I feel guilty even writing this post. So many of you have so much more tragedy, so much more weight to bear. I’ve only been riding this roller coaster for 16 months. I’ve only got 2 failed IUI cycles under my belt.

But I feel like I’m sinking. Like I’m lying in wet sand, letting my body dig deeper and deeper until I disappear. All I wanted to do today was stay in bed and never move again.

I remember this feeling about 3-4 months after Sean died. The first few days, weeks, and months were so overwhelming, I can hardly remember them. I remember wondering if I would ever be me again. If I would ever be happy again. The answer, two years later, still isn’t clear. I’m more me than I was immediately after, but I’m not the same. I’ve been happy, but it’s been short-lived and somehow bittersweet.

I ask myself the same questions now as I obsess about fertility or infertility or sperm or eggs or IUIs. Will I be me again? Will I be happy again?

Why today? Maybe it’s the Clomid talking. Maybe it’s the holidays looming on the horizon. Maybe it’s nothing at all.

I want to be me. The me before any of this happened. I don’t want to learn to be patient, I don’t want to learn to sacrifice, I don’t want to learn to accept things the way they are.

If I close my eyes and try to imagine the future, I don’t see it brotherless, I don’t see it childless. How will I ever reconcile those images with reality?

~ by Larisa on October 27, 2005.

7 Responses to “slipping”

  1. Oh Mrs. Hope,

    Hon- Don’t negate your pain. The time after my second failed IUI was probably some of the worst times ever for me. I had lots of days of FORCING myself from bed, and hating every obligation that made me live in the world.

    I didn’t want to go out.
    I didn’t want to socialize.
    I didn’t want to plan for the future.

    In short- I wasn’t me. I spent several nights literally in the corner of my bedroom, on the floor, weeping and rocking myself. Once, after getting the news from my in-laws that J’s bro. had conceived #4, I handed the phone to my husband and as soon as he left the kitchen, I hid crouched down by the dish-washer and sobbed silently so he couldn’t hear me in the other room.

    Hang on. I thought it would never work after -well- it not working over and over again.

    And yes. It IS the clomid. I hated that crap. But I hope it delivers you from this hell.

    Hang on.

  2. So sorry, Mrs. Hope. It really could be the Clomid. I think it has a cumulative effect. By the fifth or sixth month I took it, I would be in a crying mess on the floor within minutes of taking the pill. It’s truly evil.

    Thinking of you.

  3. I’m voting for Clomid too. One of the cycles on it sent me into a tailspin depression that lasted for months. I was a few days away from being ordered to take meds by my therapist. Hang in there. I’ve had days where I forced myself out of bed too. What helped get me through those days was to set one small goal to accomplish (like getting up, or taking a shower). If I got that done, I could feel a little bit good about accomplishing something. It sucks, but we’re all here for you.

  4. I agree, don’t negate your pain. We’ve discussed this in various places over the last few months, and it is true that I feel more terribly sorry for Susan (holding pattern) given where she is now, than I do for others who haven’t yet started IUI, but that doesn’t mean that YOUR pain is real to you and feels just as lifethreatening and awful. You feel what you need to feel, and ask for the support you need. That’s what we, and your husband, and your family (hopefully) are there for.

  5. I think it’s a combination of the clomid – which made me literally ill (aside from just overwhelmingly emotional) and the fact that well, this SUCKS (royally, I might add).

    There are still times when I become overwhelmed with it. We’re thinking of you, and wishing you all the best.

  6. Mrs. Hope Dear – I’m so sorry you are in so much pain. I agree with Dramalish – don’t negate your pain. All of us who have delt with IF have felt that way. I too remember days where I would just melt onto the floor, curl into a ball and just cry.

    I can’t say that you will ever be the old you. IF does something to us, something to our soul. But you will be happy again. Some how, some way, you will be happy.

  7. All we can do sometimes is just hold on. To what, I’m not sure… cry hard as long as you need, sometimes it’s all that one can do. I don’t know what it feels like to be on clomid. It does not matter what the protocol is, the length of time we’ve been ttc, how much loss or pain we’ve endured — all of us are heartbroken. All of IF hurts.

    You’re in my thoughts.

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