Friday night. End of a busy busy week at work.
Winding down for the weekend makes for an ultra-contemplative mood…
Makes me wonder, will I ever become a mother? Will I ever bear and birth our biological child/children? Feels like maybe never.
Tag Archives: Infertility
Damage done.
Can anyone blame me (and the rest of us in the same boat) for wanting to avoid those who, though no doubt has no unkind intentions, make innocent but hurtful comments about our childbearing progress? Most often than not, these are folks of the older generation – uncles and aunties, as we call them in my culture. Nosy parkers…in church!
This happened on three separate occasions this year with three different uncles and aunties from my church.
#1:
Breakfast before church in a crowded coffeeshop. We spot a table with an uncle and aunty we know, and they wave us over to share the table as they are leaving soon.
The husband goes to order food, while I sit with the aunty.
Aunty: (cheerfully) So how’s work?
Me: Oh, yeah, well it’s-
Aunty: (Still with a smile on her face, cuts in) Why, too busy for family ah?
Me: (Knowing exactly what she meant by ‘family’, I’m completely turned off. Just fake-smile. Fake-check my phone..) …
#2:
Hanging out at the church porch after service. Someone’s baby is being ‘passed around’ among friends. Husband carries baby. An uncle comes by and participates in playing with said baby.
After a few moments, the uncle turns directly to me.
Uncle: I’ll just say one thing. Don’t wait too long. (Winks. Walks away.)
Me: (I want to *censored for gore and violence*.) —
#3:
Walking into church for the second service of the morning. An uncle is walking out after the first service.
Uncle: (Hand stretched out) Eh, hi! Long time no see, eh?
Husband: Yeah, good morning! (Shakes hand.)
I hang back a little and do not attempt to engage / shake his hand because I instinctively know he is one of those uncles. I want to keep the interaction short.
Uncle: So… Your baby coming, huh? (Winks at me)
I don’t even bother to fake-smile, and keep on walking.
Husband: (Stunned. Starts walking off too..) *with an attempted hint of sarcasm* Errrr, my baby huh? *Obvious fake laugh*
We walk off.
Church isn’t really full of these people, but yet, sometimes it just feels like it is. They don’t mean any harm. But they sure have done a lot of it.
Should have been.
My church’s Sunday service has a segment dedicated to ‘corporate prayer’, where one of the church leaders will lead the congregation in prayer for specific issues and/or people.
At this morning’s service, the pastor came up to the mic and said, “Today we want to pray for the expectant parents in our midst,” and read aloud the names of the would-be or not-new parents and their expected month of delivery.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I let out a soft sigh. I felt my heart beat faster with mounting anxiety. I felt a little (okay, a lot) of that familiar stab in the heart and guts. If only our names were up there. Our names should have been up there by now.
I wanted to stand up and exit the hall like I was making my way to the restroom. I didn’t, because it felt too much like a walk of shame.
Bless the husband for sensing my discomfort and giving my hand a gentle squeeze to let me know he knew.
It’s been a meh weekend. Two evenings ago, I started spotting. That’s CD22. This spotting-before-period at this point in the cycle is unusual for me. I really have no idea what’s going on.
Maybe this is grace shown to me, that I don’t have to go through the uncertainty of the TWW. Eh, whatever.
What’s the deal?
Remember how I was all hopeful and thinking that things can finally go smoothly now? Like, wow, I might actually be pregnant soon?
Yeah, I know. What was I thinking?
- Opks hate me. I never seem to get a positive test no matter how diligent I try to be at holding my pee and ignoring the thirst.
- Apparently about 75% of women taking clomid ovulate, the rest do not. Am I part of the 75% or 25%?
- Despite my due diligence to pre-empt the hubs of the optimal days, we ended up missing those days because of tiredness from work (him), sleepiness after beer (also him, after we helped with our friends’ engagement surprise) and a mysterious back ache (no surprise there, also him).
- If I somehow ovulated early or late (if I did at all), then we might stand a chance…
- We did try on a possibly optimal day – but he couldn’t finish the deed. He said maybe because he wasn’t feeling right that day.
- Points 3 to 5 don’t freaking matter if I was part of the 25% this first round (see point 2).
So, no. This was not a smooth ride at all. I was so discouraged that despite doing so many things, we seemed to be back at square one. Uncertain about whether ovulation occurred, and seeming to have missed the timing. What’s the deal? What was the point of me taking medication and effecting changes to my body? I wanted to blame the hubs but I couldn’t, because it’s not his fault that his work has been busy and that his back became sore out of nowhere, right? I also felt like I couldn’t tell him what I felt, because the pressure might affect his ability to ‘perform’. Men.
So perhaps this was God telling us to just stop? Just stop taking control? That this was not the right time to be having children? I spent at least an entire day moping around the house, succumbed to disappointment. Seriously, what’s the deal?
