No rest for the wicked

It's 4 am. I've already hit the snooze button on my phone 5 times and it's become clear to Grey that I'm in denial about getting up. "You're going to be pissed off later if you don't," he informs me as he firmly plants his foot on my ass and pushes me out of bed. Groaning, I plant my feet on the ground and attempt to gain my balance while half-opening my eyes. Somehow I manage to find my way out of the bedroom and to the second bedroom.

I hate the middle-of-the-night pump session. But after months of doing this, I know too well the consequences of skipping them.

After untangling tubes and fastening the the parts to my chest, I turn the knob to activate the rhythmic sucking that will extract milk from my breasts. Closing my eyes, I lean back and allow my mind to drift into a semi-awake state. Some times I have enough energy to scroll through emails or read headlines coming in from the major media sources. But most of these early mornings are spent drifting, allowing my subconscious to take over.

A recent song has been occupying this drifting for the past couple of weeks. Though there is zero connection to the meaning behind lyrics and my life at the moment, the tune has haunted this drifting. Particularly the refrain:

          There'll be no rest for the wicked.
          There's no song for the choir. 
          There's no hope for the weary. 
          If you let them win without a fight...

The tunes stays with me as I drift in and out of sleep, with the sucking sound of the pump keeping rhythm. It follows as I finish the dreams still fresh in my head, or reflect on the upcoming day.

I'm tired. Exhausted actually. There are moments I crave a break from it all. To simply shut off my brain and excuse myself from the worry of all ahead. The worry of work. The worry of contentious neighbors. The worry of finances and building a secure future for my family. The worry of surviving in an era of so much uncertainty.

There is no rest for the wicked. And there is no clear road ahead. But the end is in sight for the madness that is the middle-of-the-night pump session. Just need to hold on a little bit longer.

Milestones

Crawling. Walking. Rolling over. First social smile. Grasping objects. Sitting up unsupported. Eating solids. Babbling. Responding to name. The list of developmental milestones goes on and on, each one becoming a source of anxiety and fixation for any parent. When our children reach them, we celebrate and praise them. When they don't, we worry and wonder if something is wrong. The stress of milestones and meeting them can lead to some very heated discussions and comparisons are a hard thing to overcome.

Grey and I have been thinking about milestones a lot with the Beats. Being born premature means that their milestones have been shifted, but there's also the worry that their prematurity has delayed them in some way. To be honest, there's been some stress around this topic, particularly because both children have decided to flip some of their milestones, with them sitting unsupported long before either of them could be bothered with rolling over. But what we've been trying to do (and I've been failing at a lot) is not to push for reaching each ability and recognizing that each baby is different and will reach these goals in their own time and way.

This past weekend Grey and I met up with another couple from our daycare to do some hiking. The weather was gorgeous and all babies clearly enjoyed the scenery (lots of babbling, head-turning and shrieks of delight). As we walked, the conversation turned from infant milestones to milestones in general. The other couple is a few years younger than Grey and me and have only recently been married following the surprise that is now their son. As I talked with this young father, we both reflected on milestones in life and how traumatic it can be to not meet them. What I hadn't thought about was the trauma that can come from meeting them too soon or skipping over other milestones in the process. This young father talked in length about how the arrival of their son not only rapidly changed his relationship with his new wife, but also how it has impacted his other relationships. Particularly hard where those relationships where the other party was struggling to acquire what came to him so unexpectedly.

"It hard, you know." he told me. Pausing to think for a moment before continuing. "On one hand, I want to support my friends during these times where they are hurting so much. But I worry I'll say or do the wrong thing. That by trying to help, I'll hurt them all the more. Then there's the fact that I'm struggling with all this change. And I feel like I can't talk about it because somehow I'll seem ungrateful. I'm not. But it doesn't mean it's any less hard."

During our hike, Grey and I shared our story. We talked about our losses, both of our angel babies and family/friends along the way. We shared with this couple how traumatic it was to not be able to reach the Parenting milestone. How continual failure without explanation truly traumatized us.

But then this young father pointed out something I've also been thinking about, but hadn't been able to put into words. He talked about how ready Grey and I seemed to take on parenting the Beats. "It's like you're fearless of those sleepless nights and the nursing strikes," he said.

The truth is, we are. After all, we had fought so hard just to be able to get a chance at this opportunity. And we are both very aware of those around us who struggling harder and for longer who never get this chance, making each of these moments so much more precious. In a strange way, infertility has prepared us for the unknowns that come with parenthood. Sure, we knew it would be hard and there was no way to predict how, but the one thing we learned is how to survive moments of uncertainty and hardship. To find joy when it would be tempted to focus solely on the negative.

