My 9th Survivor Anniversary

Wow. Nine years already? It's so true: the days are long, but the years are short. 

My first IVF failure was definitely the worst of all of my failed treatments, but my three IUIs and second IVF sucked too. You just put so much into the process. Time, money, hope. Driving to appointments. Bloodwork. Ultrasounds. Facing your fears and giving yourself injections. Facing your worst nightmare and not knowing how to get through it.

And for what?

To feel more empty and broken than before? 

I was completely lost nine years ago. For 35 years, I knew I would be a mother. I'd get pregnant and have kids. If that didn't happen, there was IVF or adoption. Something would work out.

I was wrong.

Being childless not-by-choice shattered my beliefs. It interrupted and completely derailed my life. It destroyed the perfectly reasonable future that I had planned.

Now what. 

How was I going to deal with this and what the fuck was I going to do with the rest of my life?

I didn't know.

And now, nine years later, I know: I'm gonna change careers, get divorced, move a bunch, and buy a house. I'm gonna discover a new hobby I love, love the spot where I live, appreciate the jobs that I have, and start to feel the peace and contentment I deserve.

But back then I didn't know. I was devastated, depleted, lost, sad, lonely, isolated, and clueless.

I'm not even saying anything in this post really. I'm just reflecting on my 9th survivor anniversary and how I felt back then and now. And my 9th anniversary means next year will be my 10th anniversary. A whole decade. What feels like many lifetimes. 

Back then it was year 2015. Think about that. How much has changed in the last nine years. How much the world has changed, society has changed, and we have changed. It's been so nearly insurmountably difficult. All of it. But daaang the resilience. That I have. That we have. 

I am so proud of us.

Photo retrieved from https://www.istockphoto.com/photo/purple-flower-growing-on-crack-street-soft-focus-blank-text-gm896570168-247562291

Not Building, Just Living

I can rest now. I'm not trying to get anywhere or become anything. 

I am no longer building, no longer creating a life I want to live.

I'm just living it.

I've said it a million times, but it's still true. I am very, very tired. And very, very thankful. I am grateful I got out of where I was and got to where I am (both geographically and emotionally).

I just felt such a sense of urgency many years ago. I knew I had to grieve, but I also knew I had to start working on changing my life. I knew I couldn't go on "living" the way I was.

And that brings us to today.

I don't have kids, and now I don't want kids. I wanted kids. Very badly. But that didn't happen for me. I gave my all to trying to conceive. I didn't know it would leave me with nothing, preventing me from pursuing adoption at the time. I was always completely open to the idea of open adoption. I worked for an adoption and foster care agency for several years. I got great training and felt like I knew what was up. 

But I didn't know the debilitating pain of infertility.

It paralyzes you and destroys you but leaves you alive.

So, yeah...

It was quite the devastation to my life. And I couldn't do anything about it.

But I couldn't do nothing either.

Which brings us back to today again.

So much is over. The last month, the last ten years. So much is done. You'd think I would've rested today. But instead I moved some storage tubs into my storage closet. It's a part of my healing. The decluttering of my home.

But overall, I'm gonna rest by doing less. I'll still go to work. And I'm getting back into my research. Plus, I've got several quilts in progress. But those are all things I chose to do. In this life I created.

Image (pennant banner for sale) found here. 

IVF Failure Mentioned in a News Story

This news story isn't about IVF failure, but failed treatments are mentioned in the first sentence.

This CNN article is about a couple that moves from the United States to Spain. Yes, their move happened after IVF failed and they reevaluated their lives. But really, the article is about the couple's cost of living being more affordable and their work-life balance being easier to maintain. 

It's another example of how moving can change the quality of one's life. 

But then the end of the article touches on involuntary childlessness:

"While the couple still sometimes struggle with the prospect of not having children, Luban, now 53, says they feel 'too old now,' adding that while they previously looked into adoption, 'the process seemed to be a nightmare, financially and otherwise.' 

'And it was such an emotionally (and financially) painful experience to try and fail, we couldn't go through it again,' he adds, stressing that they have 'no regrets.'"

*****

And now I want to take a trip to Spain...

(Picture from a hotel's blog post about the best tapas bars and restaurants in Ronda)

An Unexpected Conversation

I had an unexpected conversation recently. I don't even know what I want to say about it. Maybe I just want to share that it happened.

