The grass is always greener

Thank you all so much for your comments on my last post. I appreciate your advice and support more than I can express here.

As I was reflecting further yesterday on this coming weekend and on L's shower, I was reminded that I just need to keep things in the proper perspective. Sure, L is pregnant with a girl and isdue the same date I would have been had things gone a different direction for me. Yes, she is having an experience--a healthy pregnancy which will result in a baby--that I have not had and likely will never have. But someone will always have something that I don't have. (And I'm not even talking, really, about material things.)

The reverse is also true. Many is the time I have been the one who had something that a friend did not have, that she desperately wanted.

When I was a travel nurse before law school, I had a friend who was a SAHM to three children under 4 who envied me my freedom. (Side note: at that time, she felt very trapped in her situation. Her children are now older, she works part-time, and she divorced her husband. She feels better now.)

When I decided to leave nursing and go to law school, I can't even tell you the number of people I worked with who openly told me that they were envious of my career change. Many of them were well past the point of burnout and would have gladly changed careers, if their circumstances had allowed them to do so.

I know I have friends and relatives who are envious of my career. In this economic climate, there are probably people who envy the fact that I have a job at all, people who would be willing to do almost anything to get back into the workforce.

When I got married, I know that a couple of my single friends envied me. (Some of my married friends were envious that we got married on a beach on Hawaii and that we eloped and did our wedding "the easy way." I got a lot of "wow, we should have done that" from married/engaged people.) I know that a couple of my unmarried friends still envy my married state and yearn to be married themselves.

Throughout my life, when I have had good news to share, whether it was about a new nursing contract, being accepted to law school, getting my first "real" job as a lawyer, or getting married on Maui, I have not hesitated to share it with my friends or to celebrate. And truth be told, I almost never stopped to think that my happiness and success might somehow bring them pain. I expected my friends to be happy for me. . . . and the majority of the time, I believe that they were.

Why, then, should I expect anything different from my friend L? She isn't having a baby or allowing her sister-in-law to throw her a shower to make me uncomfortable or to lord it over me that she has been able to achieve a goal that has eluded me for almost two years. No, she is simply sharing her happiness with her friends and celebrating a very special event in her life. No different than what I have done in regard to every happy event that has occurred in my own life.

"It's not about me" will be my mantra on Saturday. I will act happy for my friend, not only because it is the right thing to do, the only thing to do, but because I am genuinely happy for her, despite my own pain. I will make the day about L and her husband and their baby girl, as it should be.

I will try to remember that there will always be someone who has something I don't have that I desperately want. And that's OK.

Oh, and I will also spend the majority of the shower with my single childless girlfriends and avoid the pregnancy/labor/babies talk as much as possible.

ETA: I did get her a gift from her registry; MM and I made a quick in-and-out trip to Babies R Us just before it closed after dinner one night last week. I stuck to bedding to lessen the "ooh, it's so cute!!" factor.

Support & strategies sought

Next Saturday, I will be attending a baby shower for the friend I wrote about here. I am looking forward to the shower in one way: I will get to see my friend, the guest of honor (who I'll call "L"), and other friends who I don't see often since I moved from Tucson to Phoenix.

In other ways, though, I am dreading the shower. And I will confess that I haven't even bought a gift yet, when usually I would have done this weeks ahead, for the fun of it, especially for a baby girl. Just haven't been able to bring myself to set foot in Babies R Us, where she is registered.

I think anyone who has struggled with infertility can relate to my feelings of dread. A baby shower is one of the worst possible places to be for a woman who cannot have a child of her own. The last one I attended was in April 2009, around the time when we first started treatment. (I wrote about it here.) Parts of it were hard, but overall, I found it tolerable. We had just started using medical intervention, and though I am a pessimist by nature, I actually still had some hope that, with the help of medications and IUIs, we would conceive.

It has now been almost 10 months since that last shower. We are no longer doing intervention or actively TTC. I still think a lot about TTC, but I spend far more time now trying to come to terms with the probability that I will never have a baby of my own than I do dwelling on the day-to-day minutiae of TTC. It's a very different place to be, mentally.

