The fog hasn't lifted...

Lately I feel like I’ve been wearing a mask…I put on the happy and confident face when I’m out in public. Sometimes I am actually happy and confident – so I fit the mask – but mostly I’m not.

Why?

In the past few months some events have occurred and some issues have arisen that have floored me in terms of my self esteem and self worth. I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me especially, because this is just the way it is at the moment, and I will get through it, and many people have far worse things to deal with than I do.

I am going to share what’s going on though – because I want you to know that times like this happen to me and to everyone, and it sucks, but it is also a part of life.

So, here’s what’s going on:

A few months ago Kirby and I had a major falling out with one of our dearest friends. It was a complete communication break down and it has ended up with us not knowing if the friendship can be saved. I hope that it can be, but I’m not sure it will be. It hasn’t only been the loss of the friend, but also of her family. She has a husband who had also become one of our dearest friends, and she has two little girls who we had become very close to.

It’s thrown me in a way that I didn’t know I could be thrown. I feel lost, anxious, confused, hurt, sad, and wondering just who the hell I am and what my worth is. My motivation has dissipated – leaving me with little energy (mental or physical) to follow up on the things that are important to me. Even reading has become too much. And, as you know, writing this blog just hasn’t happened for a while.

This is not our friend’s fault – she cannot be blamed for the way I am at all. This is just the way my mind and body is responding at the moment.

In addition to this, my endometriosis has come back with all the associated pain and discomfort.

And I also have fibromyalgia. My fibro has me feeling like a complete failure. I am sore in all my joints, I can’t sleep because of the pain, and when I do get to sleep I sleep too much (like the other day I was up for a whole seven hours!), and the sleep is not refreshing. Apparently people with fibro don’t get quality sleep because their brains are wired to be on constant alert – so I can get nine hours of sleep but it won’t be quality sleep. My brain gets all foggy and I start struggling to finish sentences when speaking, or I mix up words, or forget a word completely – like the other day I was talking about succulents, but I couldn’t remember the word “succulents” – so I said “you know, those plants that take up water and keep it in their leaves”. For someone who loves words as much as I do this is very hard to take. My body (my legs in particular) doesn’t seem to do what I want it to do sometimes – if I want to pick up a pencil I may have to really concentrate on getting my fingers to move in the right way to pick it up.

I’ve tried all sorts of ways to address the symptoms of the fibro, but unfortunately there doesn’t seem to be any agreement on the best method or therapy among different professionals. So, that probably means a journey of trial and error until I find something that works, if I ever do. And to be honest, I feel too tired to bother at the moment. After all:

• in my childhood it was trying to find a way to stop me wetting the bed
• in my teens it was trying to find a way to stop having heavy, painful periods
• in my twenties it was trying to find a way to deal with depression, anxiety, and OCD
• in my thirties it was trying to find a way to deal with epilepsy, and to overcome infertility
• and, now, in my forties it’s fibromyalgia…

 I’m tired of having to try and find out how to deal with something every damn decade of my life – at least at the moment I am. I know that my inner strength will come back and I will unleash my inner wolf again…I have to. What’s the alternative? I give up? That’s not me.

Then, I can’t help thinking about what our kids might have been like. Hayley would have been 19 this year, and Jacob and/or Ruby 8 this month. How do I let them go? They are so real to me. How do I get to a point where I no longer think about “what if” they had been born? I guess I won’t…I know this in my heart, but sometimes I just wish I could have an operation or something that would make me forget that I ever wanted children.

I feel like a failure. I wasn’t able to have children, I don’t feel productive due to having depression, anxiety, and fibromyalgia, and I feel like I am letting everyone who cares about me down. I know that the people who care about me don’t see it this way, but I do.

My lack of self-esteem is killing me. I’m not writing, I’m not walking – I’m putting on a good show of being okay, but I don’t feel it.

I’m not depressed – I know that – but the fog is heavy.

I don’t know – maybe I’m depending too much on the fog to lift on its own, but instead I should be walking, in any direction, to see if I can find a way out of it. Maybe it’s a little bit of both – the fog and I both have to do something to get me out of it.

Well – that’s where I’m at at the moment. Hopefully next entry will be a more uplifting one.

Hayley...

In my entry on the 31stof January I mentioned Hayley, and that I wasn’t quite ready to write about her. In the last week something happened that brought her back into my mind and I want you to know about her now.

What happened last week was in the Adelaide Railway Station. A man was yelling at a woman because she was having difficulty using the ticket machine (which I, myself, have found confusing at times). He called her a “f**king idiot” and “bloody stupid” etc. My rage skyrocketed and I asked him what the hell he thought he was doing and told him not to talk to her like that. He scurried off like the low-life creature he was. Sadly, despite the railway station being reasonably busy, I was the only one that spoke up. What a society we live in!

Well – this incident brought back memories and emotions that I haven’t felt in years.

In 1998 I was in an extremely unhealthy relationship. Many things happened in that relationship that made me feel humiliated and degraded, including being talked to like that man spoke to the woman. It was tough to get my confidence and sense of self back, and it surprised me how easily I slipped back into feeling those old “I’m no good, I really am stupid” thoughts and emotions again. Other things happened in the relationship that I would rather not write about as they are too personal, but I am facing them now and I believe I will become stronger through that.

One of the hardest things in the relationship was when I had a very early miscarriage. I was only about six weeks along and I never had a pregnancy test, but I knew. My period was late (and it never was) and other signs were there. Then she left. I don’t really know if the baby would have been a girl, but I felt like she would have been, and I would have called her Hayley. She would have been nineteen years old next month.

When I told the “man” I was in a relationship with about the miscarriage, his response was along the lines of “well, it’s lucky you lost it.” Even now thinking about those words stings my heart. She would have been his child and he had no love at all for her. Wow!

