The beginning of the holiday season slammed me full force with unexpected grief and today, I'm still gathering myself. Somehow, since that time, I have felt my mother's absense more deeply. She has not once escaped my daily, and sometimes hourly thoughts, but it became more than that. Perhaps it was the young man I began to counsel around that time whose brother had just been killed or the countdown of the year anniversary (March 2nd) of her passing slimming down or a less than fruitful Christmas experience with her brother's family that threw me into this tailspin, but I haven't gotten out of it. I miss her. And it feels like I'm just beginning to climb out of the shock phase, like I'm beginning to look around for the first time and finally realize (after almost 11 months) that she will never be in this place again. She's gone. For all of our differences, she was a best friend. We spoke everyday about everything, no holds barred and now, she's gone. A piece of me is just...gone.
A few weeks ago, just before I put G to bed, I picked him up and brought him to the top of our stairs. From that vantage point, you can see some water from the straits and on a clear night, the moon. I pointed out the full yellow moon over the water and how it put a golden sheen of light on the straits below and G whispered, "that's Grandma Vicki's light." I couldn't respond. I merely nodded. Now, we speak about my Mom every now and then, but how a 3-year-old would come to think of that, even a creative one like him, is beyond me. But perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps she is gone from here, but not gone altogether. It's just adult minds are too cluttered, too 'logical' to see what can't be seen. I'd like to think that.
I remember sitting on the back porch of my Mom's care home with her a few months before she passed away. We were talking about the inevitable-her death, an elephant we had denied the existance of in almost every conversation we had since she entered hospice care. My Mom was a master at skirting the issue on anything unpleasant, but for one moment, we were able to talk plainly. We looked out at the back of a historic Victorian when she made it clear that she did not want to be buried. She wanted her ashes to stay with me wherever I went. I wondered out loud, "how will I know where to find you then?" to which she said, "I'll be everywhere."
She was right. She is everywhere, for me. I just wished I had something more tangible, someone to hold onto. I constantly look up into the night sky and search for the feeling of her, listen to the wind and try to hear her in it, but wherever I go, the only place that resonates her presence is my mind. And my mind can't seem to get that she's gone yet. 11 months later and I still make mental notes to tell my Mom about a new pair of boots I got or something funny G said and then, I am reminded. I can tell it to a journal or speak into the wind, as if she might hear, but it's not the same. This place I live in will never be the same.
"Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die!
-Mary Frye
Friday, January 25, 2013
Friday, January 11, 2013
Dangling Decisions
The last time I posted, we were dangling between decisions, still considering adoption to add to our family, but thrown a curve ball after a meeting with our RE who strongly suggested we try another fresh IVF. Unlike the days before our son when the direction of treatment was clear (the outcome was not), this time we are more than battle-worn. I feel like I've existed in this spot forever, pouring money into doctor's pockets, being poked and prodded, falling head-on into heartbreak. There is a hesitance to move forward that had never existed pre-baby. But the yearning to add a child to our family is still hungry. I'm just less sure how this will come to be.
This time a few months ago, Mr. S was hell-bent on adopting our second...until the doctor reignited the possibility of Baby G, part II. And then all at once we realized: should an IVF fail, we will have lost out on thousands and thousands of dollars (which is not to be scoffed at), but will we have permanently lost out on the chance to still add to our family? Not necessarily. While the money piece will have stopped us at that point, who's to say we couldn't save the money and try adoption further down the road? It will still be an option, but it will take time (and far more discipline than we have now) to recover that money. But unlike biology, adoption does not necessarily have an age cut-off (well, so to speak). We're 34. If we needed 5 years to recover the money to go down that road, sure G would be a lot older and the age difference would be less than ideal, but we would still be well within an age bracket where becoming new parents wasn't completely out of the question. As we've all been taught in this ALI existence, "You must give up the life you planned in order to have the life that is waiting for you.” If becoming a parent the second time around is something we want badly enough, it will happen, one way or the other. I'm just not clear yet on what way that will be. And as you can see, we don't have the means to do both. This is an either/or scenario.
And at once I also realized that a final IVF would be necessary--to heal. Whether we become parents by those means or not, I need this to close those doors. That question of "what if" would absolutely drive itself into my thoughts in the future more often than I would anticipate, I think. After that, I will have an extraordinarily expensive peace of mind...or a child. While I'd prefer the latter, I must take and accept what I'm given. This is what IF has taught me to do.
