Counselling and stoicism…

Earlier this year I was considering going for counselling after my operation in January. This was due to the surgeon finding endometriosis, which very likely could have contributed to my infertility but was something the IVF clinic we went to never looked into, let alone mentioned. I was feeling very angry and let down and the grief about not having children reared up violently.

I haven’t gone to counselling.

This time I found, after a bit of time, I didn’t feel that I needed it. I found that I have moved through the grief and pain (although it did rise again after my last operation in June) and have come to a point where the anger is not overwhelming and I no longer feel guilty that I let our children down.

It was only since losing Ari that I realised that the need for counselling had gone. This wasn’t because I thought that I needed counselling after losing Ari, but rather that I realised that I know things about myself that I didn’t even know I knew – how’s that for a mouthful!

I used to be a positivity nut – and when things weren’t going my way or I thought they were unfair I would try to control everything to make the situation good again, or I would look for a very good reason as to why things weren’t going my way. I didn’t recognise back then that what I wanted was for things to go my way – I just thought that because I was thinking positively about certain aspects of life that they would happen the way I envisaged.

Even after we couldn’t have children I had this idea of how life was going to be for Kirby and me and that was the way it was going to be. If we couldn’t have children then surely this new vision of life would become a reality? It would be completely unfair if it didn’t!

It didn’t. Well, not completely – things have happened that we hoped for, and things have happened that we wish hadn’t.

My mother-in-law said to me the other day that there is something different about me this year – that I seem more settled in myself. And that is how I feel.

Life has its ups and its downs – I have very little control over it really. I do what I can do and then the rest happens due to events, people – a combination of things really.

I have learnt to accept that – most of the time! The night before Ari died, when he was in the emergency vet overnight and we knew he was very sick, I said to Kirby that it was quite possible that Ari might not come home. Kirby was surprised, I think, as normally I wouldn’t even want to entertain that idea. But, it was a real possibility, even though I hoped that what was wrong with him would be something like a blockage in his digestive system that an operation could fix.

I don’t believe that my “negativity” contributed to the outcome. How could it? Ari already had lung cancer and was going to die. I didn’t create it overnight and change what was wrong with him from something that could have been fixed to cancer. If I had the kind of power to change situations there is so much I would change in the world and I would be a god! And, Ari would still be here because I would definitely have made it so.

So, I’m not sitting here with my thoughts and emotions constantly wondering why it all happened and how unfair it all is and that life is over. Of course, I am grieving – which involves feeling sad, angry, guilty, asking why, etc. but it is a healthy grieving, not an unhealthy grieving. I hope that makes sense.

Stoicism is something I have been reading about lately – once again thanks to Oliver Burkeman! Being stoic – as it is defined today – was not what it originally was. Stoicism is a philosophy and one I am keen to learn more about. One of my favourite quotes from Marcus Aurelius (2^nd century AD) is:

“The cucumber is bitter? Put it down. There are brambles in the path? Step to one side. That is enough without also asking: “How did these things come into the world at all?””

I’ve still got a long way to go in understanding Stoicism, but it seems to be a philosophy that quite possibly will appeal to me the more I delve into it. Or maybe it won’t be. I don’t know and that’s quite okay.

So, with the endometriosis and with Ari and with not having children – I can grieve in a healthy way, and wonder why as part of that grieving, but that is it. I don’t have to keep on asking why and constantly dwell on it and be angry all the time.

The interesting thing about Stoicism is that the recognition of a situation doesn’t mean that you don’t do anything about it – if someone is bullying you, you wouldn’t sit there and say “well this is how it is” and leave it at that. You would say “this is how it is – now I recognise this and I will do something about it.” Perhaps it is in that recognition of the situation that the clarity of whether there is anything that needs to be done occurs, and if so, what that might be? What do you think?

Therefore, I will still be writing to the IVF clinic to ask for an explanation about why they didn’t look into endometriosis – because I believe this will be a healthy thing for me to do and may prevent them from failing someone else in the future as they did us. After that, whether I get a satisfactory answer or not is out of my control, and I will leave it be.