I was talking to someone I've met in the last couple of months. I knew she had two kids but didn't know their ages so I asked. (They are 2 and 7 if you were curious, but you probably weren't hahaha.) I was a little surprised that her oldest was 7 because she (the mom) looks so young, but she went on to say that she had her daughter at 18. Oh, okay, that makes sense.

She asked me, "What about you? Do you want kids?"

And I simply said, "I can't."

She probed further and I inexplicably did not mind at all. 

She said, "Why not?" And then apologized saying something like, "Sorry, I know it's not any of my business, but I'm asking anyway."

I actually laughed out loud at her approach and said, "My eggs are bad." She looked confused. I told her, "I waited until I was 30 to start trying and apparently that was too late for me." (Technically, I waited until I was 32 but I remember just saying 30 to her.)

What she said next was predictable: "Well, there's always adoption."

I simply said, "I tried that. I tried everything."

She looked at me with sadness but no pity (I don't know, I can't explain it, that's just how it felt) and said, "That's so sad." I agreed. I said, "It is sad. Thank you."

And then somehow we easily moved from that serious conversation to more light-hearted chatter.

I felt seen and heard by her, and I don't often get that from fertile women.

Still Thinking About Jennifer

It's been a week, but I'm still thinking about Jennifer Aniston sharing that she experienced IVF failure. It's so punk rock of her. We are not the norm. Well, unfortunately, maybe we are... But our stories are not the normative narrative. 

What a relief it was to read a celebrity's story of a happy ending without a baby. Not only did Jennifer validate our community, but you know she gave a lot of comfort to women across the world who are experiencing involuntary childlessness without a supportive community.

It was this quote that resonated with me most:

“I would say my late 30s, 40s, I’d gone through really hard shit, and if it wasn’t for going through that, I would’ve never become who I was meant to be,” she says. “That’s why I have such gratitude for all those shitty things. Otherwise, I would’ve been stuck being this person that was so fearful, so nervous, so unsure of who they were.” She finishes her smoothie and reaches out to Chesterfield. “And now, I don’t fucking care.”

I am not the same after IVF, and I am not the same after IVF failure. Things that used to terrify me don't scare me like they used to. Oh, I need a shot? Well, I used to give myself shots for days. My marriage sucks and my husband has been ignoring me for years? Welp... So I said goodbye to my financially secure lifestyle and lived by myself 1,000 miles away from anyone I knew. 

I'm still anxious. I still have fears. Just not as much. After losing my lifelong dream of motherhood, there's not much else major left for me to lose. Of course, I am extremely thankful for the good health that I do have, and I also know that can change in the blink of an eye. But I also know I can get through anything.

I had a surprising conversation with someone about Jennifer Aniston this past weekend. For some reason I asked one of my boyfriend's sisters, "Did you hear that Jennifer Aniston had failed IVF?" Her immediate comment should not have surprised me. She immediately said, "Well, if she really wanted kids she could've just adopted."

My reaction surprised me. I was so... Nice. Lol. I validated her and said, "You would think so, right? I mean, that's what most people think. You want kids? Just adopt. But unfortunately, it doesn't work like that. First of all, IVF is awful. It really wipes you out, not just financially, but emotionally. I had failed IVF and there was no way I could've ended treatments and just jumped into the adoption process. It wouldn't have been the right thing to do for anybody involved in the situation, not for me or any child. Also, people don't realize how many years it can take to adopt and that it's not even guaranteed. So you can go through the process for years and still not become a mother."

Then her comment surprised me.

"Oh, I never thought about it like that."

Let that sink in for a moment...

I. Never. Thought. About. It. Like. That.

Bless her. Bless my boyfriend's sister. Not only did she listen and receive my message, she allowed her own thinking to change because of it. Most people are so invested in their own opinions and aren't open to change. But one little paragraph of my thoughts and my boyfriend's sister gave me the gift of understanding.

"I never thought about it like that."

And maybe that's what this interview with Jennifer Aniston is doing around the world--making people think differently. One thought at a time.

Happily Ever After

Two recent occurrences reminded me that my life is not an acceptable narrative to some people.

I wanted kids and I don't have them?
Well, it must be my fault. And I'll never be happy without them.

