiting family, which always leaves me feeling out of sorts. I love my family, but I really do so much better seeing them for 3-5 days than for a full week. I’m not really sure what I was thinking.
I’ve mentioned some of the conversations I’ve had with my mom about dealing with infertility – and I’ve said they never go very well. That’s still true, but she did remind me of an interesting point that I knew, but had sort of forgotten about. She’s said many times (although I think she forgets that she told me this, because she tells me each time like it’s a big secret she’s never shared) that if she hadn’t gotten pregnant accidentally (with me), she doesn’t know whether she would have decided to have children or not. She and my dad were married, but they weren’t trying to have children (and must have been trying to avoid it). I think she always feels a little bad when she tells me (although not bad enough to keep it to herself), but I am not particularly offended by it (especially since she’s told me this multiple times). She said after having me, it was easy to decide to have a second child, but she’s not sure she would have chosen to have children had she not become pregnant accidentally the first time.
I’m not entriely sure why she tells me this in relation to infertility. She may think it’s similar to my decision to not pursue treatment (which is SO not the same thing), or she may just be trying to explain that having children was never terribly important to her. To me, though, it demonstrates why it’s so difficult for her to relate. She had me when she was 24…I’m 36 now. She got pregnant accidentally, and I can’t have a child. She wasn’t sure she wanted children, and got them anyway, while I have had to decide how much I’m willing to endure to make it happen. I don’t think she can relate to my situation in any way, and my mom isn’t a very empathetic person in the first place. But, I try to understand where she’s coming from, and the fact that she keeps telling me about her unplanned pregnancy seems to contribute to her attitude.
It seemed like there were pregnant people everywhere while I was there, and I know so few people there without children. No one said anything insulting, but since they all know we tried to have children, they just don’t say anything at all. Last summer, my family and friends were excited that we were trying to have children (even though I explained we had already been ttc for a year!), so it was sort of depressing to be there again, a year later, with no baby or pregnancy. I don’t want to talk about infertility all the time, but sometimes, people’s silence is worse. Sometimes, a little compassion or even acknowledgement would be nice.
It was hard being there without M, especially. It’s easy there to get sucked into focusing on what I don’t have, instead of the things that make me happy, especially without M by my side. I hated coming back to work, but I was glad to come home. After living away from my family for so long, it’s hard not to feel like an outsider, and being childless doesn’t help. It feels good to be back in my own home, with my husband and my dog, focusing on what’s good, instead of what’s missing.
I saw this on a blog (unrelated to infertility) this morning, and wanted to share it. I think it was what I needed to hear (or read) after my week away.
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I was thinking this morning about what to do with my blog. I'll always hope for a surprise pregnancy, but I don't expect it. We aren't doing anything about it, and for the most part, we're ok with it. Sometimes, I have second thoughts and wonder if I should reconsider IF treatment, but I think my health, happiness, sanity, and my marriage need to be my priorities. I've thought about writing a post about why I feel this way, but I haven't found a way to explain it in a concise way yet. It's especially hard to explain without sounding like I'm judging other people's decisions, which I am definitely not. I may post something about it later, but I am still figuring parts of it out.
I still struggle with aspects of infertility and being childless, and I think that will always be true. I don't want to write about those feelings all the time, though, because at a certain point, it's like beating a dead horse. Right now, I have more questions and partial thoughts than anything concrete…which leaves my blog up in the air. I seriously thought today about just taking it down, and then I had an interesting conversation.
I think I mentioned before that one of my coworkers is pregnant. Her shower is in a few weeks; luckily, I have other plans and can't go. I don't know if I would have, anyway, but there was a lot of talk today about who in my office is going to the shower (very few). I talked to two women who I have written about before – who both never married and don't have children – and they mentioned how much they hate showers. One said that she dislikes both wedding and baby showers, particularly since she never had a chance to have either of them herself (although we all agreed baby showers are the worst of the two). I've wondered in the past how they feel about things like pregnancies and baby showers (or weddings), and it was strange to feel united over something that none of us can have. Theirs may be situational, but I got the feeling that the reaction is much the same. While dealing with infertility makes the impact more difficult at times (esp. after a recent failed cycle), they sounded a little like any of us who dread baby showers, in part because it highlights what we don't have. One of the women mentioned the amount of money she's spent on bridal and baby showers – and said it's something that will never be reciprocated. It made me wonder…wouldn't it be great if there was a way for it to be reciprocated? For everyone to be cherished and celebrated? (yes, there are birthdays, but it's somehow not the same)
I also got an interesting email from a good friend, and honestly, it was irritating. She's planning to start trying to have a child, and is involved in sort of a bizarre relationship with a non-committal man. She's had a lot of uterine/fibroid issues, so she isn't entirely sure how their ttc efforts will go. I don't really know what to think about her relationship, but that's not the part that bothered me. She started her email by asking how everything went with the dr. and my "ovulation tests." She said I seemed overwhelmed last time I saw her (which was a year ago), and wondered how it all turned out. She was asking mostly because she wanted to let me know that she may need to depend on me if she runs into any problems.