Sometimes it's convenient...

In the last few weeks I’ve had a big editing project on the go, and I’ve also had the pleasure of a bout of gastro! So I’ve been either busy working – or sick. Now it’s just the working bit that remains (thank goodness!).

While I was sick on the weekend and in bed feeling quite awful, I had the thought that sometimes it is quite convenient not to have children. Wow! This was followed by feelings of guilt – how could I think that? What a terrible person I was! What a selfish person I was!

But, let’s be honest – when you’re sick and all you want to do is sleep in between bouts of (well probably no need to go into detail), not having to worry about anybody else makes it much easier to rest and focus on getting better.

Is that such a horrible thing to think?

I don’t believe so.

It’s a reality.

I’m sure parents wish for peace and quiet when they are sick. And, imagine trying to look after yourself if you and your children all came down with gastro at the same time! But, all in all, I doubt those parents would choose not have their children at all for the sake of peace and quiet when they are ill.  Of course the perfect scenario would be to have both children and peace and quiet in times of ill health.

I wouldn’t have chosen not to have them either. If Jacob and/or Ruby were here I would have managed somehow and I wouldn’t have given them up for the world – even if I was sick and they were constantly waking me up asking about this or that.

I have to say that I admire parents (most anyway as some of them don’t deserve to be called parents) in how they deal with being sick and still caring for their children. I don’t know how they do it. Sure – they kind of have to – there’s no off switch on kids that you can press when you want some time to yourself. Regardless – they are pretty amazing!

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.

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

Bathurst with our boys...

Kirby, my husband, could possibly be the biggest motor racing fan in the world. You name the race and he will be there – and if he can’t be there then he will be watching it on the television.

For his fortieth birthday Kirby wanted to go to the Bathurst 12 hour race in New South Wales, and this is precisely what we did in the past fortnight. Some people may think I was dragged along to the race, but I actually enjoy motor sport too – although after three days of it in a row I could quite happily not see any motor sports for a while.

We had a fantastic time watching the cars, meeting some of the drivers, walking around the Bathurst circuit including going to the top of Mount Panorama. I do not know where the drivers get the nerves to drive down that part of the track! It is so steep!

We were sitting in the grandstand on the first day watching the enhanced performance cars in their qualifying race. A man and a woman walked by in front of the grandstand with two little boys in tow. I looked at Kirby and said “we would have been good parents to boys – how much would they have loved this?!” Then started to cry a little and Kirby sat and held my hand for a minute.

Six years since our last IVF round and I still get those moments when the reality of not having children is like a raw wound. I still wonder “what if”, I am sad that we don’t have our own children to share experiences like Bathurst with.

So, the more the years go on, the more I know that not having children is going to come back and sting me from time to time. I will cry and I may feel angry because we don’t have kids or guilt because I am enjoying my life even though we don’t have children.

It’s something I am going to have to accept, and in some ways embrace if I can. After I stopped being upset I thought about how it would have been to have our children with us. I imagined their faces lighting up as the cars roared down the track, how they would have had the energy to run about on the top of Mount Panorama while Kirby and I struggled on behind them, and the photos we would have got of them with their favourite drivers. It made me smile.

I can’t have my children in my real life, but I can have them in my dreams.

Bathurst was brilliant...

Going down Mount Panorama
- and this is not the steep part...

The 12 hour race is about to start...

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Other people's news...

My Mum rang me yesterday for a chat. We talked about my nieces, Hannah and Ella, and my nephew, Hugo. I’m getting a sewing machine for my birthday and Mum and I talked about having some sewing days – I think Mum is still in shock that I want to learn sewing!

Near the end of the telephone call Mum told me she had some news. She hesitated and I started to feel nervous that it was going to be bad news. Mum told me it was hard to tell me the news. I became even more worried then and I said to Mum to just tell me and I braced myself.

