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.

Mother's Day

It’s been a while yet again! I’ve been in a bit of a fog for the past few months, which I’ll write about in the next entry.

On Sunday, in Australia, it will be Mother’s Day. Along with this day will come all the familiar thoughts and emotions that those of us who can’t have children often encounter. The grief and sorrow, and even bitterness sometimes, and the “why not me?” and “what did I do wrong?”.

Last year I met one of my friends, who also can’t have children, for lunch. She said to me that one of the hardest parts for her is the messages that accompany Mother’s Day that suggest children choose their parents. For example, “thank you for choosing me to be your Mum.” It sounds like a lovely sentiment – but there is a definite sting in there for us.

As my friend said, it implies that there are children who looked at us and went “Nup – not good enough – I’ll head over to the drugged up, abusive couple down the road thank you very much.”

Or, perhaps even more difficult to fathom, the children who did come along, but didn’t stay due to miscarriage, picked us but then changed their minds.

This really hurts. It really, really hurts to think about.

Am I saying that people shouldn’t write this type of message on their Facebook walls? By no means. They should if this is what they want to do. All I’m asking is to be aware that friends and/or family members who can’t have children might find it difficult to read these kinds of sayings, and when they do they may feel their hearts break a little for the millionth time.

Be aware and be sensitive, as it’s a hard enough day for us as it is.

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.

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.

Hair...

I always pictured myself as one day being an old woman who had grown old gracefully and embraced grey hair and wrinkles as part of being a crone.

Now, what I have to share with you today is not really a big deal in terms of serious life problems, but it has brought up for me another of those “Really, life? You’re throwing this at me as well?” moments.

One of the loveliest parts of growing old was that I thought I would have long grey hair which was in a plait down my back, or in a bun on my head, or even free flowing over my shoulders. I even have some of those grey hairs now – although being honest I still hide them under a covering of henna from time to time.

During these past few weeks I went to a dermatologist to have some dodgy looking moles taken off and assessed in case of skin cancer. Fortunately there was nothing to be concerned about. But, in the process of looking at my other moles for any suspicious ones the dermatologist mentioned that my hair was quite thin at the crown of my head. I knew it was thin, but it wasn’t until I came home that night and looked at it with a mirror that I realised just how thin it had become.

The dermatologist did a puncture biopsy of my head and a week later we had the results. I have alopecia, which is a genetic thinning of the hair over time, and another thing which I can’t remember the name of where my hair follicles are dying and I will lose my hair.

The dermatologist was keen for me to go on medication – like three lots of it – to try and stop my hair loss, but I have decided not to go down this path as I am already on five medications for epilepsy, clinical depression, and high blood pressure. I don’t want to add to that mix really and the side effects of the hair loss medication and the monitoring of levels of different things like potassium are fairly full on. Instead I’m going to use scarves and hats, a thing called a topper that would go on the top of my head and blend in with my own hair to create the look of a full head of hair. And eventually I guess I may use a wig.

So, what has this got to do with not having children? Well, it is a reminder that I am getting older, albeit in a way I hadn’t expected. It is true that some women have babies in their forties, but the chances of this are very, very slight through both natural conception and IVF.  And for Kirby and me it is particularly remote.

I have realized that somewhere in deep down I believed I could still change my mind and we could try IVF one more time. We were young. We were still in that “baby bearing” age group.

The reality has hit that this is not so. We are being taken out of the realm where trying IVF one more time is a choice we truly have. The choice is gradually being taken away from us.

Even though we know we won’t ever try IVF again it is still hard to come to terms with. We have not got as much control as we once did, although I guess we never did have that control. Does this sound all mixed up?

I feel like I am entering another stage of having to say “farewell” to our children. I could hold them here, my fingertips could grip theirs and keep them here, but now letting them go completely is on the horizon.

I don’t feel ready to get older. I don’t feel ready to have grey and thinning hair. I don’t feel ready to accept that the choice, that perhaps we never really had in the first place, is being taken away from me, from us.

There is a scar in my heart from not having our children, and this sudden certainty that I am moving beyond child bearing years, is a splinter that has wedged its way into the tissue that lightly covers the wound I have. And I feel like I am bleeding.

Wear a Star Day 2014...

I am feeling quite hurt and angry just at the moment.

