Dani
You know those moments that divide your life into who you were before and who you become?
The last day of 2022 held one of those for me.
We had experienced an embryo loss a couple of weeks earlier and spent Christmas wading through the surreal fog of grief, trying to make sense of what I was certain was 'our turn'.
On our way home from the fruit and veggie grocer my partner suggested we do something 'nice' and we pulled into a cherry-picking farm. But as we struggled to get a car-park I became paralysed with social anxiety. I realised I couldn't get out of the car and face people. He asked me what I wanted to do and the words slipped out unconsciously,
I don't want to wake up anymore
The shock of speaking this truth out loud shook through me and seemed to distort my sense of time. Of course, I realise looking back now, that it may not have been ideation but my body crying out that I couldn't wake up into the torture of the cycle we were living anymore.
It had been 2 long years of trying to conceive, 6 months of IVF, 3 unsuccessful transfers, 3 operations, weekly acupuncture, a cascade of debilitating health side effects and what felt like an infinite number of ovulation and pregnancy tests. Every month was a roller coaster of hope followed by despair.
For my part, I had restricted every aspect of our lives in the pursuit of starting a family..... but I could see our baby in my minds eye ...... hell, in my progesterone-addled, post-transfer daydreams I had even given the embryos names. For two years, no alcohol, no coffee, no sugar and no medication for period and migraine pain. I gave up vigorous exercise, the Zumba class I loved, jogging & eventually Pilates too. To limit stress, I postponed my study and convinced my partner to postpone our wedding. I avoided socialising for fear of catching COVID during the two-week wait. And my biggest regret; we re-homed our behaviourally challenged camp-dog for fears of whether we could trust her with the baby.
But our rainbow baby never came and I realised at that moment at the cherry farm that I was completely lost. This version of myself was unrecognisable and our relationship was buckling under the immense strain of the IVF rollercoaster. The energy from masking this pain at work and socially was exhausting. I knew I had to let go and move on from this dream and the future that I had hoped we'd have. My loving partner confessed that day he felt our baby journey was over too.
That night I had a wine with dinner for the first time in two years. We spontaneously booked tickets to a music festival and instead of a New Years resolution, I consciously committed to bringing joy back into my life in 2023. Our fertility doctor urged us to not make a decision until the depression and grief of the last loss had lifted but I knew in my bones the line in the sand had been crossed and things couldn't be the same anymore.
Nine months on and there is a big shift in how I'm feeling and how we are reimagining our lives. We are making more time for fun and dreaming up future adventures. I feel inspired and uplifted by those from the Childless-Not-by-Choice community who share their stories of living full joyful lives after infertility and loss. I've graduated from my study and we've adopted a little boy dog who lights up our lives. I've shifted to a different role at work that I find immensely meaningful and I'm being brave and speaking up for positive environmental and social justice changes in the organisation.
I feel myself moving through the grief and growing around it. Some days it is big and feels crushing and consuming. Most days though it retracts and gives me space to breathe life into new dreams. I know there will be more triggers and waves to come but I fully feel the moments of joy that come too.
For the first time in a long time, I feel a sense of peace.