To cope with this, as I did often then, and still do sometimes now, I wrote a poem for Hayley.

Whisper

A whisper on the whisper of the breeze

Through my body

Changes as ancient as the sea of time

Announced your presence

Within a heartbeat

I knew you

I loved you

I dreamed forward to the day

That my arms would hold you

I did not know

That you could not stay

That you would slip away

Almost unnoticed

Except that I felt you

Dancing with my body

Taking your part

They say it’s for the best

For the best maybe

But I’ll always wonder

Wonder about you

My baby

A letter to her child...

The following is from one of my readers - a beautiful letter to her child...

Dear baby,

I've wanted you for what seems like forever, I dream of holding you and feeling your warmth.

You have no idea how badly I want to create you. To be a mother, I want you more than I can take... more feeling than it is possibly to feel.

It's almost like a need, a need for you.

To feel you move like butterflies, to feel you kick inside me, to feel ethereal, dreamlike, unbelievable to thing I could grow life.

I want to feel the pain of you getting bigger inside me, the weight of you.

I want you to grow and grow like a butterfly in a cocoon.

To see the plus sign on a test, to squeal with glee, to hug my fiancé and see the amazed look in his eyes.

To cry over the joy, the adventure, the possibility that will be your life.

I can draw, paint, write and knit, but creating a painting is so much different to having a work of art, a pure creation made by two in love grow inside you.

I envision your tiny little legs, kicking and squirming, your chubby fingers tight around my thumb, your beautiful soft skin & perfect eyes.

We've talked about you for what feels like eternity, we read books, articles, watched videos about you.

We planned names like Damian or Hamish or Olive or Christine.

We planned out your early years, we planned out everything.

I felt so ready yet scared and excited, the ovulation tests, pregnancy tests, the baby books, my fiancé’s mothers handmade clothes, created for his baby. Special for his baby, our baby, our soon to be universe.

I couldn't wait for you, I was so excited, we were so excited.

I wanted to hear you, hold you... I wanted you to be mine, which you can never be.

I started becoming more tired, more stressed & in more pain. I wondered is fibromyalgia genetic? Could my mum have passed it to me and if so, what would happen to our dream?

I googled it, my heart didn't just sink, it fell, down & down & down. It spun down like a penny in a charity coin machine, until it hit the ground with a cold hard thunk.

My fiancé was broken, I was broken.

Months have passed, he's sold the baby books, hidden his mother’s baby clothes and I have hidden my pregnancy jumper & sold my ovulation tests.

I sold my pregnancy journal, the very happy mother to be messaged me urging delivery, so elated and excited at her pregnancy. I marker penned my name from the 'this book belongs to section' scrubbing it out, trying to clean to sadness away, the memories.

I stuck a neat white sticker over it, almost purifying it as if some omen, some sad, angry, heartbroken entity was being removed or set free.

My fiancé posted the book whilst I tried to forget. When I found out fibromyalgia is genetic and clusters in families.

My dream died, my never born baby died with it, I feel stupid to mourn a baby that has never existed & will never exist but I can't help it.

I used to brood over babies, seeing pregnant women's tummies & children pulled my heartstrings and made me excited and nervous.

Now when I see a child, a baby or a pregnant woman. It ruins my day, I see children’s clothes/socks/blankets & toys in shops & supermarkets.... it makes me feel sick to my stomach with loss.

Most days I can try not to think about it and it sort of works, but some days I cry about you, my never baby. Some nights I stay awake, like right now & I feel sad and broken.

I needed to write this letter to you my never baby, because as I know you won't ever be here I still love you, I still think of you & I still hold a piece of my heart just for you and I hope one day that mourning will heal & my heart won't be quite so fragmented.

Endless love,

A lady who dreams of being your mum.

Babies...

Apologies again!

I’ve had a few health issues this past month, plus a work project that I’ve had to focus on, so the blog has gone on the back burner for a while.

I’m not sure if you heard about the storm that happened in South Australia a few weeks back. It was one of the biggest we’ve seen and ended up with the entire state losing power – some areas for more than 24 hours.

Hospitals and other emergency services generally have backup generators, and so do IVF clinics. After all – they have frozen embryos that need to be looked after.

Unfortunately one of the IVF clinics in South Australia lost all power and couldn’t get it back before they lost all of the frozen embryos. All of them.

They have offered free cycles of IVF for all affected clients.

I cried for the clients and the embryos when I heard this news. I was also very angry. I was angry at the loss of the embryos, but also because to most people the offer of another cycle was an acceptable way to make amends.

But, the loss of those embryos, at least to me, is much more than a free cycle could ever compensate for.

When we did our IVF cycles we got to take home photos of our embryos. We have two photos and I’ve kept them. I won’t ever part with them. Because they are our children. Had we lost any embryos in an incident where power failed I would have felt that our children had died – not just that embryos had been lost that can simply be replaced.

Does that sound weird? I would have felt that the clinic was being flippant about the loss of our babies.

What do embryos mean? How early is it in the cycle to say “they are our children”? For me, our embryos were our children – especially given they were as close as we ever got to holding our babies in our arms.

They were never just embryos to me. In those tiny little beings there were already so many things that were set – their eye colour, their hair colour, whether they would have had Kirby’s eyes. Would they have been interested in computers or writing? Would they have loved animals like I do? We’ll never know, but we’ll always wonder.

Our babies...

No doubt the different clients of the clinic would be experiencing so many different emotions and thoughts. For those whom IVF does not work for, will they forever wonder if one of the embryos that was lost could have been the one? I often wonder about an embryo that was not put in me because it was not judged as strong enough – could that have been the one that made it? Again – we’ll never know.

All I can say is that our embryos were the closest to our children that we ever got, and they were a part of Kirby and a part of me. They were more than simply embryos – so much more.

I don't want a baby...