I first wrote about “Wear a Star” day over two years ago. I was so thrilled to find a movement which I could be a part of that would give me a way to honour our babies. The day was for people who had lost children, including, I thought, people who were unable to have children.

I bought a beautiful, antique brooch especially for “Wear a Star” day on the 12^th of April that year, 2012. I also wore the brooch the following year, and up until today I had every intention of wearing it this coming Saturday. This post was going to be about "Wear a Star" day and how important it was to me.

My star brooch

I just looked at the Facebook page for “Wear a Star” and I noticed that there was no mention of people who are unable to have children and it is also run by a Christian organization – The R Project. I don’t recall any religious organization being involved in the first “Wear a Star” day, although I might have just missed it in the details. The wording on the Facebook page and the website of “The R Project” is certainly more religious based.

I am sitting here feeling really unsure and confused. I am not overly religious and I don’t hold the same beliefs as the organization behind “Wear a Star” day and that they promote as important to “Wear a Star” day. Therefore, how can I be a part of the day now?

Also, my children only got to the point of being a “bunch of cells” (I hate writing that), but they were the closest I ever got to my children. I was never clinically pregnant, but when I saw those little beings flickering with life on the screen at the IVF clinic, just  before they were transferred into me, I fell in love. Whatever they were to be was already there – hair colour, eye colour, gender, tendencies toward certain interests and hobbies. Would they be messy like me? Would they love computers like Kirby? They were real – they existed.

But they are now no longer worthy of being remembered on “Wear a Star” day. 

That really hurts. I have to think about all of this…

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. 

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.

Why, Oh Why?

Okay – so adding onto last week as promised. Last week I wrote that there are other reasons, other than the low chance of us becoming pregnant, that have made us decide not to try IVF again. And IVF is really the only way we could expect to get pregnant.

One of the reasons, in all honesty, is the money that it costs to do a round of IVF. It costs thousands of dollars. We could save up for it, but by the time we did I would be just that little bit older (closer to 40), and the risks to any baby we might conceive would have increased significantly. After 40 the risk of having a baby with Down Syndrome is one in 60 compared to one in 1500 at 25 years of age. The risk of complications in pregnancy is also significantly higher. There is a good website that explains it all, so I won’t go into it further here. http://www.babycenter.com.au/pregnancy/antenatalhealth/ageandpregnancy/.

This is something that we do need to take into account, and there is an additional risk to any baby we might conceive due to health issues that I have. I am currently on five different medications for blood pressure, depression and epilepsy. Epilepsy medication in particular has a significant risk of causing harm to a baby – basically I’ve been told not to get pregnant while on it as the risks are so high. I could go off of the medication while trying to get pregnant, but the risk epilepsy has on an unborn child is also significant – talk about a catch 22!

So these are extra reasons why we aren’t going to do another round of IVF – the cost, my age, and the risks of medications and/or conditions on an unborn child.

Feeling bad and being okay

here’s a book called ‘The Happiness Trap’ that my Mum has ordered and is about to read. I checked it out on Amazon and it seems to be about the myth that we have to be happy all the time. I couldn’t agree more that it is a myth, and I also agree that society repeats this myth to us far too often. One part of the book talks about fairy tales and how they always end in ‘happily ever after’.

As I’ve gotten older I’ve realised that I don’t have to be happy all the time, and I can feel like shit and still be okay. I can feel angry and still be okay. I can feel down and depressed and still be okay. I don’t have to put on a brave face if I don’t want to. I can have my heart torn apart and still I am okay.

The myth of being happy all the time, I believe, does far more damage than good. It puts a pressure on people (particularly when they are already under pressure) to be something that is just not always possible.

I’m not saying that thinking positively is not worthwhile in some cases, but sometimes it just doesn’t cut it. I can think positively all I want – it still doesn’t mean we will have a baby.

I went to a course on writing last year and a lot of it was really about self-help and the power of positive thinking. Their basic message was that with the power of the mind you can achieve anything you set your mind to. I don’t want to completely disregard this opinion, but it truly is not always the case. Think about all the people who are training hard and positively thinking about winning gold in the 100 metre swimming at the upcoming Olympics – clearly not all of them are going to win it, so it kind of blows the idea that positive thinking will get you where you want to be out of the water.

I don’t want to sound negative, and I do believe that positive thinking, along with being realistic, can get you a long way. For example, I am hoping to become a published writer, and I keep envisioning my book written and published and selling. I’m giving it the best shot that I can.

