All I have to do... is dream...

Just lately I've been dreaming about IF. Strangely enough, I rarely ever dream about it. I do have very vivid dreams, though - always have. Usually they're fun dreams - or just weird, or goofy anxiety dreams. It's rare for me to have terribly sad or scary dreams. But this week I've had three IF dreams already. Two were very similar to each other, where I was in this sort of large, industrial looking room - and a very pregnant lady was standing next to me, maybe three feet away. Suddenly, she went into labor and was soon giving birth - just standing there! I started screaming at the top of my lungs, "NOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOO!!!!! You can't!! Not fair!!!! NOT FAIR!!!!" I was screaming and sobbing... Sobbing.... Sobbing! Suddenly I realized I was struggling in some sort of body of water - actually under water - and I was still screaming and sobbing. Though submerged and obviously completely soaked, I remember the feel of my own tears on my face... and knew I had to stop screaming so I could get above water. I struggled to the surface and saw the woman there with her baby, just standing there watching me.

I also dreamed that a woman in my office, whose partner is pregnant in real life (newest pregnancy announcement), was the one who was actually pregnant. In real life, I was beyond thrilled to learn that it was her partner who is pregnant - and NOT her!!! I was so not in the mood for yet ANOTHER office pregnancy. She's already the sixth in the office, who will soon be a first-time parent - but at least I don't have to actually see yet another pregnant person!! Anyhow, in my dream, it turned out that she lied and it was her - and not her partner - who was pregnant, after all. And when I found out - I was TICKED OFF, big time!!! I saw her getting coffee and looking six months pregnant. She was wearing the most hideous maternity dress - it looked like a mumu. In real life she never wears dresses, so that was weird enough, but this dream dress was truly awful. In my dream, she was going on and on to someone about her pregnancy etc - and I was getting more and more angry - finally I just started chucking plastic forks at her. Hard! I was pitching them at her by the handful! She just kept talking, like she didn't even notice.... Made me even more angry! Then I woke up ticked - and now I'm watching her carefully, in real life, for signs... just in case.

So... just some strange little dreams that made me feel funky, I guess. One probably doesn't need a doctorate in psychobabble from the University of Sigmund to analyze those dreams, but they sure left me feeling weird.

Gee, if dreams reveal character, I guess these ones don't say much good about my character, eh?

Well, anyhow, I sure hope this isn't a new trend. My life is full enough of other people's pregnancies, as it is. My dreams have been sanctuary. Don't turn on me now, subconscious!!!

On the bright side, I skipped department baby shower number five yesterday - as I skipped the four before it. But the leftover cake was truly fabulous! I don't even feel guilty that I skip the showers and then eat the leftover cake. I am a scoundrel!!!! Clearly, I don't deserve the cake! But I like it! This one was actually from a nice bakery. I figure, hey - they get to have children, the least I can get is a little cake. And eat it too!

The number five

When peace like a river attendeth my way....

Five. Not only is five another ef word, five is the number of pregnancy announcements in my department of 30, since the beginning of this year. The most recent announcement came just last week. Five. That makes for a 17% pregnancy rate in my department. These are all first time pregnancies and they are all 10 years or more younger than I am. There is no where, during the very long work week, that I can go to not see them. And when I see them, all I can think of is what I just can't do - the joy that Ar and I seemingly will never share. The life I can't know. Yet I have to somehow manage to get out of bed each morning, breath, do my job, supervise my staff, and generally function in the world. I have to do these things well -- without letting on that I feel like the walking dead. This seems such an impossible task; it's taking all my energy. All around me is the talk. The incessant pregnancy talk, the planning, the excitement, and the (five) showers. The painfully insensitive comments. The sadness, the desolation, the secrecy and shame, the insane desire to run and hide, to escape, to pop all their balloons, and to smash all their baby shower cupcakes! (Confession: I decline to attend the showers, but.... well, I'd hate the leftover cupcakes to go to waste... that would just be wrong.)

Coincidentally, five is exactly the number of years we've been actively trying to conceive. It was five years ago this month, in fact. I didn't think it would just happen, but I didn't think this...

And five. It was just a few minutes after five o'clock today that I knew my period started. Again.

Boy, could I ever go for a cupcake right now! Or maybe five....

In related news, five multiplied by seven is the number of pounds I've gained in the last eight months.... when the panic attacks and anxiety issues suddenly started. Great, between the extra weight and incredible stress, now I've decreased my fertility even further. Nice work.

When sorrows like sea billows roll...

What does this all add up to? Heck if I know. But I'm sitting here at midnight, next to the most beautiful roses that Ar surprised me with the other day, while I listen to him snoring peacefully away in the next room, and I'm writing this sad story because at the bottom of all the goodness present in my life, I am just sad. I am anxious and sad - and I don't know how to be better. I don't know how to be me, anymore. What if I can't ever be me again?

