this is my blog

I’ve done a lot of thinking. I’ve written assorted posts in my head over the past month while I wasn’t actually writing.

I need to write. It’s not a resolution exactly, but I’ve decided I will write – either here, or on paper more often.

I’ve thought for entirely too long about this post. About what this infertility experience is for me – for J.

It’s so big. It’s not wanting a car or jewelry or an expensive vacation and whining about not being able to afford them. It’s my life. It’s the life I’ve pictured in my head for a long, long time. And it’s not about the baby – it’s about the slow, painful death of a family. No – the family didn’t actually exist – but the idea of the family – the idea of first days of school, spilled red drinks on my carpet, piano recitals, sleep-overs, soccer games – the pictures in my head are almost tangible.

The desire to reproduce and to have a family crosses cultures, class – all of it. It’s this essential part of our lives that we take for granted.

If I’d gotten pregnant the first month we started trying, we would have a 21 month old or so. We’d probably be trying for our second child. Or maybe I’d already be pregnant. And our lives would revolve around our child and children to be.

Instead, my life revolves around that idea of our family. And the fight to make that idea a reality.

My therapist has helped me see how this process is about loss and grief. That not only am I allowed to grieve it as such – but that I should grieve. Each failed cycle, each failed procedure is a little loss that marches us closer to the big loss – the loss of that family.

I’m not saying it’s the same as losing a loved one. It’s not. But it’s huge. It’s losing my own life – my quality of life – the life I value – step by step. Yes, we will get through this no matter the outcome. But we have to grieve each step if it fails.

And I have a right to be angry. And frustrated. And sad. And depressed. And scared. And resigned. And jealous. And bitter. And guilty.

These are the emotions I write about. These are the emotions I need to spill onto paper or onto a computer screen. They don’t define me; they define this infertility experience for me. And if you can’t read about it, fine. This blog isn’t for you. It’s for me.

The happy days – that’s easy – no need to vent about those.

All of this will pass some day. We will not be “in the trenches” forever. And maybe we’ll get the outcome we want. It’s that perpetual human ability to hope that keeps us here in the fight.

But I’m still allowed to doubt and cry and whine.

~ by Larisa on January 2, 2007.

13 Responses to “this is my blog”

  1. Can you see me nodding?

    The grief is monumental. It will pass, but the only way is through.

  2. Beautifully written, Mrs. Hope, and something I’ve been thinking about a lot. I think you captured it perfectly. Let’s hope there are some happy days ahead that you don’t need to vent about, but are excited enough by to share anyway.

  3. Yay to that! This is your place to vent, cry, laugh and even ignore. This is our place to offer our cyber shoulders and feel like we are not alone. People who dont like what you say can just go away. I hope this year brings you all your hopes and dreams.

  4. Hear Hear. So well written.

  5. You write beautifully. I’m glad you’ll be writing more (whether here or on paper).

    IF is a process that has so many levels of mourning… one’s age doesn’t really come into play — it’s ugly whether we are 29 or 42 or 70. It’s sad that some of us are too bitter to really understand that.

    Nicely said, Mrs. Hope.

  6. You’re right, we won’t be in the trenches forever, but some days it sure feels like it! It’s OK to cry, doubt, and whine all you need to.

  7. I LOVE THIS! I totally agree with you and feel your pain. It kills me to think about NOT being a family. I was thinking about that word over the holidays. Everyone said the word family about everything. Do I have a family? Are Grumps, Itsy and I a family? It is hard and painful.

    I was also thinking how I would have a 3 year old if I had gotten pregnant when I first started. SICK!

    You let your blog be your place to just be.

  8. I echo your sentiments. This past year was all about me and taking care of my family – which right now is me and my husband. And honestly, this next year will be more of the same.

    I look forward to the day when we both have made it to the other side.

  9. I echo your sentiments. This past year was all about me and taking care of my family – which right now is me and my husband. And honestly, this next year will be more of the same.

    I look forward to the day when we both have made it to the other side.

  10. What a wonderful post! You captured everything I have been feeling recently. I hope that 2007 will bring much success and happiness for you.

  11. Wow, you go girl. I know you don’t mean to be, but this post was so inspiring. Wow. It makes me want to cheer for you even more. I hope you don’t mind that I still read your blog. You are such an amazing person.

  12. I’m 39. Unmarried. Most of my friends have kids and really wonderful, funny, smart, loving spouses. I love being a part of their families, my own immediate family being rather distant and removed and my mother deceased.

    I have friends who have been unable to conceive, and one who, after having one child, will not be able to have another.

    Of course, I would like to have a loving partner, a family, of my own. I too have cravings to carry a child. These cravings exceed my body and feel like an aura; they generate a cloud of desire for a little life (lives?) to nurture and nourish and guide to happiness and success and love.

    I think I will continue to read your blog a little more so I can try to understand a bit more about the years-long struggle to conceive.

    Most of the people I work with have kids. Most of those kids, amazingly, are adopted. My company pays a portion of adoption expenses. I don’t consider this for myself because I wouldn’t want to raise a child by myself (if my mom were alive I’d possibly reconsider this).

    I guess I’m writing because I felt sad reading your blog and I wonder how I would be if I had a good life, a loving husband and family to which I wanted to add a baby that came from my womb? Now that I am 39, I realize that I may meet the love of my life after my child-bearing years have mostly passed. I feel a deep sadness at that, yet I look forward to meeting my love just as much, and I get excited at the thought of adopting a child (children?) if that should come to pass.

    I truly wish you and your husband love, happiness, and joy in your future family. Thanks for writing.

  13. Ouch, just read more and saw that you and your husband have had three attempts at domestic adoption. I had only read two of your entries and didn’t see this part of your blog..

    My best and warmest wishes to you and your husband for a successful 2007. May your dreams come true!

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