Mum asked “Guess who’s having twins?” My immediate answer was one of my Aunties, which made Mum laugh. This Aunty is in her sixties…

After suggesting a few other names I finally hit on the right couple. I think I then did a little dance of excitement.

Mum admitted that, while she is thrilled, she does find it difficult to hear about other people’s pregnancies when she knows Kirby and I can’t have children, and that she finds it hard to tell us this kind of news because it might hurt Kirby and me.

We talked for a bit longer and I reassured her that I was happy and excited for the couple concerned. I admitted that I would probably go through a few minutes of “it’s not fair – why them and why not us?”, but that this would pass pretty quickly. I think Mum was relieved to hear this, but I know she, and Dad as well, will have similar feelings and I hope they take the time to sit with them for a while, without guilt. This is not easy to do.

It surprises me just how far I have come in the last few years. The feelings of sadness and anger that other people can have children and we can’t has mellowed so much. It used to be overwhelming and prevented me from fully enjoying the news and then the arrival of a child (or children).  I don’t know whether it’s because so many people in our circle of family and friends have had children in the last few years and I’ve been forced to deal with it, or whether it’s time that has soothed the wound – maybe it’s both. Whatever the reason, I am happy that I can deal with the news that family or friends are expecting a baby (or babies!).

But in saying all of this, sometimes I do feel angry. This anger is not at the fact that other people are having children, but that we can’t have children as well. It isn’t fair. It will never be fair.

One of my favourite books is “Women Who Run With the Wolves” by Clarissa Pinkola-Estés. She talks about rage left over from old injuries. She describes this kind of rage as being like shrapnel, which every now and then can twist and turn and hurt. That’s how my rage about not having children feels. I’m okay most of the time, but then the twisting happens (often with news such as friends or family expecting children).

Over time I have learnt how to bring healing to the injury time and again. I don’t fight it – instead I withdraw to think about and deal with the original wound, which was finding out we can’t have children. The rage starts to diminish when I look at it and be with it for a while, without trying to judge it or judge myself. I don’t feel guilty for these feelings of rage anymore. They are what they are and they are natural. Once they go again I can reengage in life again with peace and joy.

It takes work, but I can now be my own healer. 

My big adventure...

In June last year I finally got up the courage to go into a travel agent and book flights for a trip to Thailand in 2014.

At the time it seemed like the trip was so far away, but here I am counting down the days until I catch that plane. I’m nervous, but so excited. It will be my first international trip by myself.

In my twenties I longed to do some travelling on my own, but I was quite ill with a number of conditions throughout that decade of my life and was never able to follow that particular dream. I had kind of put it out of my mind until the last few years. I will be forty in June this year and I started to think of the things I wish I’d done in my youth and I started to question whether it was really too late for me to do at least some of them now. It isn’t. This trip is like a present from my twenty-something year old self, who couldn’t follow a dream, to my almost forty-year old self, who can.

I’m going to northern Thailand to stay at an elephant sanctuary “Boon Lott’s Elephant Sanctuary” for six nights. I will get to spend time helping out with the elephants, washing them, getting their food ready, and giving them all the love and attention I can. I will also be helping with the other rescued animals at the sanctuary – dogs, cats, birds, and even a Brahman cow. I can’t wait to get to spend time with all these animals and with the family who run the sanctuary – including three little kids…yay!

After the sanctuary, I will be staying at Sukhothai for three nights and visiting an ancient city (built around the mid-13^th century) and then I will be going to Chiang Mai for five nights – which will include a tour to a national park, a visit to an orphanage to play with the children there, and a visit to one of the Karen hill tribes. Overall I will be away for fifteen days. Kirby is staying at home to look after the fur-kids, so I am going all on my own.

It is interesting for me to reflect on the likelihood that I would not be doing this trip if we had children, because I would have wanted to spend my holidays with my family. Sometimes when I think about this I like the idea that I am free to do this trip, and then I feel guilty.

