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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

Off the hook

Don't stuff your face...
Face your stuff.

When I walked into W.eight Wat.chers in mid January I heard this phrase as part of the first meeting, and it was something that stunned me. Trust me when I tell you, it's hard to be stunned at WW meetings.
How profound is that simple statement?

For those of us who have ever had an eating problem (or addiction of any sort), this is the root of it really. Emotions make us do whacked-out things.

Over the years, I have taken an introspective approach to my addiction of choice... food. I know why I am overweight. I know what it takes to lose weight. I just choose to do it or not do it.

The last five years had taken a toll on me physically. I was down on myself.... lower than the lowest I've ever been.

FAILURE is my trigger. FAILURE makes me sad, and worse... it makes me eat. Food won't judge me like people judge me. Yes, it's the oldest excuse in the book, but it is what makes me tick.

Sure, I wanted to change... but every pregnancy loss, every failed attempt at pregnancy, every job change and shift, illness, EVERY TIME I ran into a roadblock... my body revolted against me. I morphed into my own personal speed bump.

And anyone who has ever been in this dark place knows that it's so goddamn hard to pick yourself up. Sometimes we rely on others to lift us up when we can't. In the end, the buck stops with us. The reality is just as the phrase my Dad has always lived by...

"Pull yourself up by your bootstraps and get goin'! "

Over the holidays I had an epiphany of sorts. Even IF I achieved all I wanted I would still be unhealthy in body, mind, and spirit. Let me tell you, hitting 40 was a major wake up call. I had pains I never had before. I felt slower. Things were just different.

I started to think about THE REST OF MY LIFE.

Yeah, heavy stuff.

I made pact with myself that day in January.
1. I will attempt to lead a healthier lifestyle.
2. I won't berate myself for making mistakes along the way.
3. I will nurture ME.

So, how's it been going? Even with the donor disappointment, and my work life on the verge of collapse I stuck to my pact. I feel the emotions, but I am not letting them control me. For the first time in my life.

I am treating myself well. I'm still doing WW, and happy to say as of yesterday, I've lost 30 pounds (still MANY to go.. don't get too excited).
I am walking again.
I started reading again (a pastime I gave up, until I realized how much it soothed me).
I ate an entire cheese steak last week and felt no regret (hence, did not fall off the WW "wagon").
I bought a pair of jeans in a size I have not worn in 10 years.
I made an appointment for a facial.
I now listen to music when I feel my blood pressure rising.
I let myself off the hook for my past.

And it feels good.

Acceptance

The Eagles lost.

The Eagles lost!!!

I need a moment...

...

My Dad and I have been avid life-long Eagles fans. Each year when they stumble into the playoffs, we get our hopes up. And then they lose a critical game. Our hopes are dashed, and we begin our travel through the stages of grief:

Denial
Anger
Bargaining
Depression
Acceptance

It's not even 24 hours since that god-awful game, and I'm already through to acceptance.

That was fast. Well, there's always next year, right?

So as I am thinking about this thought, it occurs to me that infertility and loss exists (ironically) on the same continuum.

With my five losses over the last 4 years, I progressed to acceptance (for the losses), albeit at very different speeds. It won't surprise you that each consecutive loss has gotten progressively harder, and more difficult to work through. But ultimately, I accept it and move on.

It is the state of infertility that is the problem. The loss of my reproductive ability, although stretched out over time, is still a "loss", but have I gotten through to the "acceptance" part of it?

No.

And, just for emphasis...

NO.

So, where am I? On this scale of healing?

For a long time, I was stuck on step two, Anger. Angry that I was broken. Angry at myself for not having babies in my 20's. Angry that the RE wasn't aggressive enough. Angry at every pregnant woman who walked the earth.

I think I sailed right through Bargaining into Depression.

And depression is where I stay. Maybe not pure depression (I am still hopeful), but surely the "woe is me" kind of depression scattered throughout the sunny days when things are looking up.

And, for my readers who have walked in each other's infertility shoes, most of us languish in the depression stage. For some of us, who never complete their families, there is only two endings to this road:

Receive the child(ren) you worked so hard for.

OR

Accept that you won't and move on to better things.

And there ends the five stages of grief. Sounds simple, but so not simple.

Truth be told, I am drawing ever closer to acceptance. Abandoning my old eggs was a huge step for me. Can I tell you how freeing it is to stop charting when I'm not cycling? To end the "evening obligation" on Days 10-17 because "I might ovulate today, no tomorrow, oh hell, let's just do it again today to make sure"???

