Reflections

Who’s that girl in the mirror?

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I was trying to take a picture of myself to send to some of my far-away loved ones who haven’t seen my purple hair in person… I just had my hair re-purpled and it is most brilliant when it’s freshly dyed, so I wanted to take the picture right away so it would show up well in the photo.

I stood in my bathroom and took some selfies, but they weren’t turning out right. I deleted every one. Thinking that the light in the bathroom wasn’t quite right, I decided to move to the living room.

I took a series of pictures in the living room with the natural afternoon light shining through the big windows. The pictures still weren’t right. Something was still off.

I turned on the lights to supplement the natural light in the living room. I took more pictures.

After more selfies I realized that the light had nothing to do with it. I didn’t like the pictures because they didn’t look like me. I couldn’t bring myself to send these pictures to anyone, because that’s not how I look. Or is it?

I looked through the pictures we’ve in taken the last few months and although there were some good ones of my hair, I felt like there was something off about those pictures too.

There’s just something about recent pictures that isn’t right, but I can’t seem to put my finger on it. There’s nothing necessarily *wrong* with the girl I see in the mirror or in pictures; it’s just that she’s not me. I feel like I’m looking at someone else or some fragmented or altered version of myself. Like all of our cameras are stuck on some strange filter that is changing my face and no one else’s.

Apparently I don’t have a single current picture of myself that I feel looks like me. But why? What’s different? Has my appearance really changed? What’s going on?

Has my face changed shape? Is my face thinner or rounder than it used to be? Or do I look different because my hair is longer than it used to be? If I think about that closely though, I don’t think either of those are the problem. My weight has fluctuated slightly all my adult life and I always thought I still looked like me, so I don’t think face shape is throwing me off. I’ve had long hair and short hair and all kinds of lengths in between, and I feel like pictures of myself still look like me.

Or are the dark circles under my eyes throwing me off? Because they are definitely there. I try to get as much sleep as I can, but some nights just aren’t meant for good sleeping, apparently. And even after a good night of sleep, the circles are still there… constantly reminding me of my exhausting journey walking the road of infertility and loss. I’m so tired. Physically. Emotionally. And it’s hard to hide it. I’ve pretty much given up on trying to with makeup; it just doesn’t work. But do circles under my eyes really make enough of an impact to make me feel disconnected from my reflection? I doubt it.

I look hard at the pictures. I think I look sad… Have I lost some kind of sparkle in my eyes? Is my smile less authentic? Do I just look sad all the time now?

When I smile for a camera I feel like a fraud. Like I’m lying to the world. Because I’m not happy right now. Unless I’m really in the moment and actually feeling truly happy, I don’t think I’m smiling too much these days. When I was trying to take a selfie to show off my purple hair, I struggled with smiling or not smiling. Smiling for my own camera feels so fake to me, but not smiling for the camera feels weird too. And when I do smile, even for someone else’s camera, I feel too often like the picture shows a smile that’s forced, a smile that’s not authentic. Maybe when I see pictures of myself I’m uncomfortable with the smile I see.

Or it could be that this disconnect is all psychological. Maybe because I feel different now, I also feel like I look different when see my reflection and pictures of myself… Do I think I look sad because I *am* sad? Do I think I look tired because I *am* tired? Is this some kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy? Do I see the world through lenses of sadness? I like to think that my infertility couldn’t possibly affect the way I view my reflection, but our minds are quite powerful. Maybe the change I sense is psychological.

I asked Matt if he thinks I look different now. He doesn’t think so… but if a change has actually taken place, if it’s not all psychological, I think maybe because he sees me every single day he hasn’t noticed the change. Maybe whatever change I think I see has happened slowly, over time… Because when I look back at older pictures, I think I look different.

When I see pictures of myself taken before infertility, I see myself happy and full of hopes and dreams for my future. I see real, authentic smiles. I don’t see sad eyes or dark circles. I look at those photos and think of how innocent I was then, with my heart mostly intact and not yet shattered to pieces. I see those pictures and I yearn to be back in a place where my heart didn’t know this kind of loss. Back when I felt and looked like myself.

I do think I’m a different person now compared to before, but I thought that was all in my heart and mind. Infertility has changed me in a lot of ways… but I didn’t realize infertility was changing my appearance too. But I think it is… because when I look in the mirror and when I see pictures of myself, I hardly even recognize that girl. Who is she and what is she doing there? Where did the girl I once knew go? Will she ever come back?

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Awareness, Resources

Support

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supportWhile Matt and I have been lost in the terrible land of infertility, we’ve been the ones guiding our loved ones through it at the same time. As I’ve mentioned before, not many of our loved ones  have experience with infertility and loss, so they are often unsure of what to say or how to support us. I so often hear that someone doesn’t know what to do, or doesn’t know what to say, or doesn’t know how to help, or doesn’t want to do something in case they hurt my feelings, and so on…

Therefore, throughout my journey I have been attempting to help various people understand what this is like for me, and what kind of support is helpful and not helpful. This is not always easy. At times it’s downright uncomfortable. And it can be exhausting. It’s a bit like being blindfolded and at the same time being responsible for safely guiding our loved ones around… It’s confusing and tricky, and just like my loved ones don’t want to hurt my feelings, I don’t want to hurt theirs. It has been very hard to be responsible for educating everyone about what I’m experiencing and what kind of support I need, when at that very moment I am feeling so very broken and lost myself.

But even though it’s hard, and at times, impossible, to do this, I have found overall that the benefits of some of these tough discussions outweigh the drawbacks — sometimes when I share and try to help someone understand, things get better on both sides. So in an effort to give everyone some answers and guidance all at once, I thought it might be time to write a post on support.

