Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Moments

A few moments to myself...and a thought that won't leave me, hoping I can remove it by placing it here.

For the most part the decision to stop treatments has been good. It has allowed me to focus on other things. Life. You know the things I have and enjoy. And allowed me to forget all the self imposed silly things I did to help myself get pregnant (one caffeinated drink a day, sleeping only on my left side, not drinking or eating anything that I didn't know what it was, etc.). Forget the daily draws, shots, worries of not enough eggs, or not enough sperm. If that twinge was it. All of my neurosis seem to have stopped with the end of treatments. I feel more me; ballanced, calm, and clear minded.

But then I have my moments of wondering if we have done the right thing...

Moments when I am walking in to the hospital to see a friend and her new baby and my chest constricts. I start thinking breath. It will be all right. You want to see so and so. You want to see the new baby. You hold the baby. And see your husband looking at you. Tears are on your mind and yet they are not allowed.

Moments when you go to see your husband's grandmother in the nursing home. When you see how miserable she is, because she has alienated every child she has. And you think that her life would be so much happier if she decided to be happy, if she didn't fight so much. You realize that you will be in a nursing home. And there will be no one to visit. I will have to remember my own advice, you have to choose to be happy.

Moments when you go and visit with friends and their kids. Kids who call you Aunt and your husband Uncle. Kids that you would give your right arm for. And you look over and your husband is reading to the three year old.

Moments when your heart breaks because what you want most isn't happening and wont happen unless more treatments become the plan. Moments that you should be happy and for the most part are, but you always have to fight tears on your way home. Because you are happy for their blessings, you love their blessings, but you still want your own.

18 comments:

Ellen K. said...

So glad you posted this.

After trying for so long, not trying can feel like a real void. You may feel that you don't belong anywhere, that you don't have a right to complain, you don't have a right to feel sad or confused. Others may even tell you that you ought not to feel a certain way because you aren't actively trying. But you do have a right to be yourself and to ride the waves of sorrow, disappointment, pleasure, and hope as they come and go.

This is the grief cycle in action. Before we took a break from treatments, I was so busy thinking about the next step that I never really allowed myself to process the whole experience. It hit very hard.

You're a strong woman. You'll come through. You may even surprise yourself.

JJ said...

Know that we are with you in all those moments...
Thinking of you!

serenity said...

Ellen K is right here. The grief is real, and it's strong. And it's going to hit you in those little moments.

*hug* My heart aches for you, hon. Thinking of you as always.

Glitter said...

Moments are okay to have. Even though they stink while you are having them, I think they are healthy as a way to help you know what's best for you.

Heather said...

We took a break for six months at the beginning of 2007. At first it was great. No worries. But, towards the end, it was horrible. It felt like everyone (in real life and online) was moving on and I was stuck.

I'm sorry.

loribeth said...

*sniffle* Beautifully said.

Turtle_Dove said...

D. - Thank you for posting this. It is important for me to try and get a glimpse of what you are going through, and Sweetie I am so sorry that this is the current path for you and T., but we will be here with you on your journey, and any other paths you choose to venture down.

Please know that I am here if you ever need a pysical someone to reach out to (although I cannot help but feel that my situation may only make you feel worse - and for that I am sorry.)

I hope that you can continue to express yourself and all of your emotions with all of us. It is so important to know that you are not alone in what you are feeling and going through, and we are all here for you.

Much love,
- L

Somewhat Ordinary said...

This was a beautiful post. I think of you often!

The Town Criers said...

You're still in mourning and you may remain in mourning for a long time. It is hard to walk away from a dream. Especially an impulse that is as strong as motherhood.

I think motherhood comes in all forms. I was speaking to a woman in her 80s. She was/is infertile and has no children. She decided to live child-free because (1) there were few options back then and (2) she wanted to travel and see the world and live this fantastic NY life that she didn't think possible with a child AFTER all of their grief (I think she thought differently about motherhood after discovering she was infertile). She lived that life, always worrying that one day, she would wake up and have no one. Late in life, this young man--a distant family member's son--became close to her and has since married and brings his child to see her. He has taken her on as a grandmother for his child and a mother for himself. Her husband is gone. She's rarely alone.

The point is that we can never know the bends in the road. We also can't plan or count on them. But I feel like love finds it way back to love--not always in the time a person would like, but I have to believe a person as wonderful as you would attract a story like this somewhere down the line.

Pamela Jeanne said...

Oh, honey, this is such an honest and heartfelt post. Thank you for sharing your thoughts. I could have written it myself ...

There is never a point in time (or at least I haven't gotten there yet) where there isn't some small doubt at work about whether stopping treatments was the right thing to do. When those doubts take on larger form, I face them down and think about the reality of more treatments -- the uncertainty of their outcomes, the physical and emotional pain of living through the torturous protocols, the intense sadness that accompanies a negative beta, the financial erosion, the torture of living through 2ww and the rigid external schedules related to eating, exercise, and the like. Most importantly the knowledge that there are no guarantees for success and that the endless failure might make me go, well, off the edge. My point is that the decision to go off treatment is not one we take lightly or don't revisit even if to wonder...but even with that the moments you describe where you can imagine a child are intense ones. Wishing you peace...

Bside- Kenya said...

Wow you said that so beautifully. I wish you peace of mind. From the heart I really do.

Mrs. B said...

What an awesome post. I think you must've peeked into my head and wrote down all the words that I can never put a pen to. Thank you for psoting what so many of us feel.

lifefromhere said...

I came over from the friday roundup. this is such a beautiful post, so honest and from the heart. well said. I agree what you're feeling is part of your grieving process and those doubts are natural. I wish you peace and breath through those moments. ~luna

Searching said...

Just felt like sending you a hug today.

Samantha said...

"Because you are happy for their blessings, you love their blessings, but you still want your own."--The complexity of feelings that infertility brings up is amazing, that loving someone else's children can bring such an ache. You have indeed posted what so many us feel.

Nicole said...

Hugs and smooches to you. A brave, honest and beautiful post.

Ahuva Batya said...

This is a beautiful post. I wanted to let you know that a year ago, I was where you are now. We decided to get off the roller coaster; to stop all treatments and move forward with our future together as a couple, but not as a couple with children. The feelings that you describe were there, but there were times when they weren't there at all: when I would lie luxuriously late on a Sunday morning enjoying the quiet house, or when we would pick up and travel on a whim. There is so much to give to the world, to see in the world, and to experience, and I hope that over time you can find more happiness in those things. But the mourning is really a process as you move toward that. I'm not sure it ever goes away, but it does become less if you can "make your own happiness" as you say. Hugs to you.

Wordgirl said...

Dianne,

*sigh*

Let's just sit here a moment together.

I so get it. In fact, much of this I could have written...recently at the funeral of G's old babysitter -- 90 years old -- I had the exact same thought: When I am old and in a nursing home...


Loving their blessings sometimes makes it that much more intense -- because you are opening your heart to love.

My thoughts are with you ...


Pam