About ten days ago, when I decided I was going to throw another article in this month, I already had the title in my head.
I had just found out that this last cycle…the one that was full of twist and turns, but ended with great embryos to transfer after all, failed.
I was not pregnant, and was not going to be anymore.
I could give away maternity clothes that have been out in my closet since we lost Trey in April. I could give away all the baby things in my garage…many originally bought for Matthew but still in amazing condition though thoroughly loved by Luke.
Heck, I could vacuum the house. I hadn’t really done that in two weeks, trying to gingerly do everything in order to give those three precious embryos a chance of safety and growth.
I was free. For the first time in almost 13 years, we were not saying, “What if I’m pregnant, though?” about an upcoming possible trip/event/time period.
We said, “What now?”
What in the world do we do now? Are we really, really sure we shouldn’t try again? We are in an amazing Shared Risk program with our clinic, and still have four more ‘tries’ before we have to give up, even though we’d decided before-hand that this was going to be our ”No Regrets” cycle and come what may, we were done with years and years of infertility treatments and loss.
We were just done. Done with heartache.
Not really, though. My heart still hurts. So, so much.
I thought there’d be a certain freedom that came with no longer revolving our lives around family-building efforts. Freedom to just enjoy Luke and all we have without the constant thoughts about if there are to be more. Freedom to plan and be a ‘normal’ family.
And that’s just not the case.
I’m not a ‘normal’ mother. I’m one who has wanted to mother several children, and never dreamed that I’d mourn the loss of more than half of them for the rest of my life.
We are not a ‘normal’ family. We are a family who shows its little boy how to blow kisses to his brother’s picture on the wall, and his brothers in Heaven, and will have to explain to him why we have so much of Matthew and so little of Trey.
I recognize normal is a relative word. Goodness knows I know that.
I just felt like finally coming to the place where we accepted that we will not be pregnant any more, and the babies we have, living and dead, are all we get would be easier because at least we’d be able to come to that acceptance without the taunting “what ifs?” plaguing us anymore.
It’s just a new genre of What If?
What IF we did one more anyway? I know the odds are very, very low… but what if?
Right before the pregnancy test, I was in my doctor’s office because I’d discovered a lump in my breast. My mother died of breast cancer and I was terrified that I was going to leave Luke motherless. I was terrified I might be pregnant and would have to face decisions that could risk his or her life or mine. Thankfully, it was truly nothing, but John said about the scare, “If that doesn’t cement that we should probably be done, I don’t know what does.”
I guess it does.
But no more What Ifs?