A couple of things have happened in the last week that have brought up *all* of the old infertility feelings.
The ones that have been there, but have been bearable.
The ones that will never really go away, but that weren’t seriously affecting my daily activities.
And now… they’re back. In all of their full glory.
Along with missing the foster girls we had.
I know it won’t be this bad forever, but it’s bad right now.
Infertility seriously sucks.
My cycles have always been regular. At least, as long as I’m not on birth control, but that’s another story. The whole time we were trying to get pregnant, my cycles were 24 days. Every once in a while I might make it to 25, but not often. After we gave up trying, I went back on birth control for a little while, but decided to stop because I didn’t like the unpredictability of not knowing when my period was going to come. Since I stopped taking the birth control – a little less than a year ago – my cycles have been getting longer and longer. I just finished a 31 day cycle – completely unheard of for me.
And I hate it. I hate that I get to the point where I’m actually contemplating buying a pregnancy test, “just to make sure” I’m not pregnant. I hate getting sucked into all of the emotions that go along with that. And I hate that I have no idea what’s going on with my body.
I can’t figure out why my cycles are all of a sudden so irregular. I’m not experiencing any large amount of stress, and it has been almost a year since I stopped taking birth control. I can’t figure out any other reason for the change. My fear is that I’m heading toward premature ovarian failure, or something. My FSH *was* 14.4 two three years ago. What if….? But I know that I’m not likely experiencing premature ovarian failure either.
Does anyone have any wisdom or advice?
March marks five years of trying to have a baby. I never thought we would make it to this point. I’m sure *no one* ever thinks they’ll make it to this point. No one starts out trying to get pregnant thinking, “I’m sure this will take at least five years….”
But here we are. Five years. My husband and I haven’t even been married for six and a half years yet, and five years of that time has been spent trying to have a baby.
Uselessly trying to have a baby.
That also means it has been more than two years since we gave up trying to get pregnant, and more than two years since we moved on to adoption.
And here we are. Still waiting.
I could have a four year old by now.
But thinking about that doesn’t help any.
Five years.
(Stolen and modified from a friend’s Face.book page; originally about the loss of a loved one.)
1. I wish I wasn’t infertile. I wish I had a baby.
2. If I cry and get emotional when you talk about the loss of my dream of having a baby, I wish you knew that it isn’t because you have hurt me. My infertility is the cause of my tears. You have acknowledged my loss and you allowed me to share my grief. I thank you for both.
3. Being an “infertile” is not contagious, so I wish you wouldn’t shy away from me. I need you now more then ever!
4. I need diversions, so I DO want to hear about you, but I also want you to hear about me. I might be sad and I might cry, but I wish you would let me talk about my desire to have a baby, the overwhelming topic of my daily life.
5. Just because I don’t want to hear about your baby doesn’t mean I’m not happy for you, it just means that it hurts too much right now.
6. I know that you think of me and pray for me often; I also know that seeing my pain hurts you too. I wish you would let me know these things through a phone call, text, card, a note or a real big hug.
7. I wish you wouldn’t expect my grief to be over in two, four or six years. I wish you could understand that my grief will never be over. I will suffer the loss of my dream until the day I die.
8. I am working very hard, so very hard, on my recovery but I wish you could understand that I will never fully recover. I will always miss what could have been, and I will always grieve that it never was.
9. I wish you wouldn’t expect me to “not think about it” or “be happy”. Neither will happen for a long time, so don’t frustrate yourself.
10. I wish you understood how my life has shattered. I know it is miserable for you to be around me when I’m feeling miserable. Please be patient with me as I am with you.
11. When I say “I’m doing okay,” I wish you could understand that I don’t “feel” okay and that I struggle daily.
12. I wish you knew that all of the grief reactions I’m having are very normal. Depression, anger, hopelessness, fatigue and overwhelming sadness are all to be expected. So, please excuse me when I’m quiet and withdrawn or irritable or cranky.
13. I wish you understood that grief changes people. When I lost my dream, a big part of me died with it. I am not the same person I was before infertility and I will never be that person again.
14. I wish very much that you could understand………understand my loss and my grief, my silence and my tears, my void and my pain. But, I pray daily that you will never understand.
I just registered my husband and myself for the foster care class we need to take. Yay! Another (baby) step forward. The class starts in the beginning of February. Other than that, there hasn’t been too much going on, besides working on the 78-question autobiography questionnaire. 78 questions is a lot of questions!
Earlier this week a pregnant woman I know through work found out the sex of her baby. I was there for the announcement. One of those things I’m never going to experience myself. And I’ve had a couple of situations when I’ve had to be sympathetic toward pregnant women who have missed appointments because of pregnancy-related things. I keep saying, “Don’t worry about it, I understand.” And I keep thinking, “I don’t *really* understand, I only wish I did.” I guess I’ve just been feeling a little sad this week. I know it’s to be expected, but that doesn’t really make it any easier.
