We began this chapter four years ago. Our wedding night - May 23, 2015. We tried. We wanted it, wished, planned and dreamt and paid (physically, emotionally, financially) for it, but try as we might, we couldn’t make it happen.
When we first began - it was hopeful and exciting and just an amazing dream that we were certain might take some time because we were older, but would surely happen. After a year of “trying” on our own - we began the doctors appointments, the treatments, the drugs, etc. etc. Slowly, steadily the doubt and the fear and the unsettling reality began to creep in. This might be a lot harder than we thought and it might not happen. It invaded our private and most intimate time - it began to consume our thoughts, our conversations, our sacred spaces. Like an insidious shadow- the slow death of our happiness and joy, the foundation of our marriage cracking, the bank account dwindling ... it just took over. Infertility.
We tried four IUI procedures, they failed. We tried a cycle of IVF - we got one embryo, but it wasn't a "good" or "viable" embryo. We decided to try one more cycle - financially it was all we could do (and even that was quite a stretch) - we got three embryos that time, but none of them were viable. Hearing the news was like a punch in the gut so hard you just hit the floor. I was sitting in the parking lot at work - ready to start a new day - and when my husband called I could hear it in his voice - it was bad news. I went in and did what I needed to do to leave - in a fog and through blurred eyes and choking on my own words - I managed to tell my boss I had to go and my coworkers that I was leaving. I still wasn't quite sure how I was going to drive home...but I did. I drove myself home and laid in my bed and cried and cried. I wrote, I cleaned, I prayed, and I meditated. I waited for my husband to come home and we spent the weekend crying and breaking down. We spent the weekend in sorrow and doubt and worry and fear...but somehow we got up.
As with every ending, there is a new beginning. This is where we are now. The slow re-build. The acceptance of the new "us." The us that is even more committed to making a great life together. Not that we wouldn't have been if we had gotten pregnant, but there's a deeper sense of urgency now. We may not be parents, but we will be damn good partners. We will be even better partners and friends than we were before. We have begun to look at ourselves closer, at our decisions, our interactions, our day-to-day lives and see - where can we improve and do better?
For me, it means freedom to pursue new passions and new endeavors. I had put so much on hold for the procedures and the appointments and the thoughts of "when I'm pregnant" or "when we have a baby"....and in some ways there is a freedom in knowing it's over. Knowing we can live our lives - the chapter has closed and now it's time to write a new one. We want to travel, we want to fulfill our "bucket lists", and most importantly we just want to love each other better and live our lives fuller. In some ways it's a good thing to at least know that it's "over" and that we can get off the "maybe someday" or "maybe this time" roller coaster.
In other ways, there's sadness. Deep and unbearable sadness that could swallow us whole if we let it. The death of the dream of parenthood and all it entails. My husband keeps saying, I wanted to meet him or her, to know what he/she would have been like. It hurts. There's anger, bitterness, questioning, and this horrible knowing that you cannot fix it or change it and you have zero control over it. However, majority of those feelings, for me, have subsided and now I'm just trying to deal with the pain and the sadness and figure out what to do next?
Those of you who have been through this kind of journey know it's an all-consuming thing. That, for me, has been the worst part of it, it has taken over our lives and we have nothing to show for it. Some people at least got to say, oh it was all worth it because now we have our baby. We don't. That makes it even harder for me. I kept saying oh this will not be without purpose. So now, I want to find purpose in this struggle. To learn what it had to teach me and to move beyond it, to a new chapter.
There will be those who will want to tell us to "keep the faith" and "hold on to hope" or "it could still happen", and maybe it will and maybe this is just the end of the interventions. I hope they're right and that I'm wrong in feeling the finality of everything.
Either way - this is the surrender. The acceptance of what is and sitting still in that and not letting grief completely take over.
What we need right now is to be loved and cared for. What we need now is continued prayers and positive energy and acceptance. We need for others (and more so for ourselves) to accept that this is where we are. To love us without condition. We begin again.
