I am wrestling with acceptance.
On the surface, this seems so easy. Why am I mourning about
it so deeply? And then I probe down in to the heart of it, and it is so twisted
and ugly. I know I am shrinking away from the truth: at least how I see it.
I guess I didn’t realize the scope of this until I talked to my BFF on Saturday. My sister offered her
eggs. I honestly wouldn’t want to do this unless that was an option. I would rather have a baby who is genetically
related to me. I am not ready to let go of the idea that I want a baby who
looks like me: who is genetically close to me. And I am so touched and humbled
that she offered.
What I am wrestling with: I don’t want to go through another
horrible disappointment. Is that the only reason I am ready to get so drastic
so soon? I hear my heart quicken with
anger every time the doctor brings up donor eggs. I am not emotionally ready
for it. But I can’t help thinking that it may be the only chance to have a
child of my own.
But then there is the other option: there was a lot that was
“wrong” with this last cycle. The doctor triggered me sooner than usual. If my age and AMH factors are something he
tried to drive home, the thing that he DIDN’T bother to mention: he could have
screwed up. OR that mistiming the trigger shot is considered one of the primary
contributors to “Empty follicle syndrome”. And I triggered a few hours late, to avoid the
potential for another wasted cycle- since I ovulated early last time, and there
was nothing there.
So there’s the feeling that my eggs may not be as old and
leathery and haggard as the doc is making out. How would he know? We’ve never
managed to get our hands on one. If my egg quality could actually be
established as crappy, I would be a lot more likely to move forward with the
more extreme alternative.
The next issue: My parents. God help me, I am so angry with
them, because of what happened last time. I got the rug jerked out from under
me big time. Mom keeps saying I can ask
for money- whatever it takes. And a
horrible cynical (and probably correct) part of me blows up with fury every
time she says this. I know she means well. I know they want me to be happy. I also know
that when we went through this 5-6 years ago: when we didn’t have the money to
do this ourselves, but plenty of eggs , I went through 6 IUI’s. When it got to
the point of IVF, I asked, and they refused to help. When I bring this up now, it is presented as a
“misunderstanding”, which is the biggest bundle of bullshit I have ever heard.
At that point, my brother was married. His beautiful, ideal wife
turned out to be a raving slut, and they are now divorced. I feel that my parents thought A. Hey, Jen’s
still young, they don’t know WHAT’s wrong: let it ride. B. Well, there’s no way perfect daughter-in-law will
be infertile. We’ll have grandchildren from them in a few years. And C. at this point, nobody in their circle of
friends had become grandparents yet. They weren’t in a hurry to “keep up with
the Joneses.” In the interim of course, their friends (actually named The
Joneses) have had five grandchildren.
I am now their only option. So now they want to help me: to
throw the lady a rope after I have already drowned, after bloodlessly watching me sorrowing about this for years and
years. Now they want to bet on the dark horse. Yes, I am angry. And you know
what? I have every fucking right to be.
I am angry, and resentful.
And that brings me to The Man. I love my husband so much. If he wasn’t so dead set against it, we would
have adopted long ago. Now of course, we
are in this hellhole, so that is not an option.
But even if it were (it should be, hopefully soon), he’s not OK with it.
He wants a child that is genetically his. And of course, there is nothing wrong
with him, fertility-wise. I feel like I
am robbing him of that chance. And so I am going through this horrible process,
again, and again, and every time we come up empty, I see him get more
hopeless. I can understand: I also want a child who is genetically related
to me. But if there were something “wrong” with him, he has explicitly stated
that he wouldn’t want the tables turned. He wouldn’t want me to use donor
sperm.
Compound that with the fact that a few months ago: before we
jumped back into this: he said that if we couldn’t have a biological child of
his together, he would leave me and find someone who could. He assured me that he would still love me,
but that is how badly he wanted this. He couldn’t understand why I found that
so devastating. Wouldn’t I want him to
be happy? He told me that his grandfather had done something similar: left his
first wife when she couldn’t , or didn’t want to, have children.
And now he says that I “forced” him to say that. And when pressed, that he "regrets saying it" (but not that he didn't mean it.) Anyone who knows him would be aware that The Man can’t be forced to do anything, and that his entire stance about this is beyond
hypocritical. He would happily subject
me to things that he would outright refuse to do. And then rationalize leaving
me if they didn’t work. And every time I think of that, I want to hit him with
a bat. Because he knows how much I want
this, and how gutted I am each time I fail. The last IVF procedure, I told him
on the ride home that he should leave me. I was so shattered. And while he comforted me, he didn’t tell me
that he wouldn’t leave, either. All he said was, "We're not finished".
And I have to think
that someone who would say something like that to me: doesn’t deserve me. Because that is not what
I would do. I made vows. If it were him, I would stick by his side no matter
what. If that meant living a childless
life, so be it: although I would never stop trying to convince him to adopt or
take in foster children. Yes, it would kill me, but that would be my approach
to it. And knowing he is not willing to make that level of commitment or
sacrifice for me sticks in my craw. It twists at my guts, like a knife.
I asked him last
night, “What if we do donor eggs and it doesn’t work?” and he said we would
cross that bridge when we came to it.
And by that he could mean he wanted to stay positive, or that he
actually would leave me. So, right or
wrong, I feel like my marriage is contingent upon this procedure. His words haunt me- they are like a threat,
hanging over my head, if I should fail. Do I really want a marriage on those
terms? If I am honest with myself, no. I
don’t. I think he knows, if he came out
and said anything point blank, I would tell him to go fuck himself and be gone.
And then, there’s my sister.
This is where my messed up brain comes into it. I think, “Maybe my kids
would have it easier if their biological material came from her. She’s
driven in a way I never was. She never had to battle with her weight. She always took the right path, while I always
chose some zig-zag, meandering way. And
this is nothing to do with my sister, whom I love. It has everything to do with
sibling rivalry, which is strong in our family. I hate having to “resort” to my sister’s DNA.
But is my nearsighted, slightly obese, occasionally zitty DNA really so wonderful? I know the odds are that any children I had
from her eggs could resemble me as much as they resemble her: or they
could look like Mom, or Dad, or someone on The Man’s side of the family. But I
feel like it’s just another way in which I am not good enough: the way I have
felt about myself as soon as I started to put on weight as a kid. I am in my
thirties, almost forty, and still. That horrible feeling of being Not Good Enough
is still there, and it’s not going anywhere anytime soon. This obviously compounds that.
I know I have enough love in my heart for a child I adopted-
any child, honestly. My little kindergarteners knew that: every time they asked
me to take them home, or said wistfully that I should have babies, because they
would be so lucky to have me for a mom...
I know I am meant to be a mother. But the lengths I have to go to, and the
sacrifices I am having to make are so convoluted, and awful. I don’t know if I can accept those terms. And
it still might not work.
God, this is like torture.
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