Should I feel guilty? I would have loved our children, but we don’t have them, and instead I am doing things that I want to do, creating a different life. Should I feel guilty for enjoying this life and feeling blessed by the opportunities I have? I don’t think, but that niggling little guilt fairy likes to try and convince me I should, and sometimes I believe them too.

But, as the trip to Thailand gets closer, the level of excitement is certainly drowning out any guilt I might feel. I can’t wait!! So, guilt fairy, take a hike!

A realisation...

Last night, after writing the blog entry yesterday “The darker side of me…” I had a startling realisation which I wanted to share with you.

When Kirby and I did our second round of IVF (the first where fertilisation of my eggs was actually successful) only two of the eggs survived to become embryos (well, technically zygotes – but I hate that term). On the day of transfer the doctor said that due to my age they would only put one of the embryos into my womb, and freeze the other. I was under 35 years of age and they only transfer two embryos after 35.

I didn’t fall pregnant, and sadly the other embryo died the night after the transplant.

While this is very different to the decision Mary and George had to make, are there not some similarities?

The doctor didn’t want to transfer both embryos because of the potential complications with twins. I wasn’t happy about this, but neither Kirby nor I argued for the chance of life for both embryos. Perhaps the one that wasn’t transplanted might have survived? Did we not choose one embryo over another because of the potential risks of having twins, even though we knew there was a risk we would lose the embryo that was not transplanted?

While Mary and George’s decision was much later on and Mary was pregnant, we still were in the position where we made a choice between our two embryos, and this could well have led to the death of both. We trusted what the doctor said, and we lost both.

We could have potentially sought other opinions, although time was a factor, but we didn’t. We could have demanded that both embryos were implanted, but we didn’t.

We were devastated to lose both and I felt much guilt and sorrow afterward.

I cannot comprehend what Mary and George went through, but the similarities, small as they are, with regard to choices has increased my compassion for them even more.

The darker side of me...

I know that everyone has thoughts that come along that they would rarely admit to as they point to a darker side within them. Nobody wants to acknowledge that they have a side of them that thinks things that are horrible and sometimes mean, let alone admit to other people that these thoughts occur.

I have had such thoughts this week, and as I mentioned in my last blog entry I thought long and hard about whether I should write about them and share them with you all. I have decided that being honest and sharing them is good for two reasons – firstly, by writing about them and acknowledging them I believe I will take away their power, and, secondly, by sharing them perhaps some of you who have had similar experiences will realise you are not alone.

So, here’s what happened…

There was a show in Australia from the late 1980s to the early 1990s called “Acropolis Now”, which was a comedy based on Greek heritage. One of the actors, Mary Coustas, played Effie and she was hysterically funny.

Last Sunday night, on a current affairs television show, Mary and her husband, George, shared their story about their difficulties in having a child. I didn’t see the show, but I read about it a few days later and I was naturally moved. They had tried for 10 years to have a child, and Mary had recently had a book published “All I know: a memoir of love, loss and life.”

Mary fell pregnant in 2010, when she was in her mid-forties. A scan revealed she was having fraternal twins. It would have been such a joyous occasion. But, at the nine week scan a third heartbeat was found. There were triplets – two paternal and one fraternal. But, was it good news?

Mary and George’s doctor was not happy and explained the risks of having three babies, especially when two of them were paternal. There are risks of cerebral palsy, low birth rate, and complications for the mother in terms of gestational diabetes, among others.

After consulting with five different specialists, Mary and George decided to do a reduction, where the twins would be aborted by having a substance injected to stop their hearts. They would die and would most likely be reabsorbed into Mary’s body.

The reduction was undertaken, but a few days later a scan revealed that one of the twins was still alive. They did another reduction.

There is a risk to the remaining baby when a reduction occurs, and sadly the remaining baby, a girl Mary and George called Stevie, was still born at 22 weeks.

The good news is that Mary is now pregnant again with one baby, due at the end of this year, and everything seems to be going well.

 As I read the article and found out about the triplets, the reduction, the stillbirth of Stevie, the book and that Mary is now expecting again, I felt my rage growing stronger and stronger. I was fuming. I cried my eyes out in frustration and the unfairness of it all. What was it that bothered me?

