A Weird Conundrum

So, something I am noticing that I am struggling with: I am starting to get on with my life. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I am getting over not being able to get pregnant – that remains a nice little black cloud in my psyche, but I am starting to see it more as a distant storm instead of an ever present shadow. As I am able to actually focus on the good things in my life, I have a weird sensation like i’m cheating on my unconceived, unborn child. Like somehow being able to build other positive things in my life is doing a disservice to the dream of having a biological child. I think it’s associated with the general grief experience, but it’s an interesting aspect. It’s like somehow if I can move on, if I can build a positive and fulfilling life without having imprinted my DNA on the next generation, I never really wanted it that badly.

I know that’s a load of crap. If I woke up tomorrow, or next week, or next year, and took a pregnancy test and it were positive, I…. I don’t have the words to express how happy I would be. I have dreams where it happens, and the disappointment I feel on waking and finding out it isn’t real is almost heartbreaking.

So as I actually feel like I am building a different life, and a good one… I find the feeling of being unfaithful to my original plan very interesting.

I think my Husband and I will take a very serious look at adoption sometime in the next three years. I think we will look at children who are in the foster system, not infants… and I think we will be parents. We will have a child, or children, and we will parent together. But in the meantime, I need to not feel guilty for trying to build a good life without my dream baby.

-Me

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Apparently it’s time for a change?

Soooooooo, its been an eventful few weeks – on top of quitting my job last week, I got a call that my surgery date is much, much sooner than I expected. Initially they called me Monday to tell me that it would be June 27th. I rearranged my entire schedule around that with less than 6 hours notice, and tried to come to terms with the idea of being slightly incapacitated starting a new job.

Then on Tuesday I got a call from the bookings people that they had neglected to check the surgeons availability, and that the 27th wasn’t actually an option. So instead it’s been postponed to July 25th. Six weeks seems like a reasonable amount of time to prepare…

I will still need to take some time off quite early in my new job, but I will at least have a month to settle in.

In some ways having a breast reduction is another step in my acceptance of not being fertile. I had been waiting to see about the surgery until I had children, since breast feeding is apparently more difficult post surgery. Choosing to do so now is again admitting that it isn’t going to happen. I waffle back and forth between weird last minute hope and being accepting of the reality.

The limbo is waning. It won’t go away, it won’t be gone, and I will grieve on some level… but I am starting to concretely move on.

-Me

All of the things, and yet still the same.

You never know exactly when the next wave will hit. The moment that you are reminded, yet again, that you won’t ever hear a munchkin call out for Mum and be calling for you.

In other news, I quit my job on Friday. I’ve been frustrated by working for an internationally publicly traded company whose focus is the bottom line… For three and a half years. However much I love WHAT I do, the company for which I do it has been nothing short of disappointing. There is a significant amount of lip service paid to the value of teamwork, collaboration, supporting their employees, yadayadayada, but the reality differs. I have been repeatedly informed that I am not worth paying more than the minimum, and that I am replaceable. So it is slightly satisfying to see the look of panic on my managers face when he now has to try to replace me. I do have another job to go to. I’ll be working for the municipality where I live, and it will be much more community focused, which I think will be a good fit for me. What is terrifying is the fact that I will be taking a huge risk in terms of hours – this new job is based entirely on my ability to build and maintain a client base. And I think I can – I have done so before. But it is venturing out into unknown territory without a safety net, and I am unsettled.

I will also have significantly more free time than I am used to, and that is also unsettling. I am used to being so busy I don’t have time to think, and that is at least in part by design – if I’m busy, I can’t focus on the things that upset me, because there is no time. Now I will have time. my first impulse is to try to fill it – with anything: work, school, choir auditions, exercise, etc. I know I need time to slow down and regroup, and that it will be good, but my crocodile brain doesn’t want to give anything the opportunity to catch up.

Since quitting I have felt lighter than I have in a very long time. I know I made the right decision, I know that this will be the best in the long run, and the more time since I sent in my resignation the more sure I am that it was a good idea. I feel alive in a way I have not for a few years.

I need to believe in myself and my own professional abilities, I need to remember that I can, and have, in fact done this before. But the self doubt creeps in, and its insidious tendrils wrap around my heart and drag…

It will be ok. I will make this work. And worse case scenario, I can always find another job….

And in the meantime, I will continue to avoid thinking about that voice that will never call for me in the night.

-Me.

Tired.

Some days – most days… I need to remind myself that it is ok to be sad. It is ok to feel the grief, and the pain, and the loss…. but it is not ok to give up. Because life doesn’t stop, and worth isn’t derived from one thing, and one thing only. I feel sad, and that is ok. I feel alone, and that is by my own device. But I refuse to give up. and there is so much more I can do, I can offer, I can be, that have nothing to do with my ability to procreate or carry a fetus to term.

Constant reminders, constant focus, on what else matters, what else I can do, and the need for life, and living, not wallowing.

Tired.

-Me.

Birth

A beautiful baby boy came into the world this morning. Very good friends of ours, they were best man and maid of honour at our wedding, welcomed their first child this morning. A few weeks earlier than planned, but he and his mother and healthy, and his father is overjoyed. Their joy is wonderful, and I believe that they will do everything in their power to be amazing and caring parents, and to raise a happy and well rounded child.

And I feel joy for them. I feel it as strongly as I feel my own sadness. The four of us have been friends for over a decade, planned our lives together, joked about how we as mothers would sit in the shade with glasses of wine and get the fathers to run around after the little heel raisers we were bound to produce. So I feel joy that my friends are¬†experiencing parenthood. And profound loss that we won’t be there with them. We can still drink wine in the shade, but no little melange of my Husbands and my genetics will be there to run around with their son. Somehow this birth is harder, largely because we had planned a life together with them, and they are inevitably leaving us behind. I will be a fabulous aunty. I will dote on that little monkey and be there for his milestones. And although I feel the grief that sits behind me every day, I will not allow it to darken every interaction.

The guilt I feel in not having been able to provide my Husband with progeny is huge – not because he’s put it on me, he emphatically hasn’t. But because children were always in our life plan, the one we agreed to in the years before we got married, and the one we planned on after. As we approach a decade and a half together, I appreciate that he has been, and continues to be a loving and supportive partner, and that he does not seem to resent my inability to conceive.

Infertility makes me feel lonely. That is, to some degree, my own fault – I hide my personal details from most of the people who see me often. Those who know all of them live far away, and we only discuss things occasionally, but then in detail. I want to reach out for support, but those who might offer what I want are either unavailable or unable to respond. And what could they possibly say? There really isn’t anything to say.

-Me.