Missing...
I sort of hate to admit this, but I am sort of missing all the trying...
I am not actually missing the thought of raising children, but I am missing the nasty messy disappointing part. I guess I'm missing the hope.
I am still a frequenter of the TTC blogs. In fact, I didn't discover them until after we had stopped. And when I read of someone driving to the pharmacy to pick up a big bag of needles and PIO and serious drugs, I get a little wistful.
I remember so well our first and only IVF. Going to the big medical university pharmacy first thing in the morning, in the rain. I actually worked at the medical university, so I parked where I always parked and walked to a different building, further than my normal building. It was pouring, and I watched the ground the whole time, watching my feet splatter the water on the pavement (so that when I finally looked up I wasn't exactly in the right place - oops) and I was saying in my head, in rhythm with my steps "PLEASE.GOD.LET.THIS.WORK". I did not look in the bag all day, I kept in hidden under my desk, and I walked to my car alone at 5 so I wouldn't get any questions. When I got home I unpacked every last thing and it all seemed so promising, there was SO MUCH STUFF! How could it not work when there was so much stuff?
We went to the orientation for our IVF group, where they get all the people that are going to be trying IVF that cycle in a room and present all the information, and make them sign all the forms ("If there are leftover embryos, after the 1 year waiting period has expired, will you Donate, Store or Destroy them?" Stuff like that.) There were about 30 couples in the room and I looked around and tried to determine which ones would get to the various stages. There were so many chances to fail. You might not even get follicles to retrieve. You might get hyper-stimulated and cancelled. Maybe none of the eggs fertilize. Maybe some fertilize, but fail to split properly. Maybe they split, but don't make it to transfer. Maybe they transfer but don't implant. Maybe they implant, but end in miscarriage... We all knew the statistics, national statistics and the statistics for our clinic, a very good clinic. "Ha!" I thought. "I don't know who else will succeed, but WE are getting through every last stage and taking home a baby." I knew it, I knew that it would happen for us. KNEW IT, KNEW IT, KNEW IT. Even after the very grim slideshow that broke down our chances, the increased chance for miscarriage, etc. I KNEW. And I started feeling bad for the others in the room who would not be so lucky. I knew we couldn't all succeed, and I knew I was succeeding, so some of these people were going to be disappointed.
Maybe that is what I miss - The adrenaline high of Hope. I know that infertiles look at Hope wearily, call her bad names, vow to never let her in again... But Hope is like seeing the next wave coming toward the shore, maybe it will be the one that gives you the perfect ride. Sure, the last one sent you for a tumble, but this one looks perfect. And it lifts you up and you get that rise in your tummy and there is so much possibility in that wave. And the only way to find out if it is THE wave is to ride it.
Our IVF wave got us almost the shore before petering out in a very early miscarriage. It was all that we had hoped it would be. Almost.
Now, prior to trying IVF, hope was still there, but it felt worse, beat us up more often. Maybe because the prep for IVF is so extended compared to a normal cycle, the ride was longer. But still, when we were trying with Clomid and Tamoxifen and the other regular stuff, we pretty much had 2 weeks of gearing up to try, days of trying, 2 weeks of waiting, days of misery. We would see that wave of hope on the horizon and it would start to lift us up, get us out of the misery and ready for the next try, and build and build... until we crashed. But after years of this, even though I was still miserable for those days, I knew that it was only temporary, that the hope would return in just a few days and lift me right back up, I would be ready for another ride.
And small successes make Hope grow. Ovulated this cycle? Heap on extra Hope for next cycle. We were possibly never as Hopeful as we were after our first miscarriage. Not right away, of course. But there seemed to be so many reasons to be hopeful. We finally had proof that is was possible. We finally knew which drugs would make me ovulate. We finally had some reason to be hopeful. We were closer than we had ever been.
When you stop trying, Hope doesn't come back to lift you up, you have to figure out something else or just stay miserable. The thing about Hope is it isn't about now, it is about the future. I like Hope, I want to always know Hope, but Hope was always the center of attention when we were TTC, we were at her mercy, or we were disappointed in her, or we were cautiously embracing her. I still have Hope in my life, I hope that my family remains healthy, I hope my raise comes through, I hope they haven't really cancelled Dead Like Me, but it isn't the center of our lives anymore. Things are a lot more stable, fewer heart-crushing lows, but also less excitement, no rhythm of Hope crashing on the shore.
I am not actually missing the thought of raising children, but I am missing the nasty messy disappointing part. I guess I'm missing the hope.
I am still a frequenter of the TTC blogs. In fact, I didn't discover them until after we had stopped. And when I read of someone driving to the pharmacy to pick up a big bag of needles and PIO and serious drugs, I get a little wistful.
