Commiseration

Lately there has been a lot on my mind... I feel so stuck in limbo. Secondary Infertility does that. You don't fit with those that are dealing with primary infertility (and have no kids) because you already have a child (and the feelings you are going through are way different), and you don't fit in with other families that have 2 or more kids. So many people just tell you the same things over and over, and frankly, I'm so tired of hearing them:

• "It will happen when it's supposed to happen..."
• "Just stop trying, then you'll get pregnant..."
• "Don't stress about it. That's when you'll get pregnant..."
• "Don't worry about it -you still have lots of time and plenty of years left..."

Can I just say "DUH!". OF COURSE I know these things. Don't you think I've told myself some of these things a million times?!? Don't you think each month I tell myself not to get worried/stressed about it, not to focus on it so much, not to hope too much? Logically, it doesn't matter. No matter how many months I tell myself to quit thinking about it or worrying about it, I can't stop those little feelings of hope that keep telling me maybe, just maybe, this time it will work.

SO, lately I've been feeling a little isolated. Even my wonderful husband can't quite understand what I'm going through or feeling. I recently did a search and found a couple of sites that explained so completely what I was feeling -and gave me something that I desperately needed: commiseration.

This is an excerpt from the first site:
       The difficulty for me was once we started struggling to conceive again all of those experiences, those normal day to day parenting duties I was thrown into became constant reminders of not being able to grow our family. The group of women that I relied on for emotional support and strength started to become painful reminders of our struggle to conceive, especially since everyone else seemed to be growing their families effortlessly and I was in that world so completely now. It was impossible to escape or avoid! I’m a mom now: playdates and preschool, parks and birthday parties, potty training and sippy cups. Beyond this blog work, that’s the life I had. The painful reminder was intrinsically woven into every thread of my day to day life.
       Behind that pain was one main underlying issue that I just couldn’t come to terms with in our struggle: I didn’t want Henry to be an only child. My husband and I both come from large families with siblings pretty close in age (I’m one of 6, he’s one of 8) which we both loved and I felt so much guilt for not being able to give Henry something that I knew not only he would love, but something that would be so good for him too. Something I felt he needed as a child. I know many people are perfectly happy as only children and having one child, but as hard as I tried to be okay with is, it was just so outside our experiences that I couldn’t come to terms with is as our family’s path. When I went to see a therapist on this issue she surprisingly came back with, “You don’t need to accept it. It won’t be your path. You’ll figure out a way to grow your family one way or another”.
       As each birthday passes, I become more and more desperate watching my little boy grow older without a sibling. What should have been happy milestones started to become grief filled moments of panic. Christmases the last couple of years became a painful reminder of the hope from the Christmas the year before that we would have another stocking to hang by this time next year. The age gap widening between him and the possibility of a sibling for him was almost too much to bear at many times. It was something many people, even Jared, didn’t completely understand the deepness of my sadness about. It was truly the hardest part for me. Guilt (shouldn’t I be happy with one?) and grief for something intangible all tied up in a growing beautiful boy whom I loved more than anything.

Reading this was like walking in darkness for so long, only to find a small light in the distance. For so long now I've felt alone in this journey, without someone to really talk to, and unable to truly express what I am feeling. I know I can always turn to Him, my Heavenly Father, but I've often felt the need to converse with others who are currently going through the same thing. This gave me hope that someone understood me and my feelings so completely that I felt as if I'd written every word.

Another site that I really liked explained different emotions that those experiencing secondary infertility go through:

• Denial. You may think, "If I've been pregnant before, I can't possibly have a fertility problem." This mindset explains why so few couples with secondary problems seek medical treatment. Even those who had fertility problems before becoming parents sometimes assume they're cured and can't believe they might face more fertility problems.
• Envy. You may feel left behind by your friends whose families are growing and feel some jealousy at their success in having more than one child.
• Isolation. Parents dealing with secondary fertility problems often feel they don't fit easily into any one group. Since they have at least one child already, they can't find support with infertile couples, nor do they feel they can relate to parents who have had more children. And you may feel estranged from your partner; fertility problems can place enormous stress on a relationship.
• Sorrow. You may view your child's milestones — going off to kindergarten or learning to ride a bike — with a mix of joy and sadness, knowing you probably won't experience another child at this particular age again.
• Guilt. Being unable to give your child a sibling may weigh heavily on you, yet your desire for another child may also cause pangs of guilt. ("Why isn't my wonderful son enough?" you may ask yourself.)
• Anger. You may feel enraged that you're being denied something everyone else seems to do so easily — namely, enlarge their family.
• Anxiety. The treatment regimen — early morning blood samplings, ultrasounds, daily injections — poses special obstacles for parents of young children. Arranging childcare can be difficult and babysitting gets expensive. Going to a fertility clinic can be stressful. Some women don't want their child in a waiting room full of women with fertility problems because they don't want to flaunt the child in front of a group of women struggling to conceive, nor attract the inevitable stares. Financial pressures are another stressor. For instance, can you pay for fertility treatments and still save for your child's education?

Again, as I read this I felt so relieved to know that I was not alone, and that the above feelings that I have felt were not uncharacteristic of people experiencing the same thing. Reading each bullet point helped me even understand why I was feeling some of these emotions -because sometimes I can't even explain why.

Our secondary infertility journey is not over yet, but as each month passes I am faced with the stark reality that I may never have another. I don't want to. I'll freely admit it. I can't face that reality yet -not until we've explored every option. I grew up pretending to be a mom, dreaming of being a mom with a big family full of close siblings (like the one I came from) and I just can't let that dream go. Not yet. I understand I may have to, and I know I can do it if I need to, but for now, I can't. My husband so easily makes decisions like this -and then just sticks with it -but I just can't move on as easily. Don't get me wrong, he still wants to have more children too, but I think he's trying to make a plan and focus on that instead (ie: wait until M is in school, then I can go back to work and earn enough for either adoption or IVF...). For now though, I'm still secretly hoping and praying that I can conceive again.