Yeah, I know. I went away.
So here’s the thing. Yesterday, we found ourselves at the unfathomable place of being 12 weeks and 1 day along.
I owe a few people an apology for disappearing, not responding, not answering. At the very least, I should try to explain.
This wasn’t about being coy. I didn’t disappear because we got a positive and were too scared to say anything. (Actually, I was too scared, but that wasn’t the reason.)
To make a long story short, I was in the dark place.
After the last post here, we learned that the first of two FETs failed. It hurt. We had some big decisions to make. I needed time away from infertility treatments to recover my mental health, but honestly, with my situation I did not feel comfortable stopping even for a month. Scary time.
We were making long-term plans. We’d use the very last bit of our credit to pay for one more cycle with my eggs, and then – we assumed it would not work, but we needed the closure more than the money – we would begin to recoup the money slowly and save for a donor cycle. We went ahead with an FET with our final two day 3 embryos.
No symptoms, nothing different. Those were some ugly, dark days leading up to the test. I was convinced the second FET had failed. But there it is. One of them thought he’d hang around.
How many other people follow a similar path and manage okay without coming so close to losing themselves to depression? A lot. I know that. All I can say is, I have more respect than I know how to express for the women who struggle through infertility and yet hold onto themselves. Warriors, the lot of you.
Right now, I struggle with the things that other bloggers have already articulated far better than I can: Fear of what’s to come. Survivor’s guilt. Feeling out of place around fertile women.
For starters, twelve week safety line? As if. Sure, maybe we are in a theoretically more secure place. But I think the day I walked into the clinic expecting a normal monitoring session with instructions for retrieval and walked out with a cancelled cycle and a DOR diagnosis might have changed me forever. I’ll have to learn how to manage my anxiety, obviously. But that’s one moment in my lifetime that will continue to impact me forever.
So why post now?
Aramis thought I should, and I figured she was right. It’s possible that other DOR women who are really hunting through the Google results might come across this blog. And while I firmly believe that any one person’s blog needs to be taken as exactly one sample of qualitative data – if keeping this here, at least for a little bit, can be of any service to anybody else, it’s here.
And what now?
I’m not sure. I am pretty sure that I will be walking away from this blog, although I think I’ll leave it up, at least for a while. It’s not about forgetting where I came from. It’s about recognizing that I need to find a way to incorporate this infertility experience into the rest of my life as it becomes more complicated, rather than allow it to continue to dominate.
Well, never say never, right? I actually have gone back to a bunch of blogs from infertiles who got knocked up to read up on their birth stories (lesson learned: birth plans should be called birth daydreams, at the rate they appear to come true) and such. But honestly, I am pretty sure I won’t morph into a PAIL blogger – more power to the ladies who do, that’s super-cool. Just not what I’m seeing now for myself.
So I’m closing the door but keeping a key. Lots of things in the coming days to fear. Lots of things to learn, too.
Thanks, everybody. Peace out.