In my research about different options, I came across some articles and websites on donor embryo and embryo adoption. Instead of adopting an infant or a child, some may choose to adopt an embryo. Unlike adoption, an infertile woman has the opportunity to experience pregnancy and carry the baby to birth. There are benefits to this because the parents medical history is known, you have nine months to bond with the child, it is a lot cheaper than donor egg (around 30k) or adoption ($18-30+k). If the embryo is donated, the whole process will cost about $6,000. On the other hand, the embryo adoption route is a little more expensive as there is the agency fee, the legal processing and home study fees, in addition to the treatment itself. The total can be between $11-$18k. (I guess no matter which alternative route we choose to take, it will be expensive! I need to accept this fact and get over it...) The biggest risk with this alternative option is the potential for failure. With one embryo transfer there is 20-25% success rate.
While exploring, I realized that there are more white embryos that are available through embryo donor&adoption... I have yet to see any postings about Asian-Caucasian mix and I saw one Asian embryo up for adoption. It made me think about what the implication might be if we chose this route.... Can you imagine the surprise on everyone's face if the medical staff saw me popping out a white baby? Maybe I will be on the news as the first Asian woman to bear a white child! hahaha :) We had a good laugh over it, although it is a serious question to consider too. The best scenario would be to find a few Asian-Caucasian embryos. I guess being an inter-racial couple makes this whole thing a little bit more complicated.
This route feels attractive because it beats all the hassle of paperwork and legal processing that goes with international adoption! But, again, who knows whether I will get pregnant! If anyone knows anything more about adoption, embryo donor or embryo adoption, feel free to share them with me.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Processing Options
Yesterday, I started thinking about adoption. We’re nowhere close to making any decisions, but I have started to think about other options. We thought about the options of staying childless, egg donors and adoption. We can see ourselves content both with and without children. The question is which do we desire more? We have no clear answers yet, but I think I am leaning toward a life with children today. (But who knows, maybe it will change tomorrow. :)
Today I feel like I am not interested in donor eggs. For us, this path feels less attractive because of the lack of guarantee that it will work along with considerable expense and logistical difficulties. I’ve been asking how important is that I carry the child or that he or she carries half of our genetic make up? I would love to be pregnant and the potential for not having that experience definitely feels like a loss. I think being pregnant is absolutely amazing, and I find the big round belly beautiful! (On the other hand, I guess don’t mind keeping my pre-pregnancy figure. ;) I would love for our child to carry Paul’s genetic make-up, but the imprint we make on our children goes way beyond our genes. If we adopt children, they will be fully ours whether they carry our genes or not.
I had two other thoughts somewhat related to adoption:
1) Why does having a baby have to be so darn expensive for some of us? We just spent about $11k on two IVFs. Adoption (most likely international for us) will be anywhere between $18k-$30k. Here in this developing country you could pay a lot of people’s salary for a year. I am grateful in one hand that we have the resources to try IVF and consider adoption. However another part of me feels the cost. I know that you can’t put a price on a child’s life, but sometimes I do gasp at the price. I guess it doesn’t feel fair that we have to spend so much money. Why, when the children so desperately need good parents, do they make it so hard for the parents to adopt!
2) If we adopt, where do we adopt from? I think the fact that we are an inter-racial couple living in another country makes where the kid comes from more important to me. I have also heard that the legal process is pretty crazy. What would it be like trying to do it from here? I also wonder whether we will qualify for many agencies. Our current salary is below the minimum requirement. Some agencies even require that we own a house! Over a year ago, we would have qualified with no problems, but now I’m not so sure.
As you can see, I’ve just started pondering and asking questions. I feel like we have a long way to go as we think and pray about what to do next.
Today I feel like I am not interested in donor eggs. For us, this path feels less attractive because of the lack of guarantee that it will work along with considerable expense and logistical difficulties. I’ve been asking how important is that I carry the child or that he or she carries half of our genetic make up? I would love to be pregnant and the potential for not having that experience definitely feels like a loss. I think being pregnant is absolutely amazing, and I find the big round belly beautiful! (On the other hand, I guess don’t mind keeping my pre-pregnancy figure. ;) I would love for our child to carry Paul’s genetic make-up, but the imprint we make on our children goes way beyond our genes. If we adopt children, they will be fully ours whether they carry our genes or not.