Recently I was faced with a slew of pregnancy and birth announcements and while having G dulled the ache for awhile, it seems that my feelings of envy (yes, it's ugly, but I'm calling it what it is) are stronger than at any point in time since he was born. I want that back. I'm going to be absolutely honest. While pregnancy is truly a blink of an eye in the experience of having a child, it was one of the happiest times of my life. Sure, I was filled with terror as I had so much to lose, but the anticipation, the healing in feeling as if my body was finally doing what it should, the magic of giving birth, it was something at one point I never thought I would experience, so I lived in a state of overwhelming gratitude every day. I still can't believe that I was lucky enough to have it all happen and to have this perfect little person in my life. If I had a second child, would I be guaranteed that experience? Absolutely not. I know as well as anyone that nothing is ever how we plan it to be. Not here, not in this space. I had a smooth pregnancy and delivery. I'm not naive enough to think that another pregnancy would necessarily mirror that. But it would be lovely to have the opportunity to try at least.
When the doctor suggested we go the IVF route again, I had closed that possibility down in my mind until then, but when she opened it back up, a flashback of everything that I loved about having G came rushing back to me. Is it all about the pregnancy or giving birth? No. It's also about the fact that we've had so much heartbreak in the last few years, that if we could make any process in our lives at this point more simplified, then we will. Now, I would weather a thousand more storms for my child or children without hesitation, including going through the wait of being selected by a birthmother, paperwork, legal wait times, etc., but if there's any possibility of becoming parents again without this, then I'll take it. It's not that I won't one day jump at that chance or that joining a family through adoption is any lesser in my eyes, it's just simpler and my heart needs that right now.
I'm not silly enough to think that four years and many FSH points later that this will be successful. Quite honestly, if we had to convert to an IUI because of too few follicles, I'd be extremely disappointed, but not surprised. But, again, I'd kick myself for not trying.
So, there it is. For now, we've decided to go the IVF route...again. I'd also kick myself for not losing a few pounds and ditching the insane caffeine habit I've developed again, so we're going to give it a few months before we jump in. This will be a huge sacrifice financially for us, but the outcome could possibly be well worth it.
This time a few months ago, Mr. S was hell-bent on adopting our second...until the doctor reignited the possibility of Baby G, part II. And then all at once we realized: should an IVF fail, we will have lost out on thousands and thousands of dollars (which is not to be scoffed at), but will we have permanently lost out on the chance to still add to our family? Not necessarily. While the money piece will have stopped us at that point, who's to say we couldn't save the money and try adoption further down the road? It will still be an option, but it will take time (and far more discipline than we have now) to recover that money. But unlike biology, adoption does not necessarily have an age cut-off (well, so to speak). We're 34. If we needed 5 years to recover the money to go down that road, sure G would be a lot older and the age difference would be less than ideal, but we would still be well within an age bracket where becoming new parents wasn't completely out of the question. As we've all been taught in this ALI existence, "You must give up the life you planned in order to have the life that is waiting for you.” If becoming a parent the second time around is something we want badly enough, it will happen, one way or the other. I'm just not clear yet on what way that will be. And as you can see, we don't have the means to do both. This is an either/or scenario.
And at once I also realized that a final IVF would be necessary--to heal. Whether we become parents by those means or not, I need this to close those doors. That question of "what if" would absolutely drive itself into my thoughts in the future more often than I would anticipate, I think. After that, I will have an extraordinarily expensive peace of mind...or a child. While I'd prefer the latter, I must take and accept what I'm given. This is what IF has taught me to do.
Recently I was faced with a slew of pregnancy and birth announcements and while having G dulled the ache for awhile, it seems that my feelings of envy (yes, it's ugly, but I'm calling it what it is) are stronger than at any point in time since he was born. I want that back. I'm going to be absolutely honest. While pregnancy is truly a blink of an eye in the experience of having a child, it was one of the happiest times of my life. Sure, I was filled with terror as I had so much to lose, but the anticipation, the healing in feeling as if my body was finally doing what it should, the magic of giving birth, it was something at one point I never thought I would experience, so I lived in a state of overwhelming gratitude every day. I still can't believe that I was lucky enough to have it all happen and to have this perfect little person in my life. If I had a second child, would I be guaranteed that experience? Absolutely not. I know as well as anyone that nothing is ever how we plan it to be. Not here, not in this space. I had a smooth pregnancy and delivery. I'm not naive enough to think that another pregnancy would necessarily mirror that. But it would be lovely to have the opportunity to try at least.
When the doctor suggested we go the IVF route again, I had closed that possibility down in my mind until then, but when she opened it back up, a flashback of everything that I loved about having G came rushing back to me. Is it all about the pregnancy or giving birth? No. It's also about the fact that we've had so much heartbreak in the last few years, that if we could make any process in our lives at this point more simplified, then we will. Now, I would weather a thousand more storms for my child or children without hesitation, including going through the wait of being selected by a birthmother, paperwork, legal wait times, etc., but if there's any possibility of becoming parents again without this, then I'll take it. It's not that I won't one day jump at that chance or that joining a family through adoption is any lesser in my eyes, it's just simpler and my heart needs that right now.