No and no. But I refuse to explain anything to satisfy someone's fleeting questions about my personal life and trauma. It took me years to get where I am today physically, emotionally, spiritually, socially, and geographically. Why should I and how could I possibly satiate their curiosity in five to ten minutes? Especially when my life doesn't have the "right" ending for them.

Instance #1

A co-worker questioned my decisions about adoption and foster care. Regardless of the fact that she barely knows me and knows nothing about my own experiences with adoption and foster care, she not only asked if I had thought about either but she also seemed to pass judgment on the fact that I had done neither. Gross. I just briefly said something along the lines of, "Adoption is a lot harder than people think and the primary goal of foster care is reunification of the biological family." 

"Yes, but, if you really wanted kids..." (Yes, she really said that.) 

I'm done with conversations like that, with people like that. I wasn't there to correct her. We weren't in an educational or therapeutic setting. We were at work where such personal discourse is neither appropriate or likely to be well received. "Yes, but..."

No.

Or rather, I think I gave a dead end, "Hmmm..." out loud.

Conversation over.

Instance #2

My mom asked me if I wanted a Halloween box this year. I'm so glad she asked. She likes to send holiday themed boxes throughout the year. Not to my sisters and me. But to my niece, nephew, and me. It always makes me a little sad because I know she would be sending them to my kids. I like the candy, but I don't know what to do with the little toys and holiday trinkets. 

This year she asked me if I'd like one or if she should give mine to the little girl down the street. I immediately texted back, "Give it to the little girl down the street! She will love it." I also said those boxes always make me a little sad so it's okay to always give them to the little girl down the street. I wasn't sure how my mom would react, but I wanted to be honest.

She wrote back, "I miss sending them to you! But I understand. Phoenix, we love you more than life. You aren't too old to adopt, especially a toddler or a preschooler."

😑

First of all, I think it's weird that she formally addressed me by name in a one-on-one text message. But secondly, I AM too old to adopt. That process takes a long time and, as we all know, it isn't guaranteed. However, thirdly, and most important to me, it is not the responsibility of a baby/toddler/preschooler to make me happy! Putting that expectation on a child is unfair, twisted, and cruel. And I feel like that's what people are saying when they say, "Just adopt/foster!" Adoption and foster care can be extremely wonderful, but they involve very complex issues involving many people's lives.

This is not up for discussion. Definitely not with co-workers. And apparently not with my mom. I'm tired of explaining it to people who don't listen. Why can't people accept my life as it is? I do.

I did not reply. I never brought it back up and neither did she.

Conversation over.

*****

That sucks. Five and a half years after ending fertility treatments and I still get questions and assumptions thrown my way. I understand I'm in a population that's misunderstood and not often talked about, but that doesn't mean it's my responsibility to educate everyone at every encounter. Especially if it's a waste of my time or leaves me feeling drained. 

Not everyone's story ends with motherhood.
But I know you all know that. 

I've been sharing my most private thoughts here for the past four years so I know you all know that I've been working hard, both through grief and also through moving, grad school, divorce, and starting a new career.

It annoys me when I feel like people question my life without children. It makes me mad when they assume that their idea for me to foster or adopt a child is easy, a solution, and something I haven't already put a great amount of time, thought, and research into. I don't like it when people don't let me have my ending to my own story. 

*****

I endured years of infertility. 

The adoption agency I decided on went bankrupt. 

I used to work for a foster care agency and have had extensive training on trauma-informed caregiving strategies. I would have needed an equally committed partner to engage in foster care. My ex-husband did not have that desire or skill set and that was okay and perfectly understandable to me. 

After wanting to be a mother for as long as I could remember, I realized I was not going to be raising children in this lifetime.

Since I didn't have the life I wanted, I decided to want the life I had.
I decided to create a life I wanted to live.

So after taking full advantage of what it had to offer (e.g., in-state tuition, opportunities for clinical rotations), I moved out of the city like I dreamed of doing. I embraced all of the changes, expected and unexpected, that came with that. And I graduated, passed the board exam, and now practice in my new profession. 

I love it. I spend my work days helping others. I live in a warm home with good food and a great boyfriend. And after a lifetime of searching, I finally found my medium as an artist: quilting. 

It may not look like what others expect for me, but I worked hard to create this life for myself.

I like my happily ever after. 

