What do making a career change and making a baby have in common? Both paths are bumpy, with no guarantees, and you don’t know where you’ll end up when you start walking.
But as you make your way blindly, you trust that this is the right path. You have faith that things will work out — even though you know that sometimes, for some people, they don’t. Hopefully you see signs, validation that the path you’re on is the one you should be walking. As with making a career change, you have no control over making a baby. You can only influence.
♥
I think about my chosen career path, graphic design, which I came to at the ripe old age of almost 34. In the 18 months that I have been going to school and freelancing, there have been plenty of positive things that, although have yet to bring in any steady income, show me that I am on the right path. For example: my new teacher this semester knew who Lauren [Lastname] was not because I am “the tall one” (I am almost 6’1″ / 184 cms, go figure) or “the one who talks funny” (I have a British accent, which is quite a novelty for a lot Americans), but because he remembered a piece of artwork I’d done — how fabulous to be preceded by one’s creativity! This is just one of many encouraging signs which propel me onwards. So even when I am fed up about never getting any job offers (yet!), I can look back at many good things that show me that I have talent, that I am on the right path, and that it’s only a question of time. I still don’t know where it this path is taking me but for as long as there are signs illuminating my way I’ll keep walking.
Sadly, nothing that I am aware of has shown me that this path to motherhood is intended for me. And, unlike my career path, I don’t have as much time to figure it out — and the time I thought I had suddenly became much shorter. In contrast to my career-making efforts, making a baby has been fraught with loss on top of loss. Actually, there have been so many losses that I have to bullet point them, to avoid writing an unwieldy sentence:
- Losing trust in my body:
- A missed miscarriage — didn’t my body get the memo that my tiny baby was dead?
- The Misoprostol didn’t work and I lived in excruciating pain for 8 days.
- I still needed a D&C.
- My cycle didn’t return for 3 months.
- I didn’t get pregnant as quickly post-miscarriage.
- Realising that I can’t trust / talk to my family, because they will share my private life (being anonymous online is totally different!).
- Trying to cope with my SIL being pregnant at the same time as me.
- First, learning that I might be sub-fertile;
- Then, having a chemical pregnancy;
- Then finally being diagnosed with Diminished Ovarian Reserve and being told my best chance of having a baby is through IVF.
These losses are compounded by feeling like I’m going crazy with grief whilst being cognizant of the fact that the depth and intensity of my feelings make me a difficult person to live with. There is nothing that I can think of that is remotely encouraging. I have received no validation that I am on the right path, nothing to suggest that motherhood is in my future. It’s hard to trust that things will work out at all — much less within the time frame that I had originally hoped for.
It feels like the only answer to Why me? is Why not you? What makes me so special? Nothing. So what is there to trust in? I don’t believe in god, and I’m not convinced that things happen for a reason — to me that feels like creating a narrative in retrospect. More power to all of us if we are able to reflect on things and connect the dots in a way that makes sense to us, but to me it’s a retrospective comfort. There is no comfort in the present. There is no reason. No cosmic force. Sometimes I feel like the only thing I can trust is myself… And yet, I am so glad when people tell me they’ve been praying for us, to one god or another. Part of me remains superstitious.
Back in April perhaps I had the first sign that my road to motherhood was not going to be the au naturel route. I was at a book fair and found a copy of the one book I’d hoped to find there: Taking Charge of Your Fertility by Toni Weschler, just $4 instead of $25. I clutched it to my chest until the pile of books DH and I wanted to buy was too tall and too heavy to carry. (Side note: no joke. We had to make two trips to the car!) Later, flipping through its pages, I spotted a business card wedged in the seam. It said:
[Dr. A]
Clinical Professor
Director of Fertility Services
Center for Endometriosis Research and Treatment
The word ‘endometriosis’ leapt out at me. I figured I might learn something if I had a conversation with an expert in endo after more than a decade since my laparoscopy. Perhaps there was something I could do to either improve my chances of conceiving again or minimise my risk of miscarrying again.
Two months later, once my cycle had returned, I made an appointment and it was for July 30th, the day after my niece was born. I held my head high as I entered That Waiting Room. I held it together as I waited for 30 minutes, surrounded by women as pregnant as I would have been. I even allowed a few tears to slip down my cheeks, and reminded myself of how far I’d come. I was able to do this because I’d conquered my fear. I’d healed myself enough that I went to meet my niece, kiss P-SIL’s cheek and congratulate her, and watch as my husband held a newborn for the first time. I’d finally (ha! so I thought…) reached a place where there was more healing than heartache, where counting the days I cried was easier than counting the days I didn’t. I went into my appointment with Dr. A determined, strong, and proactive; and stumbled out, struck down and broken anew, and with a new fear creeping in my heart.
One month and one chemical pregnancy later, the results of my CD3 blood-work and subsequent dildocam confirming my greatest rational fear of all: this road to motherhood might not work out in the way I’d hoped. On the day, I was almost euphoric — but compos mentis enough to laugh wryly and say Wow, you know you’ve fallen far when you’re told “Yay! I get to do IVF with my own eggs!” Dr. A’s optimistic 60-70% chance of IVF success still means there’s a 30-40% chance it could fail. It could fail, and I will still be making monthly repayments five years from now, ~ $15-20,000 poorer and no baby.
