Then the testing began...and there were no answers. This was "Great news!" according to all the doctors. Still can't really wrap my head around that. Then there was the panic attack in the middle of Madison Avenue that scared the shit out of me and rendered me paralyzed in the middle of the city. Then the magical three week holiday to France. My first time in Paris and yet a dark cloud followed me around. Then in the middle of the gorgeous-ness of the south of France, AF showed her ugly ass self. Misery.
Then Rolyn reconnected with old friends that had been there done that. They gave me not just love and support but HOPE. Then another couple we were friends with started their road with ART and were successful. Again, love, support, HOPE.
During this time, even with HOPE, my world grew very small. I could never be sure when or where tears would come. I started avoiding group gatherings. I started avoiding phone calls. When anyone would say "Hey did you hear the news about so-in-so?" I wanted to run away. Far far away and just disappear. I had never ever felt so alone so broken. I remember sitting on the train coming home and listening to an obviously tweaked out woman beg for money. For. Her. Baby. The baby in her arms was barely a year...the baby in her belly? I'd say 4 months from being born. I cried, no I bawled from the moment the train doors opened until I walked into my apartment. Only to met with an email from a newly pregnant friend telling me "she understood. You can be as involved or not involved as you want to be. etc. etc." She was trying be a friend and say all the right things. It unfortunately hit me in the wrong moment and it fucking stung.
And then it was our time. Success on the first ivf cycle. A boy! A girl! HOPE was more present then than ever before...though it never put down roots. It didn't have time.
The darkest day came and went. I went back to work, back to life and we put on the good front as best we could. I remember sitting at my desk eight hours a day for six weeks (at least) and not getting anything done. Looking back now it's like a fog, a numbness, surrounded us, protecting us from ourselves and the overwhelming grief. I don't think the full impact of wtf happened really hit for about six months.
By then we were into a new cycle. It did/didn't work. And we did another, and then another. Finally, HOPE returned. We also had fear and statistics and more than just a touch of that protective numbness. We had incredible friends who even though had been almost totally shut out after losing Tess and Oliver, they still came to our sides and held us up. Home cooked meals, care packages, ichats, IMs, emails, weekend slumber party visits. They did it all and we have never been more grateful. We had incredible doctors on our side. All of these things came together and we made it. To the other side.
August 4, 2006 was as life changing a day as April 12, 2005.
They came. They died. Our hearts were broken.
She came. She lives. She healed the parts of our hearts that could be healed.
She is our light. Our biggest joy.
This blog has been such an incredible thing for me. I have written things here that I could share in very few places. There is a lot more in my head and heart I have yet to write down. I have yet to write the posts about both Tess & Oliver's and Davis's birth. They are in head, already written just not typed into the computer. I have yet to write the post about our cabin upstate and the magical things that have happened there. The post about what happens when two leaves are placed in the water to say hello to my babies. The post about an infant loss support group we attended and how one man's child will FOREVER be in my heart, how I wish I had his name so I could tell his wife that it was not her fault and her baby is not forgotten. How infertility and losing T&O reconfirmed why I married this man and brought us closer and made us stronger than I could have ever imagined. And then there is the future and what it holds...so much on the horizon in every aspect of our lives.
My gut is telling me it's time to move on from here. I've learned to go with my gut. My first thought was to take this place down. Poof. Gone. No explanation necessary. But then I recently exchanged messages with a friend/old co-worker who is currently in infertility hell. Reading her words and frustration and pain poured out in front of me and getting it. Feeling it with every ounce of my being. Well it gave me pause. Several months ago I started tracking my stats here. I was pleasantly surprised and a bit shocked that I actually do have readers. Even when the posting has been at a snails pace. All of this took me back. I remember. I remember how the internet saved my life. Reading other's stories and realizing I was not the only one that had been down this road, felt these feelings, thought these thoughts, lost babies, fought with family, lost friends...that I was in fact NOT crazy or evil for anything and everything I was feeling.
So because of you, dear internets, lurkers that find yourself here, up in the darkness of insomnia-3am... I wish you peace and HOPE and strength to get through whatever it is you are going through. I am sad to say I cannot offer you any magical answers, but you should know you are not alone. I have found infertile/insane pregnancy complications/life is so fucking unfair/dead baby mommas (etc etc) who are bloggers to be the most open and embracing people ever. Leave a comment, send an email and ASK. I know I know, it was hard for me too. And I didn't, I couldn't. Until Tess and Oliver died...and then I did. I had no choice. I needed someone to tell me that I could live through this. Two women that had been through the same, that live in other parts of the world, lifted me up with words.
So this blog will end here but live on as is...and because this is far from the end of the story, another will be started.
Wanna come? Send me an email and I'll send you the link.
morethanatata at gmail dot com
Catch ya on the flip.