(Picture from The Paper Bag Princess, Story by Robert Munsch, Art by Michael Martchenko, 1980)

Tired (literally) of Sharing My Story

I may never share my story in detail again. I might, but I might not. I'm just so tired of how it always ends.  It wears me out and often makes me mad.

Last week I decided to share the fact that it's not by choice that I don't have children to a very sensitive, empathetic, and smart woman I have come to know. She also happens to not have children as well. I thought she would get it. Or even if she didn't get it, I thought she wouldn't say anything stupid.

I was wrong.

I shared with her that I had always wanted children, I had planned my whole life around having children, I had bought a beautiful house for my children, and then I didn't get to have my children. I said I tried everything and nothing worked. I described it as traumatizing and shared that I was still recovering from it all. That, in a way, I would always be recovering from it. Grief is not linear and it doesn't necessarily end.

She asked, "Did you lose a baby?"

I hate this question. I hate hate hate it. It makes me feel like others think my loss isn't as big, isn't as meaningful, isn't as important, isn't as devastating and life changing.

I told her, "It's not that I just didn't get to birth my babies. I also never got to conceive them." And then to clarify I added, "I didn't have a miscarriage; I just couldn't ever get pregnant."

And it didn't end there. If it had ended there, that would be one thing. But she went on.

She asked, "What about adoption?"

I haaaaaaate being asked this.

I usually say I tried that too and it didn't work out and leave it at that. But I was having an open, in-depth conversation with this woman and I trusted her, so I decided to educate her a little bit. I shared how long I researched adoption agencies, how I finally found one I wanted to work with, and then (thankfully before we had invested any time, money, or hope) they went bankrupt. I told her how I couldn't do it anymore. I informed her how adoption has changed a lot over the years: how society has changed (for the better) and that single mothers are not as stigmatized and often receive more support from their families now and so there are not as many newborns available for adoption as there are families wanting to adopt. I told her how international adoption laws have changed, making international adoption much harder, if not impossible for some countries. I shared some of the ethical issues that arise with adoption. I shared with her how both of my sisters tried to adopt. One had a failed placement, while the other never received a placement after years of home studies, interviews, money, and waiting. I told her the average wait for adoption was at least 4 years and that I had aged out of the process according to my own preferences. (I added that other people may choose to be older parents, which is fine, but it's not my choice for myself.) I told her that I knew people who tried to adopt for many years and never became parents. I ended by telling her, "Not everyone who wants to be a mother gets to be a mother." And, by then, I was totally, completely, and absolutely exhausted.

She did reply with, "It's not fair that there are people with so much love to give and they don't get to have children." So she got it. She really did listen to me and everything I said, understood it all, and took it to heart.

I don't regret sharing my story with her. She is a kind, wise woman. But if one of the kindest, wisest women I know still asks me about pregnancy loss and adoption, I really don't have much hope for others. And I'm just tired of answering and/or deflecting those questions.

I'm just so tired of it all... So, it is quite possible that I may never share my story in detail again.

Talking to a Fertile Woman

I don't talk about infertility very often with other people, especially not with people that have kids. Yesterday I made an exception. I was hanging out with a friend and one of her friends. I had met her a couple of times before and really enjoyed her company. I felt fine saying things around her, so I spoke freely without guarding what I said. What I mean is infertility completely changed my life and I wouldn't be back in school nor would I be moving if life had gone as I had hoped. But I'm so used to censoring myself around others that I do it without conscious thought. However, when I feel like I'm around "safe" people, I feel like I can speak honestly and openly without editing my experiences.

This woman is in an interesting spot. Her relationship of 20 years is rocky. Her son is almost finished with his 10th grade year of high school. She shared with us that she spent most of the last two decades being a wife and a mom. Now she wasn't sure her marriage was going to make it and she knew her son was growing up and would be out of the house in two years. She was wondering what she wanted out of life, what she was going to do next.

It seemed to make sense to share that, although our situations were different, I was in a similar position several years ago. I told her I wanted kids my whole life but when it became apparent that it wasn't going to happen for me, I got extremely depressed and thought "Now what." Like her, I didn't know what to do with my life.

I felt safe in speaking honestly. I didn't feel self-conscious. My only concern was that I hoped my comparison didn't bother her at all. I mean, I have a secure relationship and her lack of one is one of her current struggles. But I thought that maybe the fact that she did have a child and I didn't, that it balanced out our circumstances. Thankfully, she didn't seem offended or bothered or anything.