Surgery is over and I’m on day six of getting better. It all went well and while I’m a bit sore still and can’t do a lot of physical activity I do feel much better energy wise and therefore mentally and spiritually as well.

My surgeon found more endometriosis – quite significant scarring actually. And it may be that the pain I felt before I will still feel in the future. I’m reading a book called “Endometriosis and Pelvic Pain” by Dr Susan Evans at the moment to get some tips on lifestyle changes I can make to help me be as healthy as possible. I may go to the clinic where Dr Evans works as well as luckily for me it’s here in Adelaide, South Australia.

One thing that concerned/s me a little is that my surgeon said that if the pain doesn’t go away then the next step may be a hysterectomy, but from what I’ve learnt about endometriosis, a hysterectomy won’t do anything to fix the problem. I think I’ll get a second opinion before going down that road as it’s not a simple procedure.

Well, as the title of this post says, I don’t want a baby anymore. Really – I don’t.

I no longer think much about holding our newborn or nursing him or her or changing their nappies.

Instead that longing has been replaced by one for our seven year old child. I wish our seven year old Jacob or Ruby were here with us. I wish they were moving from being a small child to being one with more independence and riding around the wetlands on their bikes with their own friends, who is going to school and learning, and perhaps playing sports. Who knows what they would have been interested in? I wish they were here so we could know them.

In my heart my children are growing up as the years pass by. They were newborns, toddlers, pre-schoolers, and now they are seven years old.

A few weeks ago Kirby and I both had gastro – as we were sitting in the lounge feeling sorry for ourselves I asked Kirby if he thought Jacob or Ruby, given they did not have gastro also, would have looked after us as best a seven year old could do. We both thought that they would have – at least some of the time. 

Then Kirby and I held hands and reflected on what might have been.

Stuck...

Frankie's response to my dancing...

I’ve been busy this past week, and I’ve actually enjoyed myself quite a lot – even though most of what I’ve been doing has been housework! It’s amazing what a good music soundtrack can do to make housework more tolerable! Although when I’m dancing around the kitchen with a broom my cat, Frankie, tends to hiss at me – I guess she’s not a fan of my moves…

Kirby and I went to the Adelaide Clipsal V8 Supercars on Saturday and that was awesome. We watched the race and wandered around looking at all the displays of old cars, and new cars (the type that we would never be able to afford!), and taking in the atmosphere. It was very hot! 38 degrees Celsius (around 37 degrees Celsius equals 100 degrees Fahrenheit). But it was great.

So things are going well, except I have a sense of feeling stuck in some areas of my life – particularly in regards to my writing. I want to write, I know what I want to write, but somehow, when I think about it, my anxiety rises. It’s almost like I don’t deserve it…or maybe I’m worried that I will fail at it…I’m not sure.

I’m having a lot of dreams about babies and the other day I said to Kirby that the baby I lost in 1998 (six years before I met Kirby) would have been eighteen this year. I actually said “Hayley would have been eighteen this year.” I’d never called that baby anything…so I don’t know why I’ve called her Hayley now. It was a very early miscarriage and it wasn’t confirmed at all, so there is a chance there was never any baby, but I do believe I was pregnant as my period was three weeks late and was very heavy when it came, and normally, at that time, my cycle was like clockwork.

I’ve still been crying and feeling upset about the whole endometriosis thing and finding myself thinking about that a lot. That’s happening less and less though.

I’m doing okay with the regular, every day things, but I feel as though there is a block which I am stuck behind that is stopping me from getting on with the other things – the things that make me who I really am.

So, I’m going to go see a counsellor.

I’ve gone from being so confused and sad that I know I need to see one, to feeling really good and thinking I don’t really need to see one. To be honest, I’d rather not go. I want to be able to work through all this on my own with the support of my family and friends. But, I can’t.

My family and f

riends are there without a doubt and they can talk to me, support me, and provide endless hugs, but I need to talk to someone who is independent, can assist me in viewing things differently, and can guide me toward regaining my motivation (or perhaps it’s more to do with overcoming anxiety or feeling I deserve to follow some of my dreams regardless of whether I succeed or not).

It’ll be interesting. I’ve seen one counsellor before, but I’m not certain if I should see her again, or whether it would be useful to see someone different for a different perspective. I’ve got three days to think about it!

It will be an interesting journey I’m sure. 

Guilt...

He’s going to say I have nothing to feel guilty about – but I have been feeling guilty lately.

I’ve been feeling guilty since the surgery and when I found out about the endometriosis.

So, it’s true that I may not have had endo back in 2009/2010 when we were doing IVF, and it’s true that even if I did and it was treated it may not have made any difference to me getting pregnant. It is, however, the closest thing to an explanation as to why we couldn’t get pregnant that we have ever had. All we ever got from the IVF clinic was “unexplained fertility”, which left us wondering if the issue was with me, with Kirby, or with both.

It’s not that either of us would have blamed each other – there is no blame.

Well – I know that I wouldn’t have blamed Kirby, and I know that he wouldn’t have blamed me. So, feeling like I do at the moment doesn’t really make sense – but then how often do feelings and thoughts really make sense?

I feel guilty that it seems I was the one who couldn’t bring a baby into our lives and who couldn’t make Kirby a father. He deserves to be a Dad. He should have had a son or daughter to raise and nurture and discipline and be annoyed at some times and love and have fun times with and create memories with. And I couldn’t give him that.

I keep thinking that I should have known endo was a possibility, and that I should have pushed for more tests and investigations. But, how could I know that endo was a possibility if I didn’t even know what endo was?

I asked Kirby the other night if he would still have married me if he knew that I couldn’t have children. I regretted asking the question as soon as I did. I know the answer – he would have. Asking him that question was unkind.

But I keep ruminating about the unfairness that my inept body cannot give him a child. I guess I’m just going to have to sit with that for a while until it passes by. And I hope it does soon.

