Run-on Sentence

This is not a post about grammar. Certainly not from a former business major.

I hate ambiguity. I hate 700 page books (although I read them anyway) because I want to rush to the end. I micro-manage my life to receive the biggest "bang for the buck", in the least amount of time of course.  My usual mode is get from point A to point B.  It works for me.

My infertility journey, not so linear. Pretty much a never ending book.

My story is different than many that walked the path before me and alongside me.

There was no success, no "graduation", no closing of a book in a defined timeline.  My journey ended with a big question mark followed by a ...  as in, to be continued...  but for how long?

Some days I almost forget how I got here, and other days it hits me square in the face.  On the worst days I encounter a random event that feels much like a bandage being ripped off from a fresh wound.

A friend of mine is having a very complicated and extended ending to a miscarriage of sorts, similar to one of my losses years ago. It brings me back to a place I hate to go. Uncertainty, irony, sadness, anger, and impatience at the world. Oh, how I feel her pain.

Today is one of those days I am rolling in the muckity-muck. My heart feels raw for all of us that don't get the happy endings and neatly wrapped gift... rather those of us who get the loosely wrapped present... paper ripped, tape falling off, bow askew. What the hell does one do with that mess?

For a long time I felt mad, and over the years I just could not shove it into the dark or bend the hurt and anger into something worthwhile. Sometimes when my guard was down, the feeling faded into the background, but it never really left. Just lurked out there, waiting. Unresolved.

I mean, my path is highly unusual. I get it. I have a son from some miracle of miracles and then the train went off the rails. Trust me, I know how fortunate I was.  Once.

But let's get real- secondary infertility often drives odd judgement from others. I try to fly under the radar and brush the naysayers to the side.  I run into them often (and they are always fertile beings, ironically).

No, I am not always happy with what I have.  Does that make me a terrible human being?  No.  It means I am being truthful and allowing myself to feel the disappointment- and, without disappointment, the joys in life just don't shine as brightly.

It's okay really. But what stings the most is never knowing when "to be continued" turns into "The End."

That sentence can be short, or painfully run on.

No ending in sight.

Avoidance Theory

I have had a recurring dream over many years. In my dream I am in my childhood home and feeling a sense of dread. I never really understand the "why" of the situation, I just seem to land mid-stream into this nightmare of sorts. Whatever is spooking me sends me into utter panic, running from room to room, locking each exterior door and running to the next.

And then, standing still.

So still I can hear my own breath and it sounds so loud in my head that I am sure whomever is on the other side of the door can hear me as plain as day.

I spent some time recently on one of those "dream" websites. You know, the ones that define objects and common dream themes. Apparently, my locked door dream is a symbol of avoidance and much of the interpretation has a lot to do with whether you are on the locked side of the door. Locked side = shutting ones self off from someone/something.

It dawned on me that I have developed an avoidance of many things over the last few years. Whether my mood is up or down I still practice the art of avoidance.

I guess I've always been a little withdrawn. Even in earlier years I was always comfortable with people and experiences- having anxiety initially, but once I warmed up I was outgoing and gregarious. I always had that shy girl inside me, but I was 60/40. Sixty percent outgoing, forty percent reserved.

Infertility was the fuel on the fire that turned that ratio upside down. Now I am more 40/60, maybe even 30/70. I find it really hard, even with therapy, to be that person I was. I have great days where I see the light, and dark days (like today) where all I feel is grief and loneliness.  The only place I feel grounded is here, at home, in the company of S. and David.  The outside world is a constant source of stress and unfamiliarity.

I still am trying to appreciate myself as a new and improved person (with some extra wisdom and compassion) but I've developed some bad habits that are slowly changing me and not always for the better.

I know my triggers, and spend far too much time avoiding them:

• Arriving on-time exactly to David's school events- it reduces the amount of time I have to mingle with the happy moms.
• Buying baby wipes at my local warehouse store- to avoid trolling down a baby aisle in a regular store.
• Unopened magazines that I just chuck in the trash- (backstory) I had subscribed to a popular parenting magazine for school-aged kids but won't read it after I browsed a few only to realize 70% of the content was baby-related.
• I've gone from that person...  a person who doesn't hide a thing about the ups and downs of life to a person that finds it easier to small talk through an entire conversation and engage the fake smile just to avoid and move on.
• Even my Google Reader doesn't go unscathed. I have many friends I've met online over the years, and although I follow and read all their posts, often I feel like I can't comment (or don't want to because I feel like I don't belong). 

It has been so very, very hard.

As many times that I give myself a pat on the back for meeting a situation head-on, there are a million more instances where I tend to fade into the background and avoid feeling... well...

...feeling anything.

The old adage, "You reap what you sow..." has never been more true that where I am today.

I am to blame for the state I am in.  Just me.

And that truth is becoming very hard to avoid.

Five

It's hard to take in a day like today being where I am in my life right now. This is the first time I've posted on this day as a woman that failed infertility treatment.

Past tense.

I am a face of recurrent pregnancy loss. I lost five opportunities to have more joy around our dinner table. Five dreams that will never come true. Each taking a little part of me with them.

Please keep those you love close to you today, and imagine your life if they weren't here.

And hold them closer...