However, before I really get into it, I want to be clear that my intent is not to make anyone feel bad for interactions in the past — I know my loved ones care for me and want the best for me. Rather, my intent for this post is to provide some suggestions for general support that I would appreciate. I’m hoping that by sharing some of these, our loved ones can feel less lost themselves and have more confidence in their abilities to support us.

We’ll start with what support is not:

I am not looking for unsolicited advice or opinions. I do not want be told how I should be feeling.  I do not want to have my pain minimized. I am not looking for the silver lining. I do not want to hear about quick fixes for my infertility.

Here are the best things someone can do to support me:

Accept my situation and validate my experience

When I’m struggling and hurting, acknowledgement and acceptance of my situation is very helpful — validation is powerful. Having my feelings accepted and authenticated helps me to feel that my emotions are valid, that my reactions are normal, and that I’m understood. So in my support system, I’m looking for acknowledgement of how much all of this sucks and acceptance of how heartbroken I am. I’m looking for someone to understand and validate the fact that this journey is hard and painful and that my future is full of question marks. I’m looking for the understanding that I’m not always ok, and acceptance that it’s ok to not always be ok. I’m looking for someone to sit with me while I’m in pain and accept me as I am.

Note:
For a great overview of how to sit with someone else’s pain, please visit Psych Central.
For a good overview and explanation on validation, please check out Psychology Today.

Keep in mind the things to say and not to say

Sometimes I feel like when people in my support system don’t know what to say, they either hold back and do nothing (which can be hurtful), or they go overboard and fill the space with advice or optimism (which can also be hurtful). I know this it not intentional… and I know it stems from a place of unease. But I think it could be better…

First of all, sometimes it’s ok to not know what to say — sometimes there isn’t anything that can or should be said. In those cases, acknowledgement, and a silent nod or a hug is what I need. Later, follow up “thinking of you” texts or cards are always appreciated when it feels like other words aren’t useful.

Second, there are ways we can prepare ourselves to know what to say, because sometimes things do need to be said, and saying the right thing can be important.

Many people have written posts on the things to say and not to say to people struggling with infertility and pregnancy loss. Previously on this blog I have shared the same lists over and over, but here I will take the opportunity to share a couple more sources of these lists. Please read them and find one that connects with you, especially if you are someone who has told me in the past, “I don’t know what to say.”

Additionally, my post There Are No Quick Fixes for Infertility highlights some of the things not to say and provides suggestions for better discussions.

Support our decisions

All of the decisions we have made during our infertility journey have been made with the help of our doctors and nurses. No one I know is a better expert on my medical chart and in the field of infertility than my doctor and his team, and I value their expertise and guidance. So when we share a decision we’ve made, please accept it and be at peace with knowing that, with the help of our doctor, we’re choosing the right thing for us at the time.

Ask how you can help

If I share that I’m having a hard time or struggling with something in particular, it may be helpful for you to ask, “How can I help you today?” or “How can I best support you today?”

Matt and I learned many months ago now that this question is a good one for me when I am having a hard time. Before we used this question he used to look at me during my moments of grief like a deer in headlights. Then he’d back away and usually just leave me alone. He was never sure what to do and I ended up feeling abandoned. Once we learned that it was helpful to ask what he could do, we were able to make great improvements in coping together and handling our grief.

This question also allows for a win-win situation: I end up receiving the support I need in that moment, and the other person ends up feeling good about having supported me in the way I most needed, and having confidence that they can help me again in the future.

So you might be wondering, “Yikes. What is she going to say if I ask this?”

The answers I usually give to Matt are along the lines of:

“I want to sit with you and cry.”
“I want to talk about it.”
“I want to be alone.”
“I want to do something else and get my mind off of this.”

… and basically none of these are complicated. All of my loved ones are capable of offering these things to me, even if they are over the phone. Please don’t assume what I need; instead, ask me.

Respect our cautious optimism

In my post The Roller Coaster of Infertility I discuss our need to remain cautiously optimistic. This is still the case for us, and I expect it to remain so. Please do not argue with or challenge my cautious optimism. It’s ok to gently encourage me and tell me that you are hopeful and optimistic, but please don’t pressure me to build up too much optimism. Obviously we are hopeful that the next treatment will work, otherwise we would no longer be pursuing any treatment. It’s just that we’ve learned to be cautious in order to protect our hearts a little bit.

Be present

The bottom line is that no one can fix this for me or guarantee our outcome, and instead of giving advice or minimizing my experience, I need my loved ones to be willing to accept my situation and sit with me in this time of darkness. I won’t be in this place forever, but that’s where I am now, and I’m going to need a lot of love and support while I find my way out. So please don’t back away — be present. Be respectful. Be accepting and supportive. Keep in mind the things to say. Ask how we are doing. Ask how you can help.

Next time you’re wondering what to do, consider sending a text or e-mail saying you’re thinking of me or asking how I am doing. Consider sending a card as a surprise in the mail. Or consider asking if I’d like to meet up or plan a phone date. There are many ways to be present even if we’re far away from each other.

And while you’re doing that, I’ll keep doing my best to get through this, to share about my experience, to support you all when I can, and to keep holding the light and the love.

Thank you all for your support.

For additional reading on support, please visit:

 

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Awareness, Resources

There Are No Quick Fixes for Infertility

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no_quick_fixesSo many times when someone we love is upset, we try to make them feel better. We don’t like it when someone is hurting or sad, and we try to fix it. So we might suggest ways for them to look on the bright side, or give them tips on what we have done in that situation to make things better. I think we all do this at times, myself included. And I think for the most part that this is ok. It seems natural to want to help and many times we are very capable of helping a loved one feel better about something or working with them to solve a problem.

