When You Can't Have Kids...the book...

I haven't written any entries since last month due to health issues, but also because I've been working on getting my book "When You Can't Have Kids" ready for sale.

And it's ready and available through Amazon!

For the paperback version please click here.

For the Kindle version please click here.

And I promise I will be writing some blog entries over the next few days...I have so much to write about!

What happened to my baby?

My cousin and his wife welcomed two gorgeous little girls into the world this past week. I haven’t met them yet, and I am very much looking forward to lots of cuddles!

I often dream about our own baby or babies around the time that a friend or family member had a child. This week was no exception.

I dreamt I was holding my baby boy. He was about six weeks old and we were in a temple-like building. There were a lot of people there and I didn’t recognise any of them. A group of about six men were standing on a platform next to an altar. The best way to describe these men was that each of them was a mix of a monk, a druid, and a grim reaper. They were dressed in dark brown robes with hoods that covered their heads and faces. I knew they were very old.

A ceremony started in which I was to hand over my son to the men so that they could take him to their monastery (for want of a better word) to teach him their “ways”.

I felt I had no choice in giving up my son, until a grey haired old woman with plenty of wrinkles and age spots quietly glided up to me and whispered “run”.

As often happens with dreams my son and I were instantaneously in another place. It was a road that actually exists and links the town I grew up in to one of the neighbouring towns. I was running up the gravelled verge of the road and trying to wave down cars. I held my baby boy out to get people to see that he needed their help.

The men from the temple were following me, but they were gliding rather than walking. Their robes were so long that I couldn’t see their feet, but I knew their feet weren’t touching the ground. I was terrified.

As they drew closer a yellow car pulled up to help us. I’m not very good in identifying cars but it looked like a Buick from the 1970s but it had four doors instead of two. The back door opened. I couldn’t see any of the occupants, but I started to get in the car anyway. It was the only option my son and I had left. The men from the temple were extremely close to us now.

That is where the dream ended. I don’t know if we made it into the car or whether the men caught us. I don’t know who the occupants of the car were. Were they dangerous? Were they going to help us? Were they part of the monastery and actually deceiving me? Was I going to lose my son?

I woke up in a state of panic and unsure where I was for a moment. Then, like all dreams about our children, I was sad and my arms felt empty.

I’m still not completely sure what this dream means. It wasn’t a conglomeration of things that had happened in recent days or weeks – I certainly haven’t met any men recently that are a mix of druids, monks, and the grim reaper. I haven’t driven, let alone walked, the road between my home town and its neighbour.

The most obvious interpretation is that with the birth of my cousin’s daughters my mind is once again processing our loss and I still hold onto the wish that I could do something to keep my children from harm.

But I’m not sure that the dream is only about that. Lately I have been struggling with my work and my creativity. I have been wondering if writing is really what I want to do, and I’ve been close to giving it up and trying something else – something that might be easier. Is the baby perhaps a representation of my creativity?

I’m going to leave this entry here rather than ramble on about it. I will be reflecting on the dream some more, and will write about it again next week.

I would be very interested on any ideas you may have regarding what this dream could mean.

Later this week I want to write about another aspect of the birth of my cousin’s daughters.

So, til then…

A quick update on my book...

I have been working on a book called “When You Can’t Have Kids” for the last four years and I’m pleased to say that it almost ready to be published!

I have decided not to go with a traditional publisher as they are not really interested in stories like mine. They prefer books about IVF by celebrities and/or people who have ended up having a child after doing IVF. I can understand this – they have to know that they are going to make a profit!

I expect it to be available in Kindle e-book or hard copy from Amazon from mid-April, but I will let you all know when it is all done and ready to go.

What works?

So, I haven’t heard from the latest publisher that I sent the “When You Can’t Have Kids” manuscript to – so I can assume that they are not interested. It’s fun trying to get published! This particular publisher’s way of letting you know if you are unsuccessful is for you to wait three months and then you can assume they are not interested – there is no email to say you have been unsuccessful, let alone feedback.

I went through my usual hour of being disappointed and then I had a brain wave. I’ve written the book in the format of a short overview of our story, then 34 chapters with each covering a different issue we have experienced such as forgiveness, grief, telling other people, anniversaries of when our babies would have been born, and being around children. In each chapter there is a little story and then I discuss how the particular issue has impacted on Kirby and me.

Now I’m starting to think that this format may not be the best way to write “When You Can’t Have Kids.” I’m thinking that perhaps it would be better to write our story as a story (as in a novel). I’m thinking that perhaps in its current format it sounds like I am lecturing a bit, which is something I never wanted to do.

So, my lovely readers, I am seeking your opinions – should I stick to the current format, or should I rewrite it as a novel? I really would value your opinions.

I'm not able to attach a file to this blog entry, so I've pasted a chapter from the book below so that you can get an idea of what the book looks like. 

Can’t wait to hear from you!

Chapter Fourteen: Who Are We?

“But let there be spaces in your togetherness,

And let the winds of the heavens dance between you...

Love one another, but make not a bond of love.

Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.” From “The Prophet”, Kahlil Gibran, artist, poet and writer, 1883-1931.

