The Eternal Guest Room

I’m impatient.

It’s so hard to sit and watch so many people leave me behind. I want so badly to be moving forward, but instead I’m sitting in the same place, treading water, just waiting. The decision to postpone IVF was not an easy one, no matter the reasons, but it didn’t really drive me crazy until everyone else started theirs. And one by one, I watch them become pregnant. Not all, but enough to make me feel very alone. The closer it gets, the harder it becomes to wait patiently.

I’m thrilled for them. I truly am. But I wish I wasn’t still just waiting.

I’ve been attending my support group for nearly a year and a half. Next month, I’ll be on the fourth leader in that time. I’m wondering if I should have taken the group over myself, since that seeemed to work for everyone else. I’ve thought about not going anymore; people keep coming in and leaving with success, or at least undergoing treatments. It’s hard to be a bystander. I feel like I have nothing to offer.

I’m antsy. When we made our plan, we said “what’s a few more months after 4 years?” Now I feel like just one more month is going to put me over the edge.

People keep saying: “It’s so close! Just look how fast x y and z got here! October will be here before you know it!” And even though I know it, it’s hard to plod along every day. The days get longer the closer it gets. The rational voice in my head says “it’s so close – just keep your pants on, silly.”

But there’s the rational, and the other, and we all know who usually wins.

It’s all so unfair.

Most people have it so easy. They decide they want to have a baby, and BAM – they try a month or two, pee on a stick, get the ok from the doctor, announce it on facebook, and have a perfectly healthy 9 months with a perfectly healthy baby at the end of it. Then they usually complain about how uncomfortable it is to be pregnant and how hard it is to have a baby and what a tough thing it is to be a parent.

But it all happens so easily for them.

And then there are the rest of us. Nothing is easy. We try for years. Some of us never have success. I know women who have been trying for 5-10 years with nothing. I know women who have had 5 or 6 rounds of IVF fail.

And then there is – in my opinion – the worst thing; trying for a long time, finally having success, and then losing the baby.

Obviously, any miscarriage is terrible and painful and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, but I think there is a special kind of hell that those women feel who have tried for so long and wanted it so much, and then get it, and then lose it.

A girl in my support group had success from a frozen embryo transfer (FET) after a failed IVF. Then she developed preemclampsia, and the only way to cure it is to deliver the baby. So they induced her with no hope for the baby’s survival. She was 20 weeks along – far enough past the scary first trimester but not far enough to have a viable baby.

It isn’t fair. My heart breaks for her and her husband. I barely knew her, but I’ve been thinking about her constantly. She tried so long that she was out of hope, and then she got a miracle, and now it’s gone.

It’s hard to believe in anything at times like this.

Why is it all so unfair?

After my last post I realized I hadn’t been totally clear about what our plans are. So here is The Plan.

At the beginning of September, I’ll call my doctor to find out what is the best time frame for IVF. I’ll have to have another diagnostic hysteroscopy (not the surgical one) to make sure I don’t have any more polyps. If I do – god forbid – I’ll have to have surgery. Or jump off a building. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.

Assuming everything looks good, we’ll start IVF in October or November. The whole process takes about 2 months, so the actual transfer (putting embryos back in) would be either in November or December.

Then.

If – god forbid – IVF does not work, we plan to move, presumably in the Spring (April-ish). I say “plan to” because I know how plans fall through and life happens. But right now it’s nice to have a back-up plan. Life has been on hold for far too long and we’re ready for a change – one way or another. Moving would be kind of a “consolation prize” and gives us something to look forward to just in case we need that. Kind of like when we went to Mexico for my 30th birthday since I wasn’t pregnant by then (wow, that was 2.5 years ago…depressing).

If – yay! – IVF does work for us, we still plan to move, but the “when” would depend on life. We would really have to sit down and weigh the pros and cons of moving with a kid on the way; thinking about costs, insurance, jobs, life, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

We want both – moving and a baby – but right now we want a baby more than we want to move. So we may put moving on hold. Or we may not! But that’s a bridge to cross when we (hopefully) get to it.

So that’s the plan. And hopefully that answers everyone’s questions. Because I know you’re all just dying to know exactly what my life plans are.

I recently had a dream that I took a pregnancy test and there were 2 pink lines. They were so vivid and the dream was so real that when I woke up I still felt like it had really happened. I woke up and thought I was pregnant.

Then I realized it was dark and I was lying in bed and I realized that it was just a dream.

