This post is probably my last. I’d always hoped OFT would have a happy ending, but that seems unlikely. At least, far from how I could ever have imagined.
I can’t begin to explain the weary rage I feel. There is very little fight left in me. I’ve poured my broken heart and open soul into creating a space that is healing, and met amazing women along the way. I’ve come to think of you all as faceless friends. I’ve even met some of you in person or exchanged gifts in the mail. We were comrades. But now I am on a journey that few have been on.
When I was in London, with spotty internet connection, I learned that I was better off without constantly being on Twitter. When I could check in, I found that Twitter, with its steady stream of BFPs and congratulations, had become a huge source of anxiety and anger.
The problem with seeking support from a group of women who have miscarried is that eventually most get pregnant, and suddenly that support system becomes slap after slap in the face.
If that weren’t enough of a challenge, I now know there is no way I can be gracious and supportive towards women who have “only” suffered a miscarriage. A single miscarriage pales into insignificance compared to the enormity of what I now face and what I have learned about my own biology.
Perhaps a better woman than I would be able to rise above the anger she feels when one of her comrades is pregnant again. Perhaps a better woman would be able to push side her deep longing and loneliness to sympathize with her faceless friends who are wracked with fears and worries about their young pregnancies. Better women than I taught me that others’ IVF successes is a win for all of us in the IF community. Not so for me anymore. My situation is so fucking awful that how you came to conceive your baby is utterly irrelevant now — unless you have what I have. But you don’t.
As I type this, just a few days before my undue date, reeling, devastated, horrified, ashamed, shaking my head that only 50 (yes, fifty) families worldwide have a similar genetic disorder to me but that I am currently the only known person with such a mutation, I want to scream fuck you, everyone and everything. Forgive me, but fuck all those who complain about how hard it is to be pregnant again. And fuck those for finding their undue date hard when they already have the promise of a new baby growing inside them. Fuck those for complaining about problems that I can only now dream about.
There are better women out there, filled with grace and blessed with normal karyotypes and healthy rainbow babies conceived through love or through their parents’ egg and sperm. Another hard lesson I am learning is that I am not one of them and nor will I ever be.
So there is nothing left for me to say but this: in spite of my whirlwind of rage, envy, grief, trauma, shock, horror, and shame, I wish you all well–because I wouldn’t wish my devastating news on anyone–and hope your respective journeys to building your families turn out in the way you hope for. All I ask is that you spare me your pity and, if possible, forgive me my harsh words: I have no others left.
Holy crap I’m just catching up. I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I’m reeling.
And why wouldn’t you be angry? This is a shit situation. At BEST. We’re all angry about our own things. I get angry when people freak out about going to their first funeral in their 30s. It’s irrational, but there you have it. It’s anger. it’s the acknowledgement of life’s fundamental unfairness. How else are we supposed to feel? Maybe someday we can find peace, but that’s not today. It doesn’t have to be today.
However you feel, Lauren, I am here and I can handle it. You don’t have to chafe against the rage of your situation. You have to bear it somehow, but that doesn’t mean you can’t also hate it. I hate it with you.
So much love.
Lauren- I have read your post a couple of times, and have thought long and hard about what I would like to say, because ‘I’m sorry’ just doesn’t cut it sometimes. Life really is fucking unfair, and there are no words that can erase that fact. Your words may be harsh, but they are honest. And your honesty is why we all love you so much.
The only thing I would really like to say is that I hope you change your mind, and continue to use this space to work through your devastating news. Those of us who are regular followers aren’t just here because we’re looking for a happy ending- we want to share your journey, all the way, no matter where it ends up. We want you to lean on us during this difficult time, even if you don’t have the strength right now to allow us to lean on you. You don’t have to be a ray of sunshine. We’ll love you anyway. I promise.
If we don’t hear from you again, I want to wish you nothing but the best of luck in all of your future endeavours. You have my e-mail address, and if you need to vent, or just talk about ANYTHING, I will be there. I would miss you terribly if you just disappeared. But if you don’t want to contact me, that’s OK, too. After all, I know that I’m the enemy- I actually managed to have a child- and I know how tough that is. Undoubtedly tougher than what I am experiencing, with my insane jealousy and anger at everyone who gets to have more than one.
Whatever the case- I wish you well, and sincerely hope that you are able to find some measure of peace in whatever path you choose to take. Sending love and hugs…
I totally get your slap in the face theory & harsh words. As requested I won’t pity you. I’m so sorry to see you go, I know you be missed but totally understand why you are doing it. You have my email if you do want to keep in touch but I also understand if you don’t. Good luck in everything you do. Loads of love. xx
There are no words to take away your pain, suffering, rage. I am so so sad for you. You are doing what’s right for you, and know that you have friends thinking of you and supporting you on whatever journey you take, whether we hear from you again or not. Please take care of yourself. Lots of love xxx
I’m so sorry about the unfair hand you’ve been dealt, and it breaks my heart to read about how much you’re hurting. It’s not pity, but empathy. I can see myself in your shoes and I know I’d feel the same way. I wish you didn’t have to deal with this, but you should leave this blog if it’s stopped helping you. Find new things that do. It sounds like there are few people who know exactly what you’re going through, but there are definitely women who can’t, and won’t, ever have their much dreamed about baby. I wish I could offer some comfort. Keeping you in my thoughts, friend.
I get your anger – it’s totally legit. Many of us never get a “rainbow” baby to make things better. Wish it was different for you and for all of us living the horror story.