no more grief to give

Honestly, I don’t know what to say here.  I’m really a broken record.  Most days I’m fine.

I have a half-written post about why I can’t move forward with treatment; it’s not the money, really.  It’s the failure.  I don’t have an ounce more of grief to give to failure.  I can’t be back in the black place right after a BFN or the even blacker place after a miscarriage.

Mr. Hope must know I still want more.  We don’t discuss it.  I’m scared to bring it up – it’s clear to me where he stands, upright and certain.  I however, cower in the corner, feeling guilty on the days when I want more, timidly happy on the days where she is more than enough.

I dared attend my clinic’s IVF reunion today, and it was probably a mistake.  I’m a failure among failures – it was a celebration of the fecund infertile – I swear to you I was the only one with a three year old, no bump, and no other babies in tow.  They all have stories, tragic I’m sure, but somehow I felt jealous in a way I haven’t been jealous in awhile.  I left and let the tears stream down my cheeks on the drive home.  I didn’t expect that.

It boils down to this:  I want another child, but it’s almost like I physically can’t take the steps necessary.  IVF, wonder that it is, has lost it’s gleam of promise for me.  IVF no longer entices.

I’ve yet to figure out how not to be momentarily breathless at new pregnancy announcements, and I still don’t know how I’ll ever brave selling or donating the baby things stashed away.  Or the crinone sitting in my bathroom.

I’m walking in the dark, it seems, and can’t quite get my bearings.

~ by Larisa on April 17, 2011.

3 Responses to “no more grief to give”

  1. “I don’t have an ounce more of grief to give to failure.”

    Oh boy, can I relate to that. I have my good days and my bad, too. Most of last week was fine, then a HS friend on FB posted pix of herself to announce her second pregnancy. Her first was a boy born not much before my son. That pang of jealousy and heartache came back like it was always lurking in there, just waiting for the right moment to come out. And then my next thought was, “Seriously? This crap again? Nu-uh. I don’t think so. Not going there again.” Many days I feel like I am more than happy to leave the IVF behind. Because as you said, the magic is gone.

  2. Please be gentle with yourself. It’s OKAY not to be okay with being done. You’re grieving your loss. And it’s not linear, or something that’s quick to get over, either. It’s deep and awful and heart-wrenching. And the one thing I’m learning about emotions is that you have to wade through the awfulness to really get PAST it.

    I’m wishing you more moments of peace and light than happiness. Even if it’s faint? Hold on to the moments of timid happiness. I HAVE to think that over time it’ll get stronger.

    Love, hugs, and most of all peace to you, sweetie.


  3. I’m getting ready to start trying for #2. I’m trying to be ok with a perfect #1. But as I wait for my cycle to start, all those old anxieties are coming back. It’s ok to NOT feel ok.
    I went to our fertility reunion on Sunday, too, here in Austin, Texas.

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