Bye-Bye Rock-a-Bye...
I've been struggling with writing this entry for a while. I knew I wanted to write about it, but I wasn't quite sure how or when I'd be ready. I'm actually thinking that it might be sort of anti-climatic now. Kind of like that day my brother delivered the Girl Scout cookies to work. I literally thought about the box of Thin Mints under my desk all day long. By 7th period, I could practically taste them. I had waited for so long that I was anxious to taste just 1... but a serving size was 4, so I had to get all 4 (of course). The first bite, my heart was ready to sing! I was yearning for that annual treat of minty chocolate goodness coated in the thin coating of sublime bliss. But it tasted a little.... well.... bland. And dry... I thought, OK, this is just because I built it up in my head too much. The second cookie will bring me that moment of sheer joy. But it was cakey and got stuck in my teeth. Disappointing. I half-heartedly finished the other two cookies, closed the box, and grumbled. Had my tastes changed that much? Or were the little baker elves responsible for bringing us the delightful boxes of treats playing us for fools? Surely these weren't the same Thin Mints I relished as a child. Times change... and situations change. While I know it's probably a stretch to compare family planning to Girl Scout cookies, it makes sense to me.
When I was little, I always dreamed of having a family. I had everything planned. I was going to do things pretty much like my parents had done them - get married young, start a family, have a home, etc. There were so many things I didn't take into account. I didn't know that I couldn't just "wish" a spouse into my life. It took a long time to find Mike, but he was definitely worth the wait. During the majority of my 20's, I got to know myself, established my independence, and determined how I wanted to live my life. I still wanted a family someday, but mainly I knew I didn't want to be alone. I had wild fears of being like Bridget Jones, found dead in my apartment after weeks half-eaten by wild dogs. Eventually, I got over that and came to terms with the possibility of being by myself long term. I knew that even if I didn't ever get married, someday I might adopt a child myself. I found peace in that and moved on. That's when I met and fell in love with Mike.
They always say things come along with you least expect them. Mike was exactly that way for me. I remember the first weekend we met. I actually said to myself that if he never called again, I'd be OK. That was HUGE for me. I had invested so much of myself in previous relationships, so being able to know, in my core, that I would be fine with or without a man, was liberating in a way that I can't fully describe. Of course, I was delighted when Mike called me an hour later, but I hope that I will never forget that feeling of calm assurance and independent stability.
As our relationship grew, Mike and I discussed children. We had always said that we would never force it. I had seen too many friends and marriages go through the emotional wringer of infertility and trying to conceive. From the beginning, I knew I wasn't ever going to be interested in hormone shots or monitoring my temperature. I did want children, but I wanted it to be right... and natural. Mike felt the same way. We both realized early on that we weren't ready for children. Our marriage was young, and we had seen so many couples move quickly into parenthood. Many of them handled it with grace, easing into the transition well, but marriage can be stressful - especially when it's new. And I would venture to guess that the longer people have been single, and the older they are when the get married, the harder of a transition it can be. Add in a ticking biological clock or two, and you've got the makings for a high-stress situation. So even though we'd only been married a short time, the questions started - first from others, then from ourselves. Are we going to have children? When? How much longer should we wait? Do we want to try to travel first and experience as much as we can before we have children? Or do we want to wait until later so we can take the children with us? When it came time to buy a house, the questions were - Where will the kids play? Which rooms will they use? I'm not sure where these mythical children came from, but they became a sort of elephant in the room for Mike and me.
We were having dinner one night a few years ago, and I asked Mike if he even wanted children. Then, in a moment that defied every social norm I had ever observed, I told him - very honestly - that I didn't know if I wanted children because I really wanted children, or if I wanted children because I felt like we should want them. It was a moment of spoken truth - both for myself and for him. We knew then and there that we weren't ready. We didn't have the answer yet, and we both felt it would irresponsible to bring a child into the world until we knew how we felt.
A while later, I was at a baby shower for a colleague. Everyone was passing around gifts and doing the typical 'oooh and ahhh' comments over all the onesies and diapers. Another woman brought in her baby, and the women in the room flocked to her, passing around the child and gibbering. I sat in my chair, drinking my punch, and thought.... really? It's just a baby. I was actually somewhat shocked at my lack of a reaction. I've just never been a googly person. It's not that I don't enjoy children. I have many friends with young children and two beautiful nieces that I all adore. I enjoy spending time with them, and they amaze me with their innocence and kindness.