At the back of my mind, I still wonder if there was a chance that everything somehow fell in place and if I could possibly be p-… If that was true, it will be amazing, but I will not regret saying these words. Because these are real and raw feelings that I know many sisters out there are feeling the same.
Life, birth, death.
Within the span of a week, three things happened. Three distinct events affecting me in different ways and bringing about reasons to grieve. Three things spanning from life to death.
A newborn
Well okay, this wasn’t a sad thing at all. My second nephew came into the world! He’s an absolute cutie. And I felt only joy for my brother and his wife.
It’s just that, it is unavoidable for anyone TTC that the other half of our own being also feels very very sad. When will we get to hold our own newborn? When will I be able to see the same joy on my husband’s, his parent’s, my parent’s faces?
No, we’re not trying to turn a happy occasion into our own sob fest. We’re not trying to make it all about ourselves. We are just doing the best we can in yearning for something that seems to come so readily to others instead of ourselves. We do feel happy for others, and yet also feel very sad for ourselves.
A passing
A week later, a cousin in the family succumbed to lymphoma after battling the disease for two years. They had tried everything – chemotherapy, radiotherapy, even a stem-cell transplant – but nothing had worked. He developed secondary leukemia at the later stage. In his final two weeks, the doctor had informed that they could do nothing else for him medically.
He was only 23. He had barely experienced life beyond school when he was diagnosed at 21. He’d never gone into remission. He fought until the end, until his body failed.
It is not only that there is a deeper grief because no parent should have to send their child to the grave. For me, it is also the notion that cancer is (supposedly) no longer as fearsome, given the advanced medical capabilities today. Lymphoma was supposed to be relatively treatable, wasn’t it? Having come across numerous lymphoma survivor stories in my line of work, I had not expected that a young man could not win this fight.
He was here, and then he wasn’t. It begs one to ask, what was the point? Why give life just to take it away? As a woman yearning for a child, and seeing a mother lose hers, there is a real and painful realisation of how much life is out of our control – a joyful conception and a premature death can be just as unexpected and unforeseen as the other.
A good news (not mine)
That same evening after my cousin’s passing, I found out that another couple, friends of ours, were expecting. Well, this friend wasn’t exactly discreet about it, but now on hindsight, she must have thought I already knew. The hubs had known for a few days because they had shared the news in another chat group that I was not a part of. It was probably expected that he’d have told me. Maybe she was expecting a word of congrats.
Anyway I figured it out while we were having dinner at another couple’s place, who obviously were already aware as they were paying extra attention to the food prepared. (No seafood, no spicy stuff, no caffeinated or alcoholic drinks.) I went with the flow, as I always do. I remember thinking though, what the freak am I doing here!? I should be at home, mourning, especially now that I have more than one or two reasons to grieve.
So again, good for them, but for us, yet another instance of being “over-taken”, passed over, seemingly forgotten.
____________
Moving on…
On another note, a couple of weeks ago and prior to this sad week, I finally took the step to schedule an ob/gyn appointment for this Friday. Other than the fact that I’ve never visited an ob/gyn, I’ll be a nervous wreck wondering if I’ll get any answers relating to TTC, and what if I do? What if there really is something wrong with me? Or what if there isn’t and nothing else can explain why we have been unsuccessful? Maybe we’ve just been really lousy at this baby-making thing and just need to be smarter and more “pro-active”. What if the doctor thinks I’m wasting her time when she needs to be dealing with real pregnant woman?
Anyway.
Let’s hope nothing gets added to the list of sad things.
Cheers and many blessings to all of you out there.
31.
I turned 31 this week.
A year ago, around this time, we had just started trying for a baby. And foolishly, I had believed that by now I’d have a baby in my arms.
What a year. Another year older. Another year with the biological clock ticking away.
This month, we didn’t even try. Well, the hubs was away for a few days, and then we took turns to fall ill. And did I even ovulate? I don’t know. I think I’d been too hurt to care. I’d had rather not try. At least I didn’t have a “what if” to hang on to.
Most days now, I try not to think about it. When the thoughts and emotions creep in, I push them down and squeeze them into a tiny ball.
How long more? I don’t know.
I don’t know.
So…
I have not been wanting to write about it, whatever happened during my last post. I still don’t, really. But I should, for the record.
With the last announcement of my younger brother and wife’s expectancy, I thought things could not get any worse. I had called that my “lowest point”. Well, little did I know. Call it Murphy’s law or “when it rains, it pours” – it did go even lower.
A few weeks ago, we found out that my older brother and wife are expecting too.
I do have one thing to be thankful for – I wasn’t there! I was not at the dinner table. I was out that day with a dear friend. Now normally, I would not stay out for dinner on Sundays, it would just be too much for me before the week starts again. But I had a slight hunch.
