We Are Survivors

I got a letter in the mail from my clinic with prices and schedule for 2009. I asked for it because I had heard prices were going up from a couple of people and I was concerned about how much. It isn't too much - about 10% over 2007 (although some individual procedures went up as much as 80% - ones I will need, of course). This isn't really a huge deal. We have already decided to give it a shot and 2-3 thousand dollars more doesn't really hit home when we will already be spending about $25,000.

No, what got to me was the pit in my stomach that started as soon as I saw where the letter was from. I naively thought it would be exiting to start thinking about giving LB a sibling. FamilyOfTwo talks about the thrill and fear of trying again to conceive. It reminded me of the thrill part of a cycle and the hope that it will work. Getting the letter reminded me of the fear. I realized that I was really lucky to have conceived LB on our first DE cycle and that there was no guarantee we would be successful again. Logically, I already knew this, but my gut was saying, "Of course we will have a sibling."

I put the letter aside thinking I could just ignore it and the sick feeling would go away. It didn't work. I looked at LB and then looked at Brad and said while trying not to cry, "I want to give her a sibling, but I don't want to do IVF again." He understood. In fact, that is what he has been trying to communicate when he has been telling me "one is enough."

Eventually, I opened the letter because I thought facing the fear a bit would help. It did, but it also got me thinking. Those of us who deal with infertility are survivors. Whether we are able to conceive with our own gametes or not, whether we adopt or carry the child, whether we get pregnant (relatively) easily or choose to put it behind us and live child free; we have kept going against significant challenges and we pay a high price. Of course, not just financially, but emotionally and physically as well.

I was listening to This American Life the other day about a soldier from the Iraq war diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder. He got the diagnosis because he had heightened fear /anxiety when he was around Muslims or other events and symbols that reminded him of his time in Iraq. How many of us feel heightened anxiety around pregnant women or in conversations that revolve around children? What about the anxiety that comes from driving by the hospital where your child died or past the clinic where you had failed cycles? Isn't this a kind of PTSD?

I wonder also if it would be a somewhat easier process if society as a whole had some appreciation for it. I find it interesting that since giving birth to LB, I have gotten a few emails that wax poetic over the joys (and of course hard work) of motherhood. When I get one, two things comes to mind: 1) Why didn't anyone acknowledge that I was first a mother nearly 4 years ago and 2) If they really thought it was all that, why don't their hearts break when they hear about someone who is being denied the opportunity? My only answer is that they either don't care, can't comprehend and / or don't really appreciate being a parent as much as they say.

As people dealing with infertility, we are traumatized, marginalized and isolated; yet we keep going. We pick ourselves up after losses and failed cycles and try again. We make the courageous decision to put trying to parent behind us and choose to live child free. We find ways to be happy with our lives even when they aren't working out the way we had planned. With the risk of sounding arrogant, may I say that we are amazing.

Take some time this week to pat yourself on the back and recognize your strength, perseverance, creativity, as well as the love you have for your partner, the children you may have and the children you hope to have. While you're at it, take a moment to tell a fellow infertile how amazing he or she is too.