Infertility – Page 47 – Apron Strings for Emily

12 October 200713 June 2011

Baby Picture

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A couple weeks I stumbled onto a picture that I had tucked away inside my dresser. At the time I tucked it away, it was the intent that I would someday look back at it and think, “Wow. I can’t believe how far I’ve come since then.” As it happened, that day I was busy looking for something else and I pulled the picture out and put it on top of my dresser (actually, on my mirror) and then went about my business.It wasn’t until yesterday when I was talking to a newly acquired friend, about my recent find that it hit me as to what the picture actually was. The picture I found happened to be the picture of my “would-be babies,” the embryos that were implanted into my womb during my one attempt at in vitro fertilization (IVF). As I was telling my friend about the snapshot, I felt myself begin to cry yet once again.

I relived that period of my life yesterday afternoon as I told her my story and my struggle. She’s heard bits and pieces about it before, but never to the extent as I did yesterday. She had previously heard about the treatment I went through, all leading up to the IVF cycle. And she certainly heard about all the wonderful medications I had to inject into myself each month and especially during the IVF cycle month. But what she never heard (nor anyone else for that matter) was how emotionally spent I was after each monthly disappointment… especially after the failed IVF cycle.

What I had told my friend is that when I looked at that picture, it reminded me of how different a person I was since that period of time. And even how much more different a person I was since starting my infertility journey ten years prior.

Ten years ago, I saw myself as a pretty optimistic person. A “glass is half-full” type of person. If pregnancy didn’t happen, then it just wasn’t meant to be just yet. Almost a year later, I began to become cautiously optimistic. And by the time I had my first hysteroscope, my mindset was of “let’s just get the task done.” At my lowest “pre-IVF” point, I was definitely very pessimistic about any chance of ever getting pregnant. By that time I had already had done enough ovulation charting, had more than enough Clomid cycles followed by even stronger injectable medication cycles, and had enough surgeries to last me a lifetime. It was at that time I became a”glass is half-empty” person.

So when Hubby and I finally decided to try the IVF route, I knew I had to change my attitude. And although I knew that IVF was never a guarantee that I’d be able to get pregnant, I had to think positive. In fact, I couldn’t just think positive, I had to put every effort into making sure that I was going to be successful at becoming pregnant. It was actually not as hard as I thought, especially with all the hormones I was pumping into me. I knew then that if I had even a shred of doubt, I would fall deep into the abyss of pessimism.

So imagine how far I fell once I found out my IVF cycle was unsuccessful. I certainly did plunge deep into that deep pit of despair. There was the initial shock and disappointment, followed closely by hysterics for the next couple weeks. Anything at that time set me off into waves of sadness and tears. A year after the failed IVF attempt, when we made the decision to let our one frozen blastocyte “go,” it was like reliving all the emotions of the year prior.* And in that moment, I knew I would never be able to go through another IVF attempt. It was just too emotionally and physically painful for me to ever have to go through again.

After a period of time, I just became “numb.” Crying seemed to be useless, and to tell you the truth, very humiliating. After all, in my culture, crying is only appropriate for a set amount of time. After that, crying is just considered a sign of weakness as we are taught to quickly “get over” our loss and “move on” right away. So after awhile, I learned to stifle my pain and pretend as if nothing was wrong. I pretended to be “over” the failed IVF attempt and let people believe that I was just content with my current situation. I also let others believe that eventually my Hubby & I would be working towards adoption. And truthfully, I tried to convince myself of that for the next three years.

However, as the past three years went by, I unconsciously knew that something was missing. By all standards, I looked like I was okay, but inside I felt miserable. I probably would have continued to go on feeling like this if it wasn’t for the news that we received a year ago next month. That news was of my sister-in-law’s pregnancy. And well, if you’ve read my previous posts (not to mention the most recent posts of Liam’s life), you’d know that I didn’t handle the news very well. As of recently, I’d like to think I managed the most recent events rather decently, but it’s only after I spent this last year talking (and subsequently blogging) about the gamut of emotions I’ve been through.

So where am I at now? Well, obviously I’ve been crying a lot lately (cultural behavior be damned!). In fact, I think I’ve cried more this past year than I did over the last ten years, since I started this crazy infertility journey. I know for a fact that all the events that have transpired over the past year is responsible for the river of tears (not to mention the trails of tissue paper) that follow behind me. And while it’s been a terribly difficult year, I do have to admit I feel I’ve grown a little more emotionally stronger from it. I would think that just by being able to post my “baby picture” shows that I am. (At least I hope so).

Wow. I can’t believe how far I’ve come since then.

