just another manic thursday

Yes, as a matter of fact, I do feel a little hyper-manic.

Not only do I have good days and bad days, but I also have good hours and bad hours.

I know this is evident in my writing.

This is it, the aftermath.

I'm wondering how long it will last, how long until I level out.

I don't have a childless living handbook. They didn't teach us anything about this in middle school health.

an obsession with things

My husband and I met in Paris. We collect Eiffel Towers. We love all things Eiffel and all things Paris. You would too if you'd met your soul mate in Paris.

I obsess over what will happen to our Eiffel Towers. Who would want them but our own children or grandchildren.

But it's not just our Eiffel Towers.

I just knitted my very first scarf. I showed it to a friend who said she has a hat that her great grandmother knitted. She said my scarf will be very special to someone one day. But "to whom" I wondered, as I fought back tears.

Where will my wedding ring and engagement ring end up? And where will the precious things handed down to me by other family members end up.

I obsess over this. Day and night. Odd little things pop in my head. What will happen to this, what will happen to that, will anyone appreciate it the way I did, will anyone understand what it meant to me. But they are just things, so I feel silly obsessing over them. But I do.

If I had children, I wouldn't give these things a second thought. I'd have my children to care for and to love. And things would hold little meaning.

I feel like a dead end.

worthless

It's how I feel. Worthless. I feel like I must be a really terrible person to not be allowed to have children. It's how I feel. It's how it feels. What have I done wrong, where did I take a wrong turn. What did I do to deserve this. I feel less than human. I feel like God forgot about me. My faith is shaken, what little faith I had left.

Why me Why me Why me Why me . . . it floats around in my head all day and all night long. I try to retrace my steps through life, trying to figure out where I went wrong, what I did wrong, how I could have had a different outcome, how I could have had children, been allowed to have children. What have I done.

It must have been something pretty terrible to deserve this. I just wish I knew what. I wish I knew what I could to do fix it, what I could do so I'd be allowed to have children. Why is my body broken. It not only let me down, but also many others. Many family members and the embryo donors. My worthless body let so many down. But why.

So now all I can wonder is why am I even here. If I'm worth so little as a human being, what's the point. It makes it difficult to get up every day. It's difficult to even put one foot in front of the other. I wonder how long it will last. We suspect this is something we will never "get over" but learn how to live with, even though we are expected to get over it and move on with our lives.

The feelings of worthlessness are overwhelming.

welcome to Holland

This was written by the mother of a child with a disability, but infertility feels the same, and so does being childless. I hope I can learn to enjoy Holland, someday.

Welcome to Holland

by
Emily Perl Kingsley

c1987 by Emily Perl Kingsley. All rights reserved

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability – to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.

wondering when, wondering why

I'm wondering when I will be able to be around people talking about pregnancy, babies and children without having a total breakdown . . .

Fell apart in a store today overhearing a conversation a pregnant woman was having about her pregnancy and the fact that there are only a few weeks left.

Why why why? Why me?

Oh, also over heard a conversation in a restaurant. Three women were talking about how people who don't procreate are "an abomination." Seriously? There are people out there walking around who believe this is true? Really?

I may never leave the house again.

the most wonderful time of year?

I'm just so not feeling it, for many reasons. This is supposed to be a season of joy and a time centered around children.

We are still trying to adjust to the thought of never having children. It will take some time for us to learn to live with this tragedy.

This week I lost two family members. One was the last member of my grandma's generation, my grandma's oldest sister, my great aunt. I am having a very difficult time with this loss. The loss of a generation. Now there are only two generations left in my family when there should be at least three. We should have children. My parents should have grandchildren. I can't help but wonder what will become of us. I cry every day at the thought of no children ever coming home to our house for Christmas, no grandchildren coming to our house at some future Christmas.

I look at my Christmas ornaments, each with a story, and wonder where they will end up with no one to tell the stories to or pass them on to. I usually purchase a new ornament each year and write the year on it. I bought one this year, but as I put it on our Christmas tree, I couldn't help wondering why.

I know, I have my health and a husband who loves me very much, but this time of year is just not the same when you are childless.

where to begin

Well, it's terminal. We will never have children. This is the worst news I've ever received. It's unthinkable.

I just don't know where to begin. And I don't know where I fit in now. Everyone who wants them, has children. Everyone but us. I feel so isolated. And the timing, it couldn't be worse. The holidays. A season centered around children. I have not bought one Christmas gift yet. My heart is just not in it. I want to wake up in January tomorrow.

How do we go on?

We have spent 11.5 years of our 14.5 year marriage trying to bring children into our family of two. I hardly know how to get through the day without thinking of infertility treatment or searching the internet for children in foster care who need a forever family.

I think I'm still kinda in shock. This just cannot be happening to me, to us. I'd rather have cancer than not have children. There, I said it. It is how I feel. People who have never suffered from infertility may never understand.

to be continued . . .