But it felt so real that I felt like I had actually lost something. D could barely get me out of bed when it was time because an overwhelming wave of grief was weighing me down.

I’ve never seen two lines. I don’t know how that feels, to look down and see that and realize what it means. In my dream I was happy, and excited, but still in disbelief. I wanted to run out and tell everybody, but I was afraid to, because I knew the lines could go away.

Mostly, though, I was happy. D was there, and we were happy together, both staring at the lines, and overjoyed at what they meant.

It felt so real that I thought about peeing on a stick when I got out of bed, but I knew that would be a waste (way too early, and every other one has been a waste so far anyway). I went through the day quietly, remembering, tearful. I hadn’t felt such a strong sense of loss in a long, long time.

Most days, I do ok. But some days are still soul-crushingly hard. Sometimes having dreams makes it harder.

Since it’s been nearly a month since I went to Atlanta (and since I’ve blogged), I guess it’s time to write about it. I would have done it sooner but I’ve been so busy that the thought of figuring out how to size the photos correctly just made me push it off “one more day” – a lot of days.

It seems surreal that I went. We drove from Dallas to Atlanta on a Friday and from Atlanta to Dallas the following Sunday. The event itself was short – I think we were there for about an hour and a half. It was really focused on families, to the point where I almost felt out of place being childless, but luckily I was mostly prepared for that. It felt like most of the people there had already “resolved” their issues and had children (or were about 2 weeks away from popping one out). There were also a lot of groups – people who knew each other and had formed teams and had matching t-shirts and everything. And I got the feeling that most people were from the Atlanta area, although that’s just a guess (but I think I’m right). So in some ways I felt kind of like an outsider, which was not what I was really expecting, and I didn’t meet or even talk to anyone, which I had figured I would. But then, a lot of that probably has more to do with the fact that I’m really shy and am not good at meeting people.

So, I say all that not to say it was bad, but it wasn’t really what I pictured (though I really wasn’t sure what to expect). We waited around for awhile for things to start, and then they kicked it off and had several people speak – people who had gone through infertility, organizers of the walk, and some other people (it was a month ago, my memory is a little fuzzy). They did a butterfly release for a long-time doctor who had recently passed away. Butterfly releases are always a little funny to me – the butterflies have been asleep, then suddenly they’re shaken out of their box/envelope/whatever and wake up to fly (or hang out on the ground, or on people, etc.). But I like the sentiment behind it.

After people spoke, we lined up and walked around the park. People kept asking me “how long is the walk?” and I said, “um, like less than a mile.” They were picturing something like the long breast cancer walks, I’m sure. But it was super short, because a lot of the people there were either pushing strollers, walking with young kids, or carrying an almost-born baby. So we walked around the park, and my mom and I talked some, but mostly walked, and I thought about why I was there and what we were doing.

Quite a bit of money was raised for the Walk, and I’m guessing quite a bit of Infertility Awareness was raised as well. It was empowering to actually be doing something. I feel so much that I’m just sitting on my hands waiting for things to happen. This was a time when I could actually participate in something that hopefully makes a difference. I thought about the people who cared so much about me, and the people who had donated money to Resolve on my behalf, and I felt so humbled to have that kind of support. It’s not easy to be so open about this stuff but it’s worth it to feel so much love and support and I feel so much less alone. I may not have many any friends at the walk, but I have so many amazing friends and family members that are rooting for me, I have everything I need.

I’m glad I went. It was totally worth the 26 hour round-trip drive to be there for two hours and walk less than one mile. It also meant so much to have my mom there, walking by my side, supporting me and showing that she cares so much about me and what I’m going through. We had a wonderful day in Atlanta, going to places we used to live and doing things we used to do when we lived there.

I knew I was a little bit crazy for making this trip in the middle of the incredible busyness of my life right now, but it was totally worth it.

I took a few pictures and they’re pretty bad, but I wanted to have something to show you.

Part of the route:

Listening to speakers before the Walk:

The starting place! I liked the butterfly balloons:

A sign so we wouldn’t get lost on the walk:

Balloons:

In some ways I feel like I should say more, but I’m not really sure what to say. I’m so glad I was able to go. I just want to say THANK YOU to all of you who donated money – I am really touched by that, and it means so much. I appreciate everyone’s support, not only that but just the emotional support. It truly means more than I can say. You guys are the best.

Leaving for Atlanta in 6 minutes!

Well…something like that.

It’s Friday the 13th and we’ll be driving through rain, floods, and tornado disaster areas. Wish us luck.