It's how I feel...

It’s been just over a week since my day surgery. It went well – except that I ended up staying in hospital overnight as the surgeon had to do a bit more to me than originally anticipated.

It turns out I have endometriosis, so the surgeon cleared that up, my blood pressure dropped, I was in more pain than I certainly anticipated, and I was admitted. Fortunately I only stayed one night and was able to come home. I am so thankful for Ashford Hospital here in South Australia – the best medical care I could have hoped for.

For the first few days I was limited as to what I could do – in other words it was bed or the couch. And the worst was not being able to have my cats on my lap and not being able to pat my dogs or play with them. I’m feeling much better now and slowly being able to do more and more.

At least I’m feeling better physically.

Mentally?

Spiritually?

I’m struggling big time. It changes from day to day – Wednesday was a not so good day, yesterday was a good day, today is a bad day.

It’s not the fact that I’ve had an operation that has forever taken the choice of trying for a baby again away from me (which is something I have accepted). The reason I am struggling is that I have endometriosis and despite going through IVF and seeing a gynaecologist back around that time with symptoms associated with endometriosis (like infertility – duh!) nobody even bothered to investigate it as a possibility.

If they had – if they only had – it might have been addressed and we might have our child here with us right now. I am really struggling to come to terms with this.

I know that there is a possibility that I still wouldn’t have become pregnant, but the fact that further investigation was not done at the time is just beyond my comprehension. Why didn’t they check? I had the fatigue, I had the pain in my abdomen and lower back, I had the painful period cramp, I had had miscarriages, and I damn well couldn’t have a baby. What went wrong? You know I even recall them saying that I didn’t have it as they couldn’t see it on any scans – well guess what – the only way to truly know if someone has it is to do a laparoscopy (like I had last Thursday).

I am so furious. I have tried not to be angry and to “let it go” knowing nothing will change, but that isn’t working so much and I feel like I am being eaten up inside.  Instead I am going to let the anger and grief and whatever other emotions occur have their space, and deal with them instead of trying to bottle them up. I will cry, rage, talk, meditate, just “be” out in nature, play with my dogs, hug my nephew, throw tantrums, consider how blessed I am, tell Kirby I love him, and swear my head off.

But I’m not going to pretend I’m fine.

That would be a lie – because I’m not.

One thing that I know will help me now is to say this to you who are having trouble having a baby – if you even remotely suspect that you have endometriosis, stand up for yourself and demand that it be investigated. And don’t let them put you off by saying your scans don’t show any signs of it – insist on a laparoscopy.

And please, please, please – if you do go through the tests and find you do have endometriosis, and it is treated, and you end up with that miracle in your arms – please let me know. It would help to mend my heart to know that something good might come from sharing my experience with you. And photos too please! Lots of photos!

My love, as always, to all my readers, and thank you for your endless support.

Friends...

We recently went to visit some friends who have a new baby boy. He is beautiful and already knows how to do fist bumps so obviously he is very gifted!

I loved giving him a big cuddle and I tried to sneak him away so we could keep him, but our friends know where we live so I don’t think we would have gotten away with it…

This entire entry could be just about him, but there is something else I want to write about.

I was holding this amazing child, feeding him with his bottle, and burping him, and we were all talking about him and how he and they were going, and his Dad suggested that he (not the baby) might try out the tummy time cushion we had given them (would have made an interesting sight – a grown man, tummy down, on a cushion for a little baby!)

Then they asked us how we were going, and about our dogs, and about many other things that were going on in our lives.

What they didn’t know was that on the way to their place Kirby pulled over to the side of the road as I was crying (mostly because of the hormonal effects of the Mirena) and feeling like my life was worthless. Kirby suggested we put off visiting our friends, but I said no because I really wanted to see them. I was grateful to Kirby for offering an out if I needed it – he is so understanding.

So, in asking us the questions they did I was given a great big validation that our lives are interesting and that our friends care about us and what we are doing too.

Focussing on a newborn baby is absolutely normal and understandable, and should the conversation have been completely about them and their baby I would have understood. But it was a precious gift to have our friends being genuinely interested in our lives.

Sometimes I feel like our lives are not as important as those of people who have children – not because of anything any one says or does really, but because of my own thoughts.

The gift our friends gave us that day pushed those feelings aside and have actually made me relook at my life and see that what I do is worthwhile in a different way to what it would be if I was raising a child.

I do feel like I’ve rambled in this entry – it’s harder than I thought to express my thoughts and feelings about what happened. So I’ll leave it at this.

Thank you to our beautiful friends, and isn't their baby gorgeous!!

I didn't want to give him back!!

No, no, no – and just - NO…

This week I came across two blogs by mothers who have children. Each mother has written an entry on other options available to those who can’t have kids – such as adoption, fostering, IVF, babysitting, and even becoming a primary school teacher.

I’m sure they are well-intentioned, but, no. No. NO!!!

Having someone who has had kids tell us how it’s not all that bad because there are other ways to “have kids” in our lives is just not right and completely inappropriate – to my mind.

I’ve had close friends and family talk to me about other options available to me and Kirby, but they know me and often the conversation has been started by me. And even when my friends or family were the ones to start the conversation, they understand me well enough to know, most of the time, when to talk about certain things about not having children and when not to.

The problem I have about blog entries such as the above is that these women are writing about something so personal to many of us, so painful to many of us, and they don’t know us. They have not had the experience of facing the truth that biological children are not going to come along.

One of the entries even ended with the phrase that “being told you can’t have kids is not the end of the world”. Well…yes it is. It’s the end of the world in which we will look into the eyes of our children – it is the end of the world in which we will watch them grow up – it is the end of the world in which we will get to hold them.

I do believe these women were well-intentioned, but no – they do NOT get to tell us that we have choices, and options, and that it’s not the end of the world.

Strange jealousy...