But after all those years of thinking that I wanted something.... dreaming of the day when I could have it... and now, here was my chance. Financially we were stable, I had a husband, we were secure, and yet... I still wasn't sure. It was difficult. Over the next couple of years, Mike and I talked through our views of parenting. We discussed hypothetical situations and circumstances to see if we thought we could handle being parents. The entire time that I was on the medication for Erythema Nodosum, we knew I couldn't get pregnant, so from 2007-2010, we had everything on hold. That gave us time to really think about what we wanted. Last summer, after I had transitioned off of all medications, we had decided that we would wait for 1 more year and then consider starting a family. After all, I was 32, and he was 36. We didn't want to wait much longer.
And then I had my visit with the nephrologist when I received my official diagnosis of Wegener's. From the time we realized that there was something significant medically going on, we knew the kid thing was way on the back burner. During that visit, there were two statements that the nephrologist told me that I remember verbatim: 1) If you don't treat this, you will likely die in 3-6 months; 2) If you want to have children someday, you may want to consider freezing eggs. Clearly, the first statement immediately rocked me to my core. How could you go from feeling fine to being "dead in 3 months"? The second statement had a more gnawing effect. It was easy to brush off at first. I thought, who cares? I just wanna live! Not only does the medication I'm on now make it highly unlikely that I would be able to conceive, but there's also so many added complications of kidney failure, birth defects, and secondary cancers.
A few days later, Mike and I went to dinner. It had been a long week, with a lot of really scary news, and we needed time to talk and reconnect. We spent about 3 hours at dinner, discussing everything from my medical situation to prognosis to family planning. I remember looking at him and saying "I feel like the universe is telling us something." We had waited and struggled with the decision of when/if to have children for so long. And now I felt like the answer was there... right in front of us. And I simply thought... OK, I get it. And amazingly, I felt calm. I knew that someday, if Mike and I decided that we wanted to experience parenthood, we could choose to adopt. We are both open to that option. But for now... I'm comforted in the decision to leave well enough alone, accept nature's fate, and enjoy each other as family. In retrospect, that moment was greatly freeing. It was no longer a decision that I had to make - I didn't need to struggle with the pros/cons or the shoulda-coulda-woulda's. It was made for me. Perhaps it's the wussy way out, but I can take that. I prefer to think of it as things happening for a reason.
Of course, right after this conversation, I thought of my favorite film - Steel Magnolias. There's a line where Shelby tells her mother that she'd rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special. Generally, I agree with this statement, but not in the same context as Shelby. I have a very special life. I get to spend my life with my best friend, my husband Mike. My family is amazing, and my friends inspire me daily. I even have two loving dogs that fill my heart with their unconditional love. My life is rich and full, and I want to keep living it for a very long time.
A while later, we were at home during a big snowstorm, and school had been canceled for four days. I was in the midst of my grieving process and dealing with my diagnosis. I could tell because I was frantically moving from one organizational project to another in an attempt to out-run my brain. There was one bedroom in our house that had been set aside as a nursery for our non-existent child. At the time, it was being used as the dog's room. I found myself continually drawn back to this room, often finding myself standing in the middle of the room for no reason. One evening, I walked into Mike's office and told him that I needed to redo the room. I felt an intense compulsion to makeover this room into an office for myself where I could work, meditate, and spend some quiet time. Over the next few days, I was a woman on a mission. That room is now one of my favorite spots in the house because it symbolizes healing to me. It's not just a place to keep my stuff. It's a symbol of taking control of an uncontrollable situation. The first night that room was finished, I closed the door and sat on the floor in that room and said goodbye. With tears streaming freely, I opened my heart to a baby...the little mythical baby with Mike's olive skin and my eyes...and released it. When I finished, I looked around the room and felt lighter and more free than I had in a long time. It sounds dreadfully sad to think of now, but it was a moment of great personal triumph. I had let myself mourn the loss of a dream. And while I know that we still have options if we choose to adopt, I am glad that I have taken the time to make peace with nature.
Discovering that we wouldn't be able to have children was a diagnosis of a sort in itself. While it was definitely less shocking than my medical diagnosis, it was a slower and more simmering kind of pain. And while, of course, it doesn't compare to the disappointment of the new lackluster Thin Mints recipe, it involves a level of life-long anticipation... and denial. I know many women who have struggled to conceive or have discovered that they can't have children after spending a lifetime dreaming of being mothers, and it rocks them to their core, inciting a personal tragedy that equates to death. I can't say that I ever felt that level of pain, but I definitely felt the loss.