But she did almost immediately say, "What about adoption?" To which I replied, "Tried that."

(I've posted about this before, but when I say I "tried" adoption I did not get very far in the process at all. After extensively researching agencies I found one that I wanted to work with. Then they went bankrupt. It shook my confidence to the core. I didn't know how I could trust another agency after the one I had spent so much time looking into had just left so many families hanging--no child and now no money. Plus, that was the last little bit of energy I had. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't live in limbo and, after all of the heartbreaking years, I couldn't keep trying to parent anymore.)

I shared with her that adoption wasn't as easy as everyone thought. That a lot of things had changed in society, which was good, and it was no longer shameful for women to be single mothers. That adoption was very expensive, that it was a very long wait, that it wasn't guaranteed, that there were more people wanting to adopt than there were babies available for adoption, and that I knew more people who had tried to adopt unsuccessfully than had been successful.

Without pause she asked, "What about surrogacy?"

At this point I looked at my friend and she and I exchanged looks. This friend knows everything. She was my rock during the years I was going through it all. We've had many discussions about the weird things people say to me and the questions that I'm asked. Also, this friend doesn't have children and understands the pro-natalist bias of society as well.

But my friend's friend wasn't being rude. I didn't feel an ounce of judgment from her. I felt like she knew I wanted to be a parent and it was almost as if she wanted to fix my problem for me. But I also didn't want to explain myself or educate her any further.

I said, "No. We're not going to do that. The whole situation is closed now and I've moved on with my life." The woman accepted this and didn't ask any more questions.

I think she was just genuinely curious and I was the one who brought the whole topic up by being forthcomingly honest. I could tell I was in such a different place compared to years past because her questions didn't anger or hurt me. But they did reinforce the idea that fertile people just really have no idea. They do not understand the toll infertility takes at all.

Don't Count on IVF or Adoption

That's what I would tell myself if I could go back in time. I wouldn't change anything. I would still make all the same choices and stay on the same timeline and everything. But at least I'd know. At least I'd have a heads up that IVF and adoption don't always work out. Silly me, I thought everyone who wanted kids could have them, one way or another.

Five failed fertility treatments and one bankrupt adoption agency later...

I know differently.

I always wanted kids. But I always wanted kids later. I watched both my sisters get married young and have kids. They were happy thankfully, but I remember always thinking: I want my own apartment first.

So I don't have any regrets. I don't wish things had gone differently. I am actually extremely thankful. With the support of my family I got to go to college. Once I graduated and got a job, I got my own apartment. It was everything I had hoped and more. It was in a great location and it was back when I feel like things were more affordable and my friends and I had a lot of fun.

I don't regret any parties. I don't regret any late nights. I don't regret drinking beer, living off a diet of french fries and pizza, having boyfriends, going to smoky clubs, and eating greasy food and cake at two in the morning. It was fun. And it was exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to work hard at my job, volunteer somewhere, and have fun with my friends.

I worked with kids and I wanted kids, just not yet. I hadn't begun dating my husband yet. It just wasn't time. And that was fine with me. I've been known to worry about almost anything, so yes I worried about infertility way before it ever even needed to be on my radar screen. But I always thought, ok, worst case scenario and I face my worst nightmare, there's always adoption and IVF.

I thought they were guaranteed.

I didn't know if I ever wanted to try medical assistance, but I knew I didn't need to birth a child for me to love him or her unconditionally. I know how much I cared about the kids I worked with and they didn't live with me. I didn't read to them or take them to baseball practice. I didn't hold their hand when they were sick. They weren't my kids. But I knew any child that was ever placed in my home would be my child.

Except, of course, that never happened.

These are not the kinds of things I want to talk about when people probe further after they've asked me if I have kids. "Have you thought about IVF?" "Have you thought about adoption?"

No, I haven't. What's that?

(I really want to try that answer out sometime. If you do, please let me know how it goes. I would love to hear.)

No, I wouldn't change anything about my life. Not the bad times or the hard times or the boring times or the making mistakes times or the really really tough lesson times. I'm thankful for how it has unfolded, for the choices I've made and mostly for good luck.

I just wish I knew that IVF fails 70% of the time. That a lot of women have done a lot of treatments and have never gotten pregnant. That it's not easy or affordable. And that it's not this fool proof solution that I thought it was.