However, there are some situations where there isn’t a way to fix the situation, where there isn’t a way to make someone feel better. Infertility and loss are two of these situations… there are no quick fixes that will heal my broken heart or resolve my infertility.

But even though Matt and I know that there are no quick fixes for infertility, it feels as though the rest of the (fertile) world doesn’t really realize this. The practice of “fixing” seems to be so ingrained in our culture that people with good intentions try to fix us even though they know so little about infertility. Many of the quick fixes we hear over and over are actually much more complicated than they seem on the surface. Suggestions, advice, and minimizations roll off tongues without a second thought as to their actual meanings or implications.

Our culture also doesn’t handle grief or other uncomfortable feelings well, so when a “fix” is suggested, I feel like the person is trying to get me to move on and *just* be happy again. It feels like they don’t understand my experience or think of my emotions as valid. But infertility and pregnancy losses are serious and painful, and it takes time to work through and heal from these situations.

Even though I know that most “quick fixes” come from a place of love (while others come from a place of discomfort…), they are problematic. They are unintentionally hurtful. And it would be easier to walk my path if I didn’t have to shield myself from quick fixes all the time, regardless of how well intentioned they were. So in this post I’m hoping to shed some light on some common quick fixes and suggest what might be a better thing to say instead.

“Just relax”

This quick fix is probably the most common one I’ve heard during infertility. It’s also one of the most frustrating ones because it’s so wrong — stress doesn’t cause infertility and relaxing doesn’t cause conception. Infertility and pregnancy loss are medical conditions and they cannot be cured by relaxation. If that were the case, all we would need is a day at the spa and a cup of tea instead of medications, surgeries, and other procedures… Trust me, I’d very much rather go to the spa instead of the doctor’s office, the lab, the pharmacy, and the surgery center, but the fact is that relaxing will not bring me a baby.

When I am told that I *just need to relax*, I like to point out that I *was* relaxed until I failed to get pregnant after months of trying; I was relaxed until my doctor confirmed there was a problem. That’s when I started feeling stressed about conceiving.

For my own mental health I do things to stay calm and relaxed, but *being relaxed* is not going to cure my infertility. We have medical problems that are preventing our conception and if we want to have good odds of conception we’re going to have to treat them. Some people who have experienced infertility do surprisingly conceive after years of trying, but it’s not because they relaxed; it’s because over time, the unlikely event of conception managed to take place.  

Additionally, being told that I *just need to relax* makes me feel like I have done something wrong. Believe me, I second guess my every move every month after I fail to conceive, and I won’t even get into how much guilt I feel over my ectopic pregnancy. But I know deep down that I have not caused my infertility and I did not cause my ectopic pregnancy. But when I’m told that I just need to relax, it incorrectly places the blame on me, and that’s not ok. This is not my fault.

Instead of saying, “Just relax”, I suggest asking how you can help. Assuming relaxation is the only thing I need isn’t ok — it’s better to ask to find out what I need. Sometimes I do need to relax for my own mental health, and sometimes that relaxation is better with a friend by my side; but other times I need to rant or cry, or go on a walk, etc. There are lots of things I need to do to care for myself and treat our medical problem during this time, but *just relaxing* isn’t going to fix this.

For more thoughts on the quick fix “just relax”, please visit this post.

“You can always do IVF”

This is another quick fix I’ve heard over and over, and although I know IVF gives many couples their best chance for success, IVF is not an option for everyone and it is so much more complicated and intense than most people realize — IVF is not a quick or easy fix. I also want to note that the people who have told me, “you can always do IVF” did not go through IVF treatment themselves; rather, they conceived easily and naturally; some even conceived accidentally.

Don’t get me wrong here — IVF is a wonderful opportunity for a chance at conception and pregnancy for some people, and Matt and I are currently preparing for IVF treatment. And I am thankful that we have this option. However, it has taken us a lot of time and consideration to get to the point of being ready for IVF. Coming to the conclusion that IVF should be our next step was a hard one. It was not a quick or easy decision for us to make and we’re still in the process of coming to terms with it.

What most people don’t realize about IVF is that it’s very intense. It’s extremely physically demanding and risky. It’s emotional. It’s expensive. And really I can’t even say too much about it because I have yet to experience it myself… but I do have the medication and appointment calendar in my hand, as well as the preparation check list, and financial estimate; and what I’ll say is this: IVF is intense. So for anyone to suggest that it’s an easy fix for infertility means that they really have no clue what IVF entails.

Additionally, IVF is not always such a miracle. It is not 100% successful — not everyone who undergoes IVF treatment will deliver a baby. And not everyone experiencing infertility is able to undergo IVF treatment — different medical conditions or financial restrictions can prohibit some people from undergoing IVF. IVF is not a quick fix for infertility.

Instead of saying, “You can always do IVF”, it might be better to ask what treatment options the doctor is offering at this point and what we might consider. I had people pushing me into IVF way before (months and months) the words crossed the lips of my doctor, and it was so upsetting to me. And when my doctor did suggest IVF it wasn’t, “You can always do IVF now that everything else has failed you.” No. It was nothing like that. Instead, he asked, “Would you be open to considering IVF as the next step?” His gentle approach was unassuming and respectful, and it would be nice if everyone could speak to us in a similar way.

Note: For those wanting to learn more about IVF, check out this clinical overview of IVF and this post on 10 things about IVF from someone who has experienced it.

“Just adopt”

This quick fix implies that adoption is an easy, painless, risk free process that will end and cure my infertility. It’s not. Adoption only cures childlessness, not infertility. That said, adoption can a wonderful family building option, but like any major decision during infertility, it is not easy or quick. Adoption takes time, it can be very expensive, and it is risky — it may not be physically risky, but it’s emotionally and financially risky. There are no guarantees with adoption, and I know several couples who had their hearts broken during the adoption process before a successful adoption went through.

