The beginning of the end of this blog happened during the bloodbath miscarriage. It was a seat of the soul shaking event. I didn’t have any serious hope after bleeding in that way that my body would ever successfully carry another pregnancy. Something is wrong with my uterus – something that doctors don’t really know how to fix as they don’t fully understand what’s wrong. Hopefully, someone will figure it out for the women who come after me. I hoped that subsequent cycles might work; I knew in the depths of my being that they wouldn’t. It’s just one of those things.
The end of the end of this blog? The failed attempts at gestational carrier. I remember everything about the day we first heard my dear friend’s lining wasn’t thickening as expected. I remember tears at the edge of my eyes, I remember my doctor trying to explain how he wasn’t worried, and I remember knowing – that deep sense of knowing – that we were done. Out of hope. No more hope to hold.
I am so lucky. I got BabyHope. I am so unlucky. I’ve had more strange, unlikely, nearly impossible things happen to my hopes and my body in this infertility journey.
I want another baby. I may always want another baby.
I am still infertile. I will probably always identify as infertile.
But I can’t write here anymore. I have to live here and now – not holding on to hope for the impossible. Maybe I’ll start fresh somewhere else, with a different purpose and a different audience. I intend to leave the blog up. All those strange and impossible things will maybe yield some hope to someone in the darkness.