Don't Leave Me Alone

Don't leave me alone

To stew in my grief

Because it's not my fault

My family is incomplete

My body went through

"The change" very young

Amongst my peers

I feel like the only one

People think

Because I have one

That the pain isn't as deep

As those that have none

I feel so guilty

To have wanted another child

I have been called greedy

And for that I feel judged

Nobody seems to know

What to do or say

But it's a death I'm experiencing

So I need help in the same way

A phone-call, a cuppa

Just asking me how I am

All of these things will help me

To feel not as lonely as I am

Grief is not something

That disappears one day

Just because we are at the end

Doesn't mean the pain

Has gone away

My heart is still breaking

Every single day

Reminders are everywhere

Of the child that wasn't
Meant to be

Please understand if

I cannot rejoice

In your pregnancy or your baby

As I didn't have a choice

I want to be free

To move on from this pain

If you'd listen to me for a moment

Then a lot could be gained

Don't ever judge

If you haven't been in my shoes

I should have a right to be a mother

To as many kids as I chose

It's been a long journey

Lasting five and a half years

So many methods

So many tears

There is no quick fix

No easy answer

As secondary infertility

Was simply my personal disaster 

Lonely Times

Dealing with the aftermath of our failed attempts at adding to our family would have to be the hardest thing I have ever being through. Mainly because I feel so very alone. There is nobody to turn to at this time, no shoulder to cry on.

Sure, God is out there somewhere but the truth me known - I am angry with him at this point in time.

I try to open up as much as I possibly can in order to release some of the pain I am carrying around. But it either falls on deaf ears or ears that get it so wrong.

This morning two Mum-of-two friends were talking about birthday parties and how they were trying to simplify things now their eldest kids were older. One of them said "It must be different for you, because you have an only child." To which I replied "Well because I couldn't have the second child I wanted, I celebrate birthdays (not that I'm saying you two don't celebrate birthdays) by going with whatever she (my daughter) wants to do." There was silence after that statement. Gosh I wish people had a clue as to how painful this actually is.

Today another friend said to me something along the lines of "You're lucky to have one, plenty of women can't have any" to which I responded "That just makes me feel more guilty for having the grief that I have." (something like that). Silence, once gain.

What I really want is someone to call or pop round for a cuppa and just me talk, let me vent, let me release my grief. But it's all too taboo, too uncomfortable and too socially awkward for most to deal with.

Even the woman from the infertility support group I started who has had a baby recently said  in an email " I couldn't pretend to understand what you're going through." But that statement has made me feel so very, very alone.

My seven year old daughter is watching a video of her first year of her life right now. I had to leave the room. I cannot do babies right now. It is too, too painful to watch knowing that that was it - I won't get to repeat those glorious years ever again.

I've felt so alone in my pain this week that I've been googling secondary infertility in a desperate attempt to ease my intense loneliness and overwhelming grief. Perhaps it's time I went for another round of counselling. I am swimming in a sea of grief that is too big for me to manage.

 I want to look on the bright side but my grief is too big right now to do that completely. I agreed with another Mum Of One (who doesn't know about my secondary infertility), that having one child had it's perks this week, such as being able to travel more and to travel longer distances (because of price). Next weekend I am taking my daughter to Sydney to see my sister and niece. I'm not sure we'd be going over for a weekend if I had two kids.

I want God to fill this baby-shaped hole with something else. It seems so unfair that after all I've been through, I'm still left feeling disappointed, dissatisfied, empty and so very, very alone. At least God, take away this desire to have another child - it seems so cruel to live with a dream that is forever-broken.

So I shall go and take my dog for a walk out in the darkness of the night now. I might shed some tears and plead with God to lessen my pain. I want to be ok, to find peace, to embrace new dreams. I want to be set free from the prison of secondary infertlity that has tormented me for way too long.

Now What?

I have surprised myself as to just how rough I have found reaching the end of the road to be. I thought I had processed and accepted so much over the last five and a half years - so to be feeling as raw as I do right now is a shock. I really thought I'd be doing better than I am. But I can't change the way I feel.

I spent the first part of Mother's Day in tears this year. At first I didn't want to go out. I didn't want to be out there, in the world of completed families celebrating my incomplete family. I cried into my husband's arms that it  it was all my fault that we were here - no baby because of my body - and that we had to go through the adoption process all for nothing...