“Just adopt” also has a partner that I’ve heard: “Just adopt and you’ll get pregnant.” This quick fix is a huge disservice to adoption and adopted children. It implies that adoption only serves as a way to achieve pregnancy, and this is terrible. Someone adopting a child is doing so in order to build their family, not in order to later achieve pregnancy. Sure, a small number of people do later conceive, but just like “relaxing”, adoption is not a cure.  

“Just adopt” also assumes that everyone experiencing infertility wants to, or should, adopt children; but not everyone wants to adopt — and that’s ok. Another frustrating thing about “just adopt” is that, like “you can always do IVF”, the people suggesting this to me have not adopted; they have biological children. And what I’d like to point out here, is that adoption isn’t an option only for infertile people — fertile people can adopt too.

I’d also like to note that when I’m told to “just adopt” I get frustrated because it’s not like this is a new idea or something — I’m well aware of adoption already. I have friends and family who are adopted, and who have adopted. Adoption can be wonderful. But it’s not a quick fix for infertility. So if you feel that adoption is something I should be considering, rest assured knowing that I already know it’s an option for family building and that Matt and I are carefully weighing all of our options at every step.

“At least…”

Pretty much anything that begins with “at least” is a quick fix for my sadness or disappointment that leaves me feeling like my pain has been ignored or minimized. I’ve heard all varieties of “at least…” but here are a few examples:

“At least you can sleep through the night without kids waking you up.”
“At least you can leave the house or leave town when you want.”
“At least you have a great marriage.”
“At least you can afford treatment.”
“At least you got pregnant.”

I’m not going to break these down one by one, because it’s not worth it. I know and understand that when someone tells me one of these things they are intending to help me find the silver lining. They are trying to bring me out of my sadness to be happy again. But it’s not that easy. I can’t *just* forget about what I’m going through. I need to sit with my emotions and work through them.

When I hear “at least…” I feel like my pain is being minimized. Like the person doesn’t think my pain is real, or like I’m overreacting. Sometimes it makes me doubt my own emotions, and other times it makes me feel like the person *just doesn’t understand me*. And I hate feeling like that, because I’m not a teenager; I’m an adult who’s experiencing heartbreak, and my emotions are valid and they are real, and it’s not okay for my experience to be minimized.

When I hear “at least…” it also makes me feel like the person thinks I’m ungrateful for the good things in my life. But I’m not — I’m very grateful for the good things happening in my life. I practice gratitude. I say thank you and I write thank you notes. But doing those things doesn’t cure my broken heart, and they don’t fix my infertility. They are good for my mental health and my perspective on life, but they aren’t a cure-all.

It’s okay to occasionally remind me that there’s light in my life, but there’s a difference between reminding me of happiness and hope, and minimizing my pain. Anything that begins with “at least” sets me up for feeling minimized, so I suggest avoiding that phrase entirely. A better way to remind me of the good things in my life could me to ask me about them and let me find the light… but if you do this, please also follow my lead — if I’m not receptive, let it go for the time being; sometimes I need be with my grief.

“Don’t worry, the sun will come out tomorrow.”

This and other such promises for the future are quick fixes that do not give me as much hope the speaker intended. Promises such as, “You’ll end up with kids, don’t worry” or, “This is going to work! I can feel it!” or, “Everything will work out” end up making me feel like my pain and fear are being minimized.

Infertility causes lots of fear about the future. No one knows what the future holds for me in regards to parenthood. The end result with infertility is completely out of our hands — no one can fix my situation. Not me. Not Matt. Not my loved ones. Not even my doctor. We are working with our medical team closely to select treatments that will give us our best chance for success, but there are no guarantees.

So when someone tells me that I’m going to be okay or that they *just* know it’s going to work out, it’s frustrating because no one can promise me that, and it dismisses my very real fear and pain about my situation. At the end of the day, *all* of our futures are unknown, so it’s not okay to pretend that we know how someone else’s story is going to turn out. It’s better to sit with someone in their moments of pain, and acknowledge that right now things aren’t okay.

Healing is a process that takes time

I know that many of these quick fixes are said with love and with the intention of making me feel better, giving me hope, or reassuring me… and while on the surface they may seem like they should do just that, they don’t. Quick fixes dismiss fears and minimize pain. Quick fixes sometimes assume things that may not be correct, they might pass judgement, or place blame. And overall, quick fixes for infertility do not exist — there is absolutely no quick fix out there for my infertility and loss. The birth of my own living child, or adoption may end up curing my childlessness, but the wounds caused by my infertility and loss will remain. Healing these wounds will take place over time, probably for the rest of my life. Healing will require acceptance, reflection, great love, understanding, and support. But it will not be quick or easy, and it would be wonderful if people would understand this and be willing to sit with me while I grieve and try to heal.

Note: Please also see my support post, which is closely related to this one.

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Coping, Reflections

Looking for Rainbows

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looking for rainbowsAt support group once we were talking about how we are not our infertility and how we can identify ourselves separate from our infertility…. And I understand that on a rational level, but I argued that it’s not how it feels. I may not *be* my infertility, but it *is* a part of me and one that I can’t get away from, although I wish I could. I explained that sometimes I think of infertility and loss like my own personal cloud… From day to day, the forecast might change, but it’s always there.

Sometimes my cloud is far away, puffy and light, and I can more easily focus on the good things in my life — the spots of sun and blue skies. Sometimes my cloud is looming over me, and sometimes it’s actively storming and I try not to drown in the torrential downpour of grief. Often I feel like it’s partly cloudy with a chance of scattered storms. But no matter how close or how big the cloud is, the pain of infertility and pregnancy loss is with me nearly all the time, following me around.

