Love To Give

Elaine wrote a post about the children of others and her comment to my comment completely moved me. I wrote that I wanted children because I wanted to raise them. Then I listed three typical activities that come with parenting but aren't exactly glamorous or anything. And she pointed out to me that not only did I want to raise my children, I wanted to love them. It's such a seemingly small thing to say and, in retrospect, so obvious. But Elaine gave me a gift. I know I am still navigating the occasional fogginess of the post-acute stage of recovering from infertility without children, and she gave me some clarity. And for me, with clarity comes a little bit of peace.

Thank you Elaine.

I wanted children because I wanted to love them.

I have a lot of love to give.

***

And on that note, I have something beautiful to share with you. It's part of the latest quilt that I've been sewing for the past two months. Who knew working with fabric would give me such joy? 💜

This is Hard

the isolation
the uncertainty
not knowing when it will end
the waiting
feeling stuck
so many worries
financial stress
logistical problems
healthcare concerns
diminished cognitive capacity
slower to process
emotional
exhausted
scared
sad

This is hard, but it's not entirely unfamiliar.

Do those who have suffered from and survived traumatizing loss have a psychological advantage when it comes to enduring a global pandemic and all of its repercussions?

I don't know.

It's one thing to experience infertility and the loss of my children and motherhood on my own in my own life. It's another thing to experience such jarring life interruptions/disruptions/devastation on a global level.

I don't have anything earth shattering to say. I'm not even thinking clearly. I cried a lot this past weekend. And I'm doing fine. I'm staying home. I'm healthy, my needs are met, and I am coping with my stress decently well. But still... It's a lot.

And yet, it's familiar.

This is hard. 

Another Weird Anniversary

I had another anniversary of sorts this week. As of this week, I've been legally divorced for a year. It's crazy to think about ending fertility treatments just 5 years ago, selling our house 4 years ago, and now... I'm divorced.

I loved being married and then overnight I knew it wasn't a good marriage for me.

Except it wasn't overnight of course.

He and I had a long history. Love at first sight, dated? Friends for a long time, stayed in touch off and on, reconnected, dated for real, loved each other, got married.

But we didn't live happily ever after. Well, not together anyway.

I knew where I was compromising, but I chose to get married anyway. I wanted him to be the father of my children. I loved him and I loved being married. But it wasn't easy. I was lonely a lot.

First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes infertility. I will always be thankful he was there for me. He did everything I asked even though, like most people, doctors' offices were one of his least favorite places. He sat with me who-knows-how-many times as I cried. Then we made new plans together and worked toward completely changing our lives.

But then, over a matter of months, everything changed. The closer we got to moving out of state, the more unexplainably angry he got. When it came down to it, I don't think he wanted to move as much as he/we thought he wanted to move.

He was the man I married, the man I chose to be the father of my children. When our children never came, it turned out he and I actually wanted very different things out of life. While my marriage got me through infertility, my marriage did not survive infertility.

There were several arguments leading up to me leaving him. The first one was bad, but I chalked it up to the stress of moving. The second one was also bad. It was only a month after the first argument and it really made me think. The third argument... Honestly? I went to bed. I was so tired and so sad. But I was also so, so over it. I knew I was done.

In a way, I did know almost overnight. It sucked and I didn't want to leave him, but I also didn't want to stay married to him. I knew I'd figure it out, one step at a time. I knew I'd survive getting divorced. 

Over the course of deciding to leave him, telling him, separating our stuff, dealing with the paperwork, and seeing him for the last time, I felt every single emotion possible. Except regret.

Now it has been a year. And we are in the middle of a global crisis. And all I can think about is how crazy everything is and how relieved I am to be divorced. I'm infertile and I'm divorced and I'm content. It's weird. Infertility and divorce refocused me. I know what's important to me in my life now. Infertility and divorce took all of my fucks. I have none left to give.

On the surface, I am currently anxious and worried. This pandemic and all of the changes it's causing are extremely stressful. Everything is at risk- our health, the economy, social norms, life as we knew it.

But deep down, I also have a hardened resolve. I may hate what's going on, but I'll get through it.

So here's to a year of divorce and to the gratitude I've cultivated for life's hardest learned lessons.

Sometimes Things Suck

This pandemic sucks. It's stressful; it's scary; it has caused massive unemployment, illness, and death; and it has disrupted every aspect of society. I know you already know this. Wherever you are reading this post, the virus is affecting your country, your livelihood, your life.