I remember so well our first and only IVF. Going to the big medical university pharmacy first thing in the morning, in the rain. I actually worked at the medical university, so I parked where I always parked and walked to a different building, further than my normal building. It was pouring, and I watched the ground the whole time, watching my feet splatter the water on the pavement (so that when I finally looked up I wasn't exactly in the right place - oops) and I was saying in my head, in rhythm with my steps "PLEASE.GOD.LET.THIS.WORK". I did not look in the bag all day, I kept in hidden under my desk, and I walked to my car alone at 5 so I wouldn't get any questions. When I got home I unpacked every last thing and it all seemed so promising, there was SO MUCH STUFF! How could it not work when there was so much stuff?
We went to the orientation for our IVF group, where they get all the people that are going to be trying IVF that cycle in a room and present all the information, and make them sign all the forms ("If there are leftover embryos, after the 1 year waiting period has expired, will you Donate, Store or Destroy them?" Stuff like that.) There were about 30 couples in the room and I looked around and tried to determine which ones would get to the various stages. There were so many chances to fail. You might not even get follicles to retrieve. You might get hyper-stimulated and cancelled. Maybe none of the eggs fertilize. Maybe some fertilize, but fail to split properly. Maybe they split, but don't make it to transfer. Maybe they transfer but don't implant. Maybe they implant, but end in miscarriage... We all knew the statistics, national statistics and the statistics for our clinic, a very good clinic. "Ha!" I thought. "I don't know who else will succeed, but WE are getting through every last stage and taking home a baby." I knew it, I knew that it would happen for us. KNEW IT, KNEW IT, KNEW IT. Even after the very grim slideshow that broke down our chances, the increased chance for miscarriage, etc. I KNEW. And I started feeling bad for the others in the room who would not be so lucky. I knew we couldn't all succeed, and I knew I was succeeding, so some of these people were going to be disappointed.
Maybe that is what I miss - The adrenaline high of Hope. I know that infertiles look at Hope wearily, call her bad names, vow to never let her in again... But Hope is like seeing the next wave coming toward the shore, maybe it will be the one that gives you the perfect ride. Sure, the last one sent you for a tumble, but this one looks perfect. And it lifts you up and you get that rise in your tummy and there is so much possibility in that wave. And the only way to find out if it is THE wave is to ride it.
Our IVF wave got us almost the shore before petering out in a very early miscarriage. It was all that we had hoped it would be. Almost.
Now, prior to trying IVF, hope was still there, but it felt worse, beat us up more often. Maybe because the prep for IVF is so extended compared to a normal cycle, the ride was longer. But still, when we were trying with Clomid and Tamoxifen and the other regular stuff, we pretty much had 2 weeks of gearing up to try, days of trying, 2 weeks of waiting, days of misery. We would see that wave of hope on the horizon and it would start to lift us up, get us out of the misery and ready for the next try, and build and build... until we crashed. But after years of this, even though I was still miserable for those days, I knew that it was only temporary, that the hope would return in just a few days and lift me right back up, I would be ready for another ride.
And small successes make Hope grow. Ovulated this cycle? Heap on extra Hope for next cycle. We were possibly never as Hopeful as we were after our first miscarriage. Not right away, of course. But there seemed to be so many reasons to be hopeful. We finally had proof that is was possible. We finally knew which drugs would make me ovulate. We finally had some reason to be hopeful. We were closer than we had ever been.
When you stop trying, Hope doesn't come back to lift you up, you have to figure out something else or just stay miserable. The thing about Hope is it isn't about now, it is about the future. I like Hope, I want to always know Hope, but Hope was always the center of attention when we were TTC, we were at her mercy, or we were disappointed in her, or we were cautiously embracing her. I still have Hope in my life, I hope that my family remains healthy, I hope my raise comes through, I hope they haven't really cancelled Dead Like Me, but it isn't the center of our lives anymore. Things are a lot more stable, fewer heart-crushing lows, but also less excitement, no rhythm of Hope crashing on the shore.
posted by Rooshie at 11:05
2 Comments:
Again, thanks for your blog, please keep writing! As much as I tried to avoid Hope, it was a constant companion during the past 5 years. Gone fleetingly, then back again, incrementally, until there was just no reason for her to be there any more. Although stability is a good thing in a life and a marriage, it is a tad boring after all the turmoil, isn't it?
I feel like my psyche is constantly waging a battle between remaining hopeful and fearing disappointment. During our more active cycles (we are now waiting for a lap scheduled for August 9th), I always appreciated the optimism that 2WW could bring. There was always the chance during those two weeks that I might have been pregnant. But, of course, the disappointment grew more and more devastating with each failed cycle.
Now that we are sort of "on the bench," I kind of appreciate the fact that I am not faced with another disappointing conclusion to another cycle. Although, I don't get to experience that hope and anxiously await the possibilities either.
I don't know . . . in some ways, I think it just feels good for me to get off the rollercoaster and stroll the boardwalk for a while instead.
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