I'm not silly enough to think that four years and many FSH points later that this will be successful. Quite honestly, if we had to convert to an IUI because of too few follicles, I'd be extremely disappointed, but not surprised. But, again, I'd kick myself for not trying.
So, there it is. For now, we've decided to go the IVF route...again. I'd also kick myself for not losing a few pounds and ditching the insane caffeine habit I've developed again, so we're going to give it a few months before we jump in. This will be a huge sacrifice financially for us, but the outcome could possibly be well worth it.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
So Much in 24 Hours
*Death and loss talk (pets)--please don't read if you're sensitive to this.
The past twenty-four hours has been all-consuming, jarring and leaving me in a puddle of jumbled emotions and confusion.
The first part of it started yesterday when I brought my cat in for a follow-up vet visit. That last sentence seems so casual, but it was anything but. As I gathered his thin, lethargic body in my arms to put him in his cage, there was no struggle, no fight left in him. I knew this would be his last moments. I knew it in my heart, even though that wasn't the plan. The plan was to make him better, but at that point, I knew it was a longshot. He had been losing weight over a few months, but nothing drastic until the last few weeks. At his last visit he was anemic and his liver counts were off. There was suspicion that his condition was being caused by a primary anemia, but after several days of treatment for that, he had lost even more weight, so much so that all I felt was ribs. He was vomiting and had stopped eating. We had the option to keep him hospitalized and gather more information, but even without a specialist's consultation (which would have been thousands at the end of the day), the vet felt a mass on his GI track and just knew. So, we realized what we had to do to release our boy from his suffering. We had to say goodbye.
I always forget how much bravery it takes to go there until I am faced with it again. And again. But I am so grateful that we had that option for him and it was with the most loving guidance. We've been with the same vet for over six years and I wouldn't trade them for the world. They let us make our decision without influence and when it was done, backed us up and helped us through it. Charlie (my cat) was known for purring so loudly that it was often mistaken for a growl. But this was the last creature on earth that would ever growl. He was a gentle soul, one who let G lay on him or pretend to ride him like a pony in the days when he was nearing 20 pounds (he was a beefy cat). And his passing was a peaceful one. Cradled in Mr. S's lap, I was able to cuddle with him in his last moments. After the vet began, his purring became faint, subsided and then he put his head down. It's always suprising to me after having been exposed to violent deaths in media how gentle and understated it can really be, as if they've merely gone to sleep. That's what makes it so hard to grasp.
As if that weren't enough:
Reeling from this, I faced my RE today. I told Mr. S to skip it because my purpose was to close the doors on all that was treatment-related so that I could clear room to move on and this was something I could do alone. And quite honestly, the appointment felt like an afterthought following last night's events, so I went in casually...and came out completely baffled.
One thing I knew before going in there that I haven't been as transparent about on here was that I had not yet truly moved on from the possibilty of treatment and my RE's words made that even more so.
First, she determined based on our best knowledge, including past labs (I had a complete 'multiple miscarriage panel after my first), that the fact I've had two miscarriages was probably horrible, horrible luck. Do we know that for sure? No. But based on what we do have as evidence, that's her idea. Although she was wondering whether sperm issues might have contributed. After discussing embryo adoption, she determined that in many cases, the embryos we might get would probably not even be as high quality as the ones we could produce ourselves (unless the donor embryos were from donor egg/sperm--talk about indirect reproduction) and after a few tries there, we'd be looking at the same cost as a fresh cycle. She completely nixed the egg donor idea because she doesn't believe that's where the problem lies. She admitted that my FSH was worse than other 34-year-olds, but absolutely not out of the realm of being responsive to treatment. So, what was her recommendation? A fresh IVF. While it's still a gamble, she seemed to be very positive about it.
Fuuuu.ck. That wasn't what I wanted to hear. I wanted black-and-white: "You're broken. Don't waste your money here." I really thought for sure that's what I was going to hear and at least that would have made this decision easier.
And then we had some discussion about my concerns regarding adoption and she agreed with these as very real, sparking more fear in me for that road. Ugh. I did make known that I very much wanted a second child and that this was an either/or scenario as we didn't have the funds to do both.
Call me naive, but I just don't think she would mislead me for more business (they're doing plenty fine). However, I also know this is her job--treatment. Her world has to be that treatment is the end-all, be-all. She is conditioned towards this everyday, so although her medical expertise is excellent, this is not a decision that is now only weighed within the confines of a fertility clinic.
It's a gamble and I know I wanted a guarantee, but when a gambler hits the jackpot even once, it is too seductive to resist going back to that same machine and trying again, even if the odds have dropped considerably. I feel the draw towards it again and I know that the treatment itself is not what I fear. It is the fact that I may walk away empty-handed once again.
So, our decisions boil down to these two:
I have no idea where I'm going from here. It was hard enough to think through my major life decisions without having lost my beloved Charlie. So, next month we will be embarking on a cruise, just the three of us and I'll be seeing my sister (the only sister I am close to) after 20+ years of separation: both things we desperately need as something to look forward to. I'll need that down time and maybe then I will be clear-headed and ready to move.
