We started treatment in November 2004. If I had been fertile, I would have a baby by now. If I hadn't miscarried, I'd have been 22 weeks along yesterday. Third period since the m/c is tapering off today and I'm getting used to periods being heavier, bloodier, funkier affairs in this new phase of my life than they were before I got pregnant. The barfly ovaries are another month older, the dimished reserve even more so, my cycle this month was down to 24 days. I'm still 33 years old, but aging fast.
Doctor is giving me one more month of normal before going back on the junk.
Christmas brings parties and parties bring babies. My mother, who found out about our IF the same day that she found out about the IVF and our pregnancy, three weeks before it ended, has been slopping over. First, she just wanted to tell her sister, my aunt, which led to my cousins knowing. These cousins were the sisters I desperately wanted while growing up. Even though they both have beautiful young children (easily conceived as far as I know), I was OK with them finally knowing and was able to talk with them about it. My aunt and my cousins have been lovely, and very supportive. My mother didn't tell my aunt about the IF or the IVF, just about the pregnancy and the miscarriage.
Last month, she was attending my grandmother's birthday party (my father's mother), and found out that my very young cousin's wife had just suffered a miscarriage. I think it was quite early on. So my mother told my aunt that my husband and I had also had a miscarriage.
I have long had very ambivalent feelings about this side of my family. I love them, my godmother is the mother of the cousin whose wife had a miscarriage, they are family. But they are also very conservatively Catholic, and have views about the role of women that I profoundly disagree with. There was an ugly incident at a Christmas party (I only heard about it, wasn't present) where the husband of a cousin brought another (female) cousin to tears by telling her that it is women's responsibility to marry and bear children, and that women should never work outside the home. These cousins are all 5-10 years younger than me, and the crying cousin was then, as now, unmarried and working. I have been trying to distance myself from this group because it hurts me to know that they would disapprove of IVF. I am perhaps being unfair to them, but I'm not willing to open myself up to criticism for choosing a career, not marrying until 29, and whatever else they might find fault with.
I was upset with my mother for telling. In the magical three weeks after I told her I was pregnant, before the miscarriage, she and I went for a long walk in the public garden. I told her how I felt about my father's side of the family, that I needed some distance, that I was not planning to quit my job when the baby was born, and I that I thought it was probably easier not to tell my father's side about the IVF. She quickly, almost eagerly, agreed. Then she told me how excited she was about the pregnancy, and how hard it was to not tell anyone, to have to wait until the second trimester. She told me that she had been out shopping, and had almost bought baby clothes. She and my dad were both devastated when we lost the baby. I know that she is grieving and that I should not hold it against her if she has to talk to someone about it. But I am still a little angry that she did, and I think it bothers me more than I thought it would that she doesn't want to also tell about the IVF. I worry that she is having the same trouble I am, managing the feelings of shame and failure.
Today my husband and I went to a brunch thrown by an old friend of his. Most of the people there were couples, almost all of them older than us. Several of the couples were biracial. One, who are maybe 10 years older than me, had a 6 month old they had adopted through an open adoption. The father is black, the mother white, and their baby is black. He was adorable and sweet-tempered, and I felt no pain holding his fat hand and laughing at his total fascination with the whirly toy he kept dropping on the floor. My husband and I were not the only couple devouring the story about the adoption, the process, how long it took, how they felt about the open adoption. I could see that we were not alone.
I loved joking around with the 8, 6 and 2-year old children of another friend at the party. We told the 6-year-old that I would be amputating his legs because he kept complaining that they hurt (growing pains I am sure). He thought this was a great idea and followed me around, rolling up his pants leg and rolling down his socks, asking was it true I cut off a lot of legs? and did I really have a collection of legs at home?
The girl who grew up down the block is pregnant again, due in early January. She had HELLP with her first pregnancy; her son was born via emergency C-section at 24 weeks and weighed just under a pound. He was in NICU for 3 months, but died after a long tough struggle. I remember how I cried and cried when he passed away. She and I were never really close and she lives out of state, but our parents are friends, so I've been anxiously following this pregnancy second-hand. I was so relieved when my mother told me this evening that she is doing well, and is close to her due date. She must be about 36 weeks along now.
I feel lucky that I haven't had any problems yet being around babies or pregnant women. Probably this is because our time trying has been relatively short, we went right to treatment, we knew about the blocked tubes before we got married. But I'm starting to feel like it's backing up on me a little, and I may slop over too. Christmas is so hard. We put the tree up last week, and I spent the weekend making Christmas cookies, but I feel a little emptiness every time I make an unplanned run out to the store, or have a nap in the middle of the day, or don't worry about what time I get home or what time we eat dinner. Coming home to just cats and an empty house and a tree that noone really pays much attention to, and another nothing special Christmas.
I cry in church sometimes -- it's mostly the music, but also the quietness of the space. Organ music and the choir sometimes get to me. I have never been able to get through "Amazing Grace" without crying, even before we sang it at my other grandma's funeral. My dad has it with that song too. I love Christmas midnight mass. Today I have been sitting here thinking of the beautiful version of "What Child Is This/Child of Light" that they do every year during the vigil, and I'm already crying. It will be a tough year for midnight mass, I don't know how I'll get through.
-Mary Scarlet
Listening to "Falling" from Twin Peaks