This particular shower will be harder for me in several ways than a baby shower for another friend might be. (Hey, I am invited to another baby shower, for another friend in Tucson, the following Saturday! Maybe I should attend both so that I can compare and contrast and decide if this one truly is/was uniquely difficult.) First, as I mentioned in the post I wrote when L first told me about her pregnancy, L and her husband married the same year that MM and I did, and they actually started TTC several months after us. Unlike us, they weren't even sure whether they wanted children when they married.

Second, as I also write about in that post, L's due date is the same due date I would have had if my early miscarriage in August 2009 had not happened. This fact will make it especially hard for me not to dwell on my own loss. And L is having a girl. At this point, we would happily take any child, male or female, but both MM and I have expressed a preference for a girl in our many conversations about our future child.

Finally, though a couple of the friends who will be at the shower know that we have been TTC and/or that we would like to have children, none of them know that we spent a lot of last year doing intervention. None of them know about my miscarriage. So it likely wouldn't make any sense to them why I might be upset. Thus, I am determined NOT to show any outward signs of distress. . . . not only because of this, but also because I don't want to cast a pall on a fun shower for L.

So, ladies who have faced similar situations in the past. . . . give me some ideas and strategies for dealing with this event. L is a close enough friend that non-attendance is not an option, particularly given that she checked with me before setting the date to see if I was available and that she knows I will be in Tucson next weekend for unrelated reasons regardless.

Any advice will be appreciated.

P.S. Why is it that some days are so much harder than others? Some days I feel like I am fine and happy with my life as is, and then I feel OK with the idea that I will never have a child of my own. Other days, I feel very sad and low, and it's all I can do to get through the day without crying. (This is VERY unlike me, as I almost never cry. . . . or perhaps now I should say, I almost never cried before the past 22 failed cycles of TTC.)

Another reason to blame myself

For the past year-and-a-half, I have been blaming myself for my inability to get pregnant. We know that my husband's sperm are 100% normal and abundant, so it is obvious that I am somehow the problem, though we are "unexplained." As a good friend who successfully overcame secondary infertility said to me, it only makes sense that it's something in my body that is preventing pregnancy, simply because there is so much more for a woman's body to DO to achieve and sustain a pregnancy. The fact that MM has normal sperm, and plenty of 'em, means that his part is done and done successfully.

In addition to asking myself "why?" over and over, I have regretted the fact that I waited until I was 37 years old to start TTC. Granted, I started TTC seven months after meeting MM--a move that some would probably consider crazy, or at least ill-advised, as we weren't even married at the time--but I have been plagued by the thought that I should have started sooner.

Of course, I honestly don't know if my "advanced age" is truly the cause of our infertility. Given my age and the lack of any other diagnosis, it certainly seems to be the most likely explanation. But I am fully aware that women 15 years younger than I are diagnosed with "unexplained" infertility every day.

It's a fact that had I started sooner (say, 5-10 years sooner) the father of my child would be someone other than my husband, and in fact, being a single mother would have meant that I would never have even dated MM, let alone married him. Neither of us ever dated anyone who was a single parent, for the simple reason that we did not want to be step-parents.

But as I believe I have mentioned before here, I've always wanted to be a mother much, much more than I wanted to be a wife. (Which is not to say that I am unhappy in my marriage. I love my husband, and we have a great relationship.) And had I never met MM, I really wouldn't have known what I'd missed.

Now, thanks to a random google search, I have an additional reason to blame myself besides just waiting too long: this one. This is something I've wondered about for a while, and here is proof.

My weight is the only other area of my life apart from infertility in which I have been a complete failure. I have been overweight to some degree my entire adult life, save about 6 months in college. I currently have a BMI of over 36.

I've always thought that, because my cycles were normal and regular, that my weight was having no effect on my fertility. Of course, I also thought that I would be able to have a child after 35, too.

Guess there are no limits to how wrong I can be.