And adoption. I didn't realize... So many things... Adoption has changed over the years. Overall, I think there are more people wanting to adopt than there are newborns available for adoption. Also, I've had a lot of different jobs over the years and the time I worked for a foster care agency really informed me of the complexities of foster care and adoption. Plus, the agency provided me with great training about working with trauma-informed children. That was and still is my most favorite job I've ever had, but it wasn't easy. And I got to go home to a quiet, stable home every day to recharge for the next day.

So, in one of those hypothetical "If you could go back in time and give yourself one piece of advice, what would it be?" situations, I would tell myself: don't count on IVF or adoption.

I would encourage myself to live my life just the same. Work hard, be nice, have fun, volunteer. Make all of the same mistakes and choices. All is and will be well.

Just Don't Count On IVF Or Adoption.

Work In Progress

I never thought I'd get to a point where I'd be okay. I didn't think it was possible. I would envision a future where I wasn't the mother I always thought, planned, and dreamed I'd be and I could not picture myself ever being happy without children.

I'm glad I was wrong.

I've actually had lots of moments of happiness over the last year or two. :)

*****

It's crazy how fast things can change.

A year ago I was still trying and hoping for a miracle baby. I was playing Murphy's Law; I figured going back to school would guarantee I'd get pregnant.

Well, I didn't. And I needed to stop falling apart every month when it didn't happen. It was killing me. So we began using contraception again. Weird. And relieving.

And I'm okay.

I don't go to baby showers. I can't be a part of other people's pregnancies. And I'm not going to start a friendship with someone my age with toddlers.

But I moved out of the house I bought for my children. I sold that house. I shredded, recycled, trashed, and gave away everything (except a few onesies and the pictures of my embryos) that had anything to do with trying to conceive, infertility, fertility treatments, and having and raising children. And I had a houseful. So many things. So much stuff. So much paperwork.

Something I haven't written about, but when our last IVF didn't result in pregnancy, I thought long and hard about what to do next. I was deciding between pursuing adoption and going back to school. I felt like I was running short on time with regard to everything. I obviously chose to go back to school before pursuing adoption. I did not know if it was the right decision overall, but I knew it was the right decision then and for the moment. I needed to grieve. There was a hole in my heart that no child could fill, and I needed to heal from that first. It was an incredibly difficult decision because adoption is a long process and I'm not getting any younger, but I knew I did not have the energy for it at that time.

So I moved and went back to school. Which I keep writing about over and over. But it was so major. And it's been three steps forward, two steps back.

That metaphor comparing grief to an ocean or whatever is correct though. At first, the waves are nonstop and you don't know if you're ever going to breathe again. Then slowly, so slowly you don't even perceive it in real time, but very slowly, the waves slow down. They keep coming. But there's a little bit of space in between them. And the space in between the waves continues to grow.

And then I learned the adoption agency I had chosen years ago filed for bankruptcy.

Wait.

What.

Excuse me?

After lots and lots of research over the years, I had chosen an agency. And it no longer exists. First and foremost, my heart aches for the families that were in the middle of the process with this agency when they filed for bankruptcy out of the blue. Secondly, there went my plan for adoption. I felt really thrown and my counselor validated these really strong emotions that I didn't even realize I was feeling. I knew I was done with fertility treatments and now I was done with adoption before it even started. With that agency anyway. But, really, overall... I'm not going to research any more agencies. I know how hard it was to find that one I liked. And look how they turned out.

I am not going to parent. I've known for all of 2017. And I've been processing a lot.

And I'm okay. I'm sad. I'm happy. I'm thankful. I'm irritated. And I am okay. Most days.

I still talk about it a lot, at least a comment every day probably. I'm really thankful that my husband continues to listen. Healing from infertility is really hard for me. But I'm doing it. It's not a passive activity. Or maybe if it is, it takes longer. I don't know. I just needed to do what I could about a situation where I could do absolutely nothing.

Lifelong dream of being a mother denied?
Ok, what's next?

*****

It's been so hard. And I'm afraid I'm just rambling.

I think I wanted this post to be about one thing and it ended up being about another. :)

*****

I'm a work in progress.
I'm doing okay.
And I'm so glad I was wrong and that life can get good again.