Call me Suzy

Back in the day, when I was blissfully unaware that bad things can happen to good people, I wandered throughout life with rose-colored glasses.

Yep, long ago I really was Miss Suzy Sunshine.

The nice thing about living that way is that life (generally) seems to be just full of excitement and wonder, and pressure? almost minimal or non-existent. Failures were just momentary bumps in the road. The idea "there's always a next time" really seemed plausible and in fact, there always was a "next time" right around the corner.

And, with just the right amount of drive and stick-to-it-tiveness, anything was achievable.

And then I grew up.

Scratch that.

I got old.

There's something about entering your 40's that slams the brakes on all of that sunshine. And it has nothing to do with life changing or even the people around us... it has everything to do with the change in ourselves.

Infertility gave me a reason to be bitter, and well, I just took it and ran. Instead of looking at the goodness in my life, all I could see was...

nothing.

Those damn rose-colored glasses turned to grey, and a shitty shade of grey at that. At times, it dimmed e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.  I was damn-near blind.

Suddenly, in my blindness, I became the self-appointed purveyor of fairness. I was insulted that life dealt me a bad hand, and there was (is?) no remedy for that. If you are a family of 4+ you were a target of my jealousy. If you were a family of 4+ and had the nerve to complain about ANYTHING going on in your life you were a target of my anger. If you took pity on my story and made an ass-backwards remark to me in public to belittle what I experienced or felt? well...

let's just say I prayed the karma police would catch you before I did.

And then I decided one day that I just couldn't carry the anger around anymore. I grew tired of putting myself in a box and labeling it "BREAKABLE: Please Don't Touch." Every day I get a little better. Let's face it, I'll never go back to the person I once was, but I will develop into a different and better version of me.  Eventually.

It's been more than a year since my failed donor egg cycle. When I think back to the feelings of failure then, it saddens me. It DID feel like the world was tipping over. It DID feel like I was never, ever going to heal. I DID feel like a desperate junkie, and when the treatments ended... hell, I felt like I would end too.

But I didn't.

And I am still here.

And I've given up my karma police badge. I've come to terms that good and bad happens every day to everyone. It's not about me being singled out.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again... this journey gave me a gift I would never ever return...

Compassion.

And here I thought I got nothing... 
guess I need to get a new pair of glasses.

Signed,
Miss Suzy Partly Cloudy Sunny

What If

What if...

I can never be happy again?

Before the days of infertility, there were great days, excitement, opportunity, blue skies, and hope.

Today I am mired in a web of not-so-great days, anger, hopelessness, and jealousy.

It has been 6 months since I ended infertility treatment for good. That sounds a little freeing saying that. Because until recently, I didn't know if I was REALLY done, or just standing at the crossroads biding my time. But I AM... it seems.

I am done.

Five years later, five miscarriages later, I wake up in the morning with the same thought, each and every day... just around the time I am staring into a mirror and putting on my makeup...

"Is this sadness ever going to leave me?"

I stare at the circles under my eyes that I never had before. I make peace with the fact that my face has aged ten years in five. I put down my mascara and walk into the third bedroom upstairs with an empty crib. The crib now better served as a storage space for junk. Just like my body.

Junk.

I navigate though the work day as my island of peace. A  place where I can work, and work, and work and completely avoid personal conversations. It's all business. I can put on a good face almost as if I did not have a care in the world. That, is, until a pregnancy announcement from a co-worker sets me over the edge...

I attend school functions with my only son. My "only". I listen to the Moms with half an ear because I am not interested in the conversations of fitting in manicures between carpooling their multitudes of children.  I don't want to see the look of pity on their faces when I answer "that" question...  "do you have any more children?"

My son asks why he doesn't have a brother or sister. On a regular basis. I try very hard to explain the truth that an (almost) seven year old would understand.

It kills me a little more each time I say it.

I wonder if I can ever get back to that place before I became one of the millions of women affected by infertility.

I wonder if any of us will truly recover from the disappointment that plagues us. Even the lucky few that conquer the beast are never really the same.

Never the same.

I WANT to be happy again. I want to lie down at the end of a great day with that fuzzy feeling that all is right with the world.  I still can build my family in other ways.  Or, I can choose not to.  The reality is infertility cannot be the sum and total of me, or my decisions.  It cannot define any of us.

I can choose how to move on from this.

I want to enjoy life. I want to use what I learned through my experience to help others.

The aftermath cannot dictate that the journey was pointless.
------------------------------------------

Understand infertility: Visit Resolve.

National Infertility Awareness Week (NIAW) is April 24th through May 1st: Take Charge.

Want to read about others "What if's?":  Connect @ Project IF.

I feel.... fine?

Smile tho’ your heart is aching,

Smile even tho’ it’s breaking,

When there are clouds in the sky

You’ll get by,

If you smile

thro’ your fear and sorrow,

Smile and maybe tomorrow,

You’ll see the sun come shin-ing thro’ for you

Light up your face with gladness,

Hide ev-’ry trace of sadness,

Al -’tho a tear may be ever so near,

That’s the time,

You must keep on trying,

Smile, what’s the use of crying,

You’ll find that life is still worth-while,

If you just smile
Music Composed by Charlie Chaplin, Recorded by Nat “King” Cole on Capital Records.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I've been in a bit of a weird place lately. I think a lot has to do with the fact that my life is very different now than it has been for the last 5 years.