Here is the dark part – my thoughts as they were then:

           Multiple pregnancies:

o   It’s not fair that they got a multiple pregnancy when I can’t even get pregnant with one baby.

Then the reductions:

o   How could they kill their own children?

o   How come they got pregnant with three children, only to throw two of them away? Why couldn’t I have had them?

o   How could they go through a second reduction? Why did the remaining twin have to die?

The book:

o   It’s not fair that just because she’s famous she got her book published. And it’s a bit raw waiting to announce her pregnancy until after her book was released. What about my book and my experiences?

Stevie:

o   Why did they get to hold Stevie when I never got to hold my children? I would give anything just to hold my children for just a little bit, instead of having only two black and white photos of embryos to remember them by.

Pregnant again:

o   It’s not fair that they are pregnant again, when I can’t have a child and I have done nothing wrong.

So, I’m not always the understanding and compassionate person that I would rather the world think that I am.

These thoughts and questions and the associated feelings lasted into the next day. I was so ashamed to think that these were coming from me. How could I think so badly about someone I didn’t even know? I didn’t know their full story, and I know that they are not bad people – so where was all this coming from?

To be honest, I still don’t know where it all came from or why. I could say it was unacknowledged grief on my part, or that there’s a hidden rage within me at the unfairness that we can’t have a baby, or that I am frustrated that my experience seems to be less important than someone who is famous, or that…

I’m not sure it’s any of those reasons.  I can’t make excuses for what I thought or how I felt. It was all what it was. The scariest part for me was that I didn’t know how I was going to break out of those negative and shameful thoughts and feelings. I hated it and I detested myself. It was like another me had taken me over and it was dark and cruel.

In the last few days I’ve learnt something more about compassion – something that I never realised before. Compassion isn’t always a natural response. Sometimes we have to make a decision to be compassionate. And that is what I realised I had to do. I had to decide to be compassionate.

So, I have been practicing this. I can never know what it would have been like to be in the position that Mary and George were in when they considered the risks of having triplets and then making the decision to do the reduction. I don’t understand the decision because I’ve never had to make it. But I can try to understand what a terrible decision it must have been for them to make. Having to choose one of your children over another must be one of the most heart wrenching experiences anyone could go through. I am so sorry that this happened to them. After reading more about their tragic experience I found out that they consulted five different specialists – it wasn’t a spur of the moment decision. It wasn’t easy. They are not bad people – if anything they are people who truly wanted to do the best they could for their children. Thinking about it now I want to cry and I want to wrap my arms around all of them – Mary, George and the triplets.

In thinking about it – all the other thoughts and questions were secondary to my upset at the reduction. These were side-issues. It seemed as though Mary and George were being rewarded after they had the reduction – at least that’s what it felt like to me initially – and I didn’t understand why they were being rewarded for such an act.

But, they aren’t really being rewarded. I’m sure that, except for being pregnant again, Mary and George would give everything back just to have Stevie turning three this year.

I think I will finish this entry now. It’s been a long one. I realise there may be negative criticism about me after this post and I am open to it, but please remember that I am only human and I am being honest where I could have chosen to keep all this to myself.

There is still a hole in my heart which sometimes is filled with negative thoughts and emotions, but I am trying to fill it with love and compassion. It is not easy – but I am trying.

And – I have decided to read Mary’s book. I think it will be helpful for me, even if Mary and George’s story is different to mine and Kirby’s. No doubt I will write about it in a future blog entry.

Find Me Somebody to Blame...

A few weeks ago I contacted the IVF clinic we went to between 2007 and 2010 to obtain a copy of my clinical notes as I am having some investigations soon related to another health issue, and I was wondering if the two could be linked.