Equally true is how traumatizing it can be to hit milestones unexpectedly or easily. In my own family, it was the youngest grandchild who easily became pregnant as a teenager. Though I remember how much she enjoyed the attention surrounding her new status as mother (her parents were raising their grandchild), a few years later I remember well how depressed and sullen she seemed as all her other friends had gone off to pursue university/travel/explore the world. Reflecting now, her reaching this milestone was far from something one could celebrate given her situation.

Since this hike, I've been thinking more and more about how society responds to meeting milestones. On one end of the spectrum is the shaming that happens older women struggling with infertility, with accusations that they waited too long and should have got the ball rolling sooner. But on the other end is the shaming that happens to single mothers. Or the stigma associated with choosing not to parent. Nevermind the myriad of factors influencing each of these outcomes and roads, what people consistently measure is the milestone and the order it is reached.

The place I struggle is how to resolve all of this. In the case of the couple we hiked with, though change came quickly, I'm certain they will ultimately be fine. They had been together for years prior to the arrival of their son and built a foundation for their family that will stand the test of time. But most aren't in a similar situation. In a lot of cases, there's a reason society pushes for milestones to be met in a particular order. Similar to why meeting developmental milestones within an appropriate time-frame is important.

For now, Grey and I are working with the Beats on their milestones. Praising them both as they roll, shift their balance to reach objects, try new foods and develop their pincer-grasp. And as I work with the Beats, I reflect on my own milestones, which now include learning to let go, focusing on what is instead of what should be and even relearning how to be more patient and forgiving with all around me.

Mother's Day: recognizing the bereaved and how to survive.

It started the same way it does every year. First with the emails advertising the special sales, then the billboards and radio commercials. The stores followed suit, hanging signs and stressing that I needed to hurry. And than came the talk of brunches, of flowers and even of gifts. All reminders that Mother's Day is once again around the corner.

With each of these reminders my stomach has soured. As excited so many assume I would be with the upcoming holiday, I'm far from it.

This year will technically be the first year I am allowed to participate in Mother's Day for the other side. Grey has already been getting pressure to do something special, especially since there are two small babies involved (apparently this somehow lands me special status). And while we both smile and try to keep these conversations brief when the questions come up, I know Grey is watching me. Watching to see how long I can keep that smile in tact before breaking down.

This May will mark 3 years since I last saw my parents. It will be 3 years since the day it was made clear that the grief and pain caused by this diagnosis was dismissed by the one woman who was suppose to love me unconditionally. In my heart, that day was the final nail in the coffin that was our relationship, leaving me without the mother I had so longed for and needed so desperately.

In addition, I've been remembering the ones we lost. How loved and wanted those 6 embryos that were here for too brief a time. As strange as it sounds, having the Beats has deepened my grief, not resolved it. I now know on a new level what we lost. And though I wouldn't trade the Beats for the world, I can't help but wonder. How true is the reality that the only one that can heal you is yourself.

Tomorrow marks International Bereaved Mother's Day. Though there are those who would insist I have no right to mark the occasion, I will be spending a moment remembering our angel babies and praying in my own way that they watch over their siblings while knowing how loved they will always be.

Source

A week from Sunday marks the day most of those in the ALI dread. In light of that, I am reposting my survival guide, which you can find below, and also directing you to many other resources to help you cope with the day.

Finally: To all of you, I wish you a day of peace. A day where your pain is not as sharp as it might normally be. And my hope for all is that you are able to find some way to celebrate. Either by reflecting on strength of decisions you've made to grow your family, by recognizing how decisions to stop pursuing different paths is not failure but actually decisions requiring great strength and by celebrating the children you are mothering, either those in your arms and/or your heart. May you celebrate the strength within.

Mother's Day Survival Guide:
Let it out. I'm going to start here, since most survival guides list this one dead last. It goes without saying, infertility/loss is hard. Very hard. So instead of suppressing the anger, sadness, frustration, worry and fear, do the one thing that so many well-meaning people will tell you not to do: just let it out. Give yourself a good chunk of time to get the pain caused by this disease out of your system. Shed those tears, voice your worries, curse the universe. Write, exercise, scream, paint, draw, create or destroy. You get the idea. Because once you get it out, you'll feel better. You'll no longer have to worry about being sad the rest of the day because you've given yourself some time.