Last week, while sitting in the big comfy chair at my therapist's office, she asked me a very simple question. "How are you feeling?"

You know, it's crazy, but no one in real life asks me that question. And if they do, it's more like "How are you?" like in the casual conversation kind of way. You know, when you are SUPPOSED to say, "Fine" or "Good", but no one REALLY wants the truth, or wants to hear a 10 minute dissertation to the question...

My answer to her, "depends on the day..." and isn't that really the truth for everyone?

The difference for me is I feel like my days are jammed with work, and schedules, and cooking, and homework with David, and chores, and a multitude of activities which serves other people, but not me.

I feel empty.

"Who else do you talk about your daily struggles with besides your husband?"

To which I replied, "well, lately.... no one really."

And then the conversation flowed to that one topic that bugs the shit out of me. The fact that other people are living their lives, happy and engaged, and most of them... don't have a clue what it's like to be on the dark side.

I truly cannot bear the "Mommy" thing. The school parties, the events where the Moms gather around and complain about not having time to sleep or get their nails done. The ones that I. MUST. HAVE. totally FAKE conversations with. On the basketball court, in the neighborhood, family/friend events, parties, and the grocery store. It's like the world is turning without me because I have no interest in the "chatter" between Moms.

For me, I exist between two worlds. One foot in the Mom world, and the other foot in the non-Mom world.

I don't quite fit in either of them.

Mel wrote a great post yesterday about putting on "the smile". The one that shields you from the bullets other people hurl at you that can break your heart. The one resource that we infertiles have to safeguard ourselves from making a scene crying in the grocery store when we meet an old friend who has been! pregnant! 4! times! by accident! omg!

The "smile" is something I carry with me every time I walk out of the door.  And lately, it's been getting harder and harder to not show the crack in my smile.  And, it's plain EXHAUSTING.

So where does that leave me? Well, according to therapist Anne, I need to make an effort to start having real-life interaction with like-minded individuals. Hey, not that you on-line buddies aren't the bees knees! It's just I really don't have a that person IRL that I can commisserate and share these dark feelings with. Someone who has first-hand experience with infertility in the way I have. Where they did not succeed and stopped treatment. Or stopped and pursued adoption.  Anne thinks I should put out feelers for a support group in my area.

Because, you know, that's a lot less desperate than standing in line at Starbucks with a shirt that reads... 

(Are YOU an infertile?  Have you failed where others always SUCCEED?  Are you a fertility clinic dropout?  Please have coffee with me and let's DISCUSS!)

When I leave my session with Anne, I always feel good. And most of that is because she did walk almost the same path as I did. She defines infertility as a "life crisis" and draws parallels between infertility and going through any other serious illness. The difference? Infertilty is not terminal. Which in her opinion, makes it all the worse since you can never-ever-ever escape it. The outcomes are different, but it is something we will forever carry to our deaths.

Peachy, huh?

Solitary

solitary: 1sol·i·tary
Pronunciation: \ˈsä-lə-ˌter-ē\
Function: adjective
Etymology: Middle English, solitarie, from Anglo-French, from Latin solitarius, from solitas aloneness, from solus alone
Date: 14th century


1 a : being, living, or going alone or without companions b : saddened by isolation

Last night I had a very weird dream. I don't remember much about it in its entirety, but what I do remember is waking up and feeling like I solved a great mystery of life.

In this dream, somehow I ended up sitting at a round table with about 10 people whose faces I did not recognize. We were talking about fears. I didn't feel scared, but rather... melancholy. Someone commented from the other side of the table that their worst fear is death.

My response was immediate, almost as if the words were just falling out of my mouth without my lips moving...

"I am less fearful of death, and most fearful of being alone."

It was nano-seconds later that I woke up, with those words still hovering in my head as if I said them aloud in the waking world.

I thought about it in the shower and and it was perfectly clear that as much as I would not like it to be so, it is my primary motivation in life.

It is the reason for everything.

As independent as I've led my life, I've let that fear mow me over in recent years. But when I look back to the choices I've made thus far, it's been the driving undercurrent all along...

...how could I have not realized that?

This therapy adventure has certainly opened my mind in ways I had forgotten about, or didn't have the key.

Specific to infertility, I am realizing that my want to complete my family has a lot to do with this one specific fear. The motivation has little to do with "kicking infertility's ass" and more to do with surrounding myself with people I can count on. People that my son can count on that will still be here 30-40 years from now. Let's face it, when I get old and if S. isn't here, I do not want David to be alone. I don't want him to have that burden.

I may be projecting my fear needlessly onto him, but it's something I think about more often than I should. This is probably the only reason I haven't truly given up. And if I am being honest with myself, I will never be able to move on until I feel comfortable that David has a sibling. Someone who can't easily walk away, uninvesting themselves when it is convenient.

I envy those that can and have made the active decision to push family-building to the back burner and move on. I've wondered if it is possible for me.

My therapist says I can do that if I wish, but it will take time.
I definitely can envision a life without cycling. I am 99% sure that I do not ever want to walk into a fertility clinic again. 

I am 100% sure that there is a child waiting for me, if I put myself out there.