I had two other thoughts somewhat related to adoption:
1) Why does having a baby have to be so darn expensive for some of us? We just spent about $11k on two IVFs. Adoption (most likely international for us) will be anywhere between $18k-$30k. Here in this developing country you could pay a lot of people’s salary for a year. I am grateful in one hand that we have the resources to try IVF and consider adoption. However another part of me feels the cost. I know that you can’t put a price on a child’s life, but sometimes I do gasp at the price. I guess it doesn’t feel fair that we have to spend so much money. Why, when the children so desperately need good parents, do they make it so hard for the parents to adopt!
2) If we adopt, where do we adopt from? I think the fact that we are an inter-racial couple living in another country makes where the kid comes from more important to me. I have also heard that the legal process is pretty crazy. What would it be like trying to do it from here? I also wonder whether we will qualify for many agencies. Our current salary is below the minimum requirement. Some agencies even require that we own a house! Over a year ago, we would have qualified with no problems, but now I’m not so sure.
As you can see, I’ve just started pondering and asking questions. I feel like we have a long way to go as we think and pray about what to do next.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Walking on Eggshells
A few days ago we were invited for dinner at a friend’s house. She knew about our most recent failed IVF cycle. She also understood that being so far away from home, it could feel a little lonely in midst of going through something like this, so she treated us to a nice home-cooked American meal at her place. It was great.
The next day, we had some work stuff to talk about so she called me. After a few minutes, she apologized and said, “I’m sorry for not asking how you were doing. I just wasn’t sure if you’d wanted to talk about it or not. But, if you ever want to, I’m right here for you.” I appreciated her thoughtfulness. I know she deeply cares.
After this interaction, it made me think again about some of the ways that friends of infertile couples might feel. I think it has the potential to feel like they’re walking on eggshells. “Do I tell my infertile friends that I’m pregnant?” “Is it okay for me to bring the topic up?” “Can I ask what they’re thinking about doing next?” I’m sure there are a lot more questions that come up. It’s tricky because each infertile person is different in how he/she deals with it. What may be really sensitive for one may not be as sensitive for another. And then, even as a couple, how the husband and the wife may feel could be so different. “What do I say or what should I do to let my friends know I care?” I know that most people really want to be helpful, but often find it difficult to know exactly what to say or do.
The best thing to do is to be sincere. However, having said this, I also think there are some helpful things that friends of infertile couples can be aware of. I made a list of my Top 5 most common unhelpful things people say. The list comes from personal experience but also from what other infertile couples have shared. If you have ever said one or more of the comments, please don’t lose sleep over it. :) I like to think that there is much love and grace available in friendships and we're bound to step on each others' toes sometimes as we seek to care. So, here they are (not in any particular order):
1. Don’t stress out. Just relax and it will happen.
2. Anything can happen. Don’t worry. Remember Hannah from the Bible.
3. Have you thought about adopting? I heard that some people just completely give up and decide they are going to adopt, and then they find out that they’re pregnant.
4. Just enjoy the freedom because it won’t be there soon.
5. Have you tried X and Y? My friend said she tried X and it worked.
So, if it is worth anything, here is my advice to friends of infertile couples: Listen, be slower in giving advice, and don't try to fix it or come up with a solution.
Infertility is a sensitive subject, and I have appreciated those who have tried to comfort and encourage me, despite the difficulty of knowing what to do sometimes.
The next day, we had some work stuff to talk about so she called me. After a few minutes, she apologized and said, “I’m sorry for not asking how you were doing. I just wasn’t sure if you’d wanted to talk about it or not. But, if you ever want to, I’m right here for you.” I appreciated her thoughtfulness. I know she deeply cares.
After this interaction, it made me think again about some of the ways that friends of infertile couples might feel. I think it has the potential to feel like they’re walking on eggshells. “Do I tell my infertile friends that I’m pregnant?” “Is it okay for me to bring the topic up?” “Can I ask what they’re thinking about doing next?” I’m sure there are a lot more questions that come up. It’s tricky because each infertile person is different in how he/she deals with it. What may be really sensitive for one may not be as sensitive for another. And then, even as a couple, how the husband and the wife may feel could be so different. “What do I say or what should I do to let my friends know I care?” I know that most people really want to be helpful, but often find it difficult to know exactly what to say or do.
The best thing to do is to be sincere. However, having said this, I also think there are some helpful things that friends of infertile couples can be aware of. I made a list of my Top 5 most common unhelpful things people say. The list comes from personal experience but also from what other infertile couples have shared. If you have ever said one or more of the comments, please don’t lose sleep over it. :) I like to think that there is much love and grace available in friendships and we're bound to step on each others' toes sometimes as we seek to care. So, here they are (not in any particular order):
1. Don’t stress out. Just relax and it will happen.
2. Anything can happen. Don’t worry. Remember Hannah from the Bible.
3. Have you thought about adopting? I heard that some people just completely give up and decide they are going to adopt, and then they find out that they’re pregnant.