Acknowledge what you have accomplished. Living with infertility and loss is not for the weak. Anyone who's been on this path for any length of time has changed and will continue to be changed. Most of the time this has only been for the better. You may have learned how to stand up for yourself, advocating your needs. Your marriage/relationship with your spouse, significant other, family and friends may have strengthened and deepened in ways you didn't know possible. You may have overcome your fear of needles. Whatever it may be, celebrate it. Take a moment or two to give yourself the acknowledgement you and your loved ones deserved for battling this disease. You've earned it.

Get out of the house. This one I can't stress enough. As tempting as it will be to spend the day in your pajamas watching bad TV, plan instead to spend the day doing some sort of activity. If seeing families is a trigger, plan a non-family friendly event. If being with family is a comfort, plan on spending some time. What ever it may be, just get out of the house!

Celebrate the "mother" in your life. For those of you who have been reading this blog long enough, you'll know that my biological mother and I are not on friendly terms. That said, I do believe that Mother's Day is a time to celebrate those who have been "mothers" to you in some way. I also believe that one does not earn the title of "mother" simply by being able to birth a human being. There have been many amazing women in my life who have helped me become the person I am today. And I'm sure I'm not alone on this. So spend the day thanking your "mothers", be it spending time with them, shooting off a short email, or simply doing something that they taught you.

Distractions, distractions, distractions. I once read that an emotion lasts for about 10 minutes. The reason why people experience any emotion for longer periods is because they are "refiring" that emotion, be it with mental images or play inner dialogue. So like getting out of the house, find some way to distract yourself. Again, it's okay to be sad, frustrated, etc. But give yourself a break from all the madness too.

Treat yourself.  When all is said and done, Mother's Day is like any other holiday: sometimes just getting through is an accomplishment. So, at the end of the day, do something special. Take a bath, schedule a little "me" time, hog the covers. You get the picture. Reward yourself for making it through this day.

NIAW: Resolve to know more . . . . about the emotional impact

As always, late to the party, but still intent on participating. To all members of the ALI community, I wish you a wonderful and fruitful National Infertility Awareness Week. For those new to the community or participating for the first time, here's a bit of background.

National Infertility Awareness Week (NIAW) is a movement that began in 1989. The goal is to raise awareness about infertility as a disease and encourage the public to become more informed about reproductive health. As our society is historically very squeamish regarding all things having to do with sex, this week is incredibly important as it only directly counters a lot of the myths and misinformation surrounding this disease, but also allows for an opportunity for members of this community to break their silence and step out of the shadows.

This movement is founded by RESOLVE: the National Infertility Association, which is a non-profit organization established in 1974. You can find more information about RESOLVE and all the amazing work this organization is doing here.

This year, the theme for NIAW is "Resolve to know more....," with bloggers being challenged to write posts based on this theme. There are already a number of amazing posts, covering everything from the facts about treatment, advocacy/educating others, family building options and even about infertility as a disease.

I'm taking a bit of a different spin.

Like many, one of the hardest and unexpected realities of a diagnosis of infertility was the emotional turmoil caused by this diagnosis. Coming from a family with no known history of fertility struggles, I immediately felt damaged as I was not following in the footsteps of every other woman in my family and conceiving within a couple of months of trying. This failure to connect ultimately lead to me distancing myself from them as they failed time and again to offer support and instead assumed that either I needed to calm down or accept that my situation was "deserved."

As Grey and I began our journey down the rabbit hole that is fertility treatments, we found ourselves becoming more and more isolated from others in our lives. With each surprise pregnancy announcement from others on the heels of another BFN or miscarriage, stealing ourselves became survival mechanism. Granted, there were moments people tried to reach out and support us. But time and again their attempts were either sloppy, as they felt the need to offer quick "fixes," or support waned fast as they found our situation too depressing. After all, everyone loves a happy ending and as time went on it seemed like we were doomed to never get ours.

I've talked before about how this community became my shelter from the storm that is this disease. Though I have not meet most of those who I've connected with here in person, the continual support and love I received became a lifeline and this space became a safe haven. Even now, as the road to resolution has become very clear, I find myself continually drawn back, trying to repay in what ever manner I can that love and support in any way I can.

There are days I most certainly fail. Saying the wrong thing or offending when it was the last thing I ever wanted to do. But I also know that silence can be so much worse.