* For a quick overview of our IVF history, we had 13 eggs retrieved, 8 of which were fertilized using ICSI, 3 of which “matured” enough, 2 of which were implanted in me. The lonely one that was left was frozen for the possibility of later doing a “frozen cycle.” What we didn’t expect was that we’d only have one blastocyte mature out of the 13 eggs that were originally retrieved. As there isn’t much success rate in doing a “frozen cycle,” let alone with only one blastocyte, Hubby & I elected not to proceed with that next step.

09 October 200713 June 2011

Quiz Time

Okay, I admit it. I was feeling a little bored. I was surfing some blogs and stumbled on to the first quiz below on someone else’s blog. And well, then I kept finding more quizzes I wanted to take on the site. Scary thing is that the results, although not 100% accurate, do reflect how my life has been affected by certain circumstances, particularly infertility. Anyway, below is the extent of my boredom.

Your Mind is 79% Cluttered

Your mind is quite cluttered. And like most clutter, it’s a bunch of crap you don’t need. Try writing down your worst problems and fears. And then put them out of your mind for a while.

Why am I not suprised?!

You Have Low Self Esteem 60% of the Time

While you sometimes feel good about yourself, you tend to struggle a little with self esteem issues. It’s not about changing who you are, it’s about accepting your faults. You just need to be less critical and demanding of yourself!

Seriously?! Thought it would be more.

The Part of You That No One Sees

You are balanced, peaceful, and sincere. You’re the type of person who goes along to get along. And you’re definitely afraid of rocking the boat. Underneath it all, you fear your world falling apart. You’ll put up with a situation that you don’t like in fear of changing it. Disruptive and forceful people intimidate you – and sometimes exploit you.

Well, that’s actually pretty accurate.

You Are Probably Not Pregnant

It seems like you’re in the clear, but you should really take a test to be sure.

Duh…. I think I failed this test, or um … quiz.

Well, maybe next time I’ll find something more productive to blog about. Like how I’m enjoying some of the new shows out there on TV this fall. Or how I find it completely adorable that Hubby likes to find movies he knows I’d love to watch over and over again and puts that on the TV instead of something I know he’d love to watch. Yep, gotta love Hubby.

14 September 200713 June 2011

Saving Face, Losing Control (Alone? Part 2)

Well, my post has been up for over a week now, and no response from anyone. Hmm … the power of words wasn’t strong enough I guess. Really, I can’t complain. I’m seriously not trying to fish for comments at all. In fact, the reason I started to blog was more to get all these intense feelings and emotions out into the world. And in doing so, I do admit it feels good.

So why am I still feeling alone? Well, after posting my latest ramblings last week, I happened to stumble upon an article at work that helped explain a little about why I continue to feel the way I do. And now I’m sharing this information with whoever wishes to read on.

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The article discussed the reluctance of Asian-Americans to seek or use mental health services. It even goes on to cite that when Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders eventually seek professional help, the severity of their problems tend to be high, most likely because of the delay in seeking treatment until their problems reach crisis proportions.

It also states that Asians are not used to meeting with strangers and discussing their problems because many of their cultural beliefs go against this. Traditionally, Asians with mental health problems tend to speak first with a family member and then maybe with a close friend about their issues. Only after that might they consider involving someone outside their networking community. While talking to a therapist would be more accepted by a second-generation Asian person, many of the traditional values of their culture, such as seeking help from an “outside source,” still permeate their belief systems.

The reason, as the article states, that many Asian cultures associate seeking mental health services as a “weakness” is largely from the fact that these cultures stress “saving face.” According to the article, if a person was found to be talking to a therapist about issues that cannot be solved amongst family or close friends, this would be considered “losing face.” Once a person “loses face”, they can no longer function in his or her social network and are therefore not considered useful in certain situations.

The findings in this article aren’t anything completely revealing to me, a second-generation Filipino-American. I have always, in some way, known that “saving face” was always something that our culture did. Growing up in the Filipino culture in the US, I have witnessed some situations where family or friends have had to “save face,” but I never had the “opportunity” to experience it myself. That is, until now … as I continue to struggle with infertility.

To give you a little more background, my husband and I are both Filipino. We both grew up in a typical Midwest suburb, met each other in high school, and married shortly after college. We started trying to start our family within a year of after getting married with (obviously) no success. Two to three years into our marriage, I was already on Clomid and doing the whole ovulation charting. We didn’t tell anyone about our problems because we figured that it was only a matter of time. And I’ll admit it now, we also didn’t say anything because, well … frankly, we didn’t want to “lose face.” For a while, it wasn’t a big deal with our parents that we were having “issues” until other family friends started to ask them when my husband and I were going to make them “grandparents.” And well, I can’t imagine what it was (or still is) like to have to try and “save face” for them.

