It's Complicated, Exponentially So
11 Comments posted by Kristi on Tuesday, September 27, 2005 at 1:01 PM
"The most painful state of being is remembering the future, particularly one you can never have."
~Soren Kierkegaard
21 months spent pursuing anything is difficult. Whether it's a job, a stable relationship, or a clean bill of health following a long illness, wanting and waiting takes its toll. It begins with hope. And expectation. And thoughts of what life will be like once the pursuit is finally over. As time marches on, though, hope is replaced with disappointment. And disillusionment. And despair. And thoughts of the life you imagined for yourself are replaced with a kind of coping mechanism that develops out of necessity. I've spent 21 months pursuing a baby.
I wish I could say that my last post's comment on life soon becoming "exponentially more complicated" was in reference to being pregnant. Several of you who read this blog thought as much. Instead, in about one month's time, husband and I are doing in-vitro fertilization (IVF). Our last-ditch effort to have a baby that's biologically ours. It represents for me the end of a journey toward a future many women believe will come naturally to them whenever they are ready. And for most of them, this is true. Unfortunately, it isn't the case for me.
We've spent the last year receiving fertility treatments-a calvacade of nightly pills and injections, followed by ultrasounds at dawn to monitor follicle development. Sex life reduced to a rigorous schedule. Inseminations and pep-talks from perky "no tears here" nurses and technicians programmed to boost spirits with words like "4 mature follicles!" and "excellent sperm counts!" and "ultra-thick uterine lining!" And then the stirrups, and the speculum, and the catheter, and the hope injected inside...And the crushing disappointment two weeks later.
We've spent the last year enduring every conceivable (ha-ha) fertility test as well. Invasive, embarrassing, personal. And nothing wrong whatsoever. It is unexplained infertility. Nothing's wrong, but nothing's right at the same time.
I've lost friendships as a result. And others have changed, and not for the better. Dealing with a friend who has baby-proofed her life for self-preservation isn't always the easiest thing to understand when your children were conceived without a problem. It's impossible to fully grasp, if you haven't gone through it yourself. I know this. And I don't blame them for not calling anymore.
Technology has given us a chance. A 50% chance, according to my doctor. I'll take it. In the meantime, there is no more talking of names, of child-rearing strategies, of "when we have kids, we're going to do X, Y, and Z." There is no discussion of childcare plans, or family vacations, or bottle versus breast-feeding, or what color to paint the room that holds books, and boxes, and wrapping paper, and not much else. And there hasn't been in quite some time. Instead, there is expectation and anxiety. And calendar-glancing, and discussions of what to tell (or not to tell) managers, and friends, and family, the latter of whom know nothing. And buried somewhere deep, there is hope.
~Soren Kierkegaard
21 months spent pursuing anything is difficult. Whether it's a job, a stable relationship, or a clean bill of health following a long illness, wanting and waiting takes its toll. It begins with hope. And expectation. And thoughts of what life will be like once the pursuit is finally over. As time marches on, though, hope is replaced with disappointment. And disillusionment. And despair. And thoughts of the life you imagined for yourself are replaced with a kind of coping mechanism that develops out of necessity. I've spent 21 months pursuing a baby.
I wish I could say that my last post's comment on life soon becoming "exponentially more complicated" was in reference to being pregnant. Several of you who read this blog thought as much. Instead, in about one month's time, husband and I are doing in-vitro fertilization (IVF). Our last-ditch effort to have a baby that's biologically ours. It represents for me the end of a journey toward a future many women believe will come naturally to them whenever they are ready. And for most of them, this is true. Unfortunately, it isn't the case for me.
We've spent the last year receiving fertility treatments-a calvacade of nightly pills and injections, followed by ultrasounds at dawn to monitor follicle development. Sex life reduced to a rigorous schedule. Inseminations and pep-talks from perky "no tears here" nurses and technicians programmed to boost spirits with words like "4 mature follicles!" and "excellent sperm counts!" and "ultra-thick uterine lining!" And then the stirrups, and the speculum, and the catheter, and the hope injected inside...And the crushing disappointment two weeks later.