I'm trying to get better. I've seen my doctor about the panic attacks. I'm going to acupuncture to help me relax, and I even saw a therapist. That was not an easy step to take. And boy, she was a real peach:

She: "So, I suppose it will make you jealous to learn that I gave birth to six children."

Me: "Uhhhh?"

She: "You shouldn't compare yourself to others, though - maybe God has something else in store for you. Not everyone has kids."

Me: "Uhhhhhhhhhh....!?"

Yeah, Dr. Bob Hartley she was not. But I truly enjoyed the "gave birth to" part. Heaven forbid I should think for a moment that she had adopted any of her six children... She went on to fill me in on what they do. I also know all about her mother, her own anxiety issues, her research, and her thoughts on computer games. Also, she was very helpful in letting me know that one person in her family (but not blood related) struggled with infertility... for a whole six or seven months. Whoo - that must have been tough. Six months, eh. Needless to say, I won't be back.

And then, I stopped and picked up french fries on the way home.

Really? French fries? I've never been that girl. Really! I've only been that girl in the last eight months. I mean, I've always had some weight issues, but reasonably controllable - not like this. I'm a happy, celebratory eater, normally. And I don't eat that - I love good, fresh, delicious, real food. And I've never been a stress eater, but I picked up french fries. I don't know why. I do know that I felt even worse about myself when I left the "therapist," than when I went in. And I do know that it was very, very hard for me to go there - but I did it - yet somehow I managed to find a therapist nuttier than I am. Do I do anything right? So, yeah - getting french fries suddenly seems to be what I do now. And it has to stop. I don't want to be that girl.

I have made an appointment with another therapist for next week, hopefully that will go better. Hard to imagine it being any worse.

Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say... are hopefully teaching me to say....

Did I mention that when I woke up this morning, since my period was a couple days late, I was going to stop and pick up a pregnancy test? At least I didn't have a chance to do that before five o'clock...

Yep, I was going to pick up a pregnancy test. Kinda funny, huh? Not so much in a ha ha sort of way, though. Instead, I picked up some french fries.

So I don't know what all of this adds up to. All I know is that it's a mystery to me how constant and unrelenting despair continues to live alongside constant and unreasonable hope. Part of me wants the hope to go far, far away - as far as the east is from the west. Yet what is life without hope, even though the hope -unrealized- is so incredibly painful? At some point, I will either be a mom, or it will be too late. That thought hovers over my head like one of those dark clouds in cartoons. And so I know I must constantly choose the higher Hope. It is not that I must give up this particular hope sooner than necessary, but my truest hope must be higher still than that. I must remember to cling to the Hope of Hopes, which gives me life, and which will not abandon me - even in these dark days.
(Please, Lord, teach me to say) It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Romans 5:1-5: Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.

That three-letter word

Yesterday  was a fine day; I was productive and felt mostly happy.  Today was rather the opposite; I'm not sure why.  I was supposed to see my friend, who has four children.  Four.  And frankly, I was a bit nervous about it.  I hadn't seen her since she told me she was pregnant with number four.  On a side note, why people feel the need to tell me in person is beyond me...  They probably think it's the proper way to do it, but it's so not.  Please write me an email.  Send a carrier pigeon, hire a skywriter - I don't care, but don't put me through the incredible conflicting emotions I have about all this in person, especially not in public.  Let me just write back to you the words I know are right and good, but still feel the way I feel.  Don't make me put on that smile and say those right and good words with my mouth, all while still trying to choke down my lunch without bursting into weepy tears.  And above all, please don't yourself break into weepy tears about how guilty you feel for getting pregnant numerous times, when I can't even get pregnant once...

When this same friend told me about number three, it was at our favorite restaurant and she started sobbing inconsolably...  how unfair it was that it was her and not me and so on... and how she feels so guilty.  I appreciate that she cares, I do.  But it was a nightmare for me.   Sure, make infertile girl sit there and comfort you about you being pregnant with number three.  It was absurd.  Now, I'm sure that anyone who's had children feels more for her, than me.  You'll say, "oh, that poor thing - what with all the pregnancy hormones and what not."  I know, because I've heard it.

But really, if you're reading this and feel that way, just put yourself in my stirrups, for just a moment...  At the time, I was 37 years old, going through more invasive testing, following more than two years of heartbreaking infertility - that's:

• 24 failed monthly cycles, 
• coincidentally, 24 binges on chocolate cake and ice cream,
• 730 basal body temperature readings,
• 168 ovulation predictor sticks,
• at least 24 big fat negative pregnancy tests - more on hopeful months,
• countless tears shed, and
• was just starting twice weekly acupuncture appointments.