In the baby loss community, some people use the term “rainbow babies” for babies who are born after the loss of an infant or a pregnancy. The idea is that a rainbow baby brings hope and joy after the storm of grief experienced after the loss of a baby. I frequently see in descriptions of the phrase that the rainbow doesn’t negate the storm, and it doesn’t mean the parents are done dealing with the aftermath, but that the rainbow offers hope, energy, and color in the midst of the darkness.

I was not aware of the phrase “rainbow baby” until one of our support group meetings… and since I learned about it I became pregnant myself, and then had to say goodbye to our baby. So I’ve had some time to think about rainbow babies. I’ve had some unsuccessful treatment cycles since our loss too… Overall, I feel like our experience has allowed me to gain some perspective on the meaning and feelings associated with the phrase. Additionally, I’ve done a little research and reading on it, and talked about it with a few people close to me… and I have some thoughts I’d like to share.

My first thought is that I hate the idea that my lost baby caused a storm or was a storm. Our baby was, and still is, surrounded by love, and I do not like the idea that someone so loved, so missed, and so very innocent, would be blamed for the grief that followed her death. Comparing my lost pregnancy to a storm surrounds our baby with negative feelings, and that makes me sad. Because of this association with the negative, many people refuse to use the phrase “rainbow babies” — it essentially names the lost baby as the storm. Still Mothers, for example don’t use the term. And I understand why. I don’t like the negative connotations either.

But nonetheless, the loss of my pregnancy was filled with grief and pain, and describing the overwhelming emotions as a storm seems, to me, to be a pretty good metaphor, especially considering how even before our loss I felt like my infertility was a cloud following me around. What helps me to move past the negative feelings about the storm is knowing that our baby wasn’t the storm and didn’t cause the storm. What happened in my pregnancy wasn’t the baby’s fault — it just happened, and we will never know why. The storm wasn’t her presence, but it is grieving her absence. In fact, her presence in our lives was joyful, even though it was short lived. And knowing she was here still gives me hope for us. In a way, I think she was like a rainbow for us even though she didn’t survive, even though she wasn’t a traditional “rainbow baby”… after trying to conceive for two years, we finally managed to create a life — she was our miracle. The grief after our loss has been enormous, but the love we have for our lost one and the hope we have for our future is still there.

Once I start to move beyond the negative feelings about the storm and what it actually is — the grief — I can see great beauty and symbolism in the phrase “rainbow baby”.  The beauty of rainbows and the hope for joy and sunshine in the future resonates with me. And when I see and hear about other people’s rainbow babies (e.g., here  and here) it gives me hope for us. I so want to be able to bring home a healthy baby, and knowing that others have successfully brought home healthy babies after loss helps to keep me hopeful that it might happen for us too.

I also think the phrase is a special way to acknowledge and honor the previous life that was lost, while celebrating the new life. If I were ever pregnant with a new baby or were so lucky to bring home a healthy baby, mentioning that the baby is a rainbow baby would be a way for me to acknowledge that it was my second pregnancy. It would be a way for me to remember and honor my lost baby while also celebrating our new baby. I know it’s not the only way to honor and acknowledge the loss, but I think it’s a sweet way of doing it.

All of that said, another reaction I’ve had to the phrase “rainbow baby” is awareness that the phrase can be alienating and hurtful, because not everyone who has experienced baby or pregnancy loss will go on to have a rainbow baby — not everyone gets a rainbow. For various reasons, a couple may not have another opportunity to bring home a healthy baby of their own. So then, in a community that should be supportive and inclusive, talking about rainbow babies can hurt and alienate grieving parents. However, I also think that the fact that some loss parents go on to have healthy children and some don’t is still going to be divisive. I suspect that some pain will always be present whether or not the phrase “rainbow baby” is used. Therefore, I think that no matter what we call a baby after loss, we need to be mindful and sensitive of the fact that some people are not so lucky.

I also believe that to promote more widespread healing we can start to think about rainbows in more ways than one; I think that that the phrase “rainbow baby” has some room for improvement. The writer of the Still Standing post above said, “Let’s stop pretending the best way to heal is to feel the redemption of birthing a healthy baby and recognize that sometimes healing has to come solely from within.” And I think she’s onto something, but I want to expand on it — I do think healing has to come from within, but I also think that there are sources of encouragement, hope, and joy outside of ourselves that can aid in our healing. I think a new baby is one kind of rainbow that might bring loss parents color, energy, and hope, but it is not the only one. I still hope that one of my rainbows is going to be a baby, but if I wait for healing only in the bringing home of a healthy baby, I may never be healed. And that’s not ok. So I look for rainbows in other places in my life too, and I can say that some are already shining.

Since the loss of my pregnancy I have become closer to a new friend and I consider her to be a beautiful rainbow in my life. She has given me so much support, joy, and love. The loss of my pregnancy was horrible, and in the midst of the darkness and rain, this friend has been a beautiful energy shining in my sky. I am so thankful for her.

2016_10_25_bearainbow

After our loss this summer Matt and I had the opportunity to take a small vacation during my recovery. We used frequent flier miles and spent four days in a destination we’ve always wanted to visit. This trip was so lovely and so rejuvenating for us — it was like being somewhere over the rainbow. We were together and happy and felt carefree. Our rainbow trip reminded us that we can still find joy with just each other.

This blog has turned into a rainbow for me too. It’s become a beautiful way for me to connect with people in ways I never expected… infertility aside, some of my loved ones experiencing different kinds of emotional storms have told me that my words here have comforted them or given them new ideas for coping and healing. And, for me, hope for happiness and healing in all of our futures is a very beautiful rainbow.

I have also realized that not all of my rainbows are new. Love and encouragement from long standing rainbows in my life help me to continue finding joy and holding hope — even if they have to hold it for me at times.

