Moving On

This is a departure from my usual, "this is what we did today" blog posts. I will be sharing actual feelings, so you may want to steer clear! If you are male, you may want to steer clear because the word "period" just might be mentioned.

Today is the end of a journey for me. I guess it is a journey that has lasted about 12 years. I always wanted to have four kids. I was under the illusion that one could choose how many kids one wanted to have and then have them at some point. That illusion didn't last long.

It took over a year to get pregnant with Brishen. It was difficult, but a year was do-able. I then had some time to enjoy my pregnancy and then enjoy my new son before worrying about having more children.

Eventually, though, when Brishen turned 1, I was ready for another baby. I really wanted my children to be only a couple years apart. My fertility doesn't work that way, though. I tried for another year or so, really sure that I would get pregnant again at some point. I didn't.

I always dreamed of adopting, so I decided that I would rather go that route rather than fertility tests and treatments. Adoption is certainly not a clean, easy process, but we survived the waits and uncertainties and even a failed adoption--undoubtedly the most painful experience of my life. Getting to be Basia's mom made every single struggle before that more than worth it. I would have gone through it all a million times. I shudder to think that if we had not had fertility issues, we would not have Basia. Thank God for our infertility!

After Basia's birth, I just felt truly blessed to have two children: a boy and a girl, two healthy September babies who bring me more joy and peace than I could have imagined. I also felt worn out from the struggles to have children. I decided that having four kids (not the RAISING them, mind you, but finding a way to GET them) was just too much work. I spent the next 4 and 3/4 years just being happy with what I had and not for a minute wishing (or maybe daring to wish) for anything more.

Then I came to what I consider to be a crossroads over this past summer. My periods (sorry, I warned you that I may actually use that word) have steadily gotten unbearable in many ways. I had to decide whether I was ready to do something possibly permanent to make my life better. That is when I felt the need to give my fertility one last chance before accepting the finality of a possibly permanent procedure.

I knew that I would never go through all the rounds of tests and procedures that I may need. Our insurance doesn't cover any of it, and if I had the money to pay for it, I'd use that money for another adoption instead. I did have some basic testing done, mostly because it could help explain the infertility AND what was going on with my periods, and I found that my hormone levels are off as is the length of my luteal phase. The doctor felt that I was a perfect candidate for Clomid, an easy pill I'd only have to take a few days each month.

In my mind I thought that I would not get my hopes up, after all I had been perfectly happy with the two kids I had for five years. I told myself that I was just giving myself one last chance before moving on with my life. Doctors rarely prescribe Clomid for more than six months, so I was planning to try it for six months and then figure out what I could do to get rid of my awful periods after that. Six months. I can do anything for six months.

Maybe not. The doctor seemed pretty hopeful, and I guess that hope rubbed off on me because I had all sorts of imaginary symptoms that first month. I was so annoyed with myself for letting myself get sucked into that cycle of hope and disappointment again. I was so many years beyond that.

I had my next check-up and took my next round of pills in November. I had already decided that I could not get back on this emotional roller coaster for more than three months. I was much better about keeping my hopes under control for round two until...

my period was truly late. The month before I had actually started a day early. That meant I didn't have to test. I was spared from those agonizing 3 minutes of waiting to find out that, yep, there is only one pink line on the stick, as there had been all those times all those years before. Even the idea of buying a pregnancy test makes me practically panic. I hate them. I really cannot even remember what it was like that one time it showed two lines almost ten years ago. I just remember all the times that I couldn't see a second line no matter how hard I squinted.

I expected my period on Saturday or Sunday but certainly by Monday. By Monday night, I could not deny that I was late. I was supposed to go in to the doctor this morning (Tuesday), and I knew he would wonder why I had not tested. I know most women trying to conceive test days before their missed period and time and time again, hoping for the right result.

I got up the courage (trust me, it took a lot of courage) and bought the test last night. I slept a few hours and then stared at the ceiling for a couple more before I decided that I could get up and test. Would this actually be the second time in my life when I would see a second line? Would I get to wake Jon up with results I couldn't dare even dream of?

Of course not. I felt like such an idiot for even testing. I felt like such an idiot for letting myself go back in time to all those emotions and all that pain after having been so happy with my family for so many years. Most of all, I felt 100 percent DONE.

I cancelled my doctor's appointment and told them I was done. I decided to give myself a day or two to truly grieve--knowing that I have so much more to be thankful for than to grieve, and then I'm going on with my life.

If I win the lottery that I never play, I will not be using the winnings to get fertility treatments. I'll adopt a child or two from someplace exotic in the world or even the great state of Georgia again (it worked out pretty well the first time). Since I am smart enough to know that isn't going to happen, I'm going to do my best to think of all the reasons why two kids is the perfect number for me and why my particular two kids are so dang great.

Through this whole long process I haven't really talked to any of you about this stuff. I'm pretty good at keeping it all inside and putting on a happy face. If you run into me later today, you will likely think that life is going on as usual.

The only reason I am even blogging all these thoughts and feelings out is that I'm hoping that it will help me to not eat the pain away in chocolate. And if I do spend the next couple of days eating too many sweets and watching too many sappy movies, maybe just maybe that's an OK thing to do for just a couple days. I know that I'll be just fine before long and that it will feel good to move on with my life again with the peace of knowing how very fortunate I am to have my two great kids. There are so many who are not even that fortunate.