The past twenty-four hours has been all-consuming, jarring and leaving me in a puddle of jumbled emotions and confusion.
The first part of it started yesterday when I brought my cat in for a follow-up vet visit. That last sentence seems so casual, but it was anything but. As I gathered his thin, lethargic body in my arms to put him in his cage, there was no struggle, no fight left in him. I knew this would be his last moments. I knew it in my heart, even though that wasn't the plan. The plan was to make him better, but at that point, I knew it was a longshot. He had been losing weight over a few months, but nothing drastic until the last few weeks. At his last visit he was anemic and his liver counts were off. There was suspicion that his condition was being caused by a primary anemia, but after several days of treatment for that, he had lost even more weight, so much so that all I felt was ribs. He was vomiting and had stopped eating. We had the option to keep him hospitalized and gather more information, but even without a specialist's consultation (which would have been thousands at the end of the day), the vet felt a mass on his GI track and just knew. So, we realized what we had to do to release our boy from his suffering. We had to say goodbye.
I always forget how much bravery it takes to go there until I am faced with it again. And again. But I am so grateful that we had that option for him and it was with the most loving guidance. We've been with the same vet for over six years and I wouldn't trade them for the world. They let us make our decision without influence and when it was done, backed us up and helped us through it. Charlie (my cat) was known for purring so loudly that it was often mistaken for a growl. But this was the last creature on earth that would ever growl. He was a gentle soul, one who let G lay on him or pretend to ride him like a pony in the days when he was nearing 20 pounds (he was a beefy cat). And his passing was a peaceful one. Cradled in Mr. S's lap, I was able to cuddle with him in his last moments. After the vet began, his purring became faint, subsided and then he put his head down. It's always suprising to me after having been exposed to violent deaths in media how gentle and understated it can really be, as if they've merely gone to sleep. That's what makes it so hard to grasp.
As if that weren't enough:
Reeling from this, I faced my RE today. I told Mr. S to skip it because my purpose was to close the doors on all that was treatment-related so that I could clear room to move on and this was something I could do alone. And quite honestly, the appointment felt like an afterthought following last night's events, so I went in casually...and came out completely baffled.
One thing I knew before going in there that I haven't been as transparent about on here was that I had not yet truly moved on from the possibilty of treatment and my RE's words made that even more so.
First, she determined based on our best knowledge, including past labs (I had a complete 'multiple miscarriage panel after my first), that the fact I've had two miscarriages was probably horrible, horrible luck. Do we know that for sure? No. But based on what we do have as evidence, that's her idea. Although she was wondering whether sperm issues might have contributed. After discussing embryo adoption, she determined that in many cases, the embryos we might get would probably not even be as high quality as the ones we could produce ourselves (unless the donor embryos were from donor egg/sperm--talk about indirect reproduction) and after a few tries there, we'd be looking at the same cost as a fresh cycle. She completely nixed the egg donor idea because she doesn't believe that's where the problem lies. She admitted that my FSH was worse than other 34-year-olds, but absolutely not out of the realm of being responsive to treatment. So, what was her recommendation? A fresh IVF. While it's still a gamble, she seemed to be very positive about it.
Fuuuu.ck. That wasn't what I wanted to hear. I wanted black-and-white: "You're broken. Don't waste your money here." I really thought for sure that's what I was going to hear and at least that would have made this decision easier.
And then we had some discussion about my concerns regarding adoption and she agreed with these as very real, sparking more fear in me for that road. Ugh. I did make known that I very much wanted a second child and that this was an either/or scenario as we didn't have the funds to do both.
Call me naive, but I just don't think she would mislead me for more business (they're doing plenty fine). However, I also know this is her job--treatment. Her world has to be that treatment is the end-all, be-all. She is conditioned towards this everyday, so although her medical expertise is excellent, this is not a decision that is now only weighed within the confines of a fertility clinic.
It's a gamble and I know I wanted a guarantee, but when a gambler hits the jackpot even once, it is too seductive to resist going back to that same machine and trying again, even if the odds have dropped considerably. I feel the draw towards it again and I know that the treatment itself is not what I fear. It is the fact that I may walk away empty-handed once again.
So, our decisions boil down to these two:
- Go into a fresh IVF with a final acceptance and understanding that G may very well be an only child at the end of it.
- Adoption and coming to terms with some of those fears before embarking.
I have no idea where I'm going from here. It was hard enough to think through my major life decisions without having lost my beloved Charlie. So, next month we will be embarking on a cruise, just the three of us and I'll be seeing my sister (the only sister I am close to) after 20+ years of separation: both things we desperately need as something to look forward to. I'll need that down time and maybe then I will be clear-headed and ready to move.
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