This week I want to talk about something that I experienced in the early months of us realising we would not be able to have children.

It seems a strange thing to have thought now, but then, when we are grieving our thoughts are often different to those we would normally have.

I mentioned a few weeks ago that we only have photos of our children as embryos. Wow – this is hard to write about…as I feel a bit ashamed about it (although I tell myself I shouldn’t.) I used to be jealous of people who had children, of course, but I also was kind of jealous of people who had had a still born child.

I didn’t, and don’t, actually wish a still born child on anyone and certainly not on ourselves. I can’t even begin to know what it would be like to have a child and for them to have died before they took their first breath.

What I was jealous for is that they got to hold their baby and have photos with them and show the baby to their family and perhaps friends too. Their baby, their child, was real. Ours were just a flicker for a few days and nobody but us and the medical staff saw them. Our parents couldn’t hold them – we couldn’t say “look at this beautiful angel that we created.”

Even now my arms are aching to hold them.

It’s a strange kind of jealousy – actually I’m not even sure, now, that jealousy is the right word. Perhaps it’s more that I wished for something more than what we had – even if it was just to get to hold our child. To have those photos and to see their faces. I wanted to take every part of them into my memory.

We didn’t get to do that and sometimes I think that our loss is not even viewed as a loss because of that. But, we did lose something precious.

It’s impossible to compare losses and it’s certainly not a competition. What am I trying to say here? Perhaps that there was nothing for us to hold out and say “see what we have lost – we created this and we had dreams and hopes for this and we loved this…and now it’s gone.”

Our pain about our loss was ours and the pain my friends have felt about their loss was theirs. There’s no scale to measure which was stronger or bigger or worse – but both losses and the grieving for our children were, and remain, real.

I feel that this entry is a bit all over the place, so let me know if any of it doesn’t make sense. xxx

They have your eyes...

This week (give or take) the baby from our final round of IVF would have turned six years old. They most likely would have loved riding bikes with their cousin, played every day with our dogs, and perhaps been interested in music like me, computers like their Dad, or both. Today they would have been waiting in excitement to see their older cousins this afternoon, who arrived from Sydney yesterday for Dad’s 70^th birthday, and they would have been a handful and an angel at the same time.

I’ve long wondered what our children might have looked like. So, yesterday I used one of those programs online to “morph” Kirby and my faces to find out what our babies might have looked like.

Here they are:

Jacob Arthur

Ruby Grace

I think they are adorable of course!

I know that these programs are not entirely accurate, but it’s kind of bitter-sweet to have a picture of what our children might have looked like. The only photos we ever got of them were these:

So, call me silly for using the program, but I like having those pictures to look at and wonder about.

Baby girl...

In the past month my cousin has given birth to her and her husband’s first child – a baby girl.

And I have been thrown around in a sea of emotions in a way that hasn’t happened in quite some time. I was on edge even before my little second cousin was born.

I had dreams about holding my own baby daughter, and one night I awoke in a panic because I reached out and couldn’t find her crib at the side of our bed.

Another night I sat bolt upright in bed and said aloud “I want to try again.”

I felt angry that we didn’t have a child that would be an elder cousin to the new little baby that was about to be born. I wanted our child to be there to play with her and cuddle her and show her how to get away with as much mischief as possible.

I wondered what it would be like to feel life growing inside of me, to feel those kicks and movements, and to give birth and experience that pain that would bring our child into the world.

Would our cousins’ baby and ours share any features like my cousins and I do? Perhaps eye shape or hair colour or love of animals or interests in music or art or who knows – and we will never know.

In writing that last sentence I have just realised something. We will never know, but I will think about it from time to time and I like the thought of that. As our new baby cousin grows and starts showing her own personality (although I suspect she is already doing that…), and we learn what she likes and what she doesn’t, I will think about what interests our baby might have shared with her.

Of course our baby would no longer be a little child – they would be seven years old if the second round of IVF had worked (where we had an embryo put into my womb) or six years old if the third round had worked. I love the thought of our child, our nephew (almost five years old), and the new baby spending time together. I think my cousins’ little girl would have been quite well looked after and spoilt by her two older boy cousins.

I don’t really know if our baby would have been a boy, but I always thought that it would be – our little Jacob Arthur, Samuel Kirby, or Caleb Maxwell. It’s odd, therefore, that I dreamt about having a daughter before my cousins’ baby was born, but my cousins did know their baby was going to be a girl before she was born and I guess my subconscious decided that in my dreams we would have a girl as well.

I felt guilty, at first, about some of the feelings of anger and, I’ll say it, jealousy I had, but I have remembered, yet again, that it is quite normal to have them. And it is also true that, at least for me, I will, from time to time, feel let down by life and sad about not having our own child.

I want you all to know that as well, and that way when you experience those emotions that you feel are wrong or even shameful perhaps you will recognise that they are actually quite normal and then not be so hard on yourself – as I have been somewhat hard on myself lately.

I met my little baby girl cousin just over a week and a half ago, and to say I am smitten is a complete understatement. I am completely and totally head over heels in love and besotted…which I think might be quite obvious in the photo below…

Me and my new cousin...

Time heals all...

At least I was thinking maybe this was the case…

I realised a couple of weeks ago that I hadn’t been thinking about babies and IVF and infertility. And it surprised me, because in previous years I had always experienced feelings of sorrow, guilt, and even anger, as April approached.

I was positive that this lack of conscious thought about April meant the wound of not being able to have children had healed. The scar tissue had become so strong that it wouldn’t tear open again this year to leave my heart and arms empty.

It crossed my mind that perhaps the souls of my babies had moved on. Maybe they had let me go and I had let them go too.

I felt strong.  It was over it. Time truly does heal all.

Then I went to the supermarket.

There were prams everywhere. There were babies everywhere from newborns to almost toddlers.