Over the last few months, since the Beats have arrived, I've been allowing myself to rejoin the "fertile" world, interacting with those who are seemingly and blissfully clueless that infertility even exists. And during that time, as we've shared our story, a funny thing has happened: those who are not reproductively challenged have begun telling us their stories about friends or loved ones who have fallen out of their lives because of infertility/loss. They confessed frustrations about being cut off and feeling left out when they were "trying to help." One woman in particular broke down as she shared about how her BFF no longer is speaking to her after an incident where she assumed a day out with her new daughter would help ease the pain of her friend's recent miscarriage. After all, her little girl brought so much joy to her life; why was it awful to assume that joy couldn't be transmitted?

What's been interesting as we talked with people time and again is how there truly is this disconnect with understanding how emotionally distressing infertility/loss is. While most have been thoroughly educated on how to handle news of other life changing diseases like cancer, heart disease, Alzheimer's and even diabetes, with infertility and loss your average person is ignorant if not completely mislead. Time and again, I heard accounts from those battling this disease about platitudes like "just relax," "G_d's plan" and even "wasn't meant to be" offered, of suggestions of "have you tried X" recommended, of people suggesting that a couple should "just adopt" or "just do IVF" when they themselves have zero idea about the complexities of these processes. And most destructive, loved ones turning on these couples, lashing out at them in frustration, because they should simply "get over it."

With each of these conversations, Grey and I have tried to explain why the myths and misconceptions have been so destructive. There are the "ah-ha" moments, where people tell us that they had never considered that point of view or told us that they didn't realize what they were saying would be so hurtful. But many times there's been this unwillingness to accept our viewpoint, with those individuals firmly adhering to the misconceptions and myths as not doing so somehow negatively impacts them.

As a global community, it is time that we change the conversation about infertility/loss. Take away the stigma and allow those who are living with this disease to break there silence and share their stories. Knowing the facts about this disease and how complex and poorly understood it is. How difficult treatment is and the truth about success rates. Debunking the myths and misconceptions surrounding adoption and the process. And knowing that choosing to resolve by not parenting is NOT giving up but actually an empowering decision to reclaim one's life and live it fully instead of living in the darkness. All these things are so important.

Equally important is having the conversation about the emotional aspect. How the uncertainties and fears impact the daily existence of those living with this disease. And how important it is for loved ones to not fall into patterns that are know to exacerbate grief, instead focusing on being willing to listen, offer unconditional support and even educate themselves about each part of the process all while understanding that each journey is a personal one.

It's time we push for society to resolve to know more about the emotional devastation caused by infertility/loss.

For more information, please follow these links:

http://www.resolve.org/infertility101 (Basic understanding of the disease of infertility.)

http://www.resolve.org/national-infertility-awareness-week/about.html (About NIAW)

Cleared

Sitting on a brightly colored mat covered with a white sheet, the physical therapist proceeded to set up a small table in front of She-Beat. On the table, she began placing objects: first a red cube, later a second, then a red hoop with string, next two Cheerios and finally a bell. After placing each object, she watches as She-Beat reaches for it, observes how she inspects it, grasps it, passes it from hand to hand. Grey is sitting behind her, giving her encouragement, asking her what she sees. All the while I sit apart and observe, holding my breath.

For the past 9 months I've though a lot about this appointment. I thought about it the day the Beats were born, which was 6 weeks too soon. I thought about it during our time in NICU, as the physical therapists there assessed them while in their isolettes, observed their growth progression and made note that we could be dealing with torticolis in the future. I thought about it again following She-Beat's frenotomy and then during the sessions with the cranialsacral therapist to correct for prematurity and the effects of the submucosal tie. And I thought about it during their first day of daycare, when I left them in the care of their teachers to interact with other infants, worrying if they were reaching the appropriate milestones and if all the work to overcome the effects of prematurity had simply been in vain.

Yesterday, Grey and I took the Beats in to the local children's hospital and had an appointment with a physical therapist. The purpose of the appointment was simple: how were they doing? Was the fact they were born premature hindering them in any way? So, like many parents with premies, we took them in. All the while running the worst case scenarios through our heads and wondering how we would survive the weekly PT appointments that we saw in our future. How would we afford this? How would we handle the schedule?

As the therapist worked, she noted that I was quieter than usual. Making small-talk, she commented on She-Beats new teeth (which she has happily shown off) and asked questions about what we were observing at home. After a few minutes, she turned her attention to He-Beat, who was sleeping. After switching babies and allowing He-Beat to orient himself, the whole process began again. The whole time, the therapist commented on how different they were from one another, how impressed she was with their ability to grasp objects. She noted their weights, their movements, their responses to their environment and us. And she laughed when it became clear He-Beat was flirting with her. "He's going to be trouble" she announced. Grey chuckled and responded "he already is."

