Cedar and Sage
I did tons of pre-writing for this post. I have thought about the opening line for weeks. I thought about how I'd set it up for the big reveal at the end. I thought about how fun it would be to finally write good news. I thought about all the work on myself and my state of mind that I did between my last post, when I was pretty down-in-the-dumps, and when I had the last transfer, when I was feeling pretty good. I thought about how I would talk about all that work and the difference it made (the title is an allusion to that work)
It didn't work. The last transfer, which had about an 80% chance of a positive pregnancy test, didn't work.
I couldn't believe it. This time was different, for me. I really thought I was pregnant, I thought we'd have twins. I thought that this was going to be the happy ending to this long long road.
It's not.
Being sad is really hard work. It takes a lot of energy, and takes away the things that give you energy back. It's a double whammy. I have never been sad like this before, and it's hard to figure out how to do it. I have had hard things in my life, but not this way. Not with this finality that is out of my control.
This feels like a death. I know it's not the same as a miscarriage, or the death of a child, but that's the closest thing I can compare it to. It's the death of the dream to be pregnant, to go through that experience, to have a baby the way almost everyone else does. It feels like a death in the way that I don't know how to pretend this isn't happening. Even when I'm laughing and having a good time, this is there, and the waves of grief and tears show up without warning at any and all times. It feels like the death of those 6 embryos, chances, opportunities. I didn't keep the pictures they give you; it was too painful in the moment. But now I feel like there is no evidence of this experience. There is no proof of what I put my body through, no physical things to attach my sadness to. No token of our losses. And they are losses.
People ask what they can do. The answer is I don't know. But the other answer is that 'doing' isn't what we need. We need people to be sad with us. It's hard to let people in because it feels like their sadness will compound our sadness, but that's not really the way it is. We need people to know, this experience has changed us. No matter what happens in the future, whether we still end up with children or not, the last 3.5 years are seared in to who we are together and individually. And it is brutally hard. Some things cannot be fixed. They can only be carried. The load feels very heavy right now.
We are looking in to other options to have a child. Although I know that we will be ok no matter what, and our life will be great no matter what, I'm not ready to give up on this yet, and as Jake says 'We have fight left'. We just need to walk through this dark time first back to where light and hope are. Sometimes we are doing both at the same time; feeling positive about one thing while still mourning the fact that my body will not do what it seems every other woman's body can do.
Thank you for being sad with us, loving us, supporting us. We are grateful to you and know that we are lucky to have wonderful support. We know we will not always feel this way, but it is hard to see the light right now. Plus, it's been raining all week. That does not help. However, I have been mentally awarding myself 10000 points for every day that I don't make macaroni and cheese or hamburger helper for comfort. I have 80000 points so far.
It didn't work. The last transfer, which had about an 80% chance of a positive pregnancy test, didn't work.
I couldn't believe it. This time was different, for me. I really thought I was pregnant, I thought we'd have twins. I thought that this was going to be the happy ending to this long long road.
It's not.
Being sad is really hard work. It takes a lot of energy, and takes away the things that give you energy back. It's a double whammy. I have never been sad like this before, and it's hard to figure out how to do it. I have had hard things in my life, but not this way. Not with this finality that is out of my control.
This feels like a death. I know it's not the same as a miscarriage, or the death of a child, but that's the closest thing I can compare it to. It's the death of the dream to be pregnant, to go through that experience, to have a baby the way almost everyone else does. It feels like a death in the way that I don't know how to pretend this isn't happening. Even when I'm laughing and having a good time, this is there, and the waves of grief and tears show up without warning at any and all times. It feels like the death of those 6 embryos, chances, opportunities. I didn't keep the pictures they give you; it was too painful in the moment. But now I feel like there is no evidence of this experience. There is no proof of what I put my body through, no physical things to attach my sadness to. No token of our losses. And they are losses.
People ask what they can do. The answer is I don't know. But the other answer is that 'doing' isn't what we need. We need people to be sad with us. It's hard to let people in because it feels like their sadness will compound our sadness, but that's not really the way it is. We need people to know, this experience has changed us. No matter what happens in the future, whether we still end up with children or not, the last 3.5 years are seared in to who we are together and individually. And it is brutally hard. Some things cannot be fixed. They can only be carried. The load feels very heavy right now.
We are looking in to other options to have a child. Although I know that we will be ok no matter what, and our life will be great no matter what, I'm not ready to give up on this yet, and as Jake says 'We have fight left'. We just need to walk through this dark time first back to where light and hope are. Sometimes we are doing both at the same time; feeling positive about one thing while still mourning the fact that my body will not do what it seems every other woman's body can do.
Thank you for being sad with us, loving us, supporting us. We are grateful to you and know that we are lucky to have wonderful support. We know we will not always feel this way, but it is hard to see the light right now. Plus, it's been raining all week. That does not help. However, I have been mentally awarding myself 10000 points for every day that I don't make macaroni and cheese or hamburger helper for comfort. I have 80000 points so far.
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