The storm of infertility and loss is a nasty one. It has ravaged my life and shook me to the core. As I said in my post about strength, I know that I am not the same person I was before. I have had to focus my strengths into areas that help me to withstand the downpours and the rough winds of the storm. I have to sit with my grief and let the storm rage. There’s nowhere I can hide or run to when the clouds roll in and the storm begins, so my coping techniques act as umbrellas, and I try hard to use them appropriately to protect myself. Humor acts as rain boots so that I can try to splash the rainwater collecting at my feet. My rainbows shine as bright as they can trying to bring me hope and joy, support and healing. Sometimes I find that my rainbows sit with me in the darkness while the storm rages; they glimmer in my sky during my moments of greatest despair. But sometimes I just can’t see them for all of the darkness. So when the storm is finished, I look for rainbows.

Contrary to the belief repeated on rainbow baby onesies or announcements, there isn’t *always* a rainbow after the storm… But sometimes I’ll find one. Sometimes I’ll even find more than one. Whenever and however a rainbow appears, it is beautiful and helps to bring me happiness, hope, and healing. The rainbows that shine in my life help to open up space in the clouds for spots of sun. Despite the fact that I haven’t yet brought home a healthy baby, I have seen a number of rainbows. They are out there in different forms. I just have to remember to look for them.

2016_10_25_lookforrainbows

For more perspectives on rainbows, please visit:

http://www.scarymommy.com/grieving-without-hope-rainbow-baby/

http://adrielbooker.com/rainbow-baby/

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Awareness

October: The Awareness Month

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october

Most people in the US probably know that that October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. We’ve all seen the hot pink yogurt lids, hot pink jerseys on athletes, and the messes of hot pink ribbons, lanyards, shirts, and buttons in the grocery store. The hot pink items for breast cancer are hard to miss because they have been embraced in so many places, and by so many products and companies… They are everywhere, especially during October.  

But did you know that in addition to breast cancer, October is “the month” for 24 other issues? For some reason October is the most commemorative, most awareness raising month of the year. Check out wikipedia’s list of commemorative months for the whole list throughout the year. You’ll see that August doesn’t commemorate or bring awareness to any issue, and July is only “National Ice Cream Month”, but October has a whole list, including some very serious problems. Weird, right? Anyway, I have no idea why October is so popular. But what I do want to talk about is two of the issues in October that are close to my heart and don’t get very much attention, but should: domestic violence, and infant and pregnancy loss.

Domestic Violence

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. Unlike breast cancer, which I consider to be a “popular” issue, DV is hushed up. No one likes to talk about DV. It’s seen as a problem in the home, in the family; but it’s not — DV is a widespread, societal problem. But if we work hard in our communities, it could be stopped. So in an effort to raise some awareness, I’ll share a bit of information about DV.

Domestic violence is a pattern of behaviors in which one person attempts to gain or maintain power and/or control over their intimate partner. Domestic violence is not always physical abuse; it can also be verbal, emotional, sexual, financial, and spiritual, and it includes stalking.

image source: https://i0.wp.com/www.whitehouse.senate.gov/imo/media/image/VAWA_no_title_640_by_400.png?resize=640%2C400&ssl=1
image source: https://www.whitehouse.senate.gov/imo/media/image/VAWA_no_title_640_by_400.png

Domestic violence is extremely common and has lasting effects:

There are ways you can find help and ways you give help:

Infant and Pregnancy Loss

October is also Infant and Pregnancy Loss Awareness Month, and October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. I didn’t know about this until I entered the world of infertility and I started to see it mentioned in posts and on pins on pinterest… and then I experienced my own loss, which made the month personal for us. I see October as an extra opportunity to remember and honor our lost baby. It gives us an opportunity to connect and share with others, to stand together and remember.

image source: http://luminouslightstudio.com/2015/10/october-is-pregnancy-infant-loss-awareness-month/
image source: http://luminouslightstudio.com/2015/10/october-is-pregnancy-infant-loss-awareness-month/

Living children are celebrated everywhere, and certainly on every holiday throughout the year… but lost babies are widely forgotten or ignored, in part, I believe because they make other people uncomfortable. I see October as a way to bring awareness to this problem and to remember lost children. Having an awareness month for infant and pregnancy loss is also validating — it says to me that even though no one wants to talk about it, my loss is real. It also says to me that my experience is not in isolation, even though it feels like it. There are so many grieving parents out there — 1 in 4 women will experience pregnancy loss — and so many are suffering silently and alone. But we can change this as a society. We can remember with each other. We can support parents who are missing their children. We can be more sensitive and compassionate.

If you’re wondering how you can help…

Here are some posts on honoring babies who have been lost:

And here are tips on supporting someone after infant or pregnancy loss. Please keep in mind that support isn’t only important immediately after a loss — healing from the loss of a baby can be a lifelong journey.

For more infant and pregnancy loss awareness images, please visit Luminious Light Studio.

Awareness Matters

Being aware of issues like domestic violence, infant and pregnancy loss, and the many other issues highlighted in October is important because when we know about something that needs to change, we can stand together and make a difference. Even though individually we may feel powerless, together we are strong. Together we can talk about these tough issues. We can learn about difficulties facing our world and do what we can to spread our love and support. We can work to end domestic violence and support its survivors. We can remember the babies who were gone too soon, and comfort and support their grieving parents. We can be more sensitive and inclusive of people facing difficulties or heartache. We can speak up about important issues and get involved with movements that matter.

October is ending soon and it might feel like I’m a bit late to the game for this month of awareness… but really, at the end of the day month, October awareness is just the beginning anyway. There is so much to learn about problems facing our communities and our world, and so many ways we can share love and support, and get involved. Humans are capable of societal change and very great love and compassion… when we want to be. So let’s not waste that potential. Instead, let’s work together to make our world a better place.