4. Just enjoy the freedom because it won’t be there soon.
5. Have you tried X and Y? My friend said she tried X and it worked.
So, if it is worth anything, here is my advice to friends of infertile couples: Listen, be slower in giving advice, and don't try to fix it or come up with a solution.
Infertility is a sensitive subject, and I have appreciated those who have tried to comfort and encourage me, despite the difficulty of knowing what to do sometimes.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Name Speculation
This morning I woke up thinking about the name Sophia. I really love the name Sophia (nickname--Sophie). If we had a daughter this was the name I had picked out for her. “Sophia (Sophie) ___ Graf” Doesn’t it have a nice ring to it? The name Sophia means wisdom in Greek. Wise, classy, sophisticated yet humble, that’s what I associate with the name. I have gone back and forth between a Korean middle name or another western name. I also really like: Claire, Alexis, and Catherine for girls. I have not been able to narrow down a boy’s name. If we had a son, he most likely would have received “Paul” as his middle name following the tradition in Paul’s family. I like the names Ethan (meaning steadfast), Daniel, and Zach, but it is a little difficult to think of names that flow well with Paul as a middle name. The first name probably should be more than one syllable. I feel a little silly for having thought of names before ever getting pregnant, but maybe it shows how hopeful and wishful I have been for a long time. I guess I’ll still keep them tucked away somewhere in my mind even though I don’t know if we will ever have the opportunity to give names. Who knows, maybe I would look back and gasp at the names I had thought about giving. ;)
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Faith to Let Go
I have been thinking a lot about what my next steps toward healing are. A part of me feels like what I’m supposed to do is to up my intensity level in prayer and in my desire to have a child. I have been praying diligently for the last six years and I am confident that God has heard. As I’ve been processing, I can hear these voices, “This is when you need to be praying even more. Don’t give up.” “You should feel more determined and ask for it more.” “Remember the persistent widow, remember Hannah…” In faith I have been asking, but now, I feel like having faith means coming to peace with God, even if I don’t get what I have asked for in faith. Just like Jesus who gave up his desire at the Garden of Gethsemane and prayed, “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not as I will, but as you will,” I feel like I have wrestled with God in prayer, He knows my desire, and I feel ready to be at peace with God's will. So, starting today, my prayer is, “Father, You know what I want, yet, may your will be done.”
Monday, September 17, 2007
Irrational & Insecure
I am thankful for my husband who loves me. One of the things I have recently struggled with is this feeling of deficiency or inadequacy because my body is unable to do what it is made to do. I have asked Paul a couple of times, “Honey, if you knew I couldn’t bear you a child, would you have married me?” “Do you regret having married me?” Yes, I can’t agree more that they are totally stupid and irrational questions. However, when I am insecure, I am more irrational than rational. ;) At first he told me to cut it out and he kind of rebuked me. But then, when I asked for the second time, he rebuked me again and then reassured me with simple words and a big hug, “I love you and I am very happy I married you.” It put my irrational mind back at ease. I am not going to ask this anymore because it IS stupid and I am feeling a little more secure. :)
Friday, September 14, 2007
Moving forward
Today, I can tell that I am doing better. I sang for the first time in three days. :) I even called my boss and told him that I am okay, thanked him for giving me the space to mourn, and that I am ready to work again. Meeting with people and interacting with them no longer feel as overwhelming. I will be going out to meet a friend for lunch in a couple of hours. I needed the last three days to be alone, to have the space to cry on and off rather than holding them in, and today, I feel like I can move forward. I feel as though I have had time to grieve the negative result. It failed and I can accept that.
But, I have not quite reached the stage of mourning concerning the news that we may not be able to achieve pregnancy with my eggs. I think I am still in a state of shock over that news. I still can't believe that we might not be able to have biological children. Perhaps the clomid challenge test in a month or so will provide another closure in this regard. Around that time, there probably will be another round of mourning and letting go.
