Learning not to live in fear

If there’s one key thing that I’ve learned from spending time around other women who struggle with infertility, it’s that nearly every one of us lives in fear. When we see two pink lines or hear that we got a positive beta, we can allow ourselves to be happy for a second, but that happiness can quickly turn into fear. Grave thoughts of miscarriages past don’t leave us with passing weeks. The mindset can easily become why be happy when it’s just been taken away from us before?

I’m a few days away from my beta following my FET, and am feeling the sore boobs, fatigue and twinges of nausea. But I know well that those symptoms could just be the meds. I have a positive gut feeling, though. And that makes me anxious. I feel a bit like a tennis ball mid-match. Back and forth.

I was describing to my therapist that while I have this positive gut feeling, the idea of being pregnant again is shrouded in this fear of loss. ¬†Will we tell people — our families and close friends that know about the IVF — this time? Is it worth it?

But on the flip side, if I am pregnant and, heaven willing, am able to carry successfully, will I look back in a few years and know that I didn’t allow myself to fully enjoy the experience? (Because, for real, at this rate I’m not sure I’m going to do it again.)

And then my therapist said something brilliant: If I feel happy because I am pregnant, then give myself permission to be happy. If I’m trying to protect myself by not allowing myself to enjoy it, it won’t work. Protecting myself in this way will not make it any easier should I miscarry again. It will be awful no matter if I was or wasn’t happy or excited.

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I’d never thought of it that way before, but YES! If I should miscarry again, that would be awful. But trying to pretend that I am less invested in the pregnancy won’t make it any easier for me.

As should come as no surprise to anyone reading this, I’m not really a “the world is rainbows and sunshine” kind of person. I’m just not. The “choose happy” mantra isn’t really my jam usually.

So if I am pregnant — if Olaf or Anakin or (gulps) both of them hang in there — then I’ll take the happy moments as they come. Of course I’ll be anxious sometimes, too. Because that’s completely normal. But I’ll work on living outside of the fear. It may be challenging, but this whole damn ordeal has been so I’m familiar.

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One last time: Olaf and Anakin

I’m in a weird place fertility-wise.

After several months of considering and discussing our next steps, we’ve decided to do one more FET before pursing non-treatment options in earnest. I didn’t come to this decision lightly, of course. I say I here, because it was primarily my call. My husband has graciously allowed me to steer the ship since we began fertility treatment two and a half years ago, and he weighs in when he has strong feelings one way or another about something. While this decision-making compromise can feel lonely for me at times, I’m ultimately grateful that he understands it is important for me to dictate what happens to my body. The feminist in me has trouble with that phrasing, but I’m going to leave it be. Infertility is complicated and does affect both partners.

Much of the continuing conversation about how to proceed happened between me and my therapist, actually. Last fall, after our second failed FET, my therapy sessions started to revolve around moving forward. I questioned whether I was ready to try again. What if that meant another failure? Or worse, another miscarriage.

One of the very important things I had to start working through was if I could forgive my body for failing me. Following my diagnosis of chronic endometritis earlier this year, I started to make peace with myself. This was the reason I wasn’t pregnant and once it had cleared, I felt almost renewed.

That feeling of renewal was short-lived.

I’ve worked hard in therapy to better understand myself and accept that, without unlimited resources at my disposal, perhaps my body cannot sustain a pregnancy. I’m still working on this acceptance. In many ways, it feels just as emotionally painful as my miscarriages. Accepting that I can’t do what I want is as much a loss.

So the decision to conclude our treatment following this last IVF cycle didn’t come easily. But we’re preparing to move on.

My period should arrive this week, we’ll shell out the cash, and I should begin the preparation to transfer two of our last embryos, Olaf and Anakin (Kristoff will remain frozen for the foreseeable future, provided O and A survive the thaw).

So I’ll be here, singing “One Last Time” from Hamilton under my breath. Apt and giving me all the feels.