2016_10_25_bethechange

 

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Reflections

Our Never-ending Chapter

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never-ending_chapterIf I think of life like a story, I feel like Matt and I have been stuck in the same chapter of trying to grow our family for too long. Months. Years. We read the same sections, pages, and sentences over and over, unable to move forward in our story. Unable to turn the page and start the next chapter. We might inch forward with a new treatment, only then to remain stuck there while we give it “enough” tries. And when it ultimately fails, it feels like we’ve been sent back to the beginning of the section to start over with a new plan… Scratch out that paragraph and try this one instead. Let’s see if it goes somewhere else… We’ve tried so hard to turn the page and continue forward in our story, and it stubbornly remains unwilling to turn over, refusing to budge at all.

The one time we did move forward into the “pregnant” chapter, it was so short and had a tragic ending. Then we found ourselves in what’s probably going to be a lifelong “recovery and healing” chapter, and at the same time back in the familiar old “trying to conceive” chapter. I hated that chapter before, and I hate it now. It’s exhausting and miserable.

While we remain stuck in our “trying to conceive” chapter, most of the couples we know are swiftly moving right through theirs and into their early chapters of parenthood. We know couples who started trying to conceive way after us who already have their babies at home with them. We even know couples who have gotten married, conceived, and given birth to their child in the time we have been trying to build our family. We know couples who have given birth to more than one child (in singles, not multiples) in the time we have been trying. People tell me it’s not a race, and I know that… but when I’m getting lapped on the path to parenthood, I can’t help but to feel like a major loser who’s going nowhere.

We stand still, with our story stuck while the rest of the world moves forward in their stories around us. Sometimes it’s almost easy in our quiet home to forget how much time has passed, but when I see the changes in my loved ones’ families I am reminded that time is moving, children and families are growing, and Matt and I are stuck and alone.

I am trying not to let my infertility keep me stuck here forever. I’ve tried to move forward in other areas of my life — grow my business, explore areas of my creativity, volunteer, travel when we can… I’ve tried to explore some new chapters unrelated to parenthood. But it’s hard to get excited about moving forward anywhere else when the thing that’s most important to me hasn’t been attained yet. These things feel like side stories that give depth to the novel of our lives, but they are not advancing the main plot that I’m most interested in. Additionally it’s hard to even put focus on other things in my life because treating infertility is so physically, emotionally, and financially demanding. I’m stuck in treatment cycles and my schedule is dictated by appointments, medications, and managing side effects. Infertility takes over, despite my best efforts to contain it, and it limits my ability to participate in the other storylines in my life.

The story I most want to experience is being a mom. I’ve wanted to be a mom my whole life. Ask my kindergarten teacher — I went to school that year as a mom with my baby (doll) on “what do you want to be when you grow up day?” My whole life I have assumed I would be able to make that one dream come true. “You can be anything you want,” the world tells us. Unfortunately, that’s just not true for everyone. Conception is something that, for most of the population, requires no education, no money, no doctors, and nothing but getting busy with a partner; but for us, it has turned into an agonizing, multi-year, financial, physical, and emotional stressor filled with doctors and nurses, and way too many needles, exam tables, and tears.. And so far, it has left us empty and heartbroken.

I’m not usually one to skip to the end of the story and read the last page, but this is one story in which I’d love to get a glimpse of the ending. I’d love to know if it’s worth it to keep trying… Will we end up with children? Or are we just wasting time, money, and energy, and delaying the inevitable — having to accept our empty arms, empty home, and broken hearts?

Infertility has made me realize that my story might have a very different ending from what I expected… This part of our story has certainly not met expectations. I’d rate this chapter with zero out of five stars. It has sucked. And I have no idea where our story is going. But I do know that I don’t want to envision a different ending. I want the one I thought I’d have when I was five. I want to get into the chapter of being a mom with living children. I want my last chapter to be growing old with Matt and with our own family. I don’t want an alternate ending. That said, I know that the world isn’t fair and that we can’t always get what we want… I’m going to have to accept where my story goes whether I like it or not. I’m trying *so hard* to keep myself open to adjustments in my expectations, open to alternate endings, but that’s so much easier said than done. I’ve built up my expectations and dreams for my future since I was a very small child, and it has proven extremely difficult to envision something different.

We’re doing everything we can to guide our story in the direction we want, but this chapter we’re stuck in is horrible. I know that the only way out is through, so we keep on trying to move forward. Every month we read the revised paragraphs and then try to turn the page and start the next chapter. I know it will turn at some point, but I have know idea when and I don’t know what the next chapter will hold for us. All I really know is that this part of our story is miserable, and I’m so tired of being stuck here in this never-ending chapter of disappointment after disappointment. I hope we reach the end of this part soon. We are *so ready* to move forward.

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Reflections

Strength

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strengthWe’ve probably all been told at some point, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” And we’ve seen the motivational posters. We’ve maybe even said it to someone else or told it to ourselves. It seems like such a nice encouragement, and I’ve heard variations of it a number of times during my infertility journey. But when I hear it I hesitate.

This journey is making me stronger? Please. When I’m told this I roll my eyes, or more often I try *not* to roll my eyes — I know it’s not considered nice — but, to be honest, I have never had a good poker face and I’m sure that even as I bite my tongue and try to control my eyeballs, the well-intentioned person trying to encourage me can see the unpleasant emotions filling me up. Because honestly, this is how I feel about it: if I wanted to be stronger, I would go to the gym more often.