But my daughter wanted to go out and so did my husband. So we found a not-so-busy cafe, which was perfect for the frame of mind I was in. We sat out in the sunshine and had lunch then went for a drive to visit A Guinea Pig Village I'd heard about. There was an adorable shop nearby and I got spoilt with a few things from that shop for Mother's Day. So in the end, I was able to celebrate the day despite the grief that came up.

It has been so hard sitting with this grief that most have no clue I am carrying. I want to scream at the Mums Of Two or more that I sit chatting with as we wait for our kids after school that I couldn't have any more kids. Couldn't even adopt, as it turns out. I want them to know that I wanted, more than anything, to Be A Mother Again. More than anything.

So now what God? I have handed my life over to Him but I have no idea what comes next. I've just four weeks left in my job and I don't know where I'll end up next job-wise. I am picky. I want and deserve to be happy and so am being very careful and selective around what I apply for. I am drawn to either working with children with special needs or going back into the abnormal psychology field (I have previous experience in both areas). 

I fear my heartache won't subside. I've had to apply self-preservation big-time. I cannot be around pregnant women and if I have to be; it has to be at arm's-length. I cannot cope with babies at this time. A woman from the infertility support group I started has had a baby recently but I've told her I'll have to leave visiting for a while as I'm processing my own fate and that has been hard. 

I want to kick and scream and yell at anyone who cares to listen that I am struggling to accept our outcome at this point in time. The trouble is, nobody really does want to listen. Babies smile at me, toddlers walk towards me, preschoolers want to talk to me - and my heart breaks every time. I'm not sure any of this will ever make sense - why I have such a desperate longing to be a Mum again and why it wasn't to be.

So in the meantime - until I get to the place where I've settled into the life God has chosen for us - I have to find other things to focus on. At the same time, God has given me many signs that it's time to slow down, to give myself a break, to stop and to listen to what He has to say. Easier said than done.

What I've realised is that in order to cope with my intense feelings of grief over the last few years, I've created (unintentionally), a very busy life. My job is one that is flat-out with never enough hours in the day and often involves extra unpaid hours. This has meant I've struggled to fit part-time work around my husband's 12 hour shifts and the needs of my autistic daughter. I've been "running" for so long - trying to fit in the gym and community commitments amongst the chaos of work and home. No wonder I tripped and fell six months ago and seriously broke my arm at the elbow. No wonder I have a rash on my chin right now that doesn't appear to be going away in a hurry. No wonder I am emotionally depleted. It has all been too much to handle.

But it's a new chapter now, whether I like it or not. I am trying out a Tai Chi class on Monday night as I'm attracted to more gentle forms of exercise right now and am more than happy to let go of my gym membership. I have found a novel-writing workshop next month so plan to attend that. I've applied for a couple of jobs that match family life and hopefully won't be such a stretch should I get one of them.

I'm a fighter. I know I'll get there. I have to get there. It's just such a lonely road. More than ever. I just don't know anyone who went through secondary infertility and didn't get a baby. All my contacts did in the end...So no-one understands just how awful it is to be faced with a garage-full of clothes, toys and bikes that you were hoping to pass on to your second child. No-one gets it. And I'm too tired and burnt out from it all to even begin to explain my feelings. I'm done with justifying why I feel the grief I do.

Our profile got sent back to us last week. Wow, was that a kick in the teeth. Yes I knew it was coming back - but to receive it back in the mail...I cannot bring myself to open up the courier package at this stage. Not now. One day it will, as my husband says, be a historical document of a point in time in our lives. Of a dream we hoped for. Hopefully one day we'll look back and see all the good things that happened instead.

I feel so many things right now that it's almost impossible to name all the feelings. But the feeling that hurts the most is a lack of hope. I have lost some drive and oomph in my life because of this whole experience - it has left me feeling weak, hopeless and disspirited. I can only hope that this gentle path that God is prompting me to go on now - the one where life will slow right down (or as much as possible!), will allow time to heal, to reconnect with myself in mind, body and soul, and to find joy in other things again.

It's Over

Well it's over. Two weeks ago our adoption file expired and that was the end of a very long chapter. Five and a half years of waiting, hoping, praying and emotional harrowing times, over.

