My Hope Is Locked In A Freezer
No, I’m not talking about delicious, delicious ice cream. This time.
My husband and I are trying to be thankful. There are so many truckers, grocery store employees, delivery men and women, transit drivers, healthcare workers and other essential workers who are working their butts off to keep us safe, fed, and supplied with toilet paper. I’m doing my daily workouts and walking the dog to try to keep my body and mind healthy, and to calm my emotions the fuck down and check my privilege. I’m doing calming meditations, grounding meditations, sleep meditations, “embracing the dark” meditations… I’m trying to moderate my wine consumption and relax, and doing my best to avoid thoughts about our financial future while my business loses money. I am keeping busy, creating projects, and rearranging furniture. I baked a cake and then ate most of it. I haven’t joined the church of homemade sourdough just yet, but I’m only 40 days in, so that could change. We’re trying to be grateful that it’s just the 2 of us and our amazing dog stuck in this quarantine, which is, we’re sure, far less stressful than it is for the parents out there. My husband is teaching from home, which is stressful and sad, but at least he’s still employed. We also live in a country with universal healthcare. We are very, VERY lucky. I know this.
Well, my head knows this.
Sometimes the heart overrides the head though, because we’re also watching our window into having a family, possibly ever, close in our faces. If you don’t know me, you won’t know that we’ve been struggling with infertility since we got married almost 7 years ago. We struggled biologically, gave up, went the adoption route, got chosen, the adoption got reversed under incredible circumstances and we were devastated. We went back to fertility doctors, struggled again, had 3 failed IUI inseminations, and finally decided (with the generous financial help of my in-laws) to try IVF with ICSI. How’s that for some rushed exposition?! You’re welcome.
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So, February sucked. We knew it would. Originally it was supposed to be January for our IVF process, but my business ended up being too busy that month for me to afford taking on so much physical and emotional stress, or to take so much time off. So, while February was also full of work (Thankful, here! Not complaining!) I also underwent the roughest part of the IVF process. We spent the tens of thousands of dollars. I did the many, MANY early morning “appointments”, which are more like a rabid Black Friday lineup than a visit to a medical office, complete with a dude elbowing me in the face to get his wife ahead of me in line. I did all of the blood tests, spent many, many hours in standing-room-only waiting rooms; I did the ultrasounds, the hormone treatments, and the 40–50 needles that I had to figure out, assemble, and then plunge into my belly. I did the weeks of hobbling around, because it hurt to stand up straight, walk, twist, or be jostled in any way. I did the egg retrieval procedure (which is SUPER fun, by the way, especially when the woman before you screams all the way through her procedure).
In the end, though, we ended up with 4 embryos that made it to blastocyst stage, which is pretty fan-frigging-tastic! We then sent our little “embabies” off for genetic testing, to make sure that they were all healthy and viable, and less likely to miscarry. We anxiously waited the 2 weeks for those test results…while Covid19 spread.
We had our last appointment with our doctor over the phone, and were informed that only 1 of our precious embryos is actually viable; most likely due to my “advanced age”. I’d be offended, but after almost 7 years of this…grizzled old woman feels like an apt description, in my mind.
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The point is, we have one last shot. One. Which means undergoing a month of trials and tests, like a “test run” for the embryo transfer/implantation, to hopefully give our one shot the best chance of success the following month. Okay, we thought. Let’s get on it!
…Buuuut the clinic is now closed, and rightfully so, to keep everyone safe from the Coronavirus. The way we are always packed in there like sheep on a first come, first served basis for our tests — closing makes sense. The amount of lab tests required for all of us, that could be spent on Covid testing — closing makes sense. I know this.
Well, my head knows this.
My heart keeps panicking, wondering if the clinic will remain closed for the possible years that it could take to find a treatment and/or vaccine; wondering if, by then, I’ll be so old that our one shot won’t stand a chance. I can’t help wondering if we had just done it in January, if I’d be pregnant now. Of course, that would bring on other stresses and worries, but still…it’s not like I’m thinking rationally in these moments. I know that it’s “only a few more months”…or years, but it’s been “just a few more months” for SO LONG, and in my quarantine-addled brain (and lack of hair dye or usual grooming) I look in the mirror and see rapid aging, like that scene at the end of “Indiana Jones and the last crusade”.
We swing wildly between anxiety & sorrow, to joy and thankfulness because we are sometimes actually really enjoying our downtime. I have time to write, paint, workout and walk the dog, and then to watch a movie on the couch with my husband without the incessant deadlines and interruptions that come with my job. It’s kinda nice…until we feel guilty because we “get” to stay at home on the couch, exploring hobbies.
So yes, we are thankful, but also facing the fact that the odds are likely not in our favour. Our one last chance at a family is in a freezer just out of our reach. We’ve reached the point where we are operating under the assumption that we will never have a child. When the clinic reopens, of course we will do all of the things and take our shot, and if a miracle happens, then wonderful! But we’re not holding our breath. After 7 years of breath-holding and being devastated, and finally being so close to the finish line, we are feeling helpless in a limbo with an indefinite end, wondering if our dream of having a family is dying with every week that passes.
To you parents out there — we are not trying to belittle your struggle with 24/7 parenting, while working, while homeschooling, while worrying about safety and security for the future. I can’t imagine, and it must be brutal. But, if it helps at all to know, we are also, on some levels, incredibly envious of you.
To all of you other infertiles out there — we see you. We feel your pain, and the special kind of “IT’S JUST NOT FUCKING FAIR!” anguish that this brings. I have no words of wisdom to offer, and no way to help, but I hope that it makes you feel better to know that you’re not alone, and not a horrible person for feeling so frustrated and angry, and then happy, and then guilty, at the injustice of it all. This rollercoaster sucks, but it won’t be forever.
The End.