It is very surreal to me, to know that before I had David, I always had this invisible attraction to adoption. I didn't even know my "fertilty" status at the time, but I had always envisioned something extraordinary for my family. Perhaps I should have listened to my heart many, many years ago.

We are in research mode. No timeline, no stress. We will walk wherever the paths leads.

Disorderly

This past Monday was quite a day. I should have known it would be a fitting beginning to another step forward in the healing process. I woke up to the windows rattling, and rain pelting against the glass. It was the kind of day best served not opening your eyes at all, but rather a day where you pull the covers up over your head and sleep in.

I returned from driving David to the bus stop. Soaking wet... umbrellas aren't very handy when 50 MPH winds are mocking you. After the garage door was closed, the wind whistled between the open gaps and made an eerie sound. I fully expected the house to lift into the air and be whisked to The Emerald City. Then, a brief roll of thunder- weird and unexpected on a January day in NJ. As I drove to meet Anne, (not her real name) my therapist, it was raining buckets.

Lovely.

It was a mostly one-sided conversation... her getting to know me. When she did speak, it was kind, and deliberate. After she got the big picture as to why I ended up in her office, she stopped and said... "I want you to know I do understand your feelings. I myself experienced primary infertility, and after 7 years of heartache I stopped treatment and I adopted my little girl a few years ago."

Pin drop.

and then, a big sigh of relief swelled up in my body.

This is someone who understands, who "gets it" AND can help me.

I didn't even wince writing out a check at the end of the session. Although it does feel a little weird to be PAYING to talk to someone, and even weirder trying to sum up my failures in 45 minutes.

Curiously, when she gave me my receipt on the way out I noticed it had a field for my insurance company (NOTE to self- figure out if I can get this covered) which had a hand-written note:

Diagnosis: Adjustment Disorder



For five years, I have been "unexplained" in the realm of infertility. Talk about an open-ended diagnosis. It mocks you. It provides no explanation other than the unexplained. I am my own mystery. We will sooner find truth to the existence of aliens in space before we ever find out what happened to me.

Forcing that part to the side and looking at that new text left me with a thought...

If I am having trouble adjusting to my new life, then that certainly means that there will be a time when I can make peace with it and not carry the label to my grave.

This part of my healing is temporary and doesn't define me.

At the end of the day, I am okay with that.

Fix Me

If you thought the last post was a bit snarky, it was meant to be. I won't lie and say I had a wonderful New Years Eve. It was wonderful in that I spent it with the people I love the most, but the thought of another year at an end and no closer to completing my family was very, very sad. I was in a horrible mood. The whole day felt like walking The Green Mile... knowing that the new year was going to start no matter how much I kicked and screamed. There was no stopping it.

As Dick Clark kissed his sweet wife at midnight I blurted out "This year sucked!" and I proceeded to cry. A hug from S. was the only thing that mildly comforted me. Well, that and a couple of shots.

I woke up on New Years Day, still in a mood... reasoning with myself that there is much more to life than this ONE THING. This I know. I know it as certain as the blue sky, but yet it often feels like there is no room for any other emotion. All I can think about is the horrible luck I've endured, five dead babies and so many failures. Failing where others succeed without trying.

The holiday was a lot of reflection. A lot of hard thinking. I came to the conclusion that I must make it a priority to offload the the hurt, the anger, the disappointment. It's eating me up inside, and when I look in the mirror, I see only a broken woman. How could that not affect the relationships around me? I just cannot live like this.

My husband and my son deserve a wife and mother who are PRESENT. Not hiding in the house and eating bon-bons.

How do I get out of this place when it took so long to get here? It's been so long, I don't remember the path back. All I see is a thick forest with goblins hiding behind trees and dark corners I dare not walk into. The mist is suffocating. There is only a glimmer of sky. The ground feels like quicksand... each step I take seems to get harder and harder to lift my feet.

I said I wouldn't make any resolutions, but in the back of my mind I know that is not true.

I resolve to fix me.

The first step (the hardest) is admitting defeat.

Infertility, you win. I lose. I'm tired of your shit. Go do the happy dance and impregnate everyone else on earth but me. Leave me as the last piece of gum on your shoe.

Just...............leave me.

Step two is a big one, consulting a professional. The one I am most scared of because it means I need to reach out to someone else to do what I can't by myself.

There is so much else to do in order to free myself from the issues that have spun out of control because of my infertility. There's so much wrong right now I can't think about it en masse otherwise it will become overwhelming.

So for now, this is where I start.

This is my new path.

Which way to the exit?

I promised myself that I wouldn't obsess about things until at least after the holiday.

But I am a fool. I don't have that kind of self-control.

I've been poking around. Researching. Contemplating. Reading your feedback. Hanging out on websites, making phone calls to big clinics and adoption agencies.

I had my follow-up appointment with my RE, and well, it was somewhat pleasant and horrifying at the same time. Pleasant in that, I really like the team of doctors there. They've never not provided an answer when I ask a direct question. They have hearts, and are genuinely interested in wanting me to succeed.

We talked about the FET. Dr. Nerd opened my file and we went through every embryology report. We talked about how the donor may have not been the best choice (hindsight being 20/20). I gave feedback on what I liked/disliked about their donor program. We talked options for the future. I walked out with closure, sort of, and that's about it.

