Worst case scenarios

I've written before about infertility and worst case scenarios. At first, we think it will all be easy. The worst case scenario might be struggling to get pregnant. Then if we are lucky enough to conceive, a miscarriage is the worst case scenario. That can escalate, as it did for me, to life-threatening ectopic pregnancies. Then the worst case becomes IVF, then not even getting a chance to complete a cycle, and then childlessness. That gradual but relentless spiral down became familiar, until we reached the depths of where hope for that life did not exist.

I'm going through the same thing now with my husband. It is rough. I know I will come through it, and will survive. I just don't want to have to go through everything that is coming. II don't want him to have to go through what he is enduring at the moment, let alone what is coming. 

On top of everything that is going on, we got some shocking news this week. My sister-in-law, someone I've known since our first year at university together 45 years ago, died suddenly. She had been sick for years, but with the wonders of new medical advances, she had survived the last seven years, and was actively caring for her own husband (my husband's brother) who was facing severe medical challenges of his own. The situation was bad enough already. Talk about spiralling down. 

For obvious reasons, we can't travel to support the family, my brother-in-law and my niece and nephew, in Asia. I am live-streaming her funeral mass as I write this. (The audio is terrible, which is why I am writing right now, but the music is lovely. She was a musician, and would have liked that).  Emotions have caught up with me. Today, it is all too much!

My sister-in-law was always supportive of me. She recognised that my life was different because we did not have children. In particular, she has thought of me undertaking this care-giving role without adult children, or any family in this city. I have always appreciated her acknowledgements that sometimes, life without children is really difficult. 

We'll get through this year, one way or another. I know that. Pregnancy loss and childlessness taught me that. But I've really had enough of these ever deteriorating worst case scenarios.    

And so in honour of my SIL, I prefer to think of the road trip we took together from Amsterdam, where she was living 20 years ago, to Lille and Bruges (or Brugge). For years, we had talked about escaping, just the two of us, and this was our one opportunity to do so. I'll remember us laughing in the leather shop in Lille, in the middle of a Gay Pride Weekend, when we were assumed to be a couple. I'll remember her patience as she drove round and round the one-way loop road in Bruges, until I could figure out the navigation route to our hotel. I'll remember her pointing out all the Madonnas on the corners in Bruges, and eating mussels and later waffles there with her on a sunny, early summer day. And I'll remember her laughing at our soup course at the Michelin-recommended restaurant, as we tried to figure out how to eat it out of the tiny cups, with the sporks we had been given. Patience, and laughter in the face of challenges was a strength of hers, it turned out, as the years to come proved. I think that's a wonderful legacy. One I am trying to emulate.

Now is not the time for accomplishments

 Wow, I didn't realise it had been well over a month since I had posted. How easy it is to slip out of a habit!

Mel's latest Roundup pointed me in the direction of Middle Girl's blog here, in which someone (who can be found here at 8thDay)  made a comment that really spoke to my situation now. It also reminded me of all those who are grieving their loss of fertility, of the loss of their dreams of a family, and that time of coming to understand accept that we would never have children.

"This is not the time for accomplishments."

I've been feeling that way now. There is so much I need to do, but at the moment, surviving with some sanity intact is about all I can manage. Remembering to breathe. Treading water. And that's okay. 

It's okay too when someone is realising that their life will be one without children. Getting through a day without collapsing in tears (or at least, not too many times), with managing a smile or even a laugh, with appreciating the sun's warmth or a cool breeze (depending which hemisphere you're in right now), with appreciating and maintaining your primary relationships, and with getting some sleep, or managing to eat right or even exercise; any or all of these are actually major accomplishments. It's easy to feel we are drowning, when what we are actually doing is surviving. "Accomplishments" are all relative.

Grief for what we are losing and the future we thought we'd have is paramount at such a time, and that's okay too. Anticipating the future can come later. Of course, inevitably, it creeps into our thoughts. But we need to deal with that in manageable lots, especially at first. Major decisions can come later.  

This is not the time for accomplishments. I've often written about the feeling that we need a "Next Big Thing" if we are not going to have children. But in reality is that the next big thing is just getting through the next hour, day, week, month or year. If there is an easy "next big thing" then that is great. But my experience in watching women (and men) grappling with the idea of a No Kidding life has shown that most of us do not have a "next big thing." Why does there need to be one? To fill a hole? It will fill a space, but it won't fill the hole - just life fills the hole. Very gradually, and to different extents and in different ways for us all. That is life.

But today. Today is just today. We're surviving, not drowning. Whenever you feel that you're being swamped, or that everything is just too much, be kind to yourself. It is not the time for accomplishments. Accepting that makes life a little bit easier. 

 

 

Getting through, staying whole, and thriving

I found a quote the other day which I liked, and in following up who had said it originally, I went down a rabbit-hole of wonderful quotes, and spent an hour being inspired. The quote I was looking for was from the wonderful Maya Angelou, and when I found that, I found some of her other words that also apply to those of us who wanted to have children, however late in the piece, but who were unable to become parents. In fact, they take us through the gamut from that intial shock and grief, to finding ourselves, and emerging feeling strong and victorious.

“The only way out of something is all the way through it.” - Maya Angelou

Oh, this is so true! When I had my second ectopic pregnancy, I thought I knew all about ectopics. I thought I could get through the sadness and loss more quickly as a result, or even skip it. I was wrong.

“You may not control all the events that happen to you,
but you can decide not to be reduced by them.” 

I love this. It’s how so many of us feel about not having children. We wanted them. We have suffered loss, and we will continue to suffer loss. But we are not less because of that. We are not reduced. We are just changed from the people we were, or thought we were. In fact, in many ways we are stronger and better.

And finally, she said,

“My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style.”

I’m still looking for the style, but otherwise, my life is exactly this. I can’t think of a better way to come out of infertility, and into a new, No Kidding life, with this as your mission in life.

 

 PS. I was thriving when I took this photo of water lilies on the Chobe River in Botswana last year.

 

Making the transition to our No Kidding lives

Over the years, in my huge document of No Kidding writing both published and unpublished, I have collected quotes that speak to me, and make me think about how we approach our lives without children, when once we might have hoped for something else.

A famous economist (whether or not you agree with his theories), John Maynard Keynes, points out that

"The difficulty lies not so much in developing new ideas as in escaping from old ones."

Being open to the future, rather than clinging to the hopes of the past, is really what sets us up for a happy No Kidding rest of our lives. I can vouch for that. And I feel vindicated in this, as Charles Darwin reminds me that -  

“It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent,
but the one most responsive to change.”

We’re survivors. And we should be proud of that.