So… I found out today that my husband didn’t get yet
another job that he interviewed for. *sigh* I really wish something
would work out for him! He needs it for his self-esteem, and we
need it to be able to pay rent and mortgage every month. Have I
mentioned that I hate money? We have a million and one questions to
answer for our fost-adopt application autobiography, and I have to
sign us up for the foster care class. But I still don’t want to
take any kids until my husband has a job. Please, God? I want to be
the primary caregiver, even if I’m working; I don’t want my husband
to have to do it. We just made it through the fifth Christmas that
we could have had a child. I never thought we would have to wait
this long. Why? I’m just so tired of all of this. I just want a
baby.
Our first home appointment with the foster/adoption agency is two weeks from today. I can’t believe we’re getting ready to start this whole process all over again. It will be way more intensive this time because a) we’re going through an agency instead of just through the county, and b) last time we were just licensed for foster care and this time it will include the adoption homestudy too.
It feels good to be moving forward, but it’s a little scary too. Once we make it through this process it will be back to the daily hope and disappointment. Checking my phone every three minutes to see if we’ve gotten a call. Having NO idea when that call will come, or what it will bring.
The two placements we had before (each for about three months) were so different. The first one – two sisters, ages two and five – was my first real chance at being a mom. Those girls had so much energy and could be so draining, but I loved every minute of it. Well, *almost* every minute. All of the hugs and smiles, silliness and laughter, and even the tantrums and tears. I loved being a mom. We knew when we accepted the placement that we were only a stepping stone between two placements – a previous foster placement that didn’t work out, and a permanent placement with extended family – but that didn’t make it any easier to let them go.
Our second placement was a six year old girl. We did respite for her about a month before she was placed with us, and at that time it looked like it might be heading toward being a potential adoptive placement. Her mom pulled it together though, and by the time she was actually placed with us things were leaning heavily toward reunification. She was much quieter than the other two, but once she felt comfortable enough somewhere to laugh, she had the greatest giggle. It makes me smile to think about it. She is back with her mom now, and they’re doing great. But of course I still miss her.
It’s going to be so nice to get back into all of this!
I mailed in our foster/adoption application last week. My husband is still looking for work, but I was feeling impatient. So I mailed it in anyway. I figure the process takes a while anyway, right? I haven’t heard anything back yet, but hopefully I will soon. I can’t believe we’re getting ready to go through this all over again.
I hate answering questions like this. First of all, it’s hard to put this kind of stuff into words. And second of all, I hate feeling like I’m trying to sell myself. I get really uncomfortable when I have to talk about my strengths and things I’m good at.
Fost-Adopt Application Question #2: What do you have to offer a child in your home and life?
Answer (so far – I probably won’t include all of this in the application):
I believe I have the ability to offer nurturing and unconditional love to any child who comes into our home and life, even in the midst of the uncertainty that comes with foster care. Having had three children placed with us in the past year, I know I can give my heart to these kids. One of the things I learned through the grieving of infertility is that I am capable of making it through the pain. Even though I know my heart will be broken if a child who is placed with us leaves our care, I am not afraid of going through the heartache – I know it will not be easy, but I also know I’ll make it through. Having that knowledge means I can offer love to a child without any hesitation.
This is harder than I thought it would be. Part of my problem is that I think too much, and I’m a bit of a perfectionist. I don’t want to just give a generic answer though.
What I/we have to offer a child (in non-answer format): love, nurturing, compassion, empathy, stability, bedtime stories, singing songs, silliness and play, lots of hugs and kisses, the ability to (most of the time) look past the child’s behavior and see the reasons behind it, a good relationship between my husband and I, an understanding of some of the issues foster children face, a willingness to give my heart even though I know the child might leave…
Maybe I should answer more like that, instead of like my first try. Any thoughts?
Still no news on the job front for my husband. But I’ve been looking through the foster-adoption application form and I’m starting to think about answers to certain questions. I thought here would be as good a place as any to try to figure out what I want to say. So…
Question #1: Why do you wish to adopt or be a foster parent at this time?
Answer (so far):
My husband and I wish to adopt as a way to increase our family. We have been unable to have children by birth. After almost three years of trying to get pregnant, we decided in December, 2008, to pursue adoption instead. It was a very hard decision to make, but it felt like the right choice for us.
We have chosen to adopt from foster care because both of us have experience working with children in foster care. We have an understanding of the need for loving and supportive foster homes, as well as of some of the difficulties both foster children and foster parents face. We believe we have the capability to provide that love and support to any child who comes into our home. Both my husband and I have a strong desire to offer nurturing and compassion to these children in need.
It seems like kind of a cheesy answer – but maybe they want cheese? It’s hard to put the strong desire I have in my heart to help these kids into words. I gave my heart to each of the three girls who were placed with us, and I loved every minute of it. I’m okay with knowing my heart could be broken in an instant – I know I can make it through the pain.
Anyone have any suggestions of things to include, or change, or exclude all together?
Back into the fire 