In all, the whole appointment took 90 mins. Both babies were feed, played with and repackaged while she calculated the results of the assessment. Finally, the therapist turned her attention to Grey and me. And just when I thought my heart would jump out of my chest, she smiled broadly and spoke the word I worried I would never hear.

Normal.

They are well within normal development range. The only prescription is tummy time and play. But there is no need for them to be seen again.

9 months ago, I held two tiny babies in my arms and cried while apologizing to them for failing them. I whispered between tears how much I loved them and promised to do all I could to help them overcome this. 9 months later, they showed Grey and me how incredibly strong and resilent they are. What fighters they have always been.

We've been cleared.

Yet another one of those posts about sex

Yep, you read that one right. This is going to be one of those posts about sex, or more specifically the frustration caused by lack there of. For those of you who know Grey and me in real life, I apologize for the mental imaginary you're about to experience. But, like so much other stuff in my life, I need to get this one out.

Whenever talking about sex, there are always many points in time one can begin with. One could talk about their relationship with sex from a young age, retelling the embarrassment they experienced having "the talk" with your parents (my mother was ahead of the game and I got all the facts about conception by the time I was 9 yrs old), you could start about talking about your first crush, your first sex-dream, the first time you and your love-interest decided to explore, the role religion played in your decision to either wait until marriage or throw caution to the wind. So many places to start. But one common theme comes out again and again when people decide to talk about sex: most of us have a complex relationship with it. The idea of engaging in an act that basically requires letting go of one's inhibitions in order to truly find enjoyment (hence requires lots of trust and good communication) is deeply in contradiction with societal views (sex is shameful, dirty and is not to be discussed), hang-up with self image and even issues with power (sexual abuse, rape, or even a partner who shames you because you don't fit into their skewed idea of "perfect').

On my end, I've always had hang ups about sex. Growing up as a Catholic, it was very much engrained that sex outside of marriage was a major sin. The idea of "impure thoughts" let alone exploration was always quashed. There were additional levels too, with me viewing myself as an ugly duckling and thinking that I would never find a boyfriend, let alone get married. And there was the fact I was desperate to get out of dodge, with anything standing in my way of spreading my wings, especially an unplanned pregnancy, needing to be deflected if not eliminated all together. Add in one unfortunate incident where I had the pleasure of witnessing my parents in the act (for all parents, PLEASE consider other arrangements for sexy time, as trying to be quiet in a hotel room you're sharing with your teenage children isn't really a great idea), and you've got the makings of an asexual.

So it wasn't until college that I really allowed myself to explore the topic of sex at any level. And even then, my access to resources were limited.

Meeting Grey changed all of that. From the very beginning, he was patient with me as we explored not only my hang-ups (some of which he shared) but also provided a safe environment so we could both explore. Shaming has been the ultimate no-no in our relationship, as it inhibits not only exploration but also dampens trust. So from the beginning, open and honest communication has been key. And for the first 6 yrs of our relationship, this model worked out great.

Then we decided to try for a baby.

I don't need to elaborate with this audience how much infertility fucks with one's sex life, but for those who are looking for more information read here, here and this study, which is also summarized here. Regardless, it's well known that the prescribed sex, the monthly grieving pattern following BFNs, feelings of failure associated with the act to a general decay in self-worth. Infertility is the nuclear warhead to a healthy sex life. The thing is as one is in the midst of it, there's this hope that one day, after infertility is behind you, you'll be able to reclaim the sex life you once had. The problem is no one really openly talks about how to accomplish this.

There's an added wrinkle to all of this. For me, my pregnancy with the Beats ended very traumatically. Though I am forever grateful to the amazing medical staff who not only saved my life but also provided amazing medical care to the Beats during their time in NICU, the truth is that seeing my twins hooked up to machines, having wires and tubes coming out of their incredibly small bodies and having them live in a plastic isolette for about 2 weeks solidified how much my body had failed them and their siblings. Instead of marveling at what my body could do, providing a warm, safe environment for them to grow, I was struggling with the growing guilt and shame of this failure as a mother. Add in the fact that my body is still distorted, I'm at least 30 lbs overweight and Raynaud's phenomenon makes it so that my boobs are on fire every couple of hours and the result is the idea of "sexy" is pretty much quashed.