With regard to babies, however, while there is a minute chance that perhaps we could have one, we have come to the realisation that it won’t happen for us, and that it is okay for us to grieve about it.

I think I will leave it there and talk more about why we won’t be trying for a child again next week. There are more reasons than our chances being slim.

Other People in Our Lives

I have had two conversations this week that have made me think about the fact it is not only Kirby and me that are affected by us not being able to have kids.

I went out to lunch with one of my dearest friends and mentioned the blog and the book I hope to make out it. She said that the book would be good for relatives and friends of people who can’t have kids as well, as it might give them some insight into what it is like for the couple concerned.

I was talking to my Mum on the phone just now and she mentioned that the daughter of a friend of hers had recently had a daughter, and she felt jealous; jealous for her and jealous for us.

Not having kids does affect Kirby and me, but it also affects our friends and family. They grieve for us and for themselves as well. My friend wonders what it would have been like for us to raise our children together (they would have been about the same age), our Mums and Dads hurt for us, as do our sisters and brothers, when they hear of other people having children. It doesn’t mean they resent other people for having children, just that they wish it could be us as well.

One insight I have had is that, in some ways, it might be easier for us. Sure, we do have moments where we are sad and sometimes angry at the way things have panned out, but for the most part we have got used to the idea and we are filling our lives up with other things such as pets and writing and Hugo and spending time with each other more than we perhaps would have been able to with kids. We see ourselves every day as being okay and moving forward (with little steps backward and times of tears amongst it all of course). Our friends and family know we are okay, but they don’t see every day that we are.

Our family and friends don’t see the alternative life we are creating every day, and instead are more likely to be impacted by news of other people’s children as in how it affects or could affect us. I guess it must seem like there is a hole in our lives that is always there and can never be filled, and it must seem that that hole is so huge to people looking in from outside.

It’s true that there is a hole, but the hole is not as scary as it once was, and we acknowledge its presence and fill it up as best we can while giving it respect. We see our lives as what could have been, but mostly for what it is, and we see that every day.

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.

The 'Mummy' Club

I’m going to get to do what is generally ‘Mummy’ stuff. This week I’m organising to have a baby seat installed in our car so that we can pick Hugo up anytime without having to arrange to swap cars with Zoe. This will be particularly useful next year, when I will be taking Hugo to swimming lessons.

When Zoe and I talked about swimming lessons, I said to her that it was something I always wanted to do with Kirby’s and my children – then I started to cry. It sometimes isn’t easy, but I wouldn’t swap Hugo for anything.

You know what is really funny – it feels like I’m going to be a part of the ‘Mummy’ club in a small way. Other women will see the baby seat in the car and have that knowing look that I am one of them, even though I’m not really. Taking Hugo to swimming lessons will be fantastic one on one time with him, and again, people will assume he is mine. I like that. I know that I am not his Mum, but the idea of other people thinking I am a Mum is kind of bitter sweet.

Does that sound strange? Probably, but I don’t get to have the full on ‘Mummy’ experience, so I will take whatever I can get to get a taste of it. I mean, if you couldn’t have the whole block of chocolate, would you say ‘no’ to someone giving you a square of it?

A Child's Question

My niece Hannah (she is nine) asked me the other day 'Have you ever thought about having children?'. She is so sweet - and sounded so grown up!

I don't believe in 'lying' to children, so I told her that I can't have a baby, because the babies can't stay inside of me.

I also told her that I was very lucky because I have nieces and nephews who I love so much.

It's not always easy to answer questions like that - especially with children. But, it is getting easier and having some 'ready to go' answers has helped.

I might leave it there I think - my nephew Hugo and my sister in law Zoe are getting back from Prague today and they will be here for breakfast in a few hours

I can't wait!!

Resentment

This is probably going to sound strange, but sometimes I resent my uterus. I hate the hormones and mood changes and bleeding. I resent it because the whole thing doesn't have a point. I'll never get pregnant, so what's the point of having a womb that lines and empties every month?

This has especially become the case in the last year or so. I've been diagnosed with Pre Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder (PMDD). This syndrome is controversial in terms of its diagnosis, and it affects something like 2-9% of women. Basically it is PMS, but doubled, tripled whatever. Every month I become extremely irritable, angry, depressed, teary...sounds like normal PMS, right? But, I also struggle with feelings and thoughts of being beyond help and perhaps not being here would be better for everyone concerned. I know that these thoughts aren't real and I'm able to just let them be and don't delve into them – they will pass – but jeez it sucks.