I think the thing that has really helped me move through the first part of this journey is knowing that the definition of family is different for everyone. Mike is my family. The commonly used phrase says that people "start a family" when they have children. I have to alter my mentality and realize that my new family started the day I took my vows to spend my life with Mike. My parents, as well as my brother and his family, are all part of my family too, as are my friends, but when it comes down to it, with or without children, my family is Mike. I'm comforted by that, and I know that together we will have a rich and full life. After all, I don't just want thirty minutes of wonderful.... I want the whole lifetime...
When I was little, I always dreamed of having a family. I had everything planned. I was going to do things pretty much like my parents had done them - get married young, start a family, have a home, etc. There were so many things I didn't take into account. I didn't know that I couldn't just "wish" a spouse into my life. It took a long time to find Mike, but he was definitely worth the wait. During the majority of my 20's, I got to know myself, established my independence, and determined how I wanted to live my life. I still wanted a family someday, but mainly I knew I didn't want to be alone. I had wild fears of being like Bridget Jones, found dead in my apartment after weeks half-eaten by wild dogs. Eventually, I got over that and came to terms with the possibility of being by myself long term. I knew that even if I didn't ever get married, someday I might adopt a child myself. I found peace in that and moved on. That's when I met and fell in love with Mike.
They always say things come along with you least expect them. Mike was exactly that way for me. I remember the first weekend we met. I actually said to myself that if he never called again, I'd be OK. That was HUGE for me. I had invested so much of myself in previous relationships, so being able to know, in my core, that I would be fine with or without a man, was liberating in a way that I can't fully describe. Of course, I was delighted when Mike called me an hour later, but I hope that I will never forget that feeling of calm assurance and independent stability.
As our relationship grew, Mike and I discussed children. We had always said that we would never force it. I had seen too many friends and marriages go through the emotional wringer of infertility and trying to conceive. From the beginning, I knew I wasn't ever going to be interested in hormone shots or monitoring my temperature. I did want children, but I wanted it to be right... and natural. Mike felt the same way. We both realized early on that we weren't ready for children. Our marriage was young, and we had seen so many couples move quickly into parenthood. Many of them handled it with grace, easing into the transition well, but marriage can be stressful - especially when it's new. And I would venture to guess that the longer people have been single, and the older they are when the get married, the harder of a transition it can be. Add in a ticking biological clock or two, and you've got the makings for a high-stress situation. So even though we'd only been married a short time, the questions started - first from others, then from ourselves. Are we going to have children? When? How much longer should we wait? Do we want to try to travel first and experience as much as we can before we have children? Or do we want to wait until later so we can take the children with us? When it came time to buy a house, the questions were - Where will the kids play? Which rooms will they use? I'm not sure where these mythical children came from, but they became a sort of elephant in the room for Mike and me.
We were having dinner one night a few years ago, and I asked Mike if he even wanted children. Then, in a moment that defied every social norm I had ever observed, I told him - very honestly - that I didn't know if I wanted children because I really wanted children, or if I wanted children because I felt like we should want them. It was a moment of spoken truth - both for myself and for him. We knew then and there that we weren't ready. We didn't have the answer yet, and we both felt it would irresponsible to bring a child into the world until we knew how we felt.
A while later, I was at a baby shower for a colleague. Everyone was passing around gifts and doing the typical 'oooh and ahhh' comments over all the onesies and diapers. Another woman brought in her baby, and the women in the room flocked to her, passing around the child and gibbering. I sat in my chair, drinking my punch, and thought.... really? It's just a baby. I was actually somewhat shocked at my lack of a reaction. I've just never been a googly person. It's not that I don't enjoy children. I have many friends with young children and two beautiful nieces that I all adore. I enjoy spending time with them, and they amaze me with their innocence and kindness.
But after all those years of thinking that I wanted something.... dreaming of the day when I could have it... and now, here was my chance. Financially we were stable, I had a husband, we were secure, and yet... I still wasn't sure. It was difficult. Over the next couple of years, Mike and I talked through our views of parenting. We discussed hypothetical situations and circumstances to see if we thought we could handle being parents. The entire time that I was on the medication for Erythema Nodosum, we knew I couldn't get pregnant, so from 2007-2010, we had everything on hold. That gave us time to really think about what we wanted. Last summer, after I had transitioned off of all medications, we had decided that we would wait for 1 more year and then consider starting a family. After all, I was 32, and he was 36. We didn't want to wait much longer.