And I feel like I'm surrounded by people living in alternate realities.

There's my family's world, which is full of funny videos and memes shared over group text.

There's my school district's world, where they think online instruction is actually happening.

There's the people with kids' world, where they are all jokingly yet desperately hopeful that everything will be back to "normal" in time for summer camps.

Then there's my world, where I am mentally preparing for the worst. I cannot sympathize with parents complaining that they are at home with their kids all day. I have no illusion that my students are learning at home under this stress and lack of structure. I am not laughing at anything about this pandemic.

This pandemic drastically changed how we live our daily lives. I am worried. I am angry. I am sad.

And it's not unlike my experience with infertility. My family made light of it while the rest of society just assumed that, since I dreamed of raising children, I'd follow the norm and become a mom eventually, one way or another.

No. Sometimes there is no "normal." Sometimes things just suck.

💜

Thinking of everyone.
Stay safe, stay home.

My 5th Survivor Anniversary

This week marks five years. Five years since my last treatment didn't result in pregnancy.
Five years since I decided to stop trying to become a mom and start changing my life.

5 years, 4 addresses, 3 jobs, 2 (and a half) years of graduate school, and 1 divorce later...

I am happy.

Or at least I was. Until a couple of weeks ago.
Now I feel anxious and uncertain.

Which brings me back to five years ago...
So many unwelcome feelings of today take me back to the darkest years of my life.

*****

I am a survivor.
I survived infertility.
I survived all of its trauma and devastation.

This is an important anniversary for me and it is all my own. I do not share it with anyone. Nobody even knows about it. Nobody I know is aware of this pivotal date in my life and nobody I know can relate to my loss. Except you all. You all know my grief and my strength. Thank you.

I've written about my survivor anniversary every year I've had this blog:
My 2nd Survivor Anniversary
My 3rd Survivor Anniversary
My 4th Survivor Anniversary

*****

In terms of today and this point in time, I am at a loss for words right now.
As we all know, sometimes there are no words.

Although this post is shorter than in previous years, the message is still the same:
We Are Survivors.

Using My Tools

I learned a shitload from my experience with infertility.
And that is how I'm coping during this pandemic.

Now that I am living my life after infertility without children, I know the following:

• I know life disruptions can be devastating. Life does not go as planned. Big plans, little plans, I now count on nothing.
  
  
• But I don't let this keep me from living my life. I keep living and planning. I just don't believe plans ever happen until they are actually happening.
  
  
• Disease does not discriminate. (Ok, I *knew* this previous to experiencing infertility, but there is no knowing something like going through something.)
  
  
• I can be easily motivated by fear. However, I can remain aware of my panicky feelings, but I do not have to act on them.
  
  
• There are things I can do to manage my mental health. For me, these things include maintaining a regular sleeping schedule, showering every day, doing something productive or helpful, and organizing, writing lists, or doing something creative no matter how small.
  

We will get through this.
We don't know what the other side will look like yet, but we will get through this.

Dealing With My Body

I write this as I recover on the couch, still feeling a little foggy from the anti-anxiety medication my doctor prescribed me for my appointment/procedure today. (Yes, I had a ride home. I definitely wasn't allowed to drive after that pill lol.)

This time went better than the last couple of times. I keep getting bad test results so the doctor keeps wanting to try and get more information, but to say that my body doesn't cooperate during the procedure is nothing new to me. This time wasn't as painful, but the doctor was honest and told me she might not have obtained the sample she wanted.

Invasive exams make me emotional. It is not in my control. I saw the same doctor for my whole womanhood until I moved out of state, and she knew me and watched me grow up and was with me through everything. This doctor is new to me. But today as I unnecessarily apologized for my tears and stated how embarrassed I was she said, "It's okay. I know you now. You have nothing to apologize for or be embarrassed about."

(I think my strong emotions took her by surprise the first time I saw her. But hey, I know I'm a very sensitive, emotional patient. It's what makes me good at my job at the hospital. I can really empathize with my patients. In fact, I told my doctor that I got a job in acute care and that I could really relate to my patients and she said she could see me being really good at my job. Thanks for the validation, doctor! Always very much appreciated.)

Anyway.

So how long do I want to keep going on like this? Going in for biopsies every six months?
It's not exactly convenient or cheap or easy on me.

Maybe I'll get some good information from today's procedure. Even if I don't, I will move forward with making a decision on whether or not to have surgery this summer. Whatever I do, I know I will make a thoughtful, informed decision and that's what gives me comfort.