The reality is my chances of succeeding are still high if I were to cycle again with another donor... no matter where I cycle.

The bigger reality staring me in the face is that we are tapped out of cash. I could want this more than anything, but there's a point where I need to take into account "the rest of our lives". I can't put our family in financial ruin chasing a dream. There's still a lot of living to do.

Yes, if a wad of money appeared out of nowhere, or embryos miraculously dropped in my lap I would jump on it. But for now, dreaming is just that... dreaming.

Unbeknownst to me my decision has sort of lingering here all along.

I would have loved to make a dramatic exit out of the land of infertility, emerge vicoriously, flipping the middle finger on my way out....but this story ends quietly for now.

Not necessarily closing the book, just bookmarking it if I ever choose to return.

Close, but no cigar...

I've been thinking about my miscarriages.

Well, the loss is always on my mind... but I am thinking lately from a different perspective. I've come to the conclusion that the drive to keep going is due, in part, of almost succeeding.

Think about this. If you play the lottery, and you spend $10 on one of those mega jackpots and LOSE, it's easy to just walk away thinking "maybe next time". You might play every week, but the money lost is secondary.

So, continuing with this analogy... what if you were a finalist in a huge giveaway, and you had a 1 in 4 chance of winning the jackpot. And then maybe the pool is whittled down to JUST you and someone else. You have a 50% chance of winning.

And you lose.

Does it hurt more than that 1:1,000,000 chance? Yeah, it does.

To come SO CLOSE and lose? It's a blow to the psyche.

Now, think of yourself having those great odds in the second scenario, and picture yourself losing five times in a row.

It's no wonder I'm screwed up.

I mentioned that S. and I are weighing options. Well, truth be told we had maybe two conversations about it and then decided to wait until after the holiday to get down to business. I am damn tired of of all this ruining the last 4 Christmases. Sick of it.

In fact, I was scheduled to have the follow-up appointment with the RE today from my failed FET. I rescheduled to next week simply because I don't want to talk about it today. Nurse T basically told me that my insanely poor thaw was a first for their clinic. That my bad luck was a random occurance that never happened before IN THE HISTORY OF THE CLINIC. I decided to make the consult with Dr. Nerd and lay it out on the line. Just not today.

Drilling it down:

Another Donor Cycle
We are all cash now. No insurance. If I am crazy enough to lay down a wad of cash, I'm going to do it at a better clinic. I've done some inital research, and am pondering a couple clinics within driving distance from Jersey. One intriguing option exists at Shady Grov.e in the DC area. If you cycled there (especially if you did the Donor program) I want to hear from you. Likewise, if you cycled at IVF.NJ.

Adoption
This is not an alternative to Option #1, in fact, we are leaning heavily this way at the moment. I researched the hell out of the International route about a year ago, and let's face it... there's nothing going on there. Even for the countries we qualify for, the wait is excruciatingly LONG.    I can't do that.

Domestic adoption is something we never really explored in-depth, but we intend to dive in. There are some local agencies I've heard good things about... but if you have a recommedation... PLEASE e-mail me!

Embryo Adoption
This is the least costly of the options, but considering my last disaster of an FET, I am not hyped up about this at all. Too much legal crap and money for a low odds of it working.
__________

Of course- our last path is stopping treatment, halting the bleeding out of money, and hanging up our hat. It is reality now, and as much as I wish it wasn't... it may be our final decision to escape the infertility hamster wheel for good.

So much to ponder...  so much.

Got any lottery tickets??

Cue Monster

The post I didn't want to write.

I don't know where to go from here.  You see, there's comfort in having a plan. Even if it's the best or worst plan in the world, HAVING a plan gives you something to hold on to when you are trying to keep your head above water.  A point of reference, a direction.  A lighthouse on a foggy shore.

This is the first time in my life I don't have a plan.

I mean, wasn't donor eggs SUPPOSED to be the magic bullet? It sure has been for practically everyone else I know. You would think, in life, that if you are willing to walk the longest and thinnest tight rope to get what you want that you might be rewarded for having the BALLS, the GUSTO! the blind MADNESS!! and ultimately succeed.

But no.

So where does that leave me?

I don't have a clue. 

Truth be told, I had a bit of a hissy fit with the RE today.  I put on my big girl pants and went in for the blood draw and had an emotional discussion with one of the lead nurses on staff.  I am not letting them off the hook for the poor thaw last week.  When they called with the negative results this afternoon (shocking!) I gave an earful again.  They are now off to have their own consult (a staff meeting to discuss the DE/IVF flunkies and determine what went wrong).  Afterwards, I requested a WTF meeting with the lead doctor and nurse coordinator for the DE program.  I may be done, but I won't shrink into the background because of it.

In recent days- I had an epiphany... this isn't just about ME. It's also about my husband. He has always had a stake in this too, and to my surprise his level of investment is exceeding mine at the moment.

A short time ago, I was prepared for this end. As much as I could be anyway. And then, as S. and I discussed this week's events and prepared for the final curtain, he turned to me and said... "We'll find a way, and we'll do it again. We'll figure something out.  This can't be IT!"

"That's crazy talk! What the hell are you smoking???" I retorted.