Parents held the hands of older children, corrected their behaviour, laughed with their children, called them back to their sides when their kids had wandered of, and, sadly, there were also “parents” who seemed to take great joy in belittling their children in public.

That old familiar loneliness and emptiness arrived so suddenly that I struggled to keep the tears in my eyes from falling down my cheeks.  

We didn’t even get to the stage of egg collection with our first round of IVF. No embryo was created. Still, I think about the child we could have had – the little boy or girl who would be turning six this month.

Who would that little person have been?

We’ll never know.

I tend to think about the child that could have been from our first IVF round as their due date would have been our wedding anniversary.

When we married we had a picture of what our lives would be like – and that included having children and raising them as best we could. There were no doubts that this dream would become a reality. After all, our friends and family were having children and never had any problems – so why would we? It never even crossed our minds that we would.

Our wedding day...

And I can never forget those dreams or that potential child, and I don’t think a time will ever come when I feel all okay about it. I will never be “over it”, and time doesn’t really heal all.

I also know that missing my child doesn’t mean I’m not strong. Perhaps it actually means I am strong – because I can think about our children, grieve for them, while still being able to love and feel and live.

Happy sixth birthday angel child.

Dreaming…

I had a dream the other night that Kirby and I were looking after a nine month old girl for some friends (the friends don’t actually exist in real life). Kirby went home at one point and I stayed with the baby. I changed her nappy, tucked her into bed with her bottle, and left. I went home too.

When I got home I realised what I had done and I was mortified. I had left the baby alone. My main fear was that I wouldn’t be able to get back to our friends’ house before they got home and they would be angry that I had left their child, and it would confirm to them that I don’t know how to look after children.  I didn’t want them to know about my mistake and I didn’t want them to think poorly of me.

It’s interesting that my concern was partially for the baby, but mainly about what the parents would think of me. I thought I would get into trouble and the truth would come out that I was self-centred and thought only about my own need (that being going home and in the process forgetting about the baby).

That night I had two other uncomfortable dreams. It tends to be the way with me – I won’t have any uncomfortable dreams for a while and then I’ll have two or three in one night.

The other two dreams were also along the lines of not being good enough and worrying that I had been, or would be, caught out in my failings. I prefer not to give the details of these dreams due to some of the details being potentially sensitive for my friends and family.

I really don’t get it – the point of those dreams. Or, on writing this entry, perhaps I do.

I’ve been feeling really good these past two weeks. Quite a few things have been going well and, while I know not so good times will happen, I feel stronger and more content than I have for a while.

I don’t think my ego likes this situation. It is coming through in my dreams to tell me that I am not good enough and that I will likely get caught out as a bit of a fraud. It seems my ego likes to aim straight for a fragile part of my psyche as well – that of not being able to have children and that of wondering what kind of parent I would have been. Would I have been any good?

This is a representation of what my ego is trying to say about my broader life. Am I any good at what I do? Am I a fraud? Will I get caught out?

Well – you know what I say to my ego?

I say “Whatever!”

My ego clearly doesn’t like the fact that I am feeling more confident, that I have more of an idea (at least for this part of my life) what my skills and strengths are and what they are not, and that I am challenging myself to be involved in life and to take risks than I have before.

My ego can blabber on all it likes, it can invade my dreams with its doubts and fears, and it can insinuate that I wouldn’t have been a good mother.

But, while my ego sometimes has helpful things to say, I’m not going to listen to anything that is absolute rubbish.

My ego can just go and sit in the corner until it can behave itself and until it has something constructive to say.

So there ego! So there!

A tune up...

I’m not sure what people in other countries call a car service, but here in Australia we often refer to it as a tune up. A tune up can apply to people too.

Earlier this year I was down hearted about many aspects of my life, and these feelings carried through over the following months. Minerva had died, my trip to Thailand was over, and new health issues had arisen. In October it was ten years since Kirby and I met and where we are now, with no children, is not what we expected when we first met. My self-talk told me I was not good enough – I don’t have a nine to five job, I couldn’t have children, I have stupid health issues that require numerous appointments with doctors and specialists, I couldn’t even keep our house clean and tidy as I thought it should always be, and Kirby could have done so much better than me.

I was a failure, failure, failure.

In Australia we have a great program where if your mental health is not good you can go to a general practitioner and get a referral to a psychologist or counsellor for six free sessions in a year – with the option of six more if needed.

I didn’t want to go to a psychologist – I just wanted to feel better and I thought that I should already know how to do that. But, I started seeing a psychologist in July, if anything to get Kirby off my back about going.

It seems I had fallen into the trap of thinking that I could reach a place where my life was sorted out once and for all. That I would reach a place where the hurts of the past would fade forever, and where I would accept my limitations or, even better, I would overcome them to live life exactly as I wanted to.

I know that there is no such place. Life is a series of peaks and troughs and it always will be. I know this, but I forgot. And my psychologist helped me to remember what I already knew. She helped me to realise that I had grief to work through still, and that grief is not a set process with a defined end. I may be ninety years old and still grieve for the children we never had and the life I didn’t lead for various reasons. This was my tune up.

After the first session I told Kirby I wasn’t going back as I didn’t like it and I didn’t think the psychologist would be any help. Deep down, though, I knew I didn’t want to go back because my psychologist was challenging me, and I didn’t want to be challenged. I didn’t want to think about certain things and I didn’t want to admit I didn’t have it all together.

My psychologist recognised that I tried to be strong and positive all of the time – even to the point of excusing the behaviour of people who had hurt me. Even when I talked about issues that bothered me I was set on convincing my psychologist that I was strong and could deal with it. The truth is that I am not always strong – I was putting up a front.