To be honest, it isn't that easy being at the end of it all. I've been letting go and preparing for the outcome that has been obvious for some time - the no baby outcome - the living as a Family Of Three outcome. But now that we're here - at the end - it is actually very sad.

Even my husband who I thought had let go of the whole adding-to-our-family hopes quite some time ago; felt as though the ending was all rather flat. He commented one weekend how our seven year old daughter was reading to our two year old neighbour and how cute that was...

I feel as if I have a responsibility to be more upbeat than I feel right now - a responsibility to those who read this blog and may be following in my tracks; that surviving infertility and not actually beating it is ok.

But it's not.

It's so not ok. It sucks big-time that after all these years, all that time and energy was wasted  - for nothing.

I don't feel bitter though.

Just very, very disappointed. Hurt. And disillusioned.

But I know that I will be okay.

I will continue to be real about this, as I have all the way through. It is no piece of cake living with infertility - and it seems once you reach the end of the road and your dreams are shattered - all you are left with are crumbs.

It is no coincidence that I resigned from my job the day after our adoption file expired. I figured if I cannot change the size of my family, then I will change the job that I am not happy in!

I think those who go through infertility and are left with nothing - no result; no baby to be blessed with are indeed dished out a pretty raw deal. It must be so incredible to survive infertility and to eventually get the baby - to finally hold it in your arms and breathe "It was all worth it." Suddenly all the heartache and agony of the years gone by could be understood because afterall, if one hadn't endured infertility; there would be no baby.

But for those of us who come out of this without the baby- the whole thing can feel like a bit of a sham (well it does for me!). Sure, I have grown emotionally and spiritually. I've started a support group for women going through infertility locally. I'm even writing a book, for goodness sakes about my journey! I'm giving back, I'm helping, I'm being open about it all. You could say, my reason for going for all this was so I could help others.

Yet the sight of siblings together, a baby in a pram, a pregnant belly - those sights have never lost their power to cause me to crumble on the inside. Why did God not think I should be a mother again? It is a question I daren't explore too deeply as searching for an answer will only leave me depressed.

Just the other week a Mum Of Three proudly wheeled her newborn into the school grounds. I had my sunglasses on, but I had tears streaming down my cheeks as just days earlier our adoption file had expired. And I sat there flanked on each side by two Mums Of Two who were comparing the personalities and similarities of their children - the old second child spiel...it was absolutely heartbreaking.

Our social worker phoned recently to double-check that we'd really reached the end of the road. I confirmed we didn't want to reapply and to go through the adoption process all over again. She said she will  be sending our profile back in the mail. There was a time when I thought we were good candidates for adoption - I feel like a bit of a fool right now. I know we gave it our best shot - but we weren't picked. And that hurts.

Our social worker asked us about Home For Life - which is what permanent fostering is called here in New Zealand. I said we'd leave it for now, but that we had talked about it before. I feel we need time to heal as a family before considering going down that path. I'm personally not up to going through yet another process for fostering. Also with fostering, you would get a child - an older one - not a baby - as there are obviously loads of children out there who need foster homes. Maybe one day we might look into it but the time is not right at the moment. I also have big concerns about mixing our daughter with autism with a child with emotional/behavioural problems.(which is the reality of fostering). So I'm not going there for now.

I feel as if outwardly I have nothing to show for what I've been through. At least six months on post-accident the scar on my arm is so very visible and obvious from the two surgeries I have after I broke my elbow. People see it and ask about it.  But infertility - it's invisible. So many people I know have no idea what I've been through.

But it's a case of onwards and upwards - because there's nowhere else to go. At least I can really sink my teeth into my book now as the conclusion has been finally reached and I needed the ending before I could write my book properly.

I wish I felt as if I was in more acceptance than I am right now about the whole thing. I want others to know who are in the midst of infertility that the finality we are all so very afraid of (no baby) isn't so bad. But I can't lie - getting here, where I am, feels like a tragedy. I can't pretend it's any different. Telling the truth and speaking from the heart is simply my style.

I will be okay though. I know that. I am just processing and trying to make some kind of sense of the last five and a half years, that's all. I have to trust that my life will open up in a different way.