After what was to be our final round of IVF I was at a bit of a loss as to what to do with my life. I had quit my job and I had time on my hands. I thought long and hard about it and decided that I really did want to follow my dream of being a writer. I looked into the courses that were available at local colleges and universities and selected a Masters of Creative Writing. I put in my application, along with a portfolio of writing, and I waited. It seemed to take forever to get news on whether I had been accepted or not, and I eventually came to the conclusion that I had not been successful. I was wrong. I was so excited to receive a letter of offer and I enrolled as soon as I could.

There were seven other students in the course from all different backgrounds. We all got along instantly and the support within the group was tangible. I was in heaven. I legitimately had a reason to write, I met three times a week with people who were as passionate about books and writing as I was. I threw myself into my studies. I wrote as often as I could. I participated in every aspect of the course.

It was at the end of the first year of the course, 2008, that the IVF clinic was to do the test on my eggs to see what their quality was like, but this didn't happen. During the second year of my course Kirby and I came to the realisation that we wouldn't be trying IVF again and that meant that we were very unlikely to have children.

One of the things I loved about university was that I could wear jeans and sneakers. I love wearing jeans and sneakers. I was able to be casually dressed instead of having to dress up in work clothes all the time. It was great. I wore minimal jewellery and minimal make-up and I felt right at home.

I was walking up to the university on a fine, clear morning in spring. The sunshine was lovely on my face and I was looking forward to the class. I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular as I glanced down at my left hand and realised that my ring finger was unadorned. I remembered that my wedding and engagement rings were still on my jewellery stand at home – I had forgotten to put them on before I left that morning. That’s what I told myself, anyway, but I began to feel uneasy as I realised that I couldn’t actually remember the last time I had worn my rings anywhere.

I’ve never actually worn a lot of jewellery. I like jewellery, but I’m not much of a girl’s girl and I tend to keep it pretty simple. Sometimes I’ll forget to put jewellery on when I go out and I take off most of it if I’m just going to be at home. The two pieces that are always on me, though, are my wedding ring and my engagement ring. Kirby had my engagement ring designed. I love it because it is not too girly, but it is beautiful. My wedding ring matches the engagement ring perfectly. When I realised that I hadn’t worn my rings for quite some time I felt very uneasy.

My studies were what was keeping me going and giving me a greater sense that perhaps there was something else out there if I wasn’t going to be a Mum. It was a way to be myself. I liked it. It was apart from being an IVF client, apart from someone who wanted children, apart from being someone who couldn't have children, and it was apart from being a wife.

It scared me how much I enjoyed it all, and how much I liked being just me, and how uncertain I was about every other role in my life, especially being a wife. I kept those thoughts to myself, but I still turned them over in my mind and moved from seriously thinking about leaving our marriage, to feeling so ashamed it hurt. I knew that if I left Kirby I would hurt him so badly, but I just didn't know if I wanted to be married any more. The main question that ran around in my head was that if I knew that we wouldn’t have children, would I have married Kirby? I sometimes thought the answer was no. I would have stayed single, stayed in my apartment, and stayed myself.

I couldn't understand it. It took me a couple of months, but eventually I realised that I had to talk to someone about it, and that person had to be Kirby. We sat down towards the end of the year and I told him what I had been feeling. To my utter surprise he said that he had been feeling the same way. We both sat there dumbfounded, unsure why this had happened and unsure what to do next.

We didn't have answers straight away, but we talked a lot over the coming weeks, and we realised what the problem was. From the day we had met we saw our future, our relationship, as being very much focussed on being parents. We believed we would have children and we expected to be partners in raising them. Our main focus over the past few years as a couple had been on trying to have children. Now that was all gone and we weren't sure what we had. Who were we as a couple?

We needed to do some work. We needed to redefine our relationship based on us as a couple, and not as parents. It took time, talking, being together and being alone with our thoughts to work through this. There weren't definite solutions that would fix it, but some of the things we did were to focus on our pets, to think about our house and how it worked for us as a couple, to set goals that we could achieve as a couple, to set goals we could achieve as individuals with the support of the other, and we also thought about ourselves as individuals and began to give each other space on a regular basis. By the end of the year I was again wearing my rings full time, and I felt settled in our marriage.

This uncertainty in a relationship does not just happen for people who realise they can't have kids. I think all couples go through it at one time or another, and for different reasons, such as children move out of home, or one partner moves forward on a career or personal trajectory ahead of the other. There are all sorts of reasons, but for us it rested on who we were as a couple if we couldn't have children.

And it's not over yet. I realise that for the rest of our lives we will be redefining our relationship as different experiences and knowledge come our way. We'll meet them as they come along, but I am thankful that I had those feelings of wanting to leave. They gave Kirby and I an opportunity to really recommit to our marriage, and to learn how to talk to each other in a way that we hadn't needed to before. Our marriage is stronger, and I am grateful for that.

Waiting and waiting...

This life hasn’t given Kirby and me children of our own. At first this was an enormous gaping hole that was too much to bare, but over time we have both found dreams to follow that, while they don’t make up for not having children, do give us a sense of self and a sense of purpose in our lives.