Now the Filipino culture, like many other Asian cultures, places emphasis on family and on being a parent. Women, particularly, are seen as the nurturer’s in the family and are expected to manage the household and raise the children. The woman can still have a very successful career or work outside the home, but the expectation is that she is still the primary caregiver for the children.

If infertility gets thrown into this mixture, many times it is “hush-hushed” because it isn’t an issue that: #1 other people, let alone Filipinos want to talk about, and #2 it’s a matter of being able to “save face.” If we don’t talk about it, it doesn’t exist and therefore those affected by infertility can still be connected to their social networks.

Now “saving face,” in my own personal experience, only works for a period of time until there’s a feeling of losing control. When no one talks about the problem, then the feeling of anxiety increases until loneliness starts to settle in. Questions like “Why am I going through this?” and “Am I the only one that has this issue?” suddenly become “I’m so alone” and “no one understands what I’m going through.”

For lack of better words, there is no support. There’s no one there to talk to about such issues and no one to empathize with what I’m going through. And it’s mainly because no one wants to talk about infertility. It’s a disease that no one, especially those who have a strong cultural upbringing such as Asians, can get a firm grasp on. I seem to think it’s because literally … there is nothing to grasp on to, as a person going through infertility isn’t visually sick. And that’s certainly different then, let’s say, my nephew Liam who is still in the NICU, or someone who is suffering from cancer.

Please don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean to belittle any of these health problems because they certainly are life-altering events. These just happen to be health issues that people can readily understand and empathize why someone can be sad or depressed over. Infertility is not.

So this is another reason why I’ve been feeling alone in this journey. My husband and I do talk about these issues quite often and he certainly continues to provide me with much support. But sometimes it’s nice to be able to talk to someone other than my wonderful husband about these things.

06 September 200713 June 2011

Alone?

I finally updated my profile on blogger and added some stuff under the interest section. Of course I added infertility to see how many other profiles would come up under that “interest.” It’s no suprise that there were 225 other people that also listed infertility. After all, isn’t the statistic “1 out of 8 women” suffer from infertility? That’s a whole lot of women in the world. So why is it that, despite these statistics, I still feel so alone in this journey?

Of course I have my dear Hubby. We are both going through this journey together. However, as much as he is always there for me, I know that I’m also the one in this relationship that tends to feel things more deeply. I’m the emotional one. I’m the one who tends to be over-sensitive when it comes to anything having to do with pregnancies and babies and family-oriented things.

The crux of it, I know, is that I don’t let people know exactly how I feel. They may get the gist of how these things affect me; most likely by my non-verbal behavior or the skillful way that I’ve learned to avoid any events that might involve family or kid-related things. However, I’ve never directly told them how I’ve felt.

Oh, I may have discussed my infertility with others once or twice; once to my sis-in-law while she was pregnant and maybe another time to my mom one occasion when I finally broke down and cried in front of her. But after those situations, it’s almost as if my journey through infertility was just a non-issue in the grand scheme of things that were happening. In fact, the week after I had enough courage to talk to my sister-in-law about how bittersweet the news of her pregnancy was to me, her latest ultrasound and lab tests showed signs of some fetal anomalies. I mean, seriously … where does my issue of infertility rank in the grand scheme of those type of things?

But lately, I’ve been trying to make an effort to let others know how I feel. Call it a cleansing of some sort. This blog is definitely a means to let out my emotions. And since I’ve been doing this, I have started to feel a little better. I’ve realized in this process that I’m a better communicator when writing. And that when placed face to face with someone to describe how I’m feeling, I can’t quite get the correct words out. I can’t even begin to describe how uncomfortable I felt during the times I participated in an infertility support group meeting or just how difficult it was to talk to my sister-in-law during her pregnancy; and even now, after Liam‘s birth. So this blogging thing is a good thing. I only truly hope that this blog reaches those specific people I wish to read it and that it attracts the audience that I hope to capture. I seriously have no idea, as no one ever leaves any comments on my blog. (Not that I’m trying to fish for comments … )

I guess I just don’t know exactly where I am in this “infertility journey.” I know I’m past the medical aspect of it; meaning I’m not going to submit myself to any more medications or procedures any more. I’m pretty sure the whole donor embryo aspect of it or surrogacy is not an option, as Hubby and I just aren’t comfortable with that direction. That leaves adoption or living child-free. And I’m not about ready to accept the notion of child-free living.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I know adoption is our next step in starting our family. But I’m just not there yet, emotionally (not to mention financially). When I start that next step, I want feel like there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that I’m doing the right thing. I don’t want to feel like I’m a failure for not being able to conceive my own child. I want to have a bit of my self-esteem back so I can focus one-hundred percent on the adoption task at hand. And I want to be able to have a positive attitude, and not feel like I’m going to end up being sorely disappointed again. Because, quite frankly, I don’t know how I would be able to pick myself up again if I had to go through another loss.

