Bracing for impact

Many years ago, I was a moderately active rock climber. Here in the Pacific Northwest, we are lucky to have a number of areas within driving distance, so the summers were spent traveling to the various climbing areas, camping and scaling as many of the routes as we could in a day. Though there were aspects of the sport I still don't like (the gorilla nature of many of the younger guys and the lackadaisical attitude from many of the new climbers about learning proper technique; both of which lead to witnessing many incidents that would classify as Darwin Awards), there were parts I loved: the community, the need for communication and teamwork and the importance of patience.

The thing is with rock climbing, if you stay with it long enough, at some point you will end up being hurt if not killed. A twist of an ankle can result in not only a strained ankle but also potentially a fall. And one injury or very close-call can end it all, which it did for me. Following my accident in 2009, I've put away my climbing shoes. Initially it made sense: Grey and I were starting our journey to expand our family. Considering there is no known history of infertility in my family, we naively assumed that this would be the easy part, hence rock climbing no longer fit into the equation. But as time has gone on and now, 2.5 yrs later with multiple BFNs, three failed medicated IUIs, IVF, FET and 2 miscarriages, I'm beginning to regret the decision to give up an activity that I loved all in pursuit of a baby.

Some of you may suggest getting back on the rock, but that's not the point of this post. What I want to focus on instead is the correlation I can draw between rock climbing and our IF journey. Especially considering the events of this past week.

Ladies and gentlemen, Grey and I have not been doing well. The emotional rollercoaster is in full swing here and both Grey and I have been riding it. This past Tuesday, Grey and I went back to our clinic for our baseline for FET #2. I've talked before how much I love my clinic, as the staff and REs are absolutely amazing. And the appointment went smoothly: both ovaries are quiet, lining measures at 10.1 mm and E2 levels at 396. Still, the second I walked into the waiting area, I knew I did not want to be there. That as much as I have grown to know and love each of the providers there, this place has become one associated with so much pain. And so I did what any grief-striken person would do: I sobbed like a baby. I cried for all the failure, cried so my lost children, cried for having to do this all over again. And I cried because I fear losing the dream of pregnancy and biological children. And when I looked up, I found Grey crying too.

Despite the good news from the appointment, the arrival of the new flooring (which has completely transformed our condo from a low-end rental to a place that civilized humans would actually want to live in) and the optimism from all those around us, both Grey and I are afraid of what is to come. Tuesday has a number of hurdles all it's own as our embryos need to survive the thaw and determining how many will be fit for transfer. Then there's the 2ww, ending with three different outcomes: BFN, BFP or miscarriage. And though I now know it's possible to become pregnant, I also have never gotten past the 5 week mark nor seen a heartbeat.

In a strange way, our attempt at fertility treatments has become a climbing problem.  In the climbing world, there are routes where the most difficult portion of the climb or "crux" exists not at the top of the route, but at the beginning. Initially, we were having problems becoming pregnant, so it was assumed that this was our crux. Then there were the miscarriages, with us running into an unexpected crux. And with those loses came the sudden drop back into pain and despair, feeling the full weight from the impact of hitting the ground. The frustrating part of this is that there is no one that has an explanation for how to get past this point. And so we sit at the bottom of the problem, tending our wounds while trying to map out the moves that need to be done to get through.

There's a lot hanging on this FET. Failure will not instantly kill us, as many are quick to point out, but it will cause more harm than many are willing to admit. Though Grey and I are communicating, both of us are grieving, which is evident in our mannerisms and our isolating ourselves from others. Even blogging has become difficult and I've found I'm distancing myself more and more from the community, which I have no explanation of other than I feel defeated. There's also the reminder that even if all of this works out, we are both forever changed. Finding our children, be it through pregnancy or adoption, will no longer revert us back to the state we were in 2.5 yrs ago; something family and friends naive to this process are hoping for. Instead, we are hardened to the world and problems of those who easily obtain what we've broken ourselves over. And it scares both of us.

But not moving forward isn't an option. To put all of this on hold in hopes of "getting to a better place" is simply putting off the inevitable, increasing our fears of the outcome. To not move forward means more madness, increased fear and ultimately regret. In the end, we are picking the lesser of two evils, running full speed into a vortex vs. freezing to death in this IF induced winter. At least with the vortex, there is the hope of coming out on the other side. So, we try again, the entire time being aware that we once again may have to brace for impact.

