One year ago I sat down on my computer and figured out how to start a blog. One year ago, I decided that if I were going to do the scary thing (IVF), then I was going to document it all. At first, it was for me. And my husband. Then, I opened it up a bit more. I am beyond grateful that I made this decision. My words, though never perfect, are my truth and they are a permanent reminder of a time in my life where I had to be ferociously brave.
As I sit here in the exact chair I was in one year ago, I am aware that I am changed. I had no idea what I was in store for when we signed those papers and began our IVF process. Similarly, I had no way to conceptualize the reality of actually becoming pregnant and managing that experience.
I’ve gone around and around in my head about how to find my way back to my writing. It’s been three months since I sat here with the keyboard beneath my fingertips. And I know why. I cannot figure out how to make the switch. How do I move through the pain and turmoil of trying to conceive a child through IVF and into the joy and celebration of actually achieving said goal? I struggle with this in my day-to-day life.
I am still stunned by the trauma. It is a persistent dark cloud that gravitates towards me during most moments of celebration throughout my pregnancy. I have to make a conscious effort to push that darkness away in order to accept the joy. And then there is the survivor’s guilt. I still have friends who have not found their ‘success.’ They are still stuck and I am not. Why? Who am I to move forward? Who am I to be so happy? I don’t mean for those questions to sound self-deprecating. I truly am at a loss for any rhyme or reason as to why our struggle with infertility may be over and others continue on. In that vein, I find that our baby boy truly is a miracle. I’ve witnessed too many scenarios where a beautiful embryo and a healthy, welcoming environment do not produce a life. The questions and the torment that these couples go through are agonizing to bear witness to. But, I find it a steady reminder of our little miracle.
I am 25 weeks pregnant and we have consistently met each milestone of this pregnancy with positive feedback. With each ultrasound, blood draw, and scan, we are congratulated on our healthy baby boy. Each time, I struggle to accept his health. I am pregnant with a healthy, baby boy. I have to repeat this to myself each time I’m sure he’s not ok.
The doubt, the guilt, the uncertainty, the denial…all symptoms of my trauma. I am too aware of how fragile this all is. Too aware of the failed efforts to create this little person. Too afraid of more loss…terrified of losing my baby boy.
I decided some weeks ago that if my greatest fear were realized and I did lose him, I would regret not spending more time in joy and connection with him. I began talking to him and planning for him. I have tried to see him as the baby that lived inside my dreams these past three years. Imagining his breath against my cheek and the possibility that he might acquire his father’s dimples…it takes my breath away. I imagine falling in love with him the way I did with our daughter…immediately and unapologetically.
One year ago, I sat here horrified by what was in front of me. I made it through. We made it through. My next challenge? Navigating through the paradoxical emotions of pregnancy after infertility….becoming a mother again…preparing our daughter to become a sister…letting go of the trauma, but never forgetting the bravest year of my life.
*I am grateful for my son.