At this stage, I am not ready to consider adoption or egg donorship. My initial reaction to all of them are “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to have children that are half mine or someone else’s.” I could see how this could sound selfish, but that is where I am. I think before I can go to that place of grieving over another loss beyond a failed cycle, I need some time to let anger surface and go. It feels so unfair and yes, blah blah, life is unfair, but I don't like it that it is. I am not ready today to hear any stories about successful egg donor pregnancies, amazing adoption experiences, or whatever. But, maybe in a few weeks or a couple of months, I will be. Although I am not ready to go there now, I know that eventually I will be able to talk about it and hear different people’s advice and stories. Today, I am thankful and happy that I am singing again. :)
Paul and I have agreed that there is no need to be in a hurry (although sometimes I feel pressed for time due to our age). One day at a time and one healing at a time…
But, I have not quite reached the stage of mourning concerning the news that we may not be able to achieve pregnancy with my eggs. I think I am still in a state of shock over that news. I still can't believe that we might not be able to have biological children. Perhaps the clomid challenge test in a month or so will provide another closure in this regard. Around that time, there probably will be another round of mourning and letting go.
At this stage, I am not ready to consider adoption or egg donorship. My initial reaction to all of them are “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to have children that are half mine or someone else’s.” I could see how this could sound selfish, but that is where I am. I think before I can go to that place of grieving over another loss beyond a failed cycle, I need some time to let anger surface and go. It feels so unfair and yes, blah blah, life is unfair, but I don't like it that it is. I am not ready today to hear any stories about successful egg donor pregnancies, amazing adoption experiences, or whatever. But, maybe in a few weeks or a couple of months, I will be. Although I am not ready to go there now, I know that eventually I will be able to talk about it and hear different people’s advice and stories. Today, I am thankful and happy that I am singing again. :)
Paul and I have agreed that there is no need to be in a hurry (although sometimes I feel pressed for time due to our age). One day at a time and one healing at a time…
Thursday, September 13, 2007
No more Kotex
I finished using all my maxi pads I brought from the States today. I packed a few boxes because I wanted to have a few things to help ease my transition to a new place. I thought having my favorite maxi pads (Kotex!) would help. Oh my goodness! Am I glad that I made the decision to pack all those!
I was secretly hoping that the end of my supply of pads from the States would symbolize the end to my infertility. The way it was supposed to work was that just as my supply of pads ended, I was to discover that I was pregnant. :) It was to mark the end to the barren season and the beginning of a new season. I was to enter this new season with nine months of no bleeding. Then in April, I would go back to the States to celebrate my brother’s wedding, have the baby sometime in May, and I would come back with another supply of pads until my next installment the following year! Boo!! It didn’t quite work out that way. :( Now, I have to go and explore pad options (Whoo hoo! sarcasm here...) that are available here because I started bleeding again. I’m bleeding for the second time in two weeks. I’m accepting it as another necessary biological step to getting my body back to normal. It does make me wonder however whether the light bleeding last week was an early miscarriage. Who knows? I can’t decide what is worse. To get a negative pregnancy result and not bleed immediately afterwards, only to leave you wondering when your next period is coming, OR to receive a negative, bleed for the second time, and wonder what this bleeding is all about? My body, which used to work like a clock, is a mystery to me right now.
I was secretly hoping that the end of my supply of pads from the States would symbolize the end to my infertility. The way it was supposed to work was that just as my supply of pads ended, I was to discover that I was pregnant. :) It was to mark the end to the barren season and the beginning of a new season. I was to enter this new season with nine months of no bleeding. Then in April, I would go back to the States to celebrate my brother’s wedding, have the baby sometime in May, and I would come back with another supply of pads until my next installment the following year! Boo!! It didn’t quite work out that way. :( Now, I have to go and explore pad options (Whoo hoo! sarcasm here...) that are available here because I started bleeding again. I’m bleeding for the second time in two weeks. I’m accepting it as another necessary biological step to getting my body back to normal. It does make me wonder however whether the light bleeding last week was an early miscarriage. Who knows? I can’t decide what is worse. To get a negative pregnancy result and not bleed immediately afterwards, only to leave you wondering when your next period is coming, OR to receive a negative, bleed for the second time, and wonder what this bleeding is all about? My body, which used to work like a clock, is a mystery to me right now.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Cell-Berries
I took some time to paint today. The last time I painted was probably over four years ago. I'm not much of a painter, but it is something I appreciate and enjoy when I have the time. I decided to call it "Cell-Berries" (inspired by the name one of my friends had given upon seeing pics of my embryos during our first round of IVF). My eggs may be of poor quality, but those cell-berries looked darn cute!
Cell-Berries
Parents' Comfort
The only people I wanted to talk to after receiving the negative result (besides Paul) were my parents. I didn’t want to talk to any of my friends, my siblings, or my pastor. I just wanted to talk to my mom and dad.