I know that no one says this kind of thing intending it to be physical strength. I am aware that they are referring to strength of character. But I really don’t think infertility has had much of a positive impact in my life — infertility certainly doesn’t make me feel strong. In fact, I think the saying, “what doesn’t kill you makes you broken” is far more accurate for describing infertility.

Having my heart broken by infertility has made me feel weak and powerless. Crying on the way home from bad news at the doctor’s office doesn’t feel strong. Feeling hopeless and sad when my period starts and my blood test confirms no pregnancy doesn’t feel strong. Sitting with my grief is important, but it does not feel strong. Facing the fear of not knowing whether or not I will have children is certainly powerful, but not in a victorious, strength-filled kind of way. And honestly, I don’t really like the idea of only proceeding with half hope — it’s not fair and it feels weak. I’d like to push forward with full hope and forget all of this agony crap. But we all know I can’t do that. I’ve learned the hard way to be cautious and careful. The infertility roller coaster is a rough ride.

But I don’t really like the idea that infertility is making me broken… and I’m trying hard not to think of it like that, even though it’s how it feels. So I try my best to put the broken pieces of myself back together. I hold them together with love and hope. And I try to think of other ways to think about the experiences I’ve had on this journey. I have a quote saved on pinterest that says, “You are not broken. You are breaking through.” I really hope that’s the case.

image source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/208643395216284517/
image source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/208643395216284517/

So as I go around trying my best to stay in one piece, and then I’m told that infertility must be making me stronger, I really wonder if and where that strength is accumulating. Because infertility doesn’t feel strong. So where *is* all of that strength going?

Perhaps the strength is building up my stubbornness. Because I really want to be a mom. Like really, really. Ugh. Don’t you get it, infertility?? <she says as she crosses her arms and stomps her foot> But really. I’m stubbornly pursuing treatment despite our failures, asking questions to stay informed, and hoping for the best even though the past has repeatedly let me down.

I also think that infertility has strengthened a little defiant streak in me, particularly in regards to my body. Infertility has made me feel so out of control of my body, so in attempts to take a stand and own myself again I’ve made a couple small changes. A few months ago I added purple highlights to my hair. I pierced my nose last summer. And I like the changes. They suit me, at least right now (I sometimes have to remind my mom that these changes aren’t permanent!), and these little changes have been a tiny, somewhat defiant, way for me to take control and make a statement about owning my body.

Or perhaps the strength is increasing my patience? I have certainly been waiting for a long time for our child, and although I have bad days, I think I have yet to throw any grand tantrum. But… then I do find myself stuck in traffic feeling frustrated with the badly timed lights and poor traffic flow in our city… so it must not be that. Infertility has given me a lot of practice in patience, yes, but apparently it’s not helping me in daily life… darn. It’d be great if I could claim patience among my virtues.

Maybe after all this, all I’m building is insanity. After all, we keep trying again and again and expecting different results — isn’t that a silly definition of insanity on t-shirts or something? Yikes. To be honest, sometimes I do feel like I’m losing it… but I like to blame that on my medications and hormones. Let’s really hope insanity is not gaining strength.

So if not patience or insanity, perhaps infertility is strengthening my courage. In the face of all of our failures, we do keep trying and hoping for the best. Infertility keeps throwing me around, and I keep picking myself up and carrying on, trying not to let it get the best of me. I may not always feel very strong while I pick myself up and brush the dust off, but with Matt’s help, and love and encouragement from our family and friends, I’ve managed to have enough courage to continue on.

image source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/208643395215303793/

When I asked Matt where he thought my strength was going, he told me that maybe this journey is making me more resilient; that I’m handling the lows better than I used to. Hmm. Practice makes perfect? Ha. I’m not sure this is the case. I told him maybe infertility has just made me more jaded. Usually I’m not even surprised anymore when I’m not pregnant. Don’t get me wrong — I’m still sad and disappointed, but not altogether surprised. Sad, right? But why should I expect different results?

But if I think about resiliency more carefully, he might be onto something. He’s a pretty smart guy. Maybe infertility *has* made me more resilient, and maybe this is what people really mean when they say this journey is making me stronger. I have practiced a lot of coping mechanisms that have helped me to try to stay in one piece, so that I can bend with the harsh conditions of the roller coaster instead of snap. I really don’t think I am able to just bounce back; after all I’ve learned that sitting with my grief is really important…but I do think I’ve learned a lot about myself, Matt, and our relationship during this time, and I suppose that the things I’ve learned have brought us closer together and better equipped to face this tough world we live in.

But I think that maybe most of my strength is going into my ability to hold on to the threads of hope we still have. Half of the threads we’ve got left on our rope are agony — they’re filled with pain and loss and disappointment, and we’re trying to let those ones go. We’re still hoping for children.  We’re hoping for our future to be happy and full of love. We’re hanging on to our threads of hope with all the strength we’ve got, and we’re trying to let the other ones blow in the wind, hoping that they’ll loosen and fall out of sight.

So is this journey making me stronger? Maybe. Or maybe it’s just making me flex my muscles in different ways than I used to, focusing my strengths into different areas. Either way, I think this journey is shaping me into a different person… One who is trying to be hopeful in the face of disappointment. One who is practicing patience. One who is attempting to hold the pieces of herself together, and break through this difficult time. And all of that requires strength, whether it’s newly gained strength or not.

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Humor

Sunday Funnies: Memes

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image source: www.pinterest.com
image source: www.pinterest.com

 

image source: http://indulgy.com/post/ZjBLOV7oT2/how-do-you-like-your-eggs-fertilized-he-h
image source: http://indulgy.com/post/ZjBLOV7oT2/how-do-you-like-your-eggs-fertilized-he-h

 

image source: www.pinterest.com
image source: www.pinterest.com

 

image source: pinterest.com
image source: pinterest.com
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