The past week a lot of this has come to a head. Grey is frustrated with this element of our relationship being gone and, frankly, so am I. I find I'm much more irritable with people, resenting the idea that others have found ways to bring this back into their lives (which is evident by the recent pregnancy/birth announcements). The problem is how to overcome it. And for this, I'm completely at a loss, as compared to other pressing items like sleep, job security, dealing with a leaky roof, dealing with destructive neighbors (who by-the-way have INCREDIBLY noisy sex makes one wonder if they aren't simply filming a porno), on top of child-care and day-to-day logistics, sex and personal care is pretty much at the bottom of the list.

So, my question to all of you is this: how do you do it? How do you prioritize sex during/after infertility? Thoughts, suggestions and even crazy stories completely welcome.

Part IV: The road to resolution

The final post in my transition back into blogging. Something I've been thinking about a lot over the past year since that first BFP. As always, if you are in not a good place, please, please, PLEASE take care of yourself first. And please bear with me as I ramble.

Years ago, following an official diagnosis of "unexplained infertility" and all the emotional turmoil that comes with it, I held fast to the belief that having a baby would automatically lead to me resolving. As naive as it sounds, the thought was that obtaining that elusive BFP and going through pregnancy would result in my crossing over into a world of bliss and happiness. I believed this so much that my original plan was to shut down this blog once I got the positive pregnancy test.

Then the losses happened.

And I learned about all that could go wrong with pregnancy.

So as I white knuckled my way through this pregnancy, I modified my belief, hoping that once the Beats arrived a lot of the anxiety would disappear. Sure, parenting would be hard, but I subconsciously believed that all that would change if/when I could hold the Beats.

And, obviously, I was still very naive.

Over the past 7 months, both Grey and I have gotten into the habit of checking the Beats every night around 2 am. The ritual is always the same, involving checking their lips to see if they are blue, counting breaths and assessing their quality. At moments where their breathing is so peaceful, making it difficult to detect, we've been mean enough to wake them up. All out of fear that by not checking that the worse will happen. And though this fear is slowly subsiding, the running joke is that these breathing checks will continue well into the time the Beats move out and marry (and will be an interesting thing to have to explain to their future life partners).

As I've reflected on this ritual that both Grey and I have adopted, I've realized my view on resolution being a destination has been a flawed one. After all, infertility has changed and shaped both Grey and me in such a way that we are both very different individuals compared to who we were before this trauma. So to view resolution as a destination, a final point on our map actually is an injustice to all we've been through and learned along the way. Hence I've been modifying how I view resolution, seeing it more as a process, a journey all it's own.

A couple of weeks ago, Mali @ No Kidding In NZ wrote this post where she talks about how she wants to see less gratitude and sensitivity from those who are parenting after adoption/infertility/loss. Her point being one that is completely reflective of where she is in life and one that I hadn't considered. When I argued that she was a "minority of a minority," what I meant was that most people I had meet IRL who had resolved to not to parent following infertility/loss were still addressing the emotions and logistics surrounding this decision. Hence the reason I've been so mindful about the warnings for posts for the Beats. But Mali, as usual, got me thinking more and more about the resolution process. Just as Loribeth had. A similar post from Mo @ Life and Love in the Petri Dish has added to this too.

So here's me taking a leap and being honest with all who read this: the truth is that as much as I love and cherish the Beats, I still am battling the demons from infertility. I'm still in disbelief our babies are not only here, but thriving (and man are they thriving), waiting for me to wake from this dream and find it all gone. I also mourn deeply the loss of our other potential babies, as I now have a more concrete comparison of what we lost. It's not to say that my grief before was any less, but it is different. On top of all of this, I worry that because of all we've been through that I'm actually unfit as a parent, failing these babies on a daily basis. And I still feel unworthy of this gift. Of being able to hold these two at night, feel the softness of their skin against mine, receive their smiles and inhale the sweetness of them.

Recently I found a quote from Haruki Murakami's Kafka on the Shore that seems to summarize this best:

“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

An you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.”

In short, though told that the hurricane that was our journey this past 3 yrs is now over, I'm finding that I don't entirely trust that. Looking back on how exactly this last FET and subsequent pregnancy played out, I'm still in disbelief. Hence resolution isn't a destination at all; for me it's actually been a journey.

One thing is clear, though my journey towards pregnancy is over, this chapter of my life is not. As Grey and I travel down this road, there are some additional things we need to address. But day by day, I'm finding the wounds are healing and I'm becoming less afraid of showing the scars. Still, I have a long way to go. This part of our journey has just started, but I'm lucky in that I have some fantastic role models to follow who have bravely blazed the trail.