I feel like my appreciation for them grows deeper as I mature in age. Before calling them, I kind of knew what they would say to me, but I also knew I could trust them to care for me. I find that even some of the “Trust in God, have faith,” kind of talk that can be so annoying when you are in your mourning stage, I found them not as annoying with my parents. (They didn't say this at all this time.) I have seen them go through life and have watched their trust and faith in Jesus in hard times and I feel like they have some credibility in giving me that kind of exhortation. They don’t sound like empty words of encouragement.
Dad asked me, “How are you feeling.” And I responded and started crying as I said, “I feel sad.” (Although I think the word I used in Korean is more like sorrowful.) I could tell in his voice that it made him sad to hear me in tears knowing there was nothing he could do to make it all better. Not only was the negative result a lack of answer to our prayers, but their prayers too. I know they have been fasting and praying. He responded with, “Of course.” (Pause) Then, we continued talking about various things. Then, dad said to me in his thoughtful voice, “Sometimes in life, things that you would have never ever imagined happens. Your infertility is something I would have never imagined happening. (Pause) (Dad’s way of sharing I share in your pain.) But, I want to encourage you to not spend too much time focusing on your pain, but to look up to God, and to remember that there are many people who share in the same kind of pain and struggle you are going through. We accept difficult things in life with the same kind of gratefulness that we feel when good things happen in life. So let’s give thanks to God and let’s see how God works this for your good.” Mom echoed the same words. Then, they went on and joked about how they were lamenting the fact that they were getting old but found comfort thinking about other aging people. (laughter) They encouraged me to take it slow in ministry, to give sometime to let my body heal, and maybe take a vacation (which I could use).
I felt so understood, cared for, encouraged, and loved by them. I knew I would get that from them. How I miss being near my parents....
I feel like my appreciation for them grows deeper as I mature in age. Before calling them, I kind of knew what they would say to me, but I also knew I could trust them to care for me. I find that even some of the “Trust in God, have faith,” kind of talk that can be so annoying when you are in your mourning stage, I found them not as annoying with my parents. (They didn't say this at all this time.) I have seen them go through life and have watched their trust and faith in Jesus in hard times and I feel like they have some credibility in giving me that kind of exhortation. They don’t sound like empty words of encouragement.
Dad asked me, “How are you feeling.” And I responded and started crying as I said, “I feel sad.” (Although I think the word I used in Korean is more like sorrowful.) I could tell in his voice that it made him sad to hear me in tears knowing there was nothing he could do to make it all better. Not only was the negative result a lack of answer to our prayers, but their prayers too. I know they have been fasting and praying. He responded with, “Of course.” (Pause) Then, we continued talking about various things. Then, dad said to me in his thoughtful voice, “Sometimes in life, things that you would have never ever imagined happens. Your infertility is something I would have never imagined happening. (Pause) (Dad’s way of sharing I share in your pain.) But, I want to encourage you to not spend too much time focusing on your pain, but to look up to God, and to remember that there are many people who share in the same kind of pain and struggle you are going through. We accept difficult things in life with the same kind of gratefulness that we feel when good things happen in life. So let’s give thanks to God and let’s see how God works this for your good.” Mom echoed the same words. Then, they went on and joked about how they were lamenting the fact that they were getting old but found comfort thinking about other aging people. (laughter) They encouraged me to take it slow in ministry, to give sometime to let my body heal, and maybe take a vacation (which I could use).
I felt so understood, cared for, encouraged, and loved by them. I knew I would get that from them. How I miss being near my parents....
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
The Bad News
I just received my second beta result and it said, as expected, "HCG Not Detected." I thought I would be drenched in tears, crying my eye-balls out, but I have nothing pouring down my face. Instead, I feel stoic, numb, non-chalant, "oh well--roll my eyes" kind of attitude. Maybe it is because I cried the last couple of days on and off. I'm not sure.
I called the lab for the result. The woman on the other line had told me that the result had not come in yet and that it won't be here until the 13th. I responded with, "What! the 13th?" Obviously I was shocked to hear that it would take another 2 days! But, Paul didn't hear the whole conversation and he only heard the shock in my voice and the number "13." He had thought the woman was reporting I had 13 on my beta. Our doctor had told us that a "10" on beta would mean that I was pregnant, although by now, the beta should show "50." While I was still on the phone with the woman, he said to me, "I had prayed for a miracle this morning." He thought I was pregnant. I had to correct him and tell him what was actually happening over the phone. When I told the woman that I was told it would be ready today, the 11th, she told me to hold on. She got back on the phone and told me the report had come in. I told her to just tell me what it said over the phone. "HCG not detected." I told Paul the bad news. I could tell he was really hoping for a miracle, for that "13" on the beta........ Now, I'm crying.