We didn't say much after that. Actually, I think we made a date this weekend to eat fine food until we can't move and drink vast quantities of our favorite microbrew beer, but we settled for an immediate fix of leftover Halloween candy and playing Nerf guns with David.

But I have to admit, I was perplexed. Here I am at the end of my emotional rope, that, admittedly... I drug him along at times over the years (maybe nudged is a better word). And now that we reach the end, and I am maybe ready? to make peace with the universe for giving me a shit sandwich... Husband and I have each swung 180 degrees in a different direction.

He wants to pull ME.

So I did it.

I opened the closet door. Yes, that door. My heart was in my mouth. I felt the monsters hot, nasty breath for a split second...and...

...just as I was about to be pulled in and consumed...

S. pulled me back.


-------
No, we don't have a plan.  We may never have another plan.

Yes, my heart is aching and shattered into a million pieces.  Yes, it's hard to keep the anger at bay.  I don't know if I will ever get over the unfairness of life.  There are so many of us that would risk certain danger for this ONE THING that comes so easy to most of the population.  It seems, at times, that this has to be a world that has gone mad!  How can the highest joy and ultimate sadness coexist on this earth?  What is the meaning, the lesson??  So many questions.

I don't know where we're going, but we will hold on to each other in the darkness and walk in circles if we have to.

We will find a path eventually.  And almost certainly, it will lead somewhere other than here.

The last chapter...

For the inquiring minds: I tested this morning. I stared back at nothing. Not even a whisper of a line.

Please, do not tell me it's too early. It's not.

So this is what it feels like to really fail at something. To exhaust every path, to endure every last available technology.  To pump myself full of chemicals that have god knows what affect down the road.

Almost five years of misery. Five years of loss. Five years of chasing a dream only to come up empty.

Empty in mind, body, spirit, and finances.

No next step. No back up plan to the back up plan.

Just sadness, regret, and unbearable pain.

A swine Halloween

Swine flu or no swine flu, we managed to have Halloween here at the BagMomma house after all.

It's been a long week, and I am not lying when I tell you I had almost forgotten I had my FET last Tuesday. David being sick was all the diversion I needed.

Thankfully, the boy started feeling better at the end of the week, and was awake enough to put on his Halloween costume and venture out for a little while with Daddy while I stayed behind to give out candy.

He even stayed in costume when it got dark, and attempted to scare trick-or-treaters by standing still as a statue under the maple tree.

Now that the weekend is over, I guess I can start wondering if the lone embryo made it.

My first guess is a no, and I judge that only from extensive experience in the 2ww.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again.  I know my body quite well (even though I've grown to hate it).  There's no way I am pregnant.

Beta is on Friday, but I intend to test very soon just so I can get it over with.

*Sigh*

Yep, I just took the "Happy" out of Halloween.  Sorry about that.

The Lone Ranger

My bad luck follows me like a stray dog.

They had to thaw all 7 remaining embryos, and of those, only ONE made it through the thaw.  My clinic has a 70% thaw rate.  There I go beating the crappy odds once again.

I'm disappointed, sad, and generally pissed off.

The one that made it is "extremely good quality", so says embryologist. I know it only takes one, but let's face it... the odds are already slim that an FET will work at all, and now I just decreased my odds even further.

My journey... it's so close to the end.

And now I have 48 hours of bedrest to ponder it over and over.

Dammit.

Weeds

I hate the fact that lately I haven't had much to say lately that was positive. If you all knew me IRL you would know that I am (mostly) a glass half-full kind of girl. Sure, you can beat me down with a stick, but I am like that dandelion that keeps coming back on your almost weed-free lawn.  Resilient.

I am requesting another job within the company I work for (it's pretty much a done deal, just waiting for the final word). I've decided that this is not necessarily a bad thing. Part of my problem at work is the company itself (could go on for hours on this topic), and some of the people as well have driven me to the point of insanity. It does not, however, extinguish my personal flame for wanting to succeed in something I am good at. The fact is, I want to work. Work replenishes me when the chips are down (and they have, haven't they?). I need to work. And maybe a change of scenery would be a welcome change. My ultimate goal is to do something I like, and I have a crazy grand plan in my head. I am pondering a complete career shift. Too early to talk about yet-  still kicking out the cobwebs and figuring out the financials.

Secondly. You all know I HATE starting drama. I just don't do it as a rule. I have enough infertility drama to span a lifetime, so I am never one to pick a fight.

But I am pissed OFF at a fellow infertilty blogger. It was a few posts that set me off into the deep end. I was offended. Twice. I considered commenting, but then I remembered the golden rule... "If you can't say anything nice about someone, don't say anything at all." No, I am not linking or divulging here in this post. It's childish. But I will tell you I promptly removed this person from my reader.

The thing about blogs... they are so personal. Many of us open our lives to complete strangers in the hope that we find a common bond, a kinship with another who has walked our path. So coming into contact with someone that beats down their own kind? Disrespectful.

Watch your step, there's danger afoot...

The first time I had a panic attack was in February of 1999. I was traveling for work (a week in Austin, TX) and the morning I left home I was to leave Austin and catch a connecting flight in Memphis, TN to get home to Philly.

Unfortunately, when I got to Memphis, I found my connection was cancelled. Seems there was a roving snowstorm covering much of the Northeast. I happened to have a first class seat, which back then gave me the ability to walk the terminal to any airline and get the first available seat on any plane (I doubt the airlines follow this agreement anymore).

