This grief journey is the hardest thing imaginable. This week marked 8 months for me and I felt like I was back to square one. I try so hard to get on with my life; I try to stay focused with work, try to do normal things in my spare time, try to not let my grief overwhelm me, and still trying to get pregnant through IVF. Between the massive amounts of hormones with IVF, and my grief over losing Kara, I feel I'll never be able to function normally again.
This month we had our 2nd failed IVF cycle since trying again after Kara. I haven't talked about TTC on this blog because it's really supposed to be about my grief over losing Kara. But I find myself unable to separate the two. I am still overwhelmed with my grief at times, and at the same time I'm desperate to conceive again because I'll be 41 in July with no living children. My grief over Kara can consume every moment of my life if I let it. It bleeds into the bleak picture of my future and permeates every thought. There are still times when I miss her so much I feel like there is no point in going on. I just had one of those moments. I went downstairs for a cup of tea and saw the birds eating from the birdfeeder. Kara's nursery was all happy little birds, and her monument has a bird carved into it. I love birds - they are so carefree and cute. It breaks my heart to see them bouncing around int he snow and I can't quite put my finger on 'why'. I'm sitting here in tears, missing my daughter and thinking of those damn birds.
I thought for sure I was pregnant this month. We had PGD testing on our embryos this cycle and were delighted when the doctor called with (1) normal, healthy embryo to transfer. I was so hopeful, I really thought this was our cycle. On Tuesday the doctor called with the bad news that the embryo did not implant. I was so crushed, I could hardly function. I was traveling in Upstate NY at the time and had to face clients. By the time I checked into my hotel room, I had a good sobfest and could hardly breathe with the swirling emotions. It's at times like this where I can't fight my feelings anymore - my grief overwhelms me and combined with the massive amounts of hormones I've been on, life seems useless and pointless. I am at the point where I hate my life and can find no reason to live except for my husband. I cannot accept that I will never be a mother to a living child. If this is my future, I cannot accept it. I will not accept it. Things are out of control for me right now - I don't even know where to start. I feel hopeless, sad, empty and uninterested in life.
I hate my body - which hasn't even had time to fully recover from a full-term pregnancy because I've had 2 IVF cycles in the past 4 months. On top of that, I've been grieving the loss of my child which has made me unable to train as hard as I need to. I don't have the energy or the willpower that I used to. 8 months post-partum and I hate my body.
I hate my job. I have the best schedule and the best employer - I get to work from home and I make decent money. My schedule allows me to grieve when I need to and to hide out when necessary - it also allows me to participate in IVF cycles without causing problems for my employer. But I'm in sales - and I feel like I'm living a lie. I have to put on a happy, interested face for my clients, and try to do the best job I can for them, all while I'm dying inside. My emotions are always lurking just below the surface, ready to erupt. I am angry at the world for everyone being able to conceive so easily and taking their ability to have children for granted. All the while I am suffering from infertility and the loss of my only child 8 months ago. Every time customers casually bring up their children (or ask if I have any) my heart breaks into a million pieces and I want to scream. What is so normal for everyone else, is so unattainable for me.
I hate my life. I have two step-children who are great kids, but they're not mine. Will I ever have my own? Will I ever be a mother to a living child? What is that like? What is it like to endure 9 months of pregnancy and to actually give birth to a screaming baby? I fear I may never know. It's too awful to accept.
I miss my daughter. I miss her so much that my chest feels like it will explode. I am angry at the world, angry at God, so fucking angry that she was not given a chance at life outside the womb. I'm so frustrated that this is something I have no control over. Everything makes me miss her and she is always foremost in my mind. Thoughts and words have to go through my grief veil before they come out of my mouth. Everything travels through my grief first and is colored by it. My world is defined by my grief for Kara.
3 comments:
Holding you close today and wishing for more peaceful days ahead. I'm so very sorry. I wish you didn't have to know this pain. I wish none of us did.
i can't even imagine how hard it must be to care for stepchildren, have a dead baby, and experience infertility. i know that, no matter how many children i had before i had a dead baby, and how many children i had after infertility, i will always be an infertile babylost mama. it's like our reproductive selves, as women, is just broken forever. and that's a lot.
B,
Your last paragraph of this post was exactly how I feel. Its almost like Janaki's death has painted my future black, and for some reason, I can't seem to live or breathe beyond that dark black. Every thought, emotion, spoken word or social interaction is created through a filter of rage, pain and apathy at the situation around me. To me too, a future without a living child is unacceptable. Its hard finding hope when you can't see for the darkness everywhere, in everything. Somehow, we manage to drag ourselves out of the pit, to bring forth that bit of hope that pushes us forward, at a snail's pace, to what we dream of achieving.
Missing Kara and Janaki ... as always, life sucks without them.
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