We've spent the last year enduring every conceivable (ha-ha) fertility test as well. Invasive, embarrassing, personal. And nothing wrong whatsoever. It is unexplained infertility. Nothing's wrong, but nothing's right at the same time.
I've lost friendships as a result. And others have changed, and not for the better. Dealing with a friend who has baby-proofed her life for self-preservation isn't always the easiest thing to understand when your children were conceived without a problem. It's impossible to fully grasp, if you haven't gone through it yourself. I know this. And I don't blame them for not calling anymore.
Technology has given us a chance. A 50% chance, according to my doctor. I'll take it. In the meantime, there is no more talking of names, of child-rearing strategies, of "when we have kids, we're going to do X, Y, and Z." There is no discussion of childcare plans, or family vacations, or bottle versus breast-feeding, or what color to paint the room that holds books, and boxes, and wrapping paper, and not much else. And there hasn't been in quite some time. Instead, there is expectation and anxiety. And calendar-glancing, and discussions of what to tell (or not to tell) managers, and friends, and family, the latter of whom know nothing. And buried somewhere deep, there is hope.
Hi, I've come over from Michele's. I'm so sorry to hear about your struggles. My sister is just embarking on the road to having a baby and seeing her disappointment each month as she realises it hasn't been successful is heartbreaking. I can't imagine how it must make you feel after such a long time. I hope that the IVF treatment helps and that you're in the 50$ statistic that works. Good luck.
I'm so sorry you're going through this difficult time, Kristi. I am sending lots of prayers and good wishes your way.
Oh Kristi, I'm so sorry. I'm losing a battle here to fight back tears because I understand what you're going through and I hate to see other women having to deal with such a painful situation. I don't like to talk about it much, but we've been trying unsuccessfully for a very long time.
I truly hope this next attempt is a successful one for you.
Yes, what everyone has said, a thousand times over. I can't even begin to understand how you're feeling, but you are absolutely right not to give up hope. I am SO pulling for you on this and will keep you in my thoughts and prayers. Thanks for sharing this with us and please keep us posted.
Amy
*Huge Cyber Hug* XO
Kristi, oh. I'm so sorry to hear of your struggles. This time last year I was also heading off to the infertility clinic before work for bloodwork, stirrups and wands. I now how frustrating, disappointing and depressing the whole ordeal is. I truly, truly hope that IVF is the answer to your prayers!
Have you checked out the message boards on: http://talk.sheknows.com/forumdisplay.php?f=2
I found them very helpful.
Waning-Somebody has to be! Thank you.
Claire-Thanks for visiting, and thank you for the kind thoughts and the luck.
Caryl-I'll take all the optimism I can get, so thank you! You're a good friend to me.
Marie-Thank you. I'll take 'em!
Geekwif-I'm so sorry that you know exactly what I'm feeling. Email me anytime if you want to talk with someone who can truly understand what you're going through.
Alisha-I'm sad that you can relate so well to this post, because it means you're enduring the same struggle, which I would wish for no one. I'll keep you in my prayers. thank you for the advice, and for your kind words.
Amy-Thank you for the prayers. I know they help!
Clare-thanks! A hug all the well from the Southern Hemi has to be a great thing!
Kross-Eyed-From reading your blog, I could tell that you might be going through something similar. I haven't checked out those boards, but I will. Email me anytime if you want to chat about this horrible thing we have in common.
I really hope the IVF works for you.
I have had your site bookmarked for quite some time and visit you often, although I rarely comment. This post, however, couldn't be passed by. I wish you luck as you continue to travel down this path. I haven't been in your shoes, but I have many friends who have similar stories. I've watched their anxiety and hope and I've seen some celebrate. I wish that for you.
Thanks for visiting me via Michele's yesterday. I'll keep coming back to visit and I promise I'll try to comment more often!
MissMeliss-Thank you. :)
E-Thanks for stopping by again, and thank you for your kind words. They mean so much to me.
Cara-You're sweet. I'll take all the good wishes I can get.
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