Tuesday is coming. And with it the knowledge that once again we will begin a journey in a very similar fashion with the hopes of a different outcome. Each hold has become second nature and the first bolt is in sight. Now, it's just a matter of reaching it and locating the second one.

Anatomy of a hater

Haters. Our society is filled with them. No matter where you go, you're bound to encounter a hater. They wear their hate like a badge of honor, prepared to argue with anyone who disagrees and quick to pass criticism. Haters are quick to anger, scoffing at ideas they announce are naive. But one thing is clear with all haters: they all are deeply afraid of what they hate. 

Since being diagnosed with infertility, Grey and I have encountered our fair share of ART haters. Both of us have been lectured about how immoral and selfish our actions are, how we are overpopulating the world, how our infertility is G_d's way of telling us we are unfit to parent, etc. Over time, we've both become hardened to this hate. The hate from those who are clearly ignorant about infertility and the pain of miscarriage. But we've also learned that there is more behind this hatred than presented; the need of the individual passing judgement to feel superior, the inability of the hater to empathize with our pain, the lack of love this person may be experiencing in life. 

Being at the crossroads have introduced us to a new breed of haters, the ones few expect to encounter: the adoption haters. These haters are ones that I've been well aware of for some time. Being from the midwest, I'm aware of the white-trash value that "no loving parent would ever give away their child," but for Grey this hatred is new. His family's embrace of adoption and the assumption that love can conquer all has shielded him from these people. So initially he poo-pooed me, assuming my observations were simply a by-product of an abusive past. And then he began finding websites. He began reading the lies these cowards spread; the fear that they try to instill in others. And like most, Grey responded to the haters in a way most of us do. He responded with anger and rage, condemning them for their bitterness. If he would have been allowed to persist, the haters would have won.

So how does one counter hate like this? Honestly, it's something I've been struggling with since I first began becoming the focus hate and being the subject of attack. With the ART haters, I found it easier to confront them when necessary, but mainly I've been quiet. Partly because I've been tired from battling everything else in life in the pursuit of children. Partly because it's been easier to be quiet, since ART haters are some of the most misinformed individuals out there. But with the adoption haters, it's become evident that I can no longer be silent. Because it's no longer just about me; these people will attack my children. So, even though I'm not holding them in my arms, it's now my job to counter this hate, to defend my family. 

In order to understand how to counter hate, one needs to understand the anatomy of a hater. And in order to illustrate this best, I need to share the topic of my recent therapy sessions with Dee. I need to share the truth about something that has been haunting me; something very dark. 

It's no secret that this recent miscarriage broke me, causing more damage than anyone could have predicted. The salt in the wound was the pregnancy announcements following the miscarriage. I found myself able to be at peace with the announcement from Grey's close friend. He had no idea our struggles nor of the previous loss. The announcement from BIL has been harder. BIL knew about our struggles. BIL knew about our pain. Yet when news came in April that we had lost our children, he didn't call for two weeks. And when he did, it was to share the news that they were expecting again. Meaning they decided to trying during the same time we were actively in treatment.  And though I believe that no one should put family planning on hold because of others, this was a huge blow. Because now I will have a niece/nephew who will be a reminder of what could have been.

So how does this example relate to someone filled with hate? Well, hate is breed from pain and fear. Most anti-adoption advocates have had something happen related to adoption to be so bitter with the process. Some may have been forced by family and religious officials to give up their children and during the process, they may not have been able to properly say good-bye nor process the emotions surrounding this decision. Others may see themselves as victims for losing custody of their children, refusing to analyze why the state decided to terminate their parental rights and pull the children. And then there's the adopted children who may not have been able to attach with their adoptive parents, resulting in them romanticizing their birthparents. You get the picture. The point is, there is pain and fear from loss. 

The truth is, like these haters, I now have the elements to hate my BIL and his wife. If I chose, I could easily develop arguments painting them as selfish and conniving beings. But what stops me is this hate will isn't productive and is actually very destructive. What is to be gained from villainizing this couple or those that can conceive easily? This hatred will not bring my children back. In fact, going this route turns me into a person my children would be ashamed of. 

And that's where I struggle to be different from someone who hates. A hater has been wounded, but they never find peace. They refuse to forgive, assuming that forgiveness absolves the offending party of the pain they afflicted. And, as time goes on, they expand their hate. They blame everyone who questions them for their fear and pain. Because it's easier. It's so much easier than confronting yourself and making the decision to move beyond the pain. It's easier to hide than to chose to live.