Well, I am not psychic. There were some subtle clues. The older SIL has been a little sickly but even that’s not out of the ordinary. A week or so before the announcement, as my dad gave the hubs and I a lift home, he commented to me about how perhaps the SIL was expecting because she seemed nauseated at lunch that day. I remember cringing inside, thinking “please stop talking about pregnancy to me”. I also remember that, after we had gone home, I thought to myself that if they announced their pregnancy at the dinner table too, I didn’t think I could take it anymore. I’d probably be unable to put on a happy face. I’d probably excuse myself to the bathroom to cry. I’d probably cry right there and then.
So, I thank the Lord for His mercy. For sparing me that possible scenario.
I am also thankful that the hubs does get me now. He had come home that night from family dinner and didn’t say anything about it. I only found out when my dad conveyed his congratulations through the family chat. When I turned to the hubs with “oh…”, he looked perplexed and said that he didn’t know how to tell me.
I was not mad at the hubs for not saying anything. Rather, I was quite comforted that he knew how much I’d feel hurt and that he didn’t simply blurt it out as if it was good news to me. God bless his heart.
I’d say that softened the blow – I didn’t cry that night. It took me about four days to process it though. During that time, I had been turning to social media and mobile games to occupy my mind until I would be too tired and would fall asleep quickly. On the fourth night after, the hubs made me give up my phone to settle down to sleep properly. That long moment of nil activity before falling asleep, for me, was always a time when my mind ran through events of the day. That night, I finally had nothing with which to distract my mind, had no choice but to think and feel.
I really really don’t want to go for family dinners anymore. I don’t want to see them. It was bad enough imagining how I was supposed to endlessly endure the younger SIL’s pregnancy, birth and everything after. And now, family dinners would be all about the two pregnant ladies. There would be two births. Two babies. All they talked about at the dinner table would be about pregnancy and babies. And I would have to be there being me – so unpregnant, so barren, so empty. What could I do otherwise? Where could I go for refuge?
I seriously contemplated opening up to my parents. I can trust them with my feelings, right? I can trust them to be understanding that I am unable to be happy, right? I can trust them when I say that I just can’t handle being around the family, right?
I don’t want to try anymore. I don’t want kids anymore.
So it seemed like something in me really broke that night. For the past few weeks since, I have been having a deep and genuine appreciation of the freedom we have as a childless couple. While before I would brush it off as a lame consolation, now I want to hold on to that freedom and flexibility. Before, I would say that I would give anything to be agonising over my child, now I would say, Nah thanks.
When I see parents with their children in a crowded train, I feel absolute relief that I only need to squeeze one body in. When I see parents feeding their children at eateries, I think Thank God I can enjoy my meal at my own pace. When I see parents disciplining their children, I can’t imagine I would want spend a lifetime arguing with a sassy little human being.
Is it denial? Or a realisation that perhaps I just liked the idea of bearing a baby, and did not actually want to raise a child?
Anyway, this period cycle was a dud – delayed and less-than-normal flow. Mostly likely anovulatory. Meh. Who cares.
Betting to win.
Just to turn things around a bit, I think I might throw out a bet that I will likely win.
I’m betting that by the end of the year, I will still be the seemingly (by then, probably) barren woman I’ve come to know since last year.
And then, I will treat myself to something good, something that I normally would say ‘No’ to because it would be too expensive or unwise to invest in.
Turn sadness into something ‘good’, eh?
I just have this nagging feeling that I’ll win that bet.
Clearly, I’m losing grip on that thread of hope, slipping on all the blood (pun intended, hurhur) from cuts that are too deep and painful. This week I’m too wrung out to keep walking. Let me lie here for a while.
A glass-lined thread of hope.
It is yet another season where family, relatives and friends gather for festive celebrations. Another season in which I feel more ’empty’ than ever.
As usual, dramatic irony takes its cue right on time. Today’s the second day of family gatherings, and also the first of the new cycle. What fun is there in dreading the so-when-can-we-hear-good-news question, if you’re not also being emptied of hope physically?
I still cling on to the thread of hope, though it seems to be glass-lined, cutting me and bleeding me as it slips every month.
Not fine.
I was fine. And then I wasn’t. Fine again. And then not, again.
As I try to recall the past month, it’s kind of a blur. Have I been happy or not? Have I been struggling? Not sure.
Over Christmas, a short getaway eased the disappointment of yet another unsuccessful round. At work, things were slow but yet still unproductive.
Stepping into the new year, I have been feeling very blue. Very meh. Like Monday blues, or January blues in this sense.
Going back to the routine family dinner after a few weeks of “reprieve”, and the bubbly SIL excitedly bounces over to show us the scans. I could barely glance at it and, oh god, smile.
This week I realised that I’d rather feel really sad for myself and really resigned to my fate, so that at least I would direct negativity towards myself and not in envy towards others. I’ve been repeatedly pointing out to the hubs that we do have a lot of freedom now and how great that was. That we were good as we are now.
It’s not that I’m not stressing about it all anymore. It’s that I don’t even want to try anymore.
And that’s how I know that I’m not fine.
heartsongwords 