One of my dreams is to be a published author. I want to make a living writing science fiction. I don’t want to write some great literary masterpiece, but I do want to entertain people, and make them think (at least a little bit).

I’ve started writing a novel just recently – well, I actually started it about three years ago, but it’s only recently that I’ve been taking my writing seriously. I’m really enjoying it. I’m getting to know the characters and they are starting to give me ideas about what could happen in the story (some great, and some I wonder what on earth these characters are thinking!), and the story is evolving.

This isn’t the first bigger piece of writing that I have attempted. From July to December last year I wrote a book called “When You Can’t Have Kids”. It covers many of the insights I write about on this blog (in more depth) and talks about a great many more as well – such as how realising you are not going to have children can make you question your marriage, reworking the house so that “that” room is no longer the hoped for child’s room, and creating a life different from the one you imagined.

I sent part of the manuscript of the book to a publisher at the start of the New Year. The deal was that if you sent it in on a Friday they would guarantee to read it and if they wanted to see more they would contact you, but if you didn’t hear anything within three weeks you could assume they weren’t interested – no further correspondence entered into.

I didn’t hear from them.

So, I sent it off to another publisher. With this one I will have to wait for three months, and then if you don’t hear anything you can assume they are not interested – no further correspondence entered into.

It’s fun! Not really, but that is the nature of the publishing world. Publishers tend not give any feedback on manuscripts. It is hard, because when your manuscript isn’t accepted you have no idea why.

So – I’m about half way through the three month wait now, and I must say I’m getting a little bit antsy. I keep wavering in my mind between they will love it to I will hear nothing.

One thing that does bother me while I wait is that books are being published about people who experience infertility. That in itself is not the problem, but it is frustrating when the books are written by celebrities who share their story about how they couldn’t conceive a child, but then had one round of IVF and had a baby. It is great that they had a baby – I am happy for them – but one round of IVF is very different to going through three and then realising you will never have a child.

It sometimes feels as though their stories are more important because they are famous – then again I guess having a big name as an author will sell a book or two.

I just hope that somewhere out there is a publisher who is willing to take a chance on an everyday person’s story, and a story where IVF just didn’t work.

Wish me luck!

Row for your life...

After we realised that we weren’t going to be having children I was in a very downward spiral. I couldn’t see past the emptiness of the rooms in our house, nothing was right, and the only thing I wanted was the one thing I couldn’t have – our child. My life seemed to be a great big nothing.

But, somewhere way down in my depths a little spark of light ignited and slowly I began to warm up to the idea of a life where I didn’t have my own children. It started to look interesting, and even appealing, and eventually I couldn’t wait to get started on all the things I was going to do.

I was going to travel, I was going to learn about anything that caught my interest, I was going to get into volunteer work in conservation and/or human rights, I was going to be the healthiest I could be so that I could enjoy life for as long as possible, I was going to be a writer, and I was going to be on a life quest in regards to my spirituality.

So, that excitement rose about two years ago – just after our nephew was born. I did nothing with it, and it went away again.

The excitement didn’t exactly fall into oblivion, but it somehow got muddled up in life and I forgot about it. I forgot about all the things I was going to do and experience – the things that, while not making up for not having a child, would help to make my life meaningful.

About two weeks ago I wrote a letter to myself (how crazy does that sound??!!) and it was the best thing I could have done. I gave myself the wakeup call that I needed. I was hard on myself, I cut through all of the excuses not to do things that were squirming their way around my brain, and I gave myself plans to get on with the life that I know I want.

Looking back now I can see why I didn’t pick up on those threads of excitement, hang on tight and ride all the way through to adventure. I didn’t have the confidence. I think that much of this had to do with the fact that I can’t have a baby.

Being a mother is something I always thought was inevitable for me. It was something I was going to be good at (at least for the most part), and carrying a baby in my body was something I longed to do. Pregnancy, in particular, was something I saw as so fundamental to being a woman that I never doubted that it would happen for me. When I was unable to conceive and create a child I felt like a failure as a woman, and then a failure as a person.

This sense of failure, without my realising it, began to taint my self-confidence. I failed as a woman, so therefore I would fail at pretty much anything else I tried too. Whenever I thought about doing something different or new my inner-self would go on about how I would never succeed, that I was just going to fail again, that people would judge me for even trying, that I should just lay low until it was all over. All over?

I didn’t want it to be all over with me still sitting, hiding under a rug in the corner. The letter from me to myself told me that I didn’t want that.

The letter I wrote was personal, but this is a section of it that I want to share:

I think it’s time to acknowledge that you have not being making the steps toward that life. You are still stuck. Your identity is grey and murky and somewhere out on the ocean in the fog, but you are not picking up the oars to row to where you might find yourself. It is disappointing. Life keeps on moving and the years pass. Do you want to be stuck in the fog forever? How will you feel at the end of your life? Tired, wasted, unhappy? What will you have missed that you will never get back?

I am not at a point yet where I have rowed out of the fog. My inner-self still has that part that tells me to stop and hide somewhere – to lay low in the boat.

But there’s something else in me as well – something that seems to be getting stronger – something that is saying “Get up, pick up those oars, and row for your life.”