And, the suckiest thing is that having these cycles is they are all for nothing. At one point I even thought about asking for a hysterectomy, but I realise that would not be a good idea (the risks and complications and recovery aren't worth it unless it is absolutely necessary). So, I'll be going on the pill starting from next cycle. I don't want to – I don't like taking medication unless I have to, and I admit I feel like a bit of a failure having to take it.

I think I'm having a bit of a blah day today. I keep thinking that my womanhood is so totally mucked up – I can't have a child, and my menstrual cycle is ridiculous. I think I'm going to have to read my blog entry from April 18th again – I don't feel like much of a woman in tune with her cycles.

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!

I am Woman...or am I?

One of my favourite books about women, spirituality and growth is 'Women who Run with the Wolves' by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. I pick it up every now and then and flick through a few pages - it's kind of like visiting an old mentor to remember a lesson or hear a story again.

Yesterday, when I was revisiting the wolves, some of the words really made me think. They were 'We are not meant to be puny with frail hair and inability to leap up, inability to chase, to birth, to create a life.' And, further, 'This vitalising 'taste of the wild' comes during pregnancy, during nursing their young, during the miracle of change in oneself as one raises a child.'

I am unable to birth or create a life, and I cannot taste the wild through being pregnant or giving birth. Does that mean I am less creative, or less of a woman? I used to struggle with this a great deal. I felt a failure, I felt I wasn't whole, and I felt I didn't have anything of value that I could give that would be deeply and soulfully from me.

I still feel like this from time to time, though the feeling has mellowed.

I ask myself what my value is, what my creation can be, if not that which comes through having a child. Because I am a woman and I am creative.

So, how do I taste the wild? I look at the moon, I feel the pain that comes with menstruation, I let any anger and grief that I feel wash over me, I play and laugh with the children in my life, with my pets, with my family, I watch a spider weave its web, I bury the body of a baby bird that has fallen from its nest.

How am I creative? I write, I cook, I clean, I talk with, play with and love the children in my life, I care for my garden and my animals, I work on my marraige.

There are some women who have had children who will never even sense that the wild is there, and nor will they be more creative for having had a life in them.

And I've realised that not being able to have a child does not take the wild away from me and it most certainly does not mean I am uncreative. My way is different - that's all.

Oh, and I still love 'Women who Run with the Wolves' - it is far more than the two sentences above - they need to be read in context...

If only...

If our first round of IVF had worked we would have been celebrating the second birthday of our child this month. The estimated due date was the 8th April 2009. I remember thinking it was a sign, as that is also our wedding anniversary. I guess not every coincidence is a sign.

There is an acceptance and understanding that women who have miscarraiges have had a great loss - there is an expectation that there will be grief and sadness and a wonder at the child that might have been.

It is unlikely the embryo attached to me, so I guess technically I didn't have a miscarraige. But it hurts the same. Along with this post there is a photo of the embryo that was put inside me. That was our child. It existed, even if just for a few days. That tiny little thing was already a boy or a girl, may have had straight or wavy hair, perhaps they would have had hazel eyes like me, perhaps they would have loved music, or swimming or...

Does it sound strange that I love that little tiny thing? I wonder about it. It was real.

The Decision

Today we took our five year old niece Jess to the zoo. It was a fantastic day - we had icecream, saw the pandas, jumped like kangaroos...then we came back to our house and Jess and us played 'soccer' with our two dogs. We also watched 'Alice in Wonderland'.

It was great - I smiled all day. Especially when she told me that the amount of chocolate topping to put in her milk was about two metres.

When she was picked up by her Mum I felt that familiar heavy heart that I do whenever any of the children in our lives say goodbye and go with their Mum and Dad. We are never going to have that - a child who comes home with us as their Mum and Dad. And it sometimes hurts a lot.

It might be easier to distance ourselves from children and people with children, at least it might seem easier. It wouldn't really be though - we would only be hurting ourselves.

We made a decision not long after we realised that kids weren't going to happen for us, that we would not get to the point where we didn't want to be around children. We both love kids and we love spending time with them. They may not be ours - but they are ours in the sense that we love them and we will always be there for them.

I wouldn't give up the dance Jess did for us in the lounge today for anything...