I cannot shake the (sinking) feeling that no matter what I or we (the LP and I) do at this point to try to bring home living child number two, it will all be for nought. Window dressing at the beach on the eve of a hurricane’s landing.
Or rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, which wiktionary.org helpfully but with questionable grammar and an unnecessary comma (ever the critic, eh?) defines as “[t]o do something pointless or insignificant that will soon be overtaken by events, or that contributes nothing to the solution of a current problem.”
This, I feel, is my fate. I do not like being in this dark place of doom and gloom. I do not so much mind having lost hope, for I see that as a natural if sad casualty of my circumstances. Anyone in my shoes might feel hopeless about the prospects of having a living child after losing 6 pregnancies in a row (and 8 in total). That much is normal.
I think. (On the Titanic theme I’m inclined to add “therefore I am”, though somewhat regrettably of late. Life for me might be better without all of this thinking business at the moment.)
What feels less “normal” is what to do about it and how to know what on earth that is. I feel as though there is no hope and a sane person would give up at this point (I find myself often reminded of Just Another Infertility Blog’s recent reference to Einstein’s definition of insanity being to keep doing the same thing and expect a different outcome). A growing part of me wants – longs – to give up. I am so weary, so very very weary. My heart is heavy and my spirit broken. Recurrent pregnancy loss has won. I want to call it quits.
And yet, there are two frozen, imperfect embryos sitting in some sort of medium in some sort of device in a lab in the southwestern United States of America whispering “what about me?” in unison. Yes, what about them? Individually or collectively, they are our last chance(s). They cost me a great deal of money and both me and the LP substantial heartache and hope.
What about them?
Those embryos (let’s call them Bert and Ernie, shall we? I imagine them in striped sweaters to beat the cryopreservation chills) are not deck chairs. They are not window dressing at the beach. They are all we have left by way of hope. And it is taking everything I have not to give up on and abandon them.
Every single thing I have. Every day.
Maybe by personifying or anthropomorphizing them as Bert and Ernie I may begin to bond with them and forge a connection (can you anthropomorphize a human embryo, I mean it’s already technically anthropomorpic, albeit created in a petri dish, right? See the trouble thinking gets me into?).
I cannot imagine abandoning a child. But these are not children. They could be – in someone else’s womb. In mine they are the embryotic equivalent of death row inmates. Or that appears to be their most probable fate. How does one hold onto hope or even want to try in the face of that? I don’t even know if I can keep myself – at work, as a mother, as a woman, as a living being – together should I have to go through more loss. I kept drawing the Wolverine card a while ago that said I am tougher than I think. I’m not so sure. Not anymore.
See what I mean about the window dressing in a hurricane or the Titanic chair arrangements?
This is the seed that sprouted the dark forest in which I’ve spent the last several weeks. Has it been months? I feel as though I have lost track of time. It’s been particularly pronounced since before we went to New York to see the reproductive immunologist and even more so since we’ve been back and the old brain and heart have been doing their bidding instead of mine.
In short, I feel stuck. I know our little spirit baby, my beloved Azulito, has things to teach us. I wish I knew if giving up – abandoning Bert and Ernie so I can get on with recreating a lived life as opposed to the one in limbo we are surviving now – was part of what I need to learn. I do not know that. That is the million dollar question (I hope not because I can’t afford much more at this point and certainly not a million clams!).
And so I wait. I wait to find out what it is I am meant to learn from all of this. In the meantime, may I interest any of you in a seat on the less windy side of this majestic vessel?