The Eternal Guest Room

About 2 years ago, when I was seeing a therapist, she urged me to attend a support group. I was very hesitant and put it off for a few months. I’m not good with strangers. I don’t like meeting new people. I’m painfully shy. I don’t like groups. The idea of walking into a restaurant, meeting a bunch of new people, and having to talk to them was my idea of pure torture. But she kept urging me, and I finally decided I would go.

I remember the first meeting vividly. I was terrified of walking into that restaurant. And then when I met everyone and the meeting got started and I learned that we had to go around the table and tell our “stories,” I wanted to run out and never come back.

But getting up and leaving in front of everyone would have been even more terrifying. Plus, I had already ordered dinner.

So I stayed. And it was ok. I was extremely nervous talking in front of everyone, but I got through it. And I came back.

I’ve been going to the group for over a year and a half. After the first few months, the leader decided to step down. Another girl started to lead, and after a few months, she got pregnant and adopted a baby, and she left. Then someone else took over, and eventually got pregnant, and had to leave (the rule for the group is that you can stay through your first trimester because it’s such an uncertain time, and then you have to leave and graduate to the “success” group).

The group has grown from 5 active members to about 30. But this time, no one wanted to lead. Honestly, I thought about not going any more. It was so hard to continually watch people to come to the group, start to get to know them, and then have them get pregnant and move on without me. Especially when we weren’t pursuing any sort of treatment for such a long time. Toward the end, the only reason I went was to see the people who I had become friends with.

But I didn’t want the group to die. It’s been too much a part of my life and has made such a huge difference. And I’ve made friends, and I would miss them.

So I volunteered.

Anyone who knows me in “real life” knows that I am not a leader of any kind. Like I said above: I am painfully shy. Groups terrify me. Talking in front of a group is the thing in the world I hate and dread most.

Plus, I can barely get through a regular day as it is – my life is stressful and very, very busy. I can barely keep up with myself, and so I struggle – how can I keep up with 30 people?

So I was hesitant to lead the group, to say the least.

But here I am. I’ve been the official leader since the beginning of the month, and I’m starting to get the hang of keeping up with everyone and commenting on our group’s secret Facebook page on a regular basis. But tonight is the first time I host the actual support group – you know, get up in front of a bunch of people (some, strangers) and talk. Loudly enough for everyone to hear and long enough to say what needs to be said.

I figure this will either be a disaster, or maybe I’ll gain some sort of confidence in the end.

Either way, this is what I signed up for. Me – leading a group. Can you imagine? I still can’t.

Life is so unpredicatble.

I’m impatient.

It’s so hard to sit and watch so many people leave me behind. I want so badly to be moving forward, but instead I’m sitting in the same place, treading water, just waiting. The decision to postpone IVF was not an easy one, no matter the reasons, but it didn’t really drive me crazy until everyone else started theirs. And one by one, I watch them become pregnant. Not all, but enough to make me feel very alone. The closer it gets, the harder it becomes to wait patiently.

I’m thrilled for them. I truly am. But I wish I wasn’t still just waiting.

I’ve been attending my support group for nearly a year and a half. Next month, I’ll be on the fourth leader in that time. I’m wondering if I should have taken the group over myself, since that seeemed to work for everyone else. I’ve thought about not going anymore; people keep coming in and leaving with success, or at least undergoing treatments. It’s hard to be a bystander. I feel like I have nothing to offer.

I’m antsy. When we made our plan, we said “what’s a few more months after 4 years?” Now I feel like just one more month is going to put me over the edge.

People keep saying: “It’s so close! Just look how fast x y and z got here! October will be here before you know it!” And even though I know it, it’s hard to plod along every day. The days get longer the closer it gets. The rational voice in my head says “it’s so close – just keep your pants on, silly.”

But there’s the rational, and the other, and we all know who usually wins.

It’s all so unfair.

Most people have it so easy. They decide they want to have a baby, and BAM – they try a month or two, pee on a stick, get the ok from the doctor, announce it on facebook, and have a perfectly healthy 9 months with a perfectly healthy baby at the end of it. Then they usually complain about how uncomfortable it is to be pregnant and how hard it is to have a baby and what a tough thing it is to be a parent.

But it all happens so easily for them.

And then there are the rest of us. Nothing is easy. We try for years. Some of us never have success. I know women who have been trying for 5-10 years with nothing. I know women who have had 5 or 6 rounds of IVF fail.

And then there is – in my opinion - the worst thing; trying for a long time, finally having success, and then losing the baby.

Obviously, any miscarriage is terrible and painful and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, but I think there is a special kind of hell that those women feel who have tried for so long and wanted it so much, and then get it, and then lose it.

A girl in my support group had success from a frozen embryo transfer (FET) after a failed IVF. Then she developed preemclampsia, and the only way to cure it is to deliver the baby. So they induced her with no hope for the baby’s survival. She was 20 weeks along – far enough past the scary first trimester but not far enough to have a viable baby.

It isn’t fair. My heart breaks for her and her husband. I barely knew her, but I’ve been thinking about her constantly. She tried so long that she was out of hope, and then she got a miracle, and now it’s gone.

It’s hard to believe in anything at times like this.

Why is it all so unfair?

After my last post I realized I hadn’t been totally clear about what our plans are. So here is The Plan.

At the beginning of September, I’ll call my doctor to find out what is the best time frame for IVF. I’ll have to have another diagnostic hysteroscopy (not the surgical one) to make sure I don’t have any more polyps. If I do – god forbid – I’ll have to have surgery. Or jump off a building. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.

Assuming everything looks good, we’ll start IVF in October or November. The whole process takes about 2 months, so the actual transfer (putting embryos back in) would be either in November or December.

Then.

If – god forbid – IVF does not work, we plan to move, presumably in the Spring (April-ish). I say “plan to” because I know how plans fall through and life happens. But right now it’s nice to have a back-up plan. Life has been on hold for far too long and we’re ready for a change – one way or another. Moving would be kind of a “consolation prize” and gives us something to look forward to just in case we need that. Kind of like when we went to Mexico for my 30th birthday since I wasn’t pregnant by then (wow, that was 2.5 years ago…depressing).

If – yay! – IVF does work for us, we still plan to move, but the “when” would depend on life. We would really have to sit down and weigh the pros and cons of moving with a kid on the way; thinking about costs, insurance, jobs, life, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

We want both – moving and a baby – but right now we want a baby more than we want to move. So we may put moving on hold. Or we may not! But that’s a bridge to cross when we (hopefully) get to it.

So that’s the plan. And hopefully that answers everyone’s questions. Because I know you’re all just dying to know exactly what my life plans are.