Transformation

Last night, Grey and I had our weekly meeting with David. Though the agenda was to focus on me and my hang-ups about seeing myself as a mother, the conversation quickly turned to Grey's thoughts and feelings. He talked extensively about the anger he's been feelings as of late: anger from the losses, anger from having to endure the hell of treatment, anger from feeling once again like an outcast. He also talked about the sadness, the pain. As he talked, I realized that though Grey has voiced all of this to me before, this was the first time he was opening up about everything in a succinct manner, connecting the dots and forming conclusions.

Then he shocked me. Grey took my hand and told David that the emotion that scared him the most was that for the first time in 3 yrs he finally felt happy again. He was finally starting to feel like himself.

And it was at that moment that I was able to verbalize what had been stirring in me too. That the emotion I was feeling wasn't simply an absence of pain and despair.

One of the scariest things about deciding to stop treatment following failure is this belief that one is giving up. And with giving up comes this idea that you are somehow defective as a person. You're giving up because you are weak. You're giving up because you're stupid. You're giving up because you never really wanted children. I struggled with this belief when we decided to stop, thinking that I would simply plunge into the adoption process and it would make everything right. Little did I know that this forced break was actually a blessing in disguise; an opportunity to heal and reflect on everything.

What I'm learning during this time, through reading, writing, therapy and talking with other bloggers is the decision to stop treatment wasn't us failing or not wanting children enough. Far from it actually. Instead it was a conscious choice to heal and make decisions for the road ahead. To preserve our sanity and regroup for the next part of this journey.

What has come unexpectedly is a transformation in both myself and Grey. Through therapy, we have both begun to communicate more openly, sharing with one another some of our deepest fears. In having a safe place to talk and with the help of someone to facilitate conversation, we been finding our resolve towards our family deepening. By saying goodbye to our biological children, our dream of our family, we've begun to see the path that will take us to our children.

To my surprise, we haven't been stuck all this time; we've been moving forward. These years are not actually lost years. These are the foundation years; the years that are transforming our family and forming the skeleton for the future.

Last night, as Grey and I were cuddling in bed, he recounted all the pain and loss from the past 2.5 yrs. We both still feel the pain from each milestone of this journey: the fear during the first year, the diagnosis, the failed treatments and finally lossing our children. We both cried as we talked about the hell of lossing both through pregnancies; the loss of hope. What was different from before is that instead of talking about it and feeling isolated in my grief, I could feel Grey tighten his hold on me, signifying that he was there too. And as we drifted off to sleep, all I could think of was how grateful I was to have this man next to me, helping me as we continue our journey towards our children.