The frightening thing about being part of the pregnancy loss and infertility community is you are aware of all the harrowing stories.
I can’t say, I won’t miscarry again, or People don’t miscarry after they’ve spent thousands of dollars on infertility treatment, when I know so many who have. I can’t say such things. I can only hope that once I get pregnant, I stay pregnant — but there are no guarantees.
Meanwhile, the grief washes over me. I am wading in chest-high waters and weightlessly jump as a new waves crashes down. I am further away from the shores of miscarriage grief, so although the occasional backwards glance blindsides me, I don’t struggle against the current as much as I did.
With my mock cycle underway, it is easier to focus on the now. Yesterday I increased my oestrogen dose to 4mg; on Thursday it will increase again. I notice I get a little more verklempt than usual — is it the hormones or that I feel like I’m finally in the running?
Also as of today, we have a lawyer who we trust. She will draft the agreement between us and Nellie, outlining the possibilities of future contact. We will go over it sometime next week, whereupon we we submit it to Nellie’s lawyer who will go over it with her. Assuming there aren’t many changes on either side, it should be signed and executed by the end of the year. At that point, if Nellie is still comfortable, we will exchange email addresses and figure out if/when we meet.
I just have to remember to keep moving onwards and upwards. Sometimes it feels like I must climb the highest ladder. Don’t look down or around — only up! It’s a slog, and all around me are my fellow comrades, many of whom I’ve known for more than 6 months. Most of them have, by now, gotten pregnant one way or another. Heartrendingly, a few of them have miscarried again. Others are halfway through their pregnancies, finally allowing themselves to get excited about meeting their long-awaited babies.
Me? I’m still dealing with the aftershocks of learning a genetic child would be nothing short of miraculous. It hurts so much that so many people are able to have babies, unthinkingly. It hurts that women older than I are able to have genetic children, with and without medical help. What’s wrong with me? Why is there all this stuff so wrong with me? It hurts so much to know that I never really had a chance, that I would have been dealing with this shit even in my 20s. It hurts so much that we have to spend over $45,000 (the figure went up with the legal fees we have to pay) just to have a chance — just a chance! — at having a child. I am so grateful to have my grandparents’ gift coming my way which even makes this possible, but… we’ve had our fair share of financial struggles the past 5 years. Things have not gone well. I wish we could have saved my inheritance for a rainy day. We finally got to a point where we felt confident that we could turn things around, begin our new careers, and have a baby, and BAM! Philosophically speaking, I guess my rainy day is now.
I try to relax into these fears. Just because I feel something doesn’t mean it’s the truth, says my voice in one ear. Yes, chimes another, focus on today, not a month / six months / a year from now.
But sometimes the little red cloud of envy and sadness splits you down the middle and you have to look down to blink away the tears.
Today we took another huge step forward into the alone unknown. There are so few people who have walked this path before me. The giant A.R.T. binder grows thicker and heavier by the day. I try to let go the thought that Bean would be 2 months old by now, but it stubbornly floats nearby, occasionally sticking to my clothes like a dandelion seed that won’t be released on the wind.