I called the lab for the result. The woman on the other line had told me that the result had not come in yet and that it won't be here until the 13th. I responded with, "What! the 13th?" Obviously I was shocked to hear that it would take another 2 days! But, Paul didn't hear the whole conversation and he only heard the shock in my voice and the number "13." He had thought the woman was reporting I had 13 on my beta. Our doctor had told us that a "10" on beta would mean that I was pregnant, although by now, the beta should show "50." While I was still on the phone with the woman, he said to me, "I had prayed for a miracle this morning." He thought I was pregnant. I had to correct him and tell him what was actually happening over the phone. When I told the woman that I was told it would be ready today, the 11th, she told me to hold on. She got back on the phone and told me the report had come in. I told her to just tell me what it said over the phone. "HCG not detected." I told Paul the bad news. I could tell he was really hoping for a miracle, for that "13" on the beta........ Now, I'm crying.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Two Lines
The two lines appeared, three times, each time I took the test! I couldn't believe it the first time, so I took another one and another one.... Paul and I were both beside ourselves. Now, I know what those two lines on a POAS (pee on a stick) look like!!
Too bad it was only in my dream. I woke up to a snow white POAS. :(
Too bad it was only in my dream. I woke up to a snow white POAS. :(
Saturday, September 8, 2007
"Go Put Another Nail on that Coffin!"
"Go put another nail on that coffin!" my dear husband says to me as I walk into the bathroom to do another home pregnancy test. He had asked if I would be willing to take one home pregnancy test everyday for the next 3-4 days while we wait for the beta test result to come in. His comment cracked me up and made me laugh. I know it kind of sounds morbid, but I found it humorous. Since then, I have wondered why did I find it so witty and funny? I think it was a very clever way to express his acceptance of my desire to close up that coffin (which symbolized another failed cycle and death to hope) as fast as I can and his need to hold on to one more day of hope, even if it didn't look good. Each home pregnancy test gave another opportunity for him to let that hope go and for me to find one more day of closure. He made what could have been very emotionally charged situation a little light. Some wives may find his comment really insensitive, but for me it worked. I appreciate good dry humor. He makes me laugh, even in the most difficult of circumstances. I had no idea that his wit, which I found so attractive when we were dating, would be so useful in carrying me through even some of the most difficult times.
Friday, September 7, 2007
What is infertility really like?
I was thinking about how I might describe my experience with infertility - the rollercoaster ride we sometimes go through and the inner battles that we have at times. The intensity comes and dissipates as life continues, but when the pain is there it can be quite painful. I was describing that pain to my husband this morning and I likened it to a coma....
Infertility is like finding out that someone you dearly love is in coma. You hear the bad news and you run over to the hospital to see what is happening. "What happened? How did this happen? Why? Is she ever going to wake up? What do you mean you don't really know? Oh God, please." You cry, you hold her hand, you pray, you talk to her, you hope, and you wait. As you wait, you dream about her waking up miraculously and this nightmare being all over. You tell yourself, "She will wake up. She must. It will happen sooner or later."
Now, imagine this happening year after year (in my case 6 years so far). Day after day, month after month, year after year, you are hoping that she will wake up. You are hoping for that miracle and you pray earnestly and eagerly. When that moment of doubt comes and you wonder if anything will change, there is a sudden feeling of guilt for losing out on hope. And you do wonder, "How much longer can I hold out on hope or is my hope a mask for denial?"
After a while, you come to realize that you have to move on with your life and that you can't remain by her bedside all the time. So, you continue on with your life. You work, laugh with friends, go on outings, celebrate new births, and enjoy what life has to offer. You still go and visit, and tend to her needs, but it starts to not feel all consuming as it once used to. After a few years, life with a comatose loved one has become a norm.
One day you hear about some amazing success stories of various medical procedures that have proven successful in waking up patients in comas. Although they have proven to be successful in many situations, you are warned that there are no guarantees. "Really, it is a little like gambling," the doctor tells you. "Sometimes it works great. Other times it doesn’t. Sometimes everything goes medically perfectly, and patients don't wake up. Other times, they do." It sounds promising and you wonder if this is what you have been waiting for.... "If it has worked for others, maybe it can work for her too." Suddenly you feel hope lifting its head up again and gaining strength. The next few months, you consult with doctors and decide that it is worth giving it a try.