The clinic sent the notes to me within a week. I had a flick through them and became absolutely furious. The notes were wrong. They recorded that we had four IVF cycles, but we only had three. They also mentioned blood tests that were taken in late July 2009 when I was in New York. There was also no mention of the test that we tried to have to see if my eggs were any good. I couldn’t believe that they had got my notes so wrong, and it made me wonder just what else they had got wrong. Perhaps those zygotes (I hate that word…) that they got rid of because they were poor quality were actually okay.

I was going to contact the clinic and they were going to have some explaining to do, but I decided to leave it for a few days so that I could contact them with a calm state of mind.

A few days later I looked through the notes to get my facts straight – and I came away feeling very bewildered. There were only three cycles mentioned, and I couldn’t find the reference to any blood test being taken at the end of July 2009. I had misread the notes when I first got them.

Every now and then I want someone to explain to me why Kirby and I can’t have a child. I want someone to take responsibility, or I want to find proof that someone made a mistake. I guess it’s like that for everyone who has had something happen in their lives that just doesn’t make sense and doesn’t seem fair.

I realise that even before I started reading the notes I was on the defensive – I wanted to find something that would explain it all. I saw mistakes in the notes that weren’t there because I wanted there to be a reason and this time I almost wanted the clinic to have made a mistake. I wanted to be able to say “There – that’s why it didn’t work and it’s their fault.”

The truth is we will probably never know why we can’t have a child. There was never anything found in all the tests that could explain it.

I know life doesn’t happen the way we think it will for any of us. Nobody is guaranteed anything for trying to be a good person, and good things happen for those who do not appreciate them – my life didn’t come with a guarantee that it would play out I hoped it would.

I know this. And most of the time I accept it and look to the many positives that are in my life and enjoy what I do have. But sometimes I wish there was somebody to blame…somebody to blame so I don’t feel the need to blame myself.

The Pain Olympics

A couple of weeks ago there was a segment on a current affairs program about women who have chosen not to have children and the way they are viewed by society. The build-up to the story was intense, while the story itself didn’t really add much that was very meaningful.

There was a discussion on Facebook on the segment (both before and after the airing) and, wow, did people get nasty! I couldn’t believe the treatment people with extreme view from both sides (those who want kids and those who don’t) levelled at each other. It disgusted me really.

I have always supported a person’s right to choose whether or not to have children, and I added this to the debate:

Many people still assume it’s a choice to have or not have children. It’s not always – I’ve lost two babies through miscarriage and had three unsuccessful rounds of IVF. I wanted to have children, but it’s not going to happen. I was asked one time if I think people who could have children and don’t are selfish. No – I don’t – my blog covers this and other issues with being unable to have kids. With the pressure on people to have children in this society, I think it is incredibly unselfish and brave to stick with not having children, as the judgment on people who don’t want children can be very harsh. What I can’t understand is why hard core people from either side (who want to have children or who don’t want to have children) feel the need to judge each other, say cruel things about the other’s choices, and do not try to accept that people are different. We may not all have a choice about having children, but we do all have a choice as to how we treat each other.

I got an interesting response that indicated I was naïve about the situation (in terms of I don’t know how hard it is when somebody chooses not to have children and is judged for that choice), and that most of the judgment was from women who were bitter because they couldn’t have children. Basically I was told that people who want children and can’t have them are given far more understanding and support.

I was somewhat disconcerted about the responses I received. My point of the above entry was to say that as someone who couldn’t have children I absolutely respected people’s choices not to have children. I didn’t say I understood what being judged for that choice was like – it’s true, I don’t know what that would be like.

The thing that really got me, though, was the assumption that it is somehow easier for those who want children but can’t have them. I want to set a couple of things straight about that:

• ·         It is not always the case that every person who is unable to have children gets support and understanding.
• ·         IVF clinics (at least in our experience) don’t provide much support – especially when they realize you are unlikely to be a success story. They kind of dump you at that point.
• ·         Comments leveled at us can really hurt – such as insinuations that we gave up too easily, that we are putting money above having children, that we are selfish for not keeping on trying, that we don’t have enough faith that we can have children, that God has judged us as not being worthy to be parents – trust me – I have had all of these comments directed at me at one time or another.

