You know when you were a baby and you thought when you couldn’t see something it didn’t exist? No words can convince you otherwise.
Okay, I know none of us remember that—but go with me here. I’m currently doing that with our infertility.
Ever since Chris and I started talking about kids, we have wanted two kids. Maybe more, but at least two. And at the beginning of this year, we started watching news about the border opening to Germany. And then late July, Germany opened it’s border to U.S. citizens again.
So, in August, my mom, my son, and I hopped a plane to Germany. Stress does not begin to describe this trip. For starters, Owen was feeding off of my emotions and not sleeping on the plane ride.
Have you ever had an entire plane full of people mad at you? Someone actually stood up and asked if I needed medicine for Owen. I did have people supporting me, too, but being the only one that could calm him was difficult.
But we made it…and we actually made it back to the United States. I really thought that first time worked. I was nauseous and couldn’t handle smells. So that first phone call really burst my ignorant happy little bubble.
My husband was actually in the field when I got the call, so I got to grieve selfishly. And then I was able to be there for my husband when I told him.
We decided it must have been too stressful. So we changed it up. And in October, I went to Germany without my mom and without my son.
Less stressful, right? It should work this time. Different efforts—same result.
I’m not sure why, but I thought as long as we got the embryos implanted it would work. I know that infertility is not math. Logically that makes sense. But on all the hormones, logic flies out the window.
There was supposed to be another time. When I flew to Germany in October, we had four embryos and wanted only two implanted. But then they told us it would be best to unfreeze all four and use the best two.
The other two embryos didn’t make it.
And just like that we were back at square one. Only older and less hopeful. I know we should be talking about next steps. But I’m not there yet. See the above statement about logic…
“Sorry.”
“You’re lucky.”
“Think of what you do have.”
“You can keep trying.”
No words help. I find myself closing my eyes and simply pretending it doesn’t exist.
Annie, I grieve with you and for you in this. I am so sorry this hasn’t worked– and you are right. I have no words. I pray you have spaces to grieve and lament in the disappointment, and I will keep believing that you will get to be parents of (at least!) two kiddos in the near-ish future.
I clearly missed this with the holiday craziness. Thank you – I always appreciate your support. And for my taking away most of what people normally say – you found such an elegant way to be there. Thank you for that.