And then I had my visit with the nephrologist when I received my official diagnosis of Wegener's. From the time we realized that there was something significant medically going on, we knew the kid thing was way on the back burner. During that visit, there were two statements that the nephrologist told me that I remember verbatim: 1) If you don't treat this, you will likely die in 3-6 months; 2) If you want to have children someday, you may want to consider freezing eggs. Clearly, the first statement immediately rocked me to my core. How could you go from feeling fine to being "dead in 3 months"? The second statement had a more gnawing effect. It was easy to brush off at first. I thought, who cares? I just wanna live! Not only does the medication I'm on now make it highly unlikely that I would be able to conceive, but there's also so many added complications of kidney failure, birth defects, and secondary cancers.
A few days later, Mike and I went to dinner. It had been a long week, with a lot of really scary news, and we needed time to talk and reconnect. We spent about 3 hours at dinner, discussing everything from my medical situation to prognosis to family planning. I remember looking at him and saying "I feel like the universe is telling us something." We had waited and struggled with the decision of when/if to have children for so long. And now I felt like the answer was there... right in front of us. And I simply thought... OK, I get it. And amazingly, I felt calm. I knew that someday, if Mike and I decided that we wanted to experience parenthood, we could choose to adopt. We are both open to that option. But for now... I'm comforted in the decision to leave well enough alone, accept nature's fate, and enjoy each other as family. In retrospect, that moment was greatly freeing. It was no longer a decision that I had to make - I didn't need to struggle with the pros/cons or the shoulda-coulda-woulda's. It was made for me. Perhaps it's the wussy way out, but I can take that. I prefer to think of it as things happening for a reason.
Of course, right after this conversation, I thought of my favorite film - Steel Magnolias. There's a line where Shelby tells her mother that she'd rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special. Generally, I agree with this statement, but not in the same context as Shelby. I have a very special life. I get to spend my life with my best friend, my husband Mike. My family is amazing, and my friends inspire me daily. I even have two loving dogs that fill my heart with their unconditional love. My life is rich and full, and I want to keep living it for a very long time.
A while later, we were at home during a big snowstorm, and school had been canceled for four days. I was in the midst of my grieving process and dealing with my diagnosis. I could tell because I was frantically moving from one organizational project to another in an attempt to out-run my brain. There was one bedroom in our house that had been set aside as a nursery for our non-existent child. At the time, it was being used as the dog's room. I found myself continually drawn back to this room, often finding myself standing in the middle of the room for no reason. One evening, I walked into Mike's office and told him that I needed to redo the room. I felt an intense compulsion to makeover this room into an office for myself where I could work, meditate, and spend some quiet time. Over the next few days, I was a woman on a mission. That room is now one of my favorite spots in the house because it symbolizes healing to me. It's not just a place to keep my stuff. It's a symbol of taking control of an uncontrollable situation. The first night that room was finished, I closed the door and sat on the floor in that room and said goodbye. With tears streaming freely, I opened my heart to a baby...the little mythical baby with Mike's olive skin and my eyes...and released it. When I finished, I looked around the room and felt lighter and more free than I had in a long time. It sounds dreadfully sad to think of now, but it was a moment of great personal triumph. I had let myself mourn the loss of a dream. And while I know that we still have options if we choose to adopt, I am glad that I have taken the time to make peace with nature.
Discovering that we wouldn't be able to have children was a diagnosis of a sort in itself. While it was definitely less shocking than my medical diagnosis, it was a slower and more simmering kind of pain. And while, of course, it doesn't compare to the disappointment of the new lackluster Thin Mints recipe, it involves a level of life-long anticipation... and denial. I know many women who have struggled to conceive or have discovered that they can't have children after spending a lifetime dreaming of being mothers, and it rocks them to their core, inciting a personal tragedy that equates to death. I can't say that I ever felt that level of pain, but I definitely felt the loss.
I think the thing that has really helped me move through the first part of this journey is knowing that the definition of family is different for everyone. Mike is my family. The commonly used phrase says that people "start a family" when they have children. I have to alter my mentality and realize that my new family started the day I took my vows to spend my life with Mike. My parents, as well as my brother and his family, are all part of my family too, as are my friends, but when it comes down to it, with or without children, my family is Mike. I'm comforted by that, and I know that together we will have a rich and full life. After all, I don't just want thirty minutes of wonderful.... I want the whole lifetime...
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