What this journey towards our children has taught me is that easier is not always better. Thank the universe for Dee. We've already spent three sessions with my anger over this news mixed in with my grief of losing both these pregnancies. And we likely will spend many more sessions. Honestly, healing will take time and the pain will probably never go away completely. But I work daily towards peace and forgiveness. 

So, knowing this, how do you counter hate? Some argue that love is the best solution. This can work, but wrapping people who are hardened with hate in love usually isn't enough. What I've been trying is love and information. To apologize to those who are so angry for being wronged and then to counter with examples of why they are incorrect. Honestly, the best responses I've gotten has been silence and/or the hater turning tail. Not once have I witnessed them resolving their pain or being willing to admit that maybe they are wrong. Still, I have to try. It's all I can do to resist the urge of slapping some sense into them.

In the end, I'm still learning. I'm learning to deal with haters, learning how to counter their poison. I'm also learning to forgive those who cause me great pain. But, for me, understanding the anatomy of a hater has made it easier to confront haters as well as to find peace. It reveals that these monsters are human. Scared, hurt humans who have allowed their hearts to be poisoned. It doesn't mean they are any less dangerous, but it does mean that if one choses they can be cured.  

Changed

First off, thank you for the responses on the last post. I've had a chance to calm down and reflect on this issue. The decision was to not go to the meeting last night (I'm voting with my feet) and instead try to get into contact with RESOLVE about my concerns. Thing is, I'm having trouble doing that! Tried finding an email address or a contact for the WA chapter with no luck. I did call the main office today and am hoping for a response, but I think I'm missing something. If someone has a suggestion, please let me know. 

A couple of nights ago, I was looking back on photos taken before Grey and I jumped on the TTC bandwagon. In a lot of ways, life was simpler: we both had an idea of what we wanted out of life and the paths to obtaining those goals were generally clear. We had our rough moments (most people do), but my motto was "with a little hard work" whenever attacking a task that seemed difficult.

The past 2.5 yrs. have changed all of that. Looking back, I now realize how naive I was with this "sunshine and roses" line of thinking. Though it is true that a happy-ending to this story is entirely possible, what's also undeniable how changed both of us already are and will forever be because of this journey.

On some ends, this change has been for the better. Grey and I were always close, but living with infertility has strengthened our marriage in ways I didn't know possible. He has journeyed to the pits of hell with me, standing beside me during moments where it would have been easier to simply walk away. Before this experience, I was simply happy to be married to someone I loved. Now there isn't a morning I don't wake up and thank the universe to bringing this man into my life. Many other things have changed too, like learning to put the needs of myself and Grey first, learning to be more patient, etc. All these life lessons that would not have come if we had not been on this path.

But not everything has been for the better. Since losing this second pregnancy, I've become hardened. The grief has caused me to be less sympathetic to the problems of others. Some of this is legit, as it amazes me how much unnecessary drama people allow into their lives. But some of it makes me wonder if the scar tissue has turned into a thicken hide, making it very hard to connect with others.

I realize what I'm talking about isn't a new concept. There are many posts from so many amazing women in this community that cover this from many different angles. They do a better job of dissecting this than I can hope for. But what I will add is how foreign it feels to be so detached from the world. Almost like something has been broken inside of me.

As women, we learn from an early age that our role is to be "the caregiver." We spend much of our lives learning to put ourselves second for our families and loved ones, making sacrifices to help promote other's well-being. My childhood conditioning is very much to that extreme, as I was taught that my problems had to wait because "so and so" had more pressing issues that needed to be dealt with. The rational is that we are supposed to be "strong." With any hurt or disappointment, the first words of encouragement are how strong and beautiful we are. These words are meant to encourage perseverance and pushing through. Helping us find the will to reload our burdens and move forward.

Since this miscarriage, I don't feel "strong" anymore. Frankly, I feel like I've crumbled. My trust in my body has been greatly shaken and I worry at times about my sanity. Hence the hardened feeling. Because I am like that animal who, having survived being beaten time and again, is now surrounded by humans who don't understand how frighten I am. And yes, I've already snapped at many hands.

This post has no point other than the fact that I'm trying. I'm trying daily to move forward and on. Because the only other choice is to stay in this current state and it's not a place I want to be. But with the trying comes the realization that I am forever changed and what that means. How deep and ugly these scars truly are.

We have our follow up appointment with Dr. Optimism on Friday. And both Grey and I have ideas for a plan. The end of this 2 week wait is in sight. 