Plus there had been a major set-back in my treatment plan. And I was just starting Clomid.   And there was no child to show for all this.  No product of our marital bliss, no pay-off for determination and perseverance.  Nothing.  And I was handling it all relatively ok, but to sit there and comfort her about this, was almost too much to bear.  But I did it.  And she wasn't just sniffling and moving on - no, she was weeping.  Weeping!  Inconsolably.  And I was stoically comforting her.                  

Did she have any idea how often I weep inconsolably?   Did she have any idea how incredibly sad it makes my dear hubby to have me so incredibly sad, and not be able to "fix it," not be able to comfort me?  Not be able to give me this one thing that I want so much? Shouldn't this comforting  have been the other way around?  Did she care how much I actually hurt, or just how guilty she felt?

It's not that I'm not happy for people with children.  I truly would not want her or anyone else to have to deal with this constant pain of infertility, this particular brand of emptiness.   But it always begs that little three-letter word...

Why?

Why them and not me?  Why can't we each have this?  I'm a win-win kinda gal, why can't we each have two?  Why not me?   Am I so awful?  Did I do something so wrong?   

Why, why, why, why, why!?!?!?  

So why try to get together with this friend?  Because she's my friend.  I've never been someone who gives up on friendships, so I won't let infertility make me a person who avoid friends, just because it hurts so much to be reminded of my own constant failure.

And why am I constantly failing, anyhow?  I don't know. What I have is "unexplained infertility," as they say.  And so I really don't know why.

Maybe I'm too fat.  And maybe I shouldn't have eaten that brownie, just because I had made a whole pan for my friend that had no place to go, because she had to cancel our get-together.  But at least I didn't eat the whole pan.  I only had one.  Big one.  But I shouldn't have.  What if it makes me more infertile?

It's so hard to get past looking for the reason why and scrutinizing my every action and thought. 

And maybe there just is no why.  Maybe not everything happens for a reason.   And would it hurt any less, even if it could be explained. 

Anyhow, my friend had to cancel at the last minute because of an ear infection with one of her four kids, and I understand - I do.  And she's now dealing with a new health issue, herself, and is having a rough time.  Her children are a huge comfort to her.  I'm so happy that she has them to be a comfort to her.   

But I wanted to see my friend, even knowing it would hurt me.  And it also hurt to not see my friend.  Because everything hurts.  Why can't I have kids to completely inconvenience me and take precedence over my plans?   Isn't there deep meaning in that inconvenience? 

So there I was, darling hubby out of town on business, my plans for my Sunday gone, and the pan of brownies I'd baked for her and her family still lingering...  And that new, familiar feeling struck once again.   That loneliness.  Those feelings of anxiety.  The feeling of being just a bit completely out of control.  That why.

Why do little people, who were never there, create such a hole? 

So, after my friend canceled, I checked Facebook... a nice diversion, right?  They should just call it Fertilebook.  Another pregnancy announcement and two more sonogram pictures of other very fertile  friends.  And I'm happy for them.  I am.  I think.  But why does it also make me so sad?   Why is it so hard to be at work, when 10% of my department is pregnant?  Why can't I just be 100% happy for my friends?  Am I the world's most awful person?  I think it's possible that I am. 

Do I think there are a limited number of children in the world and they took mine?

Is it the old green-eyed monster?

Is it that I hear the creaking of a door closing?

So all this to say, it ended up being a very rough day. 

There are a lot of whys in this world.  I certainly don't hold the exclusive rights to the word.  Or to these feelings of emptiness.  But I need to learn how to keep going.  How to hope, without letting the constant monthly let-down slowly gnaw away at my entire soul and being.   How to stop asking why all the time, looking for a place to lay blame.  How to accept whatever the outcome may be.  How to say in faith, without knowing the outcome, "It is well, it is well... with my soul."

I was recently reading again about how God promised Abraham that he would be a father by his wife Sarah.  And how Sarah laughed, because she was so advanced in years.  Much more advanced that I am - at least there's that... And I think, "I wouldn't laugh, Lord... I wouldn't disbelieve, just give me that promise."  I wouldn't laugh.  If I had a promise from God, I would believe it.  I would.  So, why not me?  Why don't I get a promise?

But the truth is, I do.  I do have a promise from God.  Lots of them, actually.  Sure, maybe not a direct promise that I will be blessed with children, but I do have promises-a-plenty.  Do I truly believe them?  Maybe I'm not laughing, but maybe I'm not truly believing them, either.  Aren't the promises He's already given me good enough for me?  Is He truly my ever present help in times of trouble, or only in times of trouble that don't include my infertility?

I spent nearly four weeks in Siberia, eleven years ago.  I remember sitting on a cement wall by the Angara River.  Our Russian friends would tell us to not sit on the wall because they (truly) believed that sitting on cement would cause infertility.  We laughed.  Hmm, I wonder if that's the reason why....

Luke 6:21: Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied.  Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.