And So It Is

Their due date came and went like any other day of the week. Only instead of holding a baby in my arms at the end of it, I was just surrounded by dogs on the beach in tears, instead. 

Sometimes I wonder if it will get any easier. 

Does it get easier once I’m pregnant again…like pregnant pregnant. Not the fleeting kind that comes and goes in weeks or months. But the kind of pregnancy that actually gives you a baby.

Will it be easier then? These losses of babies that were never really babies, but really just clumps of cells that ended up as a heavy period, instead. 

Am I going to forget about them then? Or will those days on the calendar still be painstakingly obvious, even with the happiness of new life in my belly. 

I don’t know. 

Standing on the beach outside right out front of our house, looking at the blazing sky and taking a big gulp of air despite the silent, hot fears dripping down my face thinking:Damn, I love this life we’ve created, as I watch the dogs wrestle in the sand. 

Is it possible to feel whole and empty at the same time? Because that’s the only way to describe that moment, really. 

Both, and, I suppose. 

Taking four months away from fertility treatments was a hard decision to make, but quickly revealed itself to be the best choice in the world. 

I’m back in my body again, even though it’s not quite the same as before all of these hormones and pregnancies. I’m in the driver’s seat of my mind again, rather than raging swings of hormones dictate my mood. 

I feel….good. And that’s scary. Because I know I’m about to feel, well, not so good once we start things up again. 

Why?

Well for one, because the fertility process is tough emotionally for anyone trying regardless of the method they’re using. Yes, I’m even looking at you straight couples who are naturally conceiving at home. 

But two, because I know this next season of trying is going to be more aggressive with higher doses of hormones, and possibly even the dreaded….(gulp) IVF. 

Look, nothing against anyone who’s doing IVF. It’s just something that’s been a sort of last resort for us this entire time. To put it plainly: I don’t want to do it. 

And. 

I also want to have a baby. 

So the options are limited, you see. 

No, we are not adopting. And as of now, surrogacy is out of budget, as well. Which really leaves us with IUI and IVF as the feasible forms of baby making. 

It’s easy to drown in pity sometimes, isn’t it? Well, it is for me at least. I guess the pity pretty quickly turns into anger, though. Mostly directed at the “not fairness” of it all. 

It’s not fair that two people who love each other in the way that Alix and I do are seen as less than in society just because we both happen to be in women’s bodies. And yes, this is still very present even in the US. Don’t get me started on that. 

It’s not fair that the only way we can make a baby is through medical intervention. I don’t want someone else between my legs counting follicles, probing and swabbing me every week, ya know?

But mostly it’s not fair that we have to choose between making a baby, or living the life we created in Nicaragua. 

After pouring all of our savings, time, and energy into building this place it’s only natural that we’d want to actually enjoy it, right? Yeah well, we can’t do that if we also want to make a baby, because same sex conception isn’t allowed here at fertility clinics. 

And if we chose to fly back and forth between Nicaragua and somewhere that does allow same sex conception, we’d spend five million dollars on flights literally going back and forth every week. 

It’s not as simple as: you’re ovulating, boom…you get inseminated. 

No, there’s a ton of testing needed before, during, and after. You’re being monitored throughout the entire process.

As we inch closer to leaving Nica for the foreseeable future, because ultimately, we choose making babies over our life here- the thing I feel most is dread. 

And I’m like, ugh I don’t want to go into this process feeling this way. There’s a heaviness to the dread, and I’d rather feel open so that I can actually receive that little being who chooses us as moms. 

Woo woo, I know. But that’s the truth. 

It’s got me thinking about the first time that we tried, which you can read about back in the archives from last year. There was a sweetness to my naivete, wasn’t there?

I was so hopeful and I was so positive, that I also wasn’t as connected to the reality of it all. I mean, I really didn’t think it would be so…hard. 

But once the pain of pregnancy loss touches you, it’s not really a feeling you can just shake off and forget about. It lives in your bones, I swear. And even if you’re mentally numbed out and avoidant, every tissue- hell, every cell- in your body still grieves in the most primal kind of way. 

It’s been surprising, honestly. 

I feel my body holding on to the sadness, even though my heart and mind are ready to move on and start fresh. It’s like there’s a civil war raging between the pieces of me: mind, body, and heart. And I never really know who will win. 

I’m at this place now where I’m doing my best to enter into this new chapter of trying with my feet on the ground, understanding the pain of loss and the difficulty of this process from my own experience. 

And. 

With a buoyant heart, holding on to that liferaft of hope. 

Because I know there’s a fine line with being realistic, and being cynical. And there’s also a fine line of being positive, and being irrational. 

I need to find the balance of protecting my heart, while keeping it open. 

Shew, that’ll be a lot easier said than done, I’m sure. 

Sometimes I don’t know what the point of writing these personal updates are other than the cathartic practice of getting the feelings out of my head in the form of words coming through my fingertips. 

And this post is kind of like that. 

Maybe this post is more of a reminder to me than it is an update for you. 

A reminder to allow myself to feel what comes up. 

A reminder to accept the pity parties, but not to stay in them forever. 

And a reminder that balance is an act, not a destination. 

It’s okay to feel sad, angry, happy, and grateful all at once. 

It’s okay to feel bad for yourself. 

And it’s okay to not have your shit together. 

Hopefully these reminders can help you in some way today, too. Whether you’re going through your own fertility process, or you’re just dealing with hard choices in life. 

There’s solace in knowing that you’re not alone in the hardness of it all, isn’t there?

Thank you for that. 

xx, 

K