Quick update . . .

It's that time of year, again.  With the holiday season in full swing, finals week is looming.  My students are officially in full panic mode (I've been informed that I'm part of the problem) and demanding that some form of help comes ASAP.  So, it's bullet points for today.

• Had first monitoring appointment this morning.  And we have 15 follicles currently at 10 mm!  There are potentially more, but they won't be able to tell for a few more days.  Next appointment is Friday morning.
• The drugs are making me very sleepy.  Last night I passed out at 8 pm.  This means I was up at 4 am.  Jax and Dais were totally excited about the idea of 4 am breakfast.  
• Because of said panic, my students have requested two review sessions prior to the final.  One over the weekend (which I can do) and another right before.  Problem is, I may be doing the retrieval at that time.  So I had to level with them and tell them that I was going to be having surgery, but can try to set up a skype review session.  Now they're concerned I'm dying.  It's nice to be liked.
• We've been slowly decorating the house for Christmas and I now have two very happy furballs who are camped under the tree.  Jax has moved all his favorite toys and insists that play time center around him hiding under the branches.  When I'm more awake, I'll post pictures.
• With the holiday session comes holiday parties.  Grey and I are being selective regarding which ones were attending.  And I've thrown all caution to the wind and have been telling everyone who asks how we are about our IVF cycle. Found it's been a great way to get people to shut up regarding the "when are you going to have children" question and allows me to immediately deal with any misconceptions regarding this treatment.  I'm sure this will bite me in the ass at some point, but I'm officially done caring about what other people think.

Distraction

When I was little, one of my favorite activities was to daydream.  I'd spend hours weaving stories in my head of a heroine (usually with dark hair and green eyes) off on some adventure.  In my mind, she would leave all she had known and find herself in a new land.  She would attempt to integrate herself into her surroundings or she would seek out adventure.  You get the idea.  Daydreaming was my way of escaping from the world I currently existed in.  In that world, there was no loneliness, no heartache, pain was temporary and the sky the limit.

I've fallen out the the practice of daydreaming.  The way I've coped with stress in my 20s was to go on adventures with friends: some of which involved simply hikes, others that have become legends in their own right.  It was fairly easy to distract myself from what ever crisis I encountered and most things were resolved when I was able to think clearly.

Today I am on Day 5 of Lupron, with one more day of BCPs to go.  And I'm driving myself a bit crazy thinking about how December 1 can't get here fast enough.  Because of this, I've spent the past few days thinking more and more about techniques I've used to cope during times of stress.  There are simple things I can do to make the time go by: go for a run, grade, meditate, go for a walk, knit, etc., etc.  The frustrating part is that no matter what I do, the waiting always looms.

Grey and I were talking about this last night on the way home.  He had had a particularly frustrating day at work and, because of the weather, wasn't able to distract himself with a bike ride.  As he grumbled about delays caused by miscommunication, he made the connection about how frustrating it is to wait for something so that you can move forward, whether that be for work or for life.  And how at times, the only thing you can do is distraction yourself during the wait.  It's not laziness, it's survival.

Today, I've made myself a schedule of distractions: the morning will be spent finishing plans for dinner and doing the necessary shopping. Early afternoon will involve a run, followed by a long bath.  Late afternoon will focus on grading and preparing for the coming week.  Sounds good, right?

How about everyone else; what do you do to distract yourself while on this journey?

Playing the waiting game

October has been a month of attempting to be patient.  Since our finally IUI, we've be scheduled to do IVF in December.  The initial idea was to take some time to allow all the previous drugs to leave my system while attempting to reclaim something of a normal life.

I have a problem, though: I'm not a patient person.  I was the kid who woke up early on Christmas morning, eager to open presents.  I hate long lines, loathe crowds and am that crazy person who gets upset when someone cuts in line (another story for another time). Usually I deal with my impatience with activities ranging from constructive (knitting, craft-making, etc) to less than constructive.  Still, it's a problem, especially now.

My period is due any day.  More specifically, it's due tomorrow.  Once it comes, I get to graduate from sitting on the fence and start the first round of medication for IVF.  Starting meds means I'm no more waiting; I get to start doing something regarding my inability to conceive.  I finally get to have some control over the situation.  And I can finally move from the realm of wondering if this is ever going to happen to the realm of "well at least I'm trying to do something about it."

In the meantime, I'm stuck playing the awful waiting game.