I suppose a logical, rational person would say that I should lose weight, since unlike my age, my weight is something that is at least somewhat within my control. Were someone to suggest this to me, I would be forced to agree. In point of fact, my weight is something that I should be taking steps to reduce even were I not TTC, given my family history of heart disease and diabetes and my own high cholesterol and borderline high blood pressure.

But I have been fighting this particular demon for over 20 years, with only limited and temporary success. (I write another whole blog about my struggles with my weight, actually, and have for about 5 years.) Anyone who has spent the majority of her adult life battling her weight knows that though my weight is, theoretically, within my control, actually controlling it is easier said than done.

And at this point, who knows if losing weight would truly make a difference anyway? I will be 39 in just over a month. Even if I lost weight at a rate of a pound per week--what "they" say is a safe rate of weight loss--I would be 40 before my BMI dropped into the "healthy" range.

Acceptance is so much harder when you have yourself to blame for your problem.

P.S. I am so glad that I enabled comment moderation. Today a comment on my previous post arrived in my inbox from a spammer's profile. The comment read "Maybe your sole purpose in life is to serve as a warning to others." Someone certainly has too much time on his/her hands.

The dollars & cents of it all

MM and I recently gathered our documentation to prepare our 2009 tax returns and as part of that process, I had to add up all the money we spent on fertility treatments last year. We spent:

• $1324.53 on acupuncture and herbs
  
• $1250 in co-pays to our RE's office
• $975.53 on fertility medications

For a grand total of $3550.06. (I know that this estimate is conservative because I could not locate the receipts for some of our visits and could not get the information from the RE's office because they changed computer billing systems during the year.)

I realize that this is a drop in the bucket compared to what one IVF cycle would cost--not to mention the cost of actually having a child--and I am grateful that we had insurance which covered a portion of our IUI cycles and drugs. But I was still a little disturbed to think about the other things we could have done with over $3500. We could have taken another week-long trip to Maui, to cite one example. $3550.06 would have put a pretty big dent in the trip to Europe that we would love to take some time soon. I could've put it in my 401(k) or in my nephew's college savings account.

Thinking of another comparison, I would lay bets that this amount exceeds the total amount I paid for contraception prior to TTC. I only used birth control pills and condoms, and I never paid more than $20/month for birth control pills (often less) and rarely bought my own condoms (I left that to my respective partners, figuring "if you wanna play, you gotta pay"). I wasn't on the pill 100% of the time either, only times when I was sexually active. I would have had to take nearly 15 years of birth control pills at $20/month to exceed $3550.06.

Seeing these numbers in black and white and knowing that they got us no closer to our goal of having a child makes me even more glad that we stopped pursuing treatment. All this $3550.06 got us was frustration, heightened disappointment when my period arrived every cycle in spite of the money we'd spent, and stress. . . . oh, and hot flashes and mood swings for me.

On the other hand, had any of our treatments been successful and actually resulted in a living child of our own, I'm sure I would consider this money well spent. In fact, in the big picture, I'd probably consider it a small price to pay to be a parent.

Random thoughts

• How come no one ever tells couples who are physically able to have biological children that they should adopt? There have been a number of times in my life when a friend or acquaintance has shared that she and her husband (or he and his wife) are "trying" to have a baby, and not once have I ever heard someone respond by saying "you should just adopt instead." Is it only infertile couples who have the moral responsibility to "help a child in need" and put aside their natural inclination to procreate?
• I hate it when people say "there are so many children out there who need good homes." On the one hand, there is no arguing with this admittedly true statement. On the other hand, we did not set out to "save the world, one child at a time" when we decided we wanted to be parents. I applaud and commend those people for whom adopting older children, especially those with challenges, is their choice, but this was not our aim when we thought of becoming parents and is still not our goal.
• Why does everyone feel the need to ask a married couple when they intend to have children? Though to be fair, I must admit I have asked this question of couples many, many times over the years, so this is probably just karmic payback for me.
• MM asked me this morning if I would "pee on those ovulation sticks" this cycle. He expressed concern that we somehow missed my fertile window last cycle. And here I thought we were no longer actively TTC. Hmm. Guess someone hasn't truly given up on the notion that we will somehow, miraculously, conceive on our own. (I am going to use the OPKs since it is important to him. I am currently on CD 7, so I won't start for a few more days.)
• On a related note. . . . were I to conceive this cycle, my due date would be very close to my inlaws' (and my nephew's) birthdays, 11/6 and 11/8. How sad is it that I was able to calculate this in my head and get within 5 days? It's so hard to un-train the brain.
• MM has mentioned several times over the past few weeks that "we should adopt an orphan from Haiti." I have pointed out to him the inconsistency of this idea with his previously-expressed feelings about adoption; this is a man who previously has said he does not even want to adopt a newborn. He acknowledged the inherent conflict in his thinking. I guess if you want MM to be your adoptive father, you need to come from an impoverished country and survive a natural disaster. . . . merely being an American child who has been abused or neglected wouldn't be enough to qualify you. ;-)
  