Getting back to the whole Blogger profile thing … As I was going through quite a handful of blogs of people that are going through or have gone through the infertility journey, I still felt alone. Most of the blogs I pulled up were people currently going through some sort of treatment; whether it was Clomid, IVF, donor embryo or even adoption. And many of them were blogs of those that had “successfully graduated” to proud parenthood. Since I already went through the Clomid and IVF route (once was enough, both financially and emotionally, thank you very much) nor am I a parent of any sort, I feel like I can’t 100% relate to anyone. And I would certainly feel apprehensive about commenting on their blog entries, thinking I wouldn’t be able to add any additional info or support that they don’t already have.

225 people listed as having some sort of infertility and I still felt alone. How could that be? How can I not find anyone else that felt caught between stages of this infertility journey? Sure, there were a lot of the same emotions of failure and disappointment. But most of those same blogs also expressed hope. Something that I’m obviously sorely lacking right now.

I really, truly want to know. Am I all by myself out here in cyberland? Are my thoughts and rants completely crazy? And while I know that Hubby will always there for me, am I doomed to experience these crazy infertility emotions alone?

24 August 200713 June 2011

Opposable

The other day at work, I had a pretty intense conversation with a fellow co-worker about loss. It started out with my congratulating her about becoming a new grandmother by way of adoption. The two of us have shared our experiences with infertility in the past; hers as it relates to her son and daughter-in-laws struggles. And mine, well I’ve mentioned it in previous blog entries. So when I found out that she was finally going to be a grandma, I expressed how happy I was for her and her family.

Of course the next question that inevitably came out was, “Have you guys thought of adoption?” And of course, I gave her the answer that I have given to everyone else that asked that same question. Which is … yes, we have.

It’s strange. I can remember that the subject of adoption had even come up during my Hubby and my engagement. However, it was more in the context of adding on to an already-existing family that we made all on our own. Adoption would be a way for us to expand our family; to give our son a brother or our daughter a sister. Both of us never grew up with another sibling of the same sex and, therefore, never experienced a brotherhood or a sisterhood bond. Little did we know then that adoption would be our only option to have that large family that we wanted.

We know that adoption is our only chance of starting that family. We’ve even been to a few adoption agencies to get an idea of what the process for an international adoption would entail. We came out of each of those agencies excited … and completely overwhelmed. There’s just so much involved in an international adoption. There’s the massive amount of paperwork that needs to be completed to exact precision. There’s the stressful home-study that’s required by each agency. And there’s the cost involved in going through each one of these processes. Not to mention the wait and the anxiety of worrying that we might not be chosen by one of the overseas adoption agencies just because the paperwork wasn’t filled out right or that our dossier might not fit the profile of a couple that they would allow to adopt.

Obviously, all the things that are required to go through the adoption process is do-able. Especially if hundreds of couples in a given year adopt internationally. So why aren’t we diving head first into adoption?

Well, first of all there is the financial aspect of it. Although it’s been over three years since our failed IVF attempt, we are still struggling financially to overcome that loss. And, if this gives you any idea … the amount it cost us to go through the IVF cycle is less than half the amount we would have to come up with to adopt internationally.

And then there’s the emotional aspect of it. I can’t deny this … I’m absolutely terrified of the whole process. And a lot of it has to do with the anger I have over my infertility issues. Too many “why’s.” Why can’t I have the family I that I always wanted? Why can other’s get pregnant so easily? Why is my body failing me? Why do I have to go through an intense home-study to prove that I’m a worthy parent when there are “natural” parents out there that harm their own children? Why? Why? Why?

It all has to do with loss. I feel like I’ve lost a part of me. I feel like I’ve lost the battle on having that “perfect family” that I always dreamed about. And because of that, I’ve lost all sense of pride in feeling like I’m a successful woman. Quite frankly, I’ve lost my self-esteem.

My co-worker made this one comment during that discussion about loss that stuck with me. She said that she once asked a friend of hers who just lost her son in a car accident how she was feeling. Her friend described it as living with a hand after its thumb had been severed off … the hand was still functional, but yet there was this feeling of something missing. Not only was it missing, but trying to pick things up without that opposable thumb now took twice as long and was doubly difficult.

So as that comment sunk in, I related it to my own issues of loss. I’m functioning, that’s for sure. It just takes me twice as long and makes things twice as difficult to get through any major life events. And that includes adoption. It’s definitely something that I’m not “opposed” to doing … in fact, as I mentioned above, I know that adoption is our next step and our only chance to start that “dream family.” But right now, I just need to work through my loss … my inability to have a child of my own … and learn to function without my “opposable thumb.”