Over a week ago, when the world of IVF crumbled to dust around around our feet and we found ourselves done in the most unsatisfying way, I was a mess -- not just because I was horribly sick with a stomach virus, but because an impending loss had become tangible and the words "IT'S OVER" hung over us, all in caps, like a messed up caption for that moment.
While I know that grief comes in waves and it's certainly not over and done with, I am finding that a sense of peace has come over me like a warm heated blanket, offering comfort in the face of this unfair end to our quest for pregnancy and a baby. It is both surprising and...not.
We have been mourning piecemeal for years, it seems. We started mourning our genetic components over two years ago, first mine and then Bryce's. This turn of events where we lose all genetic components isn't a shocking tragedy but rather a final acceptance of what has been a death of a thousand cuts. It hurts, but we can be at peace with it. Bryce actually said the other day, "I hope you don't think this comes off as callous, but I am SO GLAD THIS IS OVER, because now we can finally have our family."
I didn't think that was callous, I thought it was a beautiful truth. I will not miss jabbing myself with needles and getting probed vaginally and driving all over kingdom come for NOTHING. Because, at the end of all this hard work and positive thinking and changes in habits and hoping harder than a human should have to for a bodily function to work, we were left empty-handed. Chasing genetics and pregnancy (really, it was all about chasing pregnancy) led us further from a child of our own, not closer. We lost sight of the true goal, a lifetime of parenting, when we strove for an experience that lasts less than one year despite overwhelming evidence that things just weren't working out (and underwhelming reasons to explain WHY). I don't regret the journey, but it is so eye opening to realize how much freedom I feel in finally letting that go. I hadn't realized just how much weight I carried until it was gone.
It's time for hope, REAL hope, and a process that comes with its own complications and loss and potential for hurts, but one that works and will make us a family. (Expanded family, Bryce hates it when I say we will be a family, as he firmly believes we are a family already.) It has been surprisingly easy to embrace this new path, to feel excitement and hope and anticipation for this different process. We feel lighter, left without that awful sense of "WHAT HORRIBLE NEWS/BIZARRE TURN OF EVENTS WAITS FOR US NOW???" that came with our infertility journey. Now, we truly feel like expectant parents.
FutureBaby, we're coming for you.