The most important thing I learnt is that the life I thought I wanted, in terms of a nine to five job, a big social life with lots of parties and lots of people, and a perfectly clean house, wasn’t the life I actually wanted.  I like my work at home, I like being with one friend or a small group of friends, and I love my pets so I will never have a spotless house. I’ve been working through my anxiety, particularly around house work.  I consciously left the dishes unwashed overnight and, lo and behold, the world didn’t fall apart!

I can sit with anxiety much more easily now and I can be honest with my family and friends when I’m not okay – I don’t feel the need to put up that front.

What has this all got to do with not having children?

Not having children is a major life crisis. It brings up so many fears, feelings, and uncertainties about what life is going to be like. You’re not going to be a parent. What does that mean for other areas of your life? What are you going to do?

There will be grief.

There will be times, long into the future, where you doubt yourself and whether you are good enough.

There will be times when you think all the pain and grief should be done with already.

There will be times you need to talk to someone and get some direction.

And, everyone needs a tune up every now and then.

It’s okay.

Socially introverted...

I think I’m an introvert. Actually, I know I’m an introvert.

Even as a child I preferred my own company, or the company of one or two friends, rather than being with large groups of kids. My Mum was worried about me until a psychologist told her that this was just my personality.

Still, in this modern era the attitude is that we must all be extroverted, be out there in the happening world, and show how confident we are – all the time. We should be comfortable in large groups of people, be able to do the small talk with people we don’t know, be fine with dressing up in whatever is considered appropriate for the occasion regardless of how uncomfortable we feel, and keep up the appearance of having it all together.

Since we knew we couldn’t have children, and particularly since I’ve started working from home, I’ve become quite distanced from the expectation that I will be extraverted, and the pressure to be, or at least act like, someone I am not. I don’t see a lot of people really, whereas pre-2012 I worked in various office settings with a large number of colleagues.

Being on my own, working at home, and being an introvert suits me very well. It is my personality, but I’ve also realised that it keeps me away from certain reminders about how my life is so different from what I thought it would be.

This realisation came to light over the weekend. Kirby’s work held an end of year dinner for employees and their partners on Friday night. I got dressed up in my green wrap around skirt with a purple leaf embroidered on it, a purple top, black tights, and blue flat shoes. I put on my home-made make-up and let my hair dry naturally. I felt good before we left home. I was dressed in what I wanted to wear. I was who I was and I was comfortable with that. Although I admit I was nervous as I had only met a few of Kirby’s colleagues before, and there would be over seventy people at the dinner.

So, we got to the restaurant which overlooks the River Torrens in Adelaide. I met a few people and they were nice and welcoming, and we chatted as we were served hors d'oeuvre and drinks out on the balcony. Then we were ushered into the restaurant and we chose where we would sit for dinner. I followed the people I had been talking to and sat down with my back to the window, which meant I could see all of the people in the room. I regretted my choice of seat.

While there were people of all ages at the dinner, many of them were in their twenties or very early thirties, and among this group there were about five women who were obviously pregnant or had recently had children. And most of them were dressed up in cocktail type outfits, with heels, and with make-up and hair perfectly done.

My feelings changed from being fine, to being confused, to being sad, to wanting to leave, and back again.

Then the left side of my face started spasming and there was a slight dribbling from the corner of my mouth. I’m not sure anyone noticed, but to me it felt like my face was jumping up and down so much that people on the other side of the room must have seen it.

Then I looked at the menu and there were no vegetarian options (although in the end there were, but I had to ask specifically).

I felt so out of place and awkward.

I was sad that I was once where they were, where I dressed up like they did, was looking forward to having a family and to having a career. I once went into a workplace, and got involved in the politics, and enjoyed the feeling of comradery that existed (at least in most of my workplaces). I spent time with large groups of people with champagne glass in hand.

I was confused, as I sat at the table, as to where that confident, modern, and social young woman went.

And I didn’t want to hear the women and their partners being congratulated on being pregnant or on recently having a child. It was a reminder of what I would never have.

Over the weekend I was irritable and I cried a few times. I had not achieved anything in my life – at least that’s what my thoughts kept telling me. I could not compare to these amazing women who had a career and were preparing to have children as well. I couldn’t even keep up with simple household tasks. I have had one health issue after another, and now have the prospect of brain surgery next year which, although not extremely invasive, has some pretty significant risks.

Who did I think I was to even consider that I was anybody? What made me think I could have even a snippet of what I hoped for?

Then last night, after I talked to my beloved Kirby (he truly is the best man), I realised that I was wondering about the “me” from all those years ago who wasn’t actually, truly, me.

I don’t like dressing up all fancy with heels and perfect hair and make-up. I never have. I’m not the life of a party, I’m not an extrovert, and I don’t want to be. I don’t want a career where I am required to be in an office during certain hours, let alone a career which is fast paced and where I aim for promotion after promotion.

I like being in tracksuit pants, I like working with my cats and dogs nearby, I like to be able to go out to my fishpond in the middle of the day, and it is handy to be able to put a load of washing on when I have a break mid-morning.

I like my solitude.

My thoughts of not having achieved anything and not being able to keep up with basic household tasks were rubbish. I have achieved many things in my life, and our house, while not show home spotless, is fine. Sometimes things get a bit messy, but so what?

Not having children and having health conditions, which include clinical depression, epilepsy, burning feet at night, and now Hemi-facial Spasms, are real. These things are part of my life. And these things have changed the path my life has taken.

If we had had children I would likely have continued in the field of work I was in and not moved to writing and editing. If I hadn’t had health issues I would probably have done the same, but because my health issues mean I cannot always work nine to five I have had to find other ways to be employed and working for myself from home works well.

When I am on my own at home, pottering around, editing, and writing, I am happy. I enjoy life and I feel good. Then there are times when I go out and mix with people who are living the life I thought I would have and my confidence diminishes and I wonder why I am not like them. Why don’t I have a traditional career, and why, most significantly, can’t I have children?

