Flashbacks

I've written about this before -- about feeling betwixt and between the world of mommies and playdates and picky eaters and the world of infertility - the world of needles and FSH numbers and slow rising betas. Every year around Christmas time I find myself flashing back to my first IVF cycle.

I remember it all so clearly. The day the giant box of meds arrived and how I excitedly rifled through it like it had come from J Crew and not a fertility pharmacy. Decorating the tree and imagining next year, hanging a sterling silver ornament with our baby's face displayed inside it, adding a stocking to the mantle. I remember all those hours spent hoping, imagining, praying for a miracle. Praying for us to be one of the lucky ones to have our first IVF cycle work.

And then I remember all the first negative home pregnancy tests, thinking that it was probably just too early, the nurse's deflated voice when she called to deliver the news that it hadn't worked. I wasn't pregnant. Not even a little. I remember the swirl of pain and emotions I felt. The heartfelt email from my friend and acupuncturist who wrote "This isn't your fault. I have never had a patient more dedicated and willing to do any and everything it takes to have a successful cycle. It isn't your fault NOT AT ALL."

It was so painful. The ache I felt inside as I watched my sister and sister-in-law with their one month old babies, wondering if I would ever experience being a mother. Trying to convince myself that even if it never worked, I would be ok. Knowing that I was just lying to myself. Always feeling like I was on the verge of tears or a complete breakdown. It was the hardest period of my life.

Even now, nearly three years after that first failed cycle, I can't shake all those swirling emotions. Even with a Piglet asking me to pick him up every two minutes and making preparations to bring home two more babies, the fear that I might not have gotten here, to this place, makes me shudder. I am grateful, so grateful that I am a mother. It is all that I imagined it would be and much more.

My greatest wish this Christmas is that all my friends suffering through infertility, fearful of the unknown, will be able to meet me here, in this place and never, ever look back.

Outraged and devastated.

Today a URL friend who has become an IRL friend got devastating news.  Her baby's heart stopped beating.  She was just released from her RE a few days ago, all was well. 

I AM OUTRAGED.  FURIOUS.  WITHOUT WORDS STRONG ENOUGH TO DESCRIBE HOW MAD I AM.  

This woman and her husband are good, decent, hard working people.  They've endured several IVF cycles and suffered multiple losses because ALL THEY WANT IS A BABY. ONE. BABY.

To love.

To nurture.

To call their own.  

AND THIS HORRIBLE, TERRIBLE, TRAGEDY has befallen them again.  

Why them?  

Why ANYONE? 

My friend and I were so looking forward to being pregnant together.  She has been a tremendous support to me since we started our cycle and through all the ups and downs so far.  I am devastated for her to put it lightly.  I know there is nothing I can do or say that will ease her pain or grief even a tiny bit.  NOTHING.  I also know that she may not want to keep in touch with me anymore.  And I'm so sad about that, but I understand. Who wants frequent reminders of the incredible loss you've suffered?  

That is one thing infertility does for your soul that is actually positive.  It gives you an unending supply of empathy, makes you able to cry an ocean of tears for someone you have never met in person.  

And today I did this.  I sat in my car and sobbed for a friend and her baby and wished I there was something more I could offer.

Questioning perfection...

I've been following a lot of infertility/IVF blogs lately, reconnecting to that whole community as our next IVF cycle approaches.  It's been wonderful and heartbreaking all at the same time.  One gal posted this funny you.tube video of a song called "Pregnant Women are Smug."  I watched it and cracked up about the lyrics, understanding how someone suffering through IF would find it especially hilarious. Then my last post was all about sunny days and families and cute babies. This morning as I wait and pray for positive results for Josee, I wonder - was I a smug pregnant woman even though I went through SO much to get there?  Was my last post cruel to my IF friends who haven't yet had success?  Have I crossed over to the land of the smug?  

Though I certainly still would have enjoyed a sunny evening in the park, drinking wine and eating cheese with friends with or without a baby, having a tot of my own to chase around and compare notes about, and capture on film with the other babies - of course that made everything...perfect.  Maybe too perfect for someone reading who is trying to decide whether to take an HPT or just got negative beta results.  Too perfect and too painful.  I get that. I've been there.  I know.  

Suffering through infertility changes you, hardens you, bonds you.  And even once you succeed and you bring a baby home to love, you never forget the pain of the unknown. You never take parenthood for granted (though we still have our challenging days and moments).  And this is not to say people who have no problem getting pregnant DO take it for granted.  It's not that at all.  It's just that IF sufferers question our happiness more.  We might wonder if posting the picture of our child on Mother's Day will bring a friend pain.  We might question whether we should invite someone to our baby shower or ask her to weigh in about what our child should be for Halloween.  

With infertility, having been there and actually BEING there are two very different places. Right now I'm betwixt and between because while I did cross over, I am gearing up to start all over again, already facing a litany of challenges.  Still, I know I'm one of the lucky ones.  I saw two lines, sat in a waiting room while rubbing my large belly and wake up every morning to a healthy, smiling baby.  I wish with all my heart, the same thing for everyone who suffers from infertility.  I want you to cross over too.  Then everything would really be...perfect.