I am tired of travelling — to doctor's appointments, to acupuncture, to restaurants, to nowhere at all. I am tired of waiting. I am tired of the round trip return journey from hope to despair, which seems the only journey that I ever make.
I'm tired of surprises. I'm tired of doing invasive treatments. I'm tired of getting people involved in my reproductive system. I'm tired of the hormonal rise and crash. I'm tired of the waiting. I'm tired of the desolation on a monthly basis, of starting again, of having to think ahead of myself. I'm tired of repeating pieces of advice about the new things that are going through other people's heads. I'm tired of the waiting and I'm tired of it again.
I feel like it is time to refocus. To think again about what is important in life.
Sometimes, that doesn't just mean having a family. It means taking some time to smell the flowers. It means reinventing the hobby you lost long ago. It means venturing out and finding the things that you enjoy. It means coming closer to your husband, to your friends, to your family. It means going back to the way things were in the olden days, when we were happy with very little. It means asking yourself what you want to get out of life.
That said, I don't really think that refocusing is easy, because it feels like the most difficult thing when you are struggling. I have no idea whether that is because I cannot help it (or that after several years of putting trouble into it), that I seem to be sitting here and writing pointless blogs about my feelings and of infertility, or whether I am just trying to be tricky to myself.
I have been down this road before and I've managed. I will manage again, albeit with a broken heart, but first, I need to get some rest.
I am doing the best I can to take Zhan's advice — to take pleasure in the little things. The small pleasures in life, the beautiful things, the conversations, the things that make you look up and smile.
I now know that there is nothing worse than being able to touch the body of the pregnancy, but still not being able to have one.
But at the same time, I know my life is not over. Because this is exactly a point where options and support have been right by us, if not always the case for females across all walks of life. Don't switch off, because I can already hear you thinking, "Easy for you to say, if you have a support system and a family who care about you," but I will keep giving thanks that I know this and I treat it as a gift.
The last few days, I have been very cranky and snappish with the people I love the most. I have been torn between wanting a child and enjoying the random stuff of life without one. The very nature of life's path is set against you, because while in the past you have lived a very good life, you automatically think that having a good life makes you deserving of something, and it doesn't work that way. And yet all the time, you are finding a way to hold onto a very thin thread of what is good in your life.
I live for the times when I will look back on this spell of my life and be able to say, "well, that was a challenge, but I did it."
My career goal right now is to get through next week without breaking down (or rather, without needing to). I know that the alternative is that I will feel terrible, and I want to remind myself that I need to focus on other things. The things that are worth doing. The things that are worth crying for are few, and the things that are worth anything are few as well.
This week, I've mostly ignored my friends, my family, my loved ones, and my job. I guess I have a lot of work to do there.
Yes, I have been equally shitty at doing the IVF literature and reviewing options (for example, donor eggs). My work sometimes gets so busy that I forgot, no really, I never really stopped and thought about it.
Last month, I began talking with a family friend who said that because we have no children, we have made some choices about our vacations, our money and our travel, and from talking with him, I realized that it's very possible to write a blog where you write about the subjects close to your heart, but that it is also very possible to put too much on your shoulders in each post.
I also know that I have been hiding from anyone that we still don't have children. We just never really thought about it after we got married. We have been holding it in, holding it all in, not talking about it and hoping that it will go away. We've had so many secrets, so much pain, so much to overcome. It is hard. Sometimes we talk about it, sometimes we don't. We have learned to live with it, and sometimes, that means lying about it.
And, yes I have been thinking. Why is it that I arrive at this conclusion so often, that I have to write about how traumatic my experience is and why have I got to continue on this journey, forever in between asking myself if I should keep going or whether I should go back to treatment and try again. I have thought about this a lot.
One of my favourite bloggers, Maya, said that once you've landed on IF Island, it's almost as if you have to commit to doing your best, to being open to the process, and trying not to lose hope. To some extent, being in Singapore, and being in the social groups I've created for myself, just vaulted the underlying sense of conventionality that makes it hard to have perspective. Even on IF island island, it's hard to shift your focus off IVF and infertility, if you continue to be friends with people who are in the process or successful through it. This is especially true if you are the worse or more difficult case and it is all the truer the longer you've been here — you're always on the end looking at people moving on to pregnancies, deliveries and children, and that's never going to feel fun or fair.
Infertility is a kind of depression and I don't think there is a right or wrong way to approach it. Your approach in itself, depends on how long, how hard, how compromising and how costly it has been. It's a very personal experience and each person or couple has to do what they feel is right for them.
Maybe it's just my teary, congested head talking, but sometimes, this coping involves blowing responsibilities off. Sometimes, this involves telling friends honestly, when they need to be more aware. Sometimes this involves focusing on work, or exercise goals, or church. Sometimes, this involves just not picking up the phone, or not being available.
Sometimes the commitment to doing whatever it takes becomes too much, and your commitment to and focus on, your own life and self and relationships must take priority. It's funny that I'm learning this lesson again and again, as the years go by, but I guess it is a growing up process.
It's just been putting one foot in front of the other, which sounds terribly cliché. Just right now, it never seems enough, but even if it always feels inadequate, I guess I have to keep telling myself that that's normal. I just want to get better, soon.