On the day of the operation, the doctor informs you, "There were minor complications along the way, but her body seems to be responding." There is a surge of adrenaline and excitement that runs through your body with the realization that this nightmare could all end soon. “It could all end with this surgery. Incredible.” However, before you get drowned in hope, you remember the doctor’s warning, “….sometimes patients don’t wake up.” Elated hope has been replaced with cautious hope.
The next day you return to the hospital to see how she is doing, hoping for some reassurance. The doctor reminds you, "There is no way for us to know whether it was successful until after two weeks. We don’t recommend looking for signs of change now. There might be signs, but we won’t know what they mean until we run the tests in two weeks. Small movements are not necessarily a sign that she will recover. I know it will be hard, but try to wait patiently." While the doctor is speaking, you wonder, "So signs are inconclusive, but they are better than no signs right?" You decide to listen to the doctor’s advice and try to be patient for the next two weeks.
You realize that it has been a while since you have been daily by her bed side. Day after day, you find yourself holding and caressing her hands, speaking to her, reminding her how much you love her, and praying that God would answer your prayers for a miracle. There is nothing else that the doctor could do for you. He is waiting with you, hoping for success. So, you pray and let hope live.
"Oh my gosh, did I just see a little movement in her finger?" You feel excited at what you thought was a slight movement in her finger. But then, you quickly realize that maybe it was just a muscle spasm. Even though the doctor warned you that it is not possible to know for certain the final outcome until the end of two weeks, you find your eyes wandering for any sign of alertness and movement. You remind yourself, "Day 5. Okay, nine more days to go." Day 6, day 7, day 8...Each day begins to feel longer than the previous day, and day 14 feels farther than it has ever been.
By day 14, you are pretty worn out, but excited to have finally reached this day. "This is the day we have all been waiting for!" You excitedly and nervously tell yourself. "Today is the moment of truth! It will be good news…" As you speak to yourself, you're not sure whether you have succeeded in reassuring yourself or creating more space for a heart ache. You decide it is better to be optimistic than pessimistic.
“God, I pray and ask for a miracle. I ask that you would bring her back. I pray that I would hear that she will wake up. Please God…” The whole drive to the hospital, all you can hear is your own voice, desperately crying out to God… prayers for success, prayers for peace, prayers for a miracle….
Upon entering the hospital, a few familiar faces greet you. You think, “They seem to be smiling… maybe that is a good sign.” Upon slowly opening the door to her room, you see her chart. She is not smiling or sitting up as you had imagined or hoped, but her chart was hanging by her bed. You reach over and you look, still hopeful, still praying, but not breathing. And, as you scan the page quickly, you see the words, "Movement Not Detected." You repeat the words a few more times, "Movement Not Detected." "Movement Not Detected...." The heart's immediate reaction is to protect itself and you feel numb. You smile, thank the hospital staff, and try to get out of the door as quickly as possible. As soon as you step outside the door, you can still hear the words ringing in your ears, “Movement Not Detected,” and you want to scream, “Why not? Why is it not detected? Why not? Why not? Why not…?”
As tears begin to form everything begins to look a little blurry. You feel cheated by hope. You wonder if hope had blurred your senses. Hope feels like the enemy, for hope had given birth to pain again. You had not realized until now how intricately intertwined hope and pain are. One cannot exist without the other. Because to hope, is to risk pain, and in choosing to hope, you had opened the door for failure. Now you are faced with the question, “Will you dare hope again?”
Infertility is like finding out that someone you dearly love is in coma. You hear the bad news and you run over to the hospital to see what is happening. "What happened? How did this happen? Why? Is she ever going to wake up? What do you mean you don't really know? Oh God, please." You cry, you hold her hand, you pray, you talk to her, you hope, and you wait. As you wait, you dream about her waking up miraculously and this nightmare being all over. You tell yourself, "She will wake up. She must. It will happen sooner or later."
Now, imagine this happening year after year (in my case 6 years so far). Day after day, month after month, year after year, you are hoping that she will wake up. You are hoping for that miracle and you pray earnestly and eagerly. When that moment of doubt comes and you wonder if anything will change, there is a sudden feeling of guilt for losing out on hope. And you do wonder, "How much longer can I hold out on hope or is my hope a mask for denial?"
After a while, you come to realize that you have to move on with your life and that you can't remain by her bedside all the time. So, you continue on with your life. You work, laugh with friends, go on outings, celebrate new births, and enjoy what life has to offer. You still go and visit, and tend to her needs, but it starts to not feel all consuming as it once used to. After a few years, life with a comatose loved one has become a norm.