Or maybe in five years’ time I will look back at myself now and know that all this heartache will have been worth it. I hope so.
Meanwhile, dread.
Our original IVF appointment with Dr. D was pushed forward from October 3rd til next Tuesday September 10th. Less than one week to go. Will Dr. D concur with Dr. A’s assessment, or will the news be worse? (I cannot believe it would be better and would be skeptical if it were.) Isn’t there a chance the clinic cherry picks the best cases to artificially boost success rates? Oh these stupid rhetorical questions. I must wait, wait, wait. The proof will be in the Dr. D pudding — but the only thing I want on this dessert menu is a sticky bun.
♥
It’s CD16 and I ovulated two days ago, so this was probably our last ever cycle trying to conceive naturally. It’s the end of an era, which makes me a little sad. But I’m actually scared I’ve conceived: what if I miscarry again? On top of the grief, I will have infertility to contend with and the pressure will be on to start IVF as soon as possible. It seems hardly possible that I would be told I to proceed with IVF, conceive, and suddenly carry a healthy baby to term. And yet if I haven’t conceived, it will be bittersweet. Goodbye, charting. Goodbye, OPKs. Goodbye possibility-of-baby-conceived-inside-my-body. Hello sticking needles through my vagina. Hello laboratory. Hello embabies?
Most days it seems like everyone is pregnant but me (and if they’re not, someone calls them Mommy). Some days, it feels like I am slashing my way through a jungle of thick vines and at this point I don’t even know where I’m fucking headed. I’m beginning this infertility journey on already low emotional reserves, and yet in some ways I am stronger than ever, thanks to the existing support network I’ve built for myself online and through IRL friends. I try to remember that in spite of the deep ache in my heart that throbs with every step, I am not walking alone. I am in the company of some fabulous women already on this path, and others whose journeys run parallel to mine. Still, it’s lonely. I keep walking only because I feel as though I haven’t walked far enough yet to be able to give up.
Statistically, only 5-10% of women with DOR spontaneously conceive — for once I have fallen into a small statistic that is in my favour. If any meaning can be ascribed to my Mizuko Bean’s fleeting physical presence, it might be to help me keep the faith that my body can do this. My body wants to be pregnant — it remains so even when its precious cargo has died.
When so much is uncertain, I have to do everything I can to avoid going down the path of fear and worry, and head for hope instead. Sometimes hope is all we have left. I am at the crossroads where trust in myself and superstition meet: because although the odds are stacked against us, it’s the fact that Bean was ever here that gives me some hope that things might work out.
Annie says
Lauren, as always I am so amazed by your ability to so beautifully articulate multiple complex and interwoven thoughts and feelings. Reading this paragraph made me feel like I was reading my own thoughts:
“Most days it seems like everyone is pregnant but me (and if they’re not, someone calls them Mommy). Some days, it feels like I am slashing my way through a jungle of thick vines and at this point I don’t even know where I’m fucking headed. I’m beginning this infertility journey on already low emotional reserves, and yet in some ways I am stronger than ever, thanks to the existing support network I’ve built for myself online and through IRL friends. I try to remember that in spite of the deep ache in my heart that throbs with every step, I am not walking alone. I am in the company of some fabulous women already on this path, and others whose journeys run parallel to mine. Still, it’s lonely. I keep walking only because I feel as though I haven’t walked far enough yet to be able to give up.”
I don’t know what lies ahead in the jungle, but I know we’ll keep slashing our way through. Thinking of you, friend.
Lauren says
Thinking of you too, Annie. And can I just say, that you are “amazed” that I “so beautifully articulate multiple complex and interwoven thoughts and feelings.” is one helluva compliment, especially coming from you. There are so many times your words make my jaw drop or my heart ache (or pound!), this is fine praise indeed. Thank you x
Catwoman73 says
Lauren- you aren’t alone. Not at all. I know we’ve never really met, but I feel like I’ve come to know you so well in the months that I have been reading your words. I can’t imagine not walking this journey with you. I’m going to look at your appointment being moved up as a great sign- I think the universe is just trying to hurry things along for you, so you can get to the fun stuff- being pregnant, and waiting for the arrival of your little bundle of joy. Stay strong- I’m behind you, 100%!
Lauren says
This is a fantastic observation!!!! I was blind to this possibility, thanks for pointing it out!
I am so glad to be able to count you amongst the tribe of fabulous women that, in my own strange way, I have come to think of as friends, despite us never having met. Thank you for always reading, commenting, sharing every step. xx
Sarah says
Beautiful beautiful post. I wish you all the best for the rest of your journey xx
Lauren says
Thanks, lovely xo
Journey Woman says
The journey to parenthood, and infact, the journey of parenthood, exists at the crossroads where trust in oneself and superstition meet. Here’s wishing you a fair and fruitful trip ahead. Your fellow travellers are rooting for you.
Lauren says
This is a beautiful and touching response. I am so struck by your wisdom, Journey Woman. Such genius in its simplicity! Thank you very much. Wishing you well on your path, wherever it leads you, comrade. Much love xo
dellaquella says
I have tears in my eyes. I want so much to give you an actual hug.
Lauren says
Darling girl, you just did. Thank you xo