outcast

A close friend of mine and I recently had an e-mail chat about finding a place in this community.

You see, I'm struggling right now to find where I belong. Here is what I know:

I am infertile.

But I am no longer seeking treatment.

I am not seeking adoption.

I am not a beginner.

But I have never been through IVF.

And I am not "content" living the rest of my life without a child.

Finding (or keeping) identity is one of the biggest struggles in this journey, and it's hitting me hard. I no longer understand where I fit in. Do/should people look to me for advice? Or hope? I feel like I don't have authority or audacity to offer either. I'm not hopeful, and what advice do I have to offer if I've never had a child in my uterus? Or been through IVF? Or had to endure a home study visit?

I think this is part of the reason why the quote from Eat, Pray, Love hit me so hard the other day. Where is my place in this community? In my friendships?

In my family?

When you grow up as a young girl, you expect to one day become a mother. That will be your role until you become a grandmother, until (hopefully) you live long enough to experience the days of being a great grandmother. This was especially the case in my family: where cousins came in dozens. Where family reunions required renting space because there was simply not enough room in someone's backyard. Where funerals brought relatives from all ends of the earth to celebrate the life and legacy of the dead, and comfort his or her many children and grandchildren.

But what if I am able to become none of those things: a mother? A grandmother? A great grandmother?

For the first time, I'm beginning to realize that my husband's genes and my gene's may never be combined to create a new, unique generation for our family. I may never be a matriarch. I may never get to sit in a lawn chair in the shade at my family reunion, sip iced tea, look out at all of the faces and say, "This is the family that I have created. These are my children, and my grandchildren, and great grandchildren. Look how he has my nose. And how she has my husband's eyes. I am so proud to say that I created this family." What mark will I or can I make on the world if I am unable to raise a child? Who will share my stories? What will I have accomplished?

Who am I now?

Am I living childfree? Childless? I'm floating in this universe of nothingness. I am lost with no direction. This disease, this stupid fucking disease, has flipped my life upside down. And I no longer know where I am. Where I'm supposed to go. Who I'm supposed to be. In every aspect of my life!

This is why I am struggling to write about infertility. Because, what do I have to say? What encouragement do I have to give? If I don't even know who I am in this community or where I am in this journey, how do I write about it? It's not necessarily writer's block, but a life block. I feel like the older generation at the family reunion: observing, yet it's not my own success. Instead, I'm observing constant reminders of my own failures: the lady in Starbucks carrying her newborn, the mother rubbing her pregnant belly at the grocery store, another pregnancy announcement on my blog list.

Another person who is leaving me behind.

My dream has slowly turned into a nightmare. Instead of watching my family gather in my backyard, I am watching my future, and the generations that my husband and I should be creating together, slowly shrivel and die. One by one, each person in that backyard disappears. Finally, I am all alone, sitting in the shade, sipping my iced tea, looking at the empty backyard and thinking,

Who am I?

a post about nothing

If you haven't read it already, please check out my link to Carli's post yesterday. She talks about a poignant excerpt from Eat, Pray, Love that I think all of us can relate to.

Quick updates: 

The Jeep should be ready for us to pick up tomorrow. I'm ready to put this bump in the road behind us and move forward. 

Joey's upper GI revealed no ulcer. Hooray! He just needs finish his medication and continue to watch his diet. 

And it looks like we won't be heading to Savannah this weekend after all. The husband of the couple we were supposed to travel with can't take off from work on Monday. We're still heading up to Gainesville on Saturday, though, and we have row 1 seats in the Swamp. 

Then, Joey and I are going away (just the two of us) on Sunday night.

I need to step back from all of the craziness and unwind.

thank you, carli

for sharing an excerpt from Eat, Pray, Love in this post.

Because that is exactly how I feel every day.

another weekend in an infertile's paradise

The universe's ability to kick me when I'm down seems to be getting worse. For instance, I missed my therapy session on Saturday morning because I wrote down the wrong time. Then, I went to acupuncture, where I let me sweet doctor convince me that I could possibly be pregnant. I promptly drove home and peed on an OPK, the only kind of stick left in the house.

An empty circle.

AF responded by arriving during Joey and I's first dinner date in months: right before the couple next to us with the adorable little boy asked if we "had any of [our] own."

Nice, huh?

I can't blame the couple, though. It's not like I walk around with a sign tattooed on my head:

No, I can't have children. Yes, I do relax.

On the bright side, dinner was wonderful. I'm already looking forward to this weekend, when it looks like we'll be taking a little trip up to Gainesville for the first Gator game and then to Savannah for the rest of the weekend with friends of ours.

Joey is feeling good, for those of you who asked. His stomach is improving. He even managed a beer this weekend (shhhhh . . . no one tell his doctor). And he's fine from the car accident. The car is still at the shop. We are supposed to have it back at the end of the week. It has a lot of structural damage, but it's nothing the dealership can't fix.

That's about it for the weekend recap. One week of grad classes down, and I already have a ton of homework. I'll have to do a whole separate post on grad school. And maybe a Danica update. I think she's hit the terrible twos stage!

Happy Monday. Or, for me, happy CD2 of cycle #29. Is someone going to throw me a party when I hit cycle #30?

the lonely orchid

Since May of 2008, trying to have a baby has consumed my life. From the way I eat to the way I sleep, “baby” is always on my mind.

As much as the dream of having a baby is still alive, it’s nice to hide it in the back corner of my closet. It’s not dusty and covered in cobwebs (I don’t think I can ever let it get to that point), but I pull it out just a tiny bit less every day. Will I ever get to the point where I can go one hour without thinking about infertility?

I don’t know.

But I’m trying my best to divert my focus. This is the main goal I have for myself, and the main goal my therapist has for me. She said:

You are in the middle of a field filled with beautiful flowers. There are gorgeous lilacs all around you. But you don't see any of them. All you see is this one, rare orchid in the distance. You are so focused and so determined to get to that orchid, that you don't see the beauty surrounding you.

She's right.

I have tunnel vision.

When I'm out and about, I like to glance around at younger couples. So full of bliss and life, they are what we used to be: innocent and naive. I try to remember what it was like to not feel so jaded and worn. I try to remember what it was like when I thought a night of passion could lead to a child. Or not. And I didn't care. I try to remember what it was like to live carefree. I try to remember what it was like when all of my friends and family members supported me. To think that everyone would be there to hold my hand during the tough times. I try to remember what it was like to have complete and total faith in a higher power. In karma. In "good things happen to those who wait."

Each day is a daily struggle for me to look beyond the orchid and remember how to believe in all of these things: happiness, love, innocence, and the good in humanity.

How do I gain each of these back after infertility has slowly taken them away?

How do I undo the tunnel vision?

I am trying to take in the sight and smell of the beautiful lilacs that surround me, instead of tearing them down on my quest for that orchid. It's a work in progress. I know it's not supposed to happen overnight, but it's a burden I am tired of bearing. Realistically, I know that it will never truly end until that orchid is in my hand. Like an addict, it is physically painful for me to turn my back on what I so desperately crave. But I have to. Concentrating on the lilacs is what is keeping me alive. It's what keeps me moving.

The orchid will come.

I have to believe that the orchid will come.