A gift . . . . I never asked for

In these past several weeks, now that my focus is off TTC, I have been working on coming to terms with the distinct possibility that I will never have a child of my own. While actively TTC, even someone pessimistic like me keeps some hope alive. If we didn’t, we’d find it impossible to continue taking the prescribed fertility medications every day. Nearly all my actions, and most of my thoughts, for most of the past year or more have been directed at achieving the goal of having a baby of our own.

But now, nearly two years into TTC, I am beginning to accept the possibility—I will go further and say, the likelihood—that a pregnancy and birth of a child of mine and MM’s will never happen. I am starting to think more about what this eventuality will mean.

So, depending on perspective, I can do as I have been doing for the past year and look on my infertility as a curse or a punishment. . . . or I can look at it as a gift. (At this point, anyone reading is probably beginning to wonder if I’ve finally, truly, gone off the deep end.)

There is no other way to express it: my inability to have a baby of my own has been the absolute biggest failure of my life. I know that some reading this will be tempted to respond that I haven’t failed, that it’s not my fault. . . . but given our “unexplained” diagnosis and my age, that is certainly how it feels.

My observations of most people I know who have children have shown me that, for most people, their children rank among their highest priorities. I have no quarrel with that. I actually am of the belief that our society should be more child-centered in some ways than it already is. Not in the sense of catering to children’s whims, but in the sense that I believe children’s rights should be respected, that harm to them should be avoided, and that they should be nurtured by the entire “village.”

How many times have we heard someone say “My child is my life”? Many words have been spoken, many pages written, on the transformative power of parenthood. This is as true for men as it is for women. Many men have been inspired to "be a better man" by the birth of their child. Even women who become pregnant unintentionally usually end up thinking that their child’s presence in their lives is a positive thing.

MM and I will probably never experience that transformation that comes with bringing your child into the world. We will likely never live a life that is focused on someone other than ourselves.

At the same time, I think that sometimes children become a compensation of sorts for other unrealized dreams in people’s lives. In some cases, this occurs due to necessity and is temporary: the parent, particularly the mother, is forced to put other plans and aspirations on hold, at least temporarily, because of the time-consuming nature of parenting a young child. Some women get back to pursuing those dreams, and some are permanently detoured, for better or worse, by the arrival of their children.

I’ve often heard women speak or write of the feeling that they have given up their own identities for motherhood. Many express these feelings without regret for the sacrifice; others seem more bothered by what they have given up.

I sometimes find myself wondering whether it is entirely a bad thing to live childless. When I was in my late 20s, childless and unmarried, I told my mother mournfully that I would probably never have a child of my own. (I didn’t truly believe this at the time; my remark came from self-pity.) She flippantly responded “Well, then you will just do other things with your time.”

Guess what? Once again, Mom was right. Having no children for the past ten years has afforded me a freedom that no responsible parent has. Since my mom made that comment, I have been at liberty to travel at a moment’s notice, work long hours, sleep in on the weekends, change jobs (or careers) on a whim, eat what I wanted, swear freely and be a bad example. I have no doubt that, should I spend the rest of my adult life childless, as I have spent these first 20+ years, the choices I make will be quite different than those I will make if I am a parent.