It feels wonderful to escape the pressure, for good.

With this impending DE cycle, it gives me the opportunity to finally step off of the hamster wheel at the end.

A one-way ticket to the land of acceptance. Which, from what I can imagine, can't be THAT bad of a place. Freedom is never a bad thing.

In the meantime, I reside, with many of you in the waiting place. For those of you who made it out the other side, I salute you. For those still here, my wish for all of us is to get to the last step. Hopefully, with minimal bruising and a lot of loving care. I promise to hold your hand to the other side, if you'll hold mine.

I think Dr. Seuss said it best. To finally escape:

You can get so confused
that you’ll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place…

…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a sting of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

NO!
That’s not for you!

Somehow you’ll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You’ll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.
With banner flip-flapping,
once more you’ll ride high!
Ready for anything under the sky.
Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!

Who knew Dr. Seuss was applicable in the infertility world?

One is the loneliest number

I hesitate to write this post, if not for anything to appear depressed, because I don't think that I am (Ben & Jerry might disagree with my personal assessment, but that's another post.)

I am however, in a place that is foreign to me in many ways.

I can't quite think about when this occurred, except to say looking back, I've noticed that loneliness has been a frequent friend of mine. Maybe for the last year or so, but certainly the last few months.

I feel... disconnected.... at times. The days go by so fast, and I feel like just an afterthought in them. Oddly, my relationship with S and David seems unaffected. In fact, when they are gone (S at work , D at school), I miss them so, so much. All I can focus on is their return, and the nights and weekends we share with just the three of us.

But on the outside, in the company of family, co-workers, friends, neighbors... I feel so lonely. I find myself disconnecting and not able to reach out. To those who know me IRL, this statement would seem out of character for me. In fact, I think if you would ask anyone, they may not even be aware of my precarious state of mind.

My irrational self has always wondered if I stop reaching out, will people stop reaching out to me? And the answer in my head over the last six months has been a resounding YES. This terrifies me, and at the same time I feel strangely indifferent about the whole thing.

Can I blame the events over the last 4 years? Well, sure. Infertility, and each attempt and loss has had a profound effect. I've posted many times on this subject, and I hate to appear like a whining child, but YES, it has destroyed many things in my life. Confidence and Faith most prominently. And it has changed my view of others and their response to me.

How odd it is... having always been "the mother figure" (especially to friends), that I am in this place where I am on the flip side? Needing nurturing myself.

But my response to my intense need is to withdraw, and with that appearing unavailable to those I love. Wounded, but soldiering on. Sometimes being mischaracterized as not caring. Angry that those closest to me don't see it and judge me for the wrong reasons.

So as I have drawn inward, and have spoken less and less about my treatment and failure I now find that I can hardly remember what Shelli was four years ago. I am permanently changed. And on the days I long to reach out to anyone who will hear me and listen, I sit afraid. Afraid because I feel I have no one who won't judge me. Lonely. Wishing for someone to reach out and say.. "I'm here, I'm listening." instead of my having to be the sad puppy looking to be stroked.

Aside from this aspect of loneliness, something else is bothering me beyond measure. David has been becoming more and more vocal on the subject of wanting a sibling. So much so that he almost demands adequate explanation. While it is inappropriate to tell him the "whole truth" I long to grab him and hold him and cry on his shoulder... "me too..."

I don't want him to be an only child. If we remain a family of three life will be just fine, I know that. But imagining a family of four or five is the reason I've endured this long.

The problem is, if I get there (or if I don't), what is to become of me? If I stay in my shell, do I risk losing everyone? Or will some be kind and understand that my present and future requires healing to get back to the way I used to be?

I wish I knew.

Remembering

Today, October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day .

Especially poignant for me, as Oct 15th, 2008 also marks yet another due date I never reached. My most recent pregnancy that ended far too soon. Today, I would have had a baby in my arms.

For the last 3 years, every time I remember this day I have more losses to add to the list. It becomes so incredibly painful to remember them all.

And to be honest, there have been so many that the months and days start to run together. A mish mash of missed dues dates and dashed dreams.

As a favor to me, if you have any close friends of family that have experienced loss, please reach out to them today. If for anything just to say hello and you are thinking of them.

And to my fellow sisters-in-loss who have been there, I am thinking of you.