I think I’m in a reasonably good place. In the past three years I have cried more tears than I have my entire life (I know, hard to believe eh Dad!), suffered more heartache than I ever thought possible, and felt a failure so deep I never thought I’d see the light of day….and this journey isn’t over yet. I think however, that I’m finally starting to put some of the hurt behind me. That’s not to say I’m going to recover. I think infertility cuts so deep that you’re never the same person, you’re never fully healed because the scar tissue is just too thick to ever truly go away. I know that if we’re ever lucky enough to have a child, regardless of how that child comes to be, we will always feel the lashing infertility has dealt us.
I’ve been pondering lately at how weird it must be to not go through this, to conceive easily and go through a pregnancy with what is considered a normal amount of worry. To go through nine and a half months with the default setting that ‘things will go right’ rather than ‘things are bound to go wrong’. To trust that your body is programmed to do the right thing without even thinking about it. It must be nice. But then I also think of how much I will appreciate our child if our dreams were to come true, how extra-specially treasured they would be.
Now please don’t get me wrong, I’m not suggesting that those who procreate easily don’t cherish their children, I’m merely contemplating the idea that something toiled for is more consciously appreciated, because let’s face it, if you don’t have to work for it you often don’t realise how much it cost to get there. I know I certainly value our home a lot more because it’s taken us five and a half long years of renovating – chipping away bit-by-bit as we’ve had the money; suffering cold, wet winters with no insulation/carpet/curtains and holes in the floor; missing out on fun things because we couldn’t afford to go – to get us to where we are today. If we’d purchased a house already complete it would just be a house, just a roof over our heads, instead of a home we’ve invested our heart and soul in.
Being aware of how precious our child would be does come with its downside of course. I will forever be in danger of over-protecting them, of wrapping them in bubble wrap until they can barely move. This is not only harmful for my child – all kids need the freedom to learn from their mistakes and experience the world – but it would also add a great deal of stress to our everyday lives. I refuse to be a helicopter parent. I must acknowledge what it cost us to get there; admit they are precious, irreplaceable, cherished; and step away from the helicopter landing-pad. I can do that.
Of course we have to get there first and although I’m currently doing well I’m still terrified of our next steps not working. It’s not just my husband & I invested in the process anymore, and I don’t want my body to let us all down once again. The thought of our donor going through all this for my body to play its usual games and fail at its last (only) hurdle really freaks me out. But I’m trying not to worry about it, I’m in a good place and I’m doing my absolute best to stay there.