It’s easy to not think about all of this when I am at home, or when I am spending time with just a few people, but in situations like Kirby’s work dinner it is impossible not to put those thoughts aside.

What I need to do is remind myself that I don’t, and never will, have children. That is the way it is, it’s not fair, and there is no explanation as to why it is so. I also need to remind myself that my life, how I have it now, suits me. It reflects who I am, and have been since I was a little child, and therefore why do I feel the need to try and be like other people?

The other thing I also need to remember is that people generally like me as I am. Well, not all people like me, but that is okay.

My twenties and thirties are gone. My forties are here and life is for living. My life is for me. And reminders of our much wanted children, the person I tried to be in previous years, and the level of health I wish I had, will still arise, but they don’t have to diminish the satisfying life I have now.

An unwanted child...

There has been a story in the news this past week about a woman in Sydney, Australia, who dumped her newborn baby boy into a drain pipe. She intentionally dropped him into the drain, where there was a 2.5 metre drop, expecting that the fall would kill him. The baby survived for six days (nobody knows how!) and was rescued after passing cyclists heard his cries. He has been taken to hospital and is reportedly stable.

The “mother” is being charged with attempted murder – and yet it seems has been allowed to name the baby.

The Department of Family and Community Services has said the act was one of desperation.

I know I don’t know the facts and maybe I’m being overly unsympathetic – but there is no justification, no circumstance, and no level of desperation that makes what this woman did anything but evil. I know there are such things as postnatal depression, but what she did – which was premeditated and with full understanding that the baby would likely die – is inexcusable.

You only have to look at the location of the drain and the structure of the drain to know that this was not a spur of the moment, impulsive act. She had to go to the drain which is quite isolated off a major road. Once there it would not have been easy to put the baby into the drain given that its entry was low down and quite small.

Why, why, why can someone like this have a baby and I can’t?

Most of the time, now, I am okay with not having a baby. I have a good life and I pursue all sorts of interesting things and I spend amazing times with the children we have in our lives. Then something like this comes about and I cry for hours wondering whether there is any fairness in the world at all.

And why should she have any right, whatsoever, to name this tiny, precious, baby boy?

God?

Got any answers?

I didn’t think so.

New Story from Sydney Morning Herald

Grandma...

I’ve recently reconnected with one of my best friends from school.

We spent many hours in our teenage years walking to and from the local grocery store in the country town that she lived in singing Guns n Roses, The Beatles, and AC/DC songs – well, sometimes they were our versions of songs. Instead of “it’s a long way to the top if you wanna rock n roll” we sang “it’s a long way to the shop if you want a sausage roll.”

We were cool… At least we thought so at the time. Our fashion, when not at school, consisted of basic t-shirts, checkered flannel shirts, and jeans which were ripped at the knees. We didn’t bother with fancy hair or makeup. We adopted a dog from the local fair and brought him back to her place, where her parents begrudgingly let her keep him.  I’ll never forget Ben!

My friend played guitar and sang amazingly well. I sang too, but amazingly terribly.  But that didn’t matter.

We went to another school when our school was closed for the day. Our teachers and parents thought that it was wonderful that we came up with the idea of attending another school for the day to experience what it was like.  Ummm…our intention wasn’t really to experience another school…we just wanted to meet boys…

We chose a mechanics class for one of our school subjects. Once again, so that we could meet boys…

The first time I went to the city without my parents was with her. We ended up not coming home when we should have. It wasn’t our fault…really…  Our parents got together to try and work out what they were going to do with us, and we were out in the backyard deciding that we would run away to the sand hills near my home to live. Surely they’d never find us in a 0.325 km2 conservation park about a kilometre away from my house!

My friend has just become a grandmother to a little boy.

It is so unbelievable to think that the little girl who led me astray in the 1980s is now a grandma. Okay – maybe we led each other astray…

I gave her some things (cups, bibs, etc) that we had here for Hugo when he was a baby to have at her house for when her grandson comes to visit. I also gave her two romper suits. These romper suits were ones that I bought for our babies in 2008. Ones that we never got to use for our children.

I am so grateful that my friend has come back into my life and that a part of what I had planned for our babies can become a part of the life of her grandson.

She asked me whether I would like to come up with her and visit her grandson in the next few weeks.

Gee…let me think…

YES!

Leaving baby behind...

There have been two stories that are similar to each other in the news in the past two months. I have cried at reading both and I have felt a powerful anger while reading both.

The first is about a little boy named “Gammy”. Gammy is the twin of a little girl called Pipah, but they don’t live in the same house, or even in the same country – thanks to their selfish “parents”. An Australian couple used a surrogate from Thailand to have their twins for them. Pipah was born healthy, but Gammy was born with Down Syndrome.  So his “parents” left him behind in Thailand. 

Little Gammy has been adopted by his surrogate mother and will be raised in a loving home. I have to wonder what is in store for Pipah – will her “parents” expect her to be a certain way? What happens if she gets sick? Will they give her up too? Will they think she is not good enough if she doesn’t meet their expectations and standards? The Thailand story...

The second story, which came out this week, is about another Australian couple who used a surrogate in India. They had twins – a boy and a girl. They brought the girl home, but left the boy in India. They didn’t want him because they already had a boy. It seems they may have sold the baby to another family in India, but nobody really seems to know. The India story...

I wonder how many other times children have been abandoned by their Australian “parents” in other countries because they weren’t wanted.

Frankly these people make me sick to my stomach. I do not understand how any parent could leave their child behind. How could anyone decide their own child is not good enough or does not meet some ridiculous criteria?

A couple only wants a baby of a certain gender. Responsibility is withdrawn for a child because they have a medical condition. These type of people do not deserve to be nor should be called parents. They are pathetic.

And it makes me angry that such people have children when there are so many of us who cannot. We would have loved our babies no matter what because we know how precious they are. We would never have left them behind.

How could they?