Anyway, I got a seat on a flight to Cincinnati that would connect me again to Philly. I got there after a long delay only to be cancelled again and find a new flight that would finally get me home. Well, you get the idea. I flew from airport to airport only to get more bad news. In that time, I ate little, and had about 5 Venti Lattes. I was hyped up on caffeine. I got on the last flight out of the airport (it was nearly midnight) and we sat on the tarmac waiting to take off.

And we waited.

Soon the pilot's voice came overhead, "weellllllll..." (you know it's never good when you get the drawn out 'well') "we are #29 for takeoff... hopefully we will take off before they ground all flights again."

I just about lost it.

In fact, I did.

My face flushed, my hands went clammy, my heart started beating a million miles an hour, and my head started to practically blow off. I couldn't breathe.

It was a panic attack. And the only reason I did not completely lose it was the nice businessman who talked me down and gave me all of his supply of Tic Tacs and bored me with tales of his sales calls as a consultant for a prosthetic supply company.

After that day, I became completely claustrophobic.

I had "almost" panic attacks many times since then. All being when I was in a confined area. The next most memorable one being the time my family and I were trapped in a hot elevator. Remember that?

So much so that I am fearful of elevators now. If I have the option to hoof it on the stairs, I will. I am still "uncomfortable" in planes. Especially the small commuter planes that only are 3 seats wide. I will myself to stay calm, but inside I feel like I could almost pass out.

Why am I telling you this? Well, recently I had another panic attack.

In Targ.et.

In the baby aisle.

You see, we still buy tons of baby wipes and bubble bath. So as much as I would like to avoid that section, I can't.

One Saturday, S., David and I went for our normal trip to stock up. The boys were still in the Toy section. I happened to walk down the aisle to grab a box of wipes and realized I was on the wrong aisle. I was about to course-correct, and a very pregnant woman dropped something on the floor in front of me. It was (I guess) her own registry or maybe someone else's, and I immediately bent down to help pick up the papers on the floor for her. She looked relieved and thanked me. I can't remember exactly what she said but something like "I am overdue." and I smiled. I turned to walk away and ended up on the baby accessories aisle to make my way out and I caught my eye on a teething ring.

David had the same teething ring as a baby. For a moment I thought 'hey, weird! they carry the exact same teething ring as the one I bought (maybe here- even) 6 years ago.'

And then, I felt my face drain, I was hot, my heart started to pound, and I had the faint ringing in my ears. At that point, I saw S. and David with the cart, threw my items in, and made a bee-line to the bathroom.

S. didn't notice my mental state as I walked away. To be truthful, I attempted to hide it. I stood in a bathroom stall for a few minutes until I regained composure.

It was horrifying.

Since that day, I had another close call at a store (that sells high-end baby stuff) when I took David to buy a backpack for school. I knew I had a baby gift to buy as well (and heck I was already THERE), so I literally ran though the infant section expecting it might happen again. I didn't. But the person at the cash register was slow, and I almost just walked out because I was at the verge of overwhelmed (I could have fainted at any moment when I felt my heart pick up speed).

Can I tell you how this is so unlike me? I am a complete wreck.

I am so embarrassed to talk about it. Over this weekend, I just have come to the conclusion that Infertility has pissed on me again in the worst way possible.

I have many years of gifts (birthdays, Christmases, and otherwise) for babies in my future. My friends and family have children, and certainly they will have more.

I will have to walk into these stores many times in my life, for the rest of my life.

And now, I have this completely new, ridiculous phobia.

A blogging friend, Rebeccah, recently wrote about PTSD rearing its ugly head during her latest trip to the GYN. And Cecily wrote about an equally horrifying experience too.

The triggers are like landmines on a minefield. Always one step away from disaster.

You can't expect to live through so much loss and disappointment and be able to escape unscathed. There is no amount of compartmentalizing... no cure. Even beating the crap out of Infertility and experiencing success doesn't give you the ticket out of Hell. There is always that unlikely trigger, just around the corner... waiting.

Nothing guarantees your sanity. Not in a doctor's office, in a Tar.get, or even in the safety of your own home.

Infertility is the gift that keeps on giving.

I am convinced now that this is true.

How much?

I just can't seem to get my head together.

I'd blame it on the heat wave, but sitting in my air-conditioned home office I haven't spent much time outside to blame heat exhaustion (although I almost fell over weeding my flower beds yesterday).

I am working. Work is good. It completely removes all thoughts about bills, insurance, failure, and the fact that I am entering year five of infertility hell.

I know it's a sick thought, but if this last DE cycle tanked from end to end (and I had no frozen embryos) I could begin to move on. I would do so with lots of therapy and foot stomping, but I know I would at least.... move.

But the reality is that I spent thousands of dollars and mortgaged my home for this, and I can't just let the frosties sit there. I am afraid if I take a break I might give up.

See? I told you I was sick.

So, I haven't even paid the bills from last month, and now I am embarking on more. The bad news, no more sucky-but-covered-a-little-of-my-bills insurance. Everything is 100% on me from here on out, so I placed a call last week to the billing person at the clinic to send me a quote for an FET. Quickest response I ever got from a billing person. I had it in writing two days later in my mailbox.