In addition to the freedom I have had (which, of course, I would gladly give up to be a mother), I may well accomplish things in the life that would be difficult or impossible if I were devoting much of my focus to being a parent. My future will be different. Not necessarily better or worse; just not what I thought it would be.

Being unable to attain something I so desperately want, and which I never imagined would not be a significant part of my life, has forced me to re-examine other areas of my life as well. Despite the unmistakable void in my heart (an empty place, waiting for my child to occupy it), I find the rest of my life to be far from empty. Rather, I find it to be full of good things and abundance. . . . so much so that wishing for something more, even something so natural and so longed-for as motherhood, seems almost selfish.

In a sense, infertility has been a gift because it has opened my eyes to some things which I might not otherwise have seen. In addition to the complete freedom to do as I please which I have already enjoyed all my adult life (without motherhood to define me or take up the majority of my time and focus), I have grown secure in the knowledge that my life is sufficient, just as it is. Knowing that I am sufficient, mother or not, is a powerful truth.

Infertility has given me the knowledge that my husband stays with me because he loves me and wants to share his life with me . . . not because I am the mother (or future mother) of his child/ren. I retain the ability to make my choices for my own reasons alone, without considering the needs of my child.

Most of all, I have learned that the worst thing I can imagine can happen to me, and I can still emerge happy and whole.

To be sure, the gift of infertility is not something that I ever asked for. The things I have come to know through this painful experience are not on a par with holding my baby in my arms for the first time or hearing his/her first words spoken. Infertility is a gift I wish I’d never received. But on some level, a gift nonetheless.

The Universe taunting me

Lately it truly seems that the Universe is f$#%ing with me. For the past several weeks at least, I have been noticing that I am seeing a higher-than-expected number of pregnant women and seeing them in unexpected places. A few examples:

• Several weeks ago, I attended a continuing legal education seminar on ethics. Given that there are still more male than female members of the bar, I would estimate that only about 35-40 of the 100 or so lawyers in attendance were women. Of these women, about a third were not of child-bearing age. And yet the only two pregnant women in the room chose seats directly in back of and beside me after I was already seated and the seminar had begun. . . and proceeded to discuss their due dates, symptoms, fetuses' genders and the like during each break.
• On the way back to the office that same day, I passed two different pregnant women walking on the street. This might not be unusual in some places, but where I live, nearly everyone drives or rides the bus. It was also quite chilly for here--in the low 50s--making it even more unlikely to see anyone, pregnant or not, out on foot.
• Tuesday night the only visibly pregnant woman at my gym got on the elliptical trainer next to mine, though there were others available.
• The cashier who took our money at Sweet Tomatoes on Sunday was pregnant. So were two of the other patrons in the restaurant.
• Actually, lately it seems that nearly every time we go out to eat I see at least one pregnant woman.
  
• When I got my hair cut and colored yesterday, in my usual salon which is as small as my master bedroom, the only other client there in the other chair was visibly pregnant.
• On the way to the salon, I walked passed a pregnant woman (walking out of a sushi restaurant, of all places).

These are just a few examples. I suppose most people would chalk this up to my just being more aware of the pregnant women around me. I probably would, too, but for the fact that I've talked to some friends about this, and no one else seems to see as many pregnant women as I do. This is true even after I have brought this to their attention so that they are making an effort to notice pregnant women. (One friend--only a few years older than I--actually told me that she couldn't recall the last time she'd seen a pregnant woman.)

On a related note, I have learned that two more people I know are pregnant since the last time I posted on this topic. Three pregnant women I know have given birth in the past month, though, so the number of pregnant women I know has stayed fairly constant: 12 at last count.

Not really sure why the Universe seems to feel that I need constant reminders of my failure to conceive. . . .

Also, what is up with advertisers thinking that every woman is a mother? I am sick to death of seeing ads on Fac.ebo.ok, Yah.oo and the like for things for "Moms." I am not a mom; I may never be a mom. It's offensive to me.