Ready to Talk- Infertility

I feel like I'm ready to talk about the past few years now. I'm coming up on my THREE year anniversary of my first (secret) IVF cycle, so I'm going to start there- with infertility and IVF.

In the dawn of time I was born into a family already scarred by divorce. I was the product of my mom's second marriage and my dad's third. Let that sink in a minute. I've never known a day of my life where my identity wasn't intrinsically associated with the tragedy of a broken family. I wouldn't exist if my mom's first husband hadn't stepped out on her, or if my dad's first wife had been better equipped to cope with his mental illness, or he brave enough to seek treatment. Imagine for a second what it is like to feel branded from your first dim memories of self as an outsider. I never knew my sister's other dad-the one in the desert with the swimming pool. I never knew my brother's other mother- the one with the successful career and the fancy house. I missed them all terribly when they were gone. And I never for one second stopped fantasizing that I would have another family of my own one day that I didn't have to share with someone's other parents.

In college my family life professor said something that changed me forever- he told us we get two chances in our lives to have the "ideal" family- once as a child and once as a parent. I knew in that instant that my job in life was to break the cycle and give my children what I always felt I was missing- a "real" family.

I wanted babies from the second I said, "I do." My fantasy was to have a honeymoon baby and then four more, all three years apart.
But months turned into years and life hit my husband and I hard. Like HARD. Deaths of dear grandparents, our parents on both sides began having just AWFUL problems. Chronic illness. Divorces on both sides of the family. Broken career dreams. And then after two years of non-stop heartache the ugly black label of "infertility" stamped on my forehead... No... Tattooed into my very soul. My diagnosis was PCOS, because I "look" like I have it. My blood tests never matched up. I never responded to any of the PCOS medication. No cysts were visible on ultrasounds.
I spent the next three years choking on herbal remedies, gagging on teas that tasted like hot tar, starving myself to lose the magical thirty percent of my body weight that will supposedly "cure' PCOS, then living through the hell of Clomid- the first line fertility drug that simulates menopause, makes you gain massive amounts of weight, have hot flashes, vomiting, diarrhea, and in my case,  psychosis. Violent mood swings in the middle of searing, white hot, psychotic episodes that at one point sent me hurling out of a moving vehicle because I felt like the tiny space was sucking the air- the life- out of my body and I just needed to breathe- to escape.
A hundred pregnancy tests- am I? Aren't I? Could I be?
No. Always no.
No.
No.
No.
No.
Nooooooooooo!
So, so lonely. Lonely like cold on a dark winter night that steals your breath away. No home I can call home to. No-one I can ask for help. Remember? This is my Real Family, but it's not real yet.

Crying. No, sobbing. Love I have no-one to give to. Anger, fear, sadness, pain so bitter it condenses into material form that comes gushing from my eyes any time I am alone for more than a few minutes. Broken glasses smashed on the kitchen floor because I want to smash ME. It is MY fault!
All my fault. Me and my broken rubbish body.
Shards of glass laying glittering on the floor like my lonliness being laid bare for all to see. But there is no-one to see, except a small step son who never asks why Nana is crying- just lays next to me and watches cartoons as I implode day after day, trying to keep my pain inside so it won't break loose and drown him like my mother's pain had drown me. Be better. He needs better. I'm sorry baby. I just tripped. It was an accident. Everything is going to be okay.
Break the cycle.
Be strong.
Don't give up. Don't give up.
I give up.

No. Don't give up.
Acupuncture needles, more herbs. Forgive yourself. Learn to love life. Maybe travel? It'll happen when you stop trying.

Break the cycle. Stay busy. Try to find roses in the thorns. Wouldn't Rose  be a pretty name? Don't think about it. Be strong for the boy. He needs you. Your kids at school need you. The kids in your Sunday school class need you. Your husband needs you, although his walls are so thick he'll never admit he needs anyone. He's hurting too, isn't he?

Eight and a half years went by like this. Try something new, failure, need a break, try again.

Finally we came to the end like Lewis and Clark looking out at the vast Pacific...  stood looking into the ocean of in vitro. Our life savings. Was it worth it? Nothing else had worked. Would this? Why couldn't I just feel right about adopting? Why couldn't I just be happy staying childless? Why was I putting us all through this? What is so so wrong with me? Why am I so selfish? Why am I always apologizing for wanting a family? Why isn't being a part-time mom enough? I can't justify doing this anymore. I can't live with myself if I don't. Selfish.

They never tell you how much IVF HURTS. You have to inject yourself two to five times a day. The drugs make you sick. They make you really fat. Your hair falls out. Both sides of my bum were covered with bruises so thick I couldn't pierce them with the new needles...
Ovarian Hyperstimulation. I thought I was dying- should have gone to the emergency room. So much pain I passed out from it and woke up unable to catch my breath. Then...
A yes.

Tiny. Fragile, gone too soon. Chemical pregnancy. Miscarriage.

Breathe. Just breathe. We'll try one more time. The last time. It's been nine years and over twenty thousand dollars. This has to be the very last time.

No. We don't know why you're bleeding.

No, you're not having another miscarriage.
You're
Having

Twins.