One day you hear about some amazing success stories of various medical procedures that have proven successful in waking up patients in comas. Although they have proven to be successful in many situations, you are warned that there are no guarantees. "Really, it is a little like gambling," the doctor tells you. "Sometimes it works great. Other times it doesn’t. Sometimes everything goes medically perfectly, and patients don't wake up. Other times, they do." It sounds promising and you wonder if this is what you have been waiting for.... "If it has worked for others, maybe it can work for her too." Suddenly you feel hope lifting its head up again and gaining strength. The next few months, you consult with doctors and decide that it is worth giving it a try.
On the day of the operation, the doctor informs you, "There were minor complications along the way, but her body seems to be responding." There is a surge of adrenaline and excitement that runs through your body with the realization that this nightmare could all end soon. “It could all end with this surgery. Incredible.” However, before you get drowned in hope, you remember the doctor’s warning, “….sometimes patients don’t wake up.” Elated hope has been replaced with cautious hope.
The next day you return to the hospital to see how she is doing, hoping for some reassurance. The doctor reminds you, "There is no way for us to know whether it was successful until after two weeks. We don’t recommend looking for signs of change now. There might be signs, but we won’t know what they mean until we run the tests in two weeks. Small movements are not necessarily a sign that she will recover. I know it will be hard, but try to wait patiently." While the doctor is speaking, you wonder, "So signs are inconclusive, but they are better than no signs right?" You decide to listen to the doctor’s advice and try to be patient for the next two weeks.
You realize that it has been a while since you have been daily by her bed side. Day after day, you find yourself holding and caressing her hands, speaking to her, reminding her how much you love her, and praying that God would answer your prayers for a miracle. There is nothing else that the doctor could do for you. He is waiting with you, hoping for success. So, you pray and let hope live.
"Oh my gosh, did I just see a little movement in her finger?" You feel excited at what you thought was a slight movement in her finger. But then, you quickly realize that maybe it was just a muscle spasm. Even though the doctor warned you that it is not possible to know for certain the final outcome until the end of two weeks, you find your eyes wandering for any sign of alertness and movement. You remind yourself, "Day 5. Okay, nine more days to go." Day 6, day 7, day 8...Each day begins to feel longer than the previous day, and day 14 feels farther than it has ever been.
By day 14, you are pretty worn out, but excited to have finally reached this day. "This is the day we have all been waiting for!" You excitedly and nervously tell yourself. "Today is the moment of truth! It will be good news…" As you speak to yourself, you're not sure whether you have succeeded in reassuring yourself or creating more space for a heart ache. You decide it is better to be optimistic than pessimistic.
“God, I pray and ask for a miracle. I ask that you would bring her back. I pray that I would hear that she will wake up. Please God…” The whole drive to the hospital, all you can hear is your own voice, desperately crying out to God… prayers for success, prayers for peace, prayers for a miracle….
Upon entering the hospital, a few familiar faces greet you. You think, “They seem to be smiling… maybe that is a good sign.” Upon slowly opening the door to her room, you see her chart. She is not smiling or sitting up as you had imagined or hoped, but her chart was hanging by her bed. You reach over and you look, still hopeful, still praying, but not breathing. And, as you scan the page quickly, you see the words, "Movement Not Detected." You repeat the words a few more times, "Movement Not Detected." "Movement Not Detected...." The heart's immediate reaction is to protect itself and you feel numb. You smile, thank the hospital staff, and try to get out of the door as quickly as possible. As soon as you step outside the door, you can still hear the words ringing in your ears, “Movement Not Detected,” and you want to scream, “Why not? Why is it not detected? Why not? Why not? Why not…?”
As tears begin to form everything begins to look a little blurry. You feel cheated by hope. You wonder if hope had blurred your senses. Hope feels like the enemy, for hope had given birth to pain again. You had not realized until now how intricately intertwined hope and pain are. One cannot exist without the other. Because to hope, is to risk pain, and in choosing to hope, you had opened the door for failure. Now you are faced with the question, “Will you dare hope again?”
A new blog
I decided to start a new blog where I can write my thoughts about my journey with infertility. Writing is a powerful tool that I want to use to help me in my journey with what I like to call, "the invisble illness." If others want to take a peep into my journey or walk a part of it with me through the blog, then they are most welcome. I hope putting my feelings and thoughts into words would help me to understand myself more. I have already had so many thoughts about this issue, and then there is 6 years of all sorts of thinking about this, I'm not sure exactly where to begin. So, here it is and cheers to the birth of Eggs on Pause!
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