I know it can be hard for people who choose not to have children – but it’s not always. People who can’t have children and want them may get more support – but not always. And, why exactly does it matter who gets more support and understanding? The pain exists for both groups – and as far as I know there are no gold medals given out in some kind of Pain Olympics for who has it worst.

Well – that’s my rant for today, except for one last thing. Why was it that the segment only interviewed women? Surely, there are men who choose not to have children – I would be very interested in their experiences too.

Bye bye, baby, goodbye...

This is going to come as a complete surprise to our friends and family. A few years ago, for about six months, I thought about leaving our marriage. Kirby knows about this, so it won’t come as a surprise to him. I thought about leaving and being on my own – of having a life where I could do what I wanted, when I wanted, and could define it any way I pleased. I could have my own house and my own things like I did before I met Kirby – I had a gorgeous little apartment for a while there – just me and Minerva.

These thoughts interrupted me quite significantly, and, basically, scared the you know what out of me. I felt so guilty, and I didn’t know who I could talk to about it. I didn’t want to talk to our family or friends because I felt like such a bad person. I didn’t want to talk to Kirby about it because I didn’t want to hurt him and I wasn’t sure what I really felt. At times I wanted to leave, and at times there was no doubt at all that I wanted to stay as Kirby was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Eventually there came a point where I couldn’t deal with these thoughts and feelings on my own – so I fessed up to Kirbs. You can imagine my surprise when he told me he had had similar thoughts and feelings. It was relief that I wasn’t the only one, coupled with fear that perhaps our marriage was going to end.

Kirby and I talked and talked about how we felt, and eventually came to a realisation. For our entire relationship we had pictured a large part of that being parents to our kids. We were going to be a team raising a couple of children – sharing the highs and lows, teaching them, caring for them, standing together for them. We expected this would happen from the first day we met. Now that this wouldn’t happen – what were we? There was a black hole right where the parenting bit of our relationship would have been, and running away from it seemed the only way to deal with it, except that this also meant running away from each other.

We had relief with the realisation that what we needed to do was redefine our relationship as a couple. We needed to work out who we were as individuals and as partners in life, and that is what we have being doing since. There is certainly never going to be a point where we have it all sorted (where would be the fun in that?), but we are pretty damn happy with our relationship now. To be honest, since opening up to each other about our thoughts of leaving, it’s almost felt like we dated again – getting to know each other again. And that was kind of cool.

That old guilty feeling...

I was at the supermarket this evening picking up something for dinner. I was almost done when this kid threw a small tantrum. Apparently he needed to have m&ms for dinner. You know the first thing that popped into my head? I was going to go home to peace and quiet and that sounded pretty good!

Well, did the guilt come along with a great big kick in the side of my head! I mean, how could I think such a thing? Clearly I would have been a horrible mother if kids had come along...

It would be so easy to give guilt free range on my thoughts, and I used to, but I don't do that anymore. There's absolutely no reason why I should feel guilty for enjoying what is. I don't have kids, and if I did I would be looking forward to bathing them, cuddling them, disciplining them, etc. I can't spend my entire life wasting away what I have for what I don't.

One of my friends was reminiscing the other day about the time before kids, when it was just her and her husband, and all the time they had. She wondered what they ever did with their time! She loves those kids, but her time is not really her own anymore.

Mine is. If we want to go away on holidays we don't have to wait for a school break. If I want to go and learn to play the cello, I can organise it without thinking about after school activities. If we want to go see a movie, we don't need to organise a baby sitter (although our dogs and cats might disagree with that - they'd either like to come too or have someone come over and play). If I want to go and see Hugo (my nephew) I can and I can spend one on one time with him (that is just the most precious thing).

Don't get me wrong - if I had kids I wouldn't swap them for all the time and movies and cello lessons in the world. But, the fact is I don't, and I never will. So I figure there's nothing wrong with enjoying the fact that I can come home, relax, eat when and what I want, pursue any hobby I want, and write a blog entry!