There are so many things about it that bothered me…I don't even now where to start. First of all, if she wanted to know how everything was going, how about asking? Second, if it had "turned out" ok, wouldn't she know that I was pregnant? I felt sort of like she was only asking for her own benefit, and while I understand, a little tact would have been nice. The other part that's frustrating is that I sent her a long email back about what had happened, how they didn't find anything wrong, how I tried Clomid, my insurance issues, and how I didn't really want to go any further with treatment, and she didn't even respond! She did, though, have time to post something on facebook, so it's not like she's too busy to check her email. So disappointing.
So, after my interesting conversations, I decided to keep my blog up, after all. I may not always have something good to write about, but I think there are enough reasons to keep it going!
>In April, I wrote about my hairdresser, and I wondered if she was ttc or dealing with infertility. I got my hair cut again yesterday, and she mentioned that she had to go the dr. for x-rays. She was telling me that she was mad because they made her get a pg test, even though she knew she wasn’t pregnant. She said that she had been married for 15 years, never used protection, and never got pregnant, so the chances of her being pregnant on that particular day were almost non-existent.
Part of me wanted to say, “I’m infertile, too!” but that somehow seemed so inappropriate. It would like saying, “I’m a runner too,” or “I also love that restaurant.” I felt like I should say something, but I was at a complete loss. She went on with her story, but I was stuck on the part where she said she had been unable to get pregnant. I almost wanted to make something up – a story where I could show that I could relate – but I just sat there. I wondered later what she thought – does she wonder if I’m infertile, too?
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When I first started ttc (with my ex-husband), I think I was 28 years old. Since I'm 36 now, that means that I could, technically, have a 7 or 8 year old. In fact, I have friends who have 7 year old children, who started ttc the same time that I did. These friends have had more children, and they are generally moving past their family-building stage. I have other friends who waited a while or got married later, and they started ttc more recently. I started ttc (with my current husband) before they did, but they, too, now have children. It was hard to deal with the friends who had babies recently, because I was back in ttc mode, but it's really the friends who had babies when I was ttc the first time that really freak me out. On one hand, it's a reminder of what could have been (although in all honesty, thinking about that just hurts my head, because of the idea that I would have had a lifelong relationship with my ex, whether we stayed married or not). On the other hand, though, I literally feel confused by the whole thing. I don't feel old enough to have a seven year old, so how can they? Where did the time go? One minute, I was newly married, and trying to have a child; the next thing I know, I'm infertile, divorced, remarried, dealing with infertility again, and trying to arrive at some point of peace over the whole thing! It seems impossible that so much time has passed.
I've spent so much time thinking about infertility for the past eight years that it really is a part of me. Sometimes, I have to think back to remember what it was like in those first few months, or even years, when it was so hard to come to terms with the fact that I didn't know if I would ever be able to have children. Going through infertility treatment with my ex was such a difficult time, but it seems like a lifetime ago. Even though my old RE eventually felt the problem was with my ex (which was obviously incorrect, since he now has a child and I do not), it took three or four years to come to that conclusion. Those years were long and hard.When I got divorced, I didn't have to deal with infertility, necessarily, but I did have to accept that fact that I was likely (or so I thought at the time, because I had no desire to be a single parent by choice and didn't plan to remarry) to remain childless. When M and I started ttc two years ago, I was hopeful, but I was guarded, too. I already knew that things don't always go as planned, and that not everyone gets to have a child when they want to. Two years later, with no answers and no baby, it's sort of like coming full circle…and so much time has passed.
At least this time, my marriage has remained intact, and I feel luckier than ever to have the husband that I do.
I was looking at an alumni newsletter today from my college, and I read a few birth announcements. As I read them, I realized that I'm older than all the parents listed there. At first, I forgot how old I am, and I thought they must be really young (I seem to think I'm in some kind of a time warp that prevents me from aging). As I thought about it, though, I realized they are 28 years old. They're exactly the same age I was when I first started ttc, in my first marriage. It's amazing how much has happened in the past eight years.
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There is so little going on right now in ttc-land it isn't even funny.
We spent a really nice weekend away with childfree friends, and I can't even say how much that kind of thing helps my overall well being. Between that and work, running, and general summer stuff, I haven't really been thinking at all about what we're going to do. Most of the time, I think about where we are now, and how we're affected by our inability to have a child. I notice us planning more for not having a child, with the disclaimer that we could always make adjustments if the unexpected happened.
I'm still reading a lot of blogs, though! I don't have a lot to say about my own situation at the moment, but I am still reading and commenting. I'm feeling quiet, but I haven't disappeared! 🙂
triedandtrying 