Yowza.

Of course, it pales in comparison to the fresh cycle. But honestly, when you add the monitoring (minimal) and drugs (which I *thought* I could get covered, until I realized that I can only get anything paid that doesn't need authorization which is like such a small portion of the total amount) it isn't the cheapest venture in town.

And once again, I am soon to be back on a "calendar". This makes me angry and sad at the same time.

Curiously, I am not excited to start this at all. I am hoping to sleepwalk though this entire FET.

I know...

what the hell is wrong with me???

Luck, a Keg, and my date with the Devil Turtle

Here I am.

I don't know where to start... I do want to say thank you. Your comments and e-mails are appreciated. I know we are all such a supportive community, but hearing from all of you when I need it most means a lot. I wish I could give you all a hug.

I've been ok. I've progressed through the stages of grief at breakneck speed and made it out to the other side. And, by other side, I mean well enough to function as human again.

Sigh.

This cycle really hurt more than I expected. I thought that by kicking my old eggs to the curb that THIS surely would be my ticket to babydom. And nearly all my DE cycle buddies succeeded---- How could I fail?

And then, I was welcomed to the place I know well. The flip side of the statistics.

I should have known.

What have I been doing the last week? Doing all the things a rebellious infertile would do. I drank beer and wine. I (gasp!) haven't taken my vitamins. I bought a super-sized bag of pistachios and ate every last one. I watched movies. I tortured myself by going to a neighborhood party and made small talk with THREE pregnant women.

Ok, I lie. I ran for the keg just to get away from them.

But, hey... I socialized two days after that stupid beta. At least give me credit for that.

I cried a lot.

I got AF on Sunday and cried again.

I stole my son's Nintendo DS and played Super Mario Brothers non-stop. You know what's great about playing a video game? You don't have to think about anything but the game. My goal simply was to collect sparkly coins and beat the "old lady devil turtle" (that's David's description). A welcome respite.

And then, I got the call that the WTF appointment (yes, it means what you think for those of you who don't know) occurred at the RE's office. Two of my doctors and my DC sat down and talked about my recent failure. Hmmm, perfect lining, perfect eggs, perfect transfer.

Hmmmmmm..... HMMMMMM!

The verdict?

Come on now.... you already know.

BAD LUCK.

Oh my m-f-ing lord, could they please have told me ANYTHING other than that???

Like a stake in my heart.

Oh, and the BEST part! My insurance denied all my claims the clinic submitted thus far. So I spent today ripping them a new a-hole. I may have suck-ass insurance (far from 100% coverage), but they are supposed to cover TWO IVF attempts. 1+1=2! You. Morons.

Anyway, we move on.

Over the next week or two, I'm going to set up the FET. I am still pondering if I want to take a short break. I am also pondering that this FET is cash only since my insurance is dry. So- netting it out.... I'm pondering. You'll be the first to know.

Let's review my warped reality, shall we?

My DE cycle carried with it a 70% chance of it working (my clinic stats). That means I was in the unlucky 30%.

The success rate for an FET from a DE cycle is 34% (again, my clinic stats). That means I have a 66% chance that it won't work.

My dear husband (who I should say is usually NOT the optimistic one), reasoned it like this...

"If we were in the unlucky 30%, then this FET will be perfect since we have just as much chance to be in the lucky 34%!!"

!?!

I love you honey.

Hope Floats

Hope and I... we've had a very twisted relationship.

I remember back to the days when I thought I would always be the lucky one. I never "hoped" for anything really... I just "expected".

In fact, if we are being brutally honest, when I look back on my life so far, I've had a bit of an easy ride. I took much for granted. And along the way, I was able to mow down any roadblock standing between me and any goal I set out to do.

Done and done. Everything had a fix.

I distinctly remember (after my 2nd miscarriage) having a total meltdown. How dare I be denied anything? Me? Are you kidding me??

I would shake my fist in the air and challenge the universe to stop me from succeeding.

[Picture Scarlett O'Hara... "As God is my witness... I will
never be (barren?) again!" Ok, I fudged the barren part.]

But you know what? The universe still kept on slinging sh!t at me.

Which made me even more angry. The anger spilled over into everything I touched.

And then, something changed.

I became a weepy, introspective vision of my former self. I took off the battle gear and laid down my weapon.

I gave up.

Or so I thought.

I started hoping instead of fighting. I lit candles and prayed. I begged. I bought countless boxes of tissues and cried more than I ever have in my life. I made plans and then "hoped" they would work. I never assumed anything ever again.

With S. we set a plan. Do this, then that. And if we fail, then this. And then if that doesn't work resort to Plan X,Y,Z. And then...

..and then?

So, seriously... when people outside of this blog hear my sob story of five miscarriages and failure... often they will comment about the strength I have to keep moving forward. And I hate that, because I don't see myself as strong. Resilient? maybe. Strong? far from it.

At the root of it, I've held on to Hope. It's been the ONLY THING that has gotten me from point A to point B. The only thread of consistency throughout all these years. And then it dawned on me...

Hope is strength in disguise. Just not as obvious.

So instead of wielding an ax ready to fight, I sit here at my desk holding onto Hope.

Even after everything...