The Sweetest Thing



Three years ago my husband and I were cutting our wedding cake as “The Sweetest Thing” by U2 played.  The Prince didn’t know what he was supposed to do, so he cut himself a piece of cake and started eating it…as I stood there… horrified, my mouth agape.  Everyone laughed (even me, eventually).  There was a lot of laughter back then.  The Prince and I had already started fertility treatments a few months before the wedding, though we hadn’t told anyone about it.  We didn’t think we would ever need to tell anyone.  We were so hopeful and naïve…we even fantasized about conceiving a “miracle baby,” on our honeymoon…on the cruise ship – The Miracle. 

Fast forward three years…we’ve finally conceived our “miracle baby,” but it certainly didn’t happen on our honeymoon.  There are a lot of happy tears these days, but not quite as much laughter.  We know what pain is.  We know what it feels like to watch circumstances beyond our control slowly tearing our relationship apart.  But, more importantly, we know that our love is stronger than those circumstances…and with a little work (okay…a lot of work)…we can keep our relationship in a happy and healthy place.  Do I sometimes wish we could be happier?  Of course.  I would love to go back to all the laughter and blissful ignorance.  But do I now recognize how lucky I am to have a true “partner” in my life…someone who has been “field-tested?”  Absolutely!

There was a small part of me that believed that our relationship might return to its former self once I got pregnant.  I thought that, perhaps, we could leave infertility in our rearview mirror and forget the pain and disappointments.  It doesn’t work that way…or at least it hasn’t worked that way for us.  Our relationship remains changed from what it first was and maybe that is actually a good thing.  We appreciate the gift we’ve been given…the little life growing in my belly.  But we are always alert…waiting for the next obstacle to pop up in our path.  And we are now better at dealing with the obstacles as a team, instead of two individuals walking the same path at the same time.

This morning, The Prince gave me an anniversary card from him “and Hamish.”  It was addressed to his “Sweetest Thing.”  I don’t think The Prince remembers that “The Sweetest Thing” was playing during our cake cutting…I think he was trying to add some levity to my recent “gestational diabetes” diagnosis.  But it doesn’t matter.  The card made me remember where we’ve been and where we’re going…as a couple and as a family.  And today…on my third wedding anniversary…I feel truly blessed.

Drowning In A Sea Of Memories

This evening I decided to tackle the enormous chore of cleaning out my bedroom.  It has gotten to near-hoarder status and I knew it would be no small task.  But generally, when I am clearing away old things and cleaning a space, I feel my mood lift as I go.  It’s as if the emotional baggage, attached to the things I own, leaves when the items leave.  But not tonight.

Tonight, as I came across one thing after another, reminding me of the past few years and what I’ve been through, it was as if it got harder to move…harder to breath.  I felt like I was in emotional quicksand and each new forgotten thing I discovered was another weight attached to my feet, pulling me under.  I eventually had to stop cleaning because I became (and still am) so emotionally spent that I just can’t take any more right now. 

Here are a few of the things I came across, in no particular order:

• A letter from a cousin, dated four months after my wedding, asking how I was doing and if I was pregnant yet?
• An article on how to keep a marriage alive during infertility
• Two years worth of Pregnancy & Newborn, and Fit Pregnancy magazines
• Four baby name books, multiple lists of my favorite baby names and my family tree- to use to find “family baby names”
• The box that my engagement ring was in when my husband proposed…before we knew how rough the next few years would be
• The multitude of spreadsheets I made to evaluate egg donors
• An old “vision board” made during a workshop at my infertility center (it was fun to make but it clearly didn’t work)
• All of the paperwork ever given to me by doctors about endometriosis, infertility, IUI’s, IVF’s, my husband’s semen analysis, surgical instructions and discharge sheets, and pictures of my insides during the last few surgeries (when stacked, these papers literally go up to my hip…and I’m 5’7”).
• Three journals that I have kept at various times through my infertility journey (looking over some entries, I realize that it might be best to destroy the journals because it hurts me to read the depths of despair I’ve found myself in, in the past…and The Prince and I have been in some tough times, that I’d forgotten about and would prefer to forget about again.)
• Four different types of lubricants that are supposed to be “baby making friendly,” from back in the day when I believed that there was an off chance that we would get pregnant naturally between IVF cycles
• And…the pictures of my embryos from the couple of IVF cycles that actually made it to transfer.  I look at those pictures and it feels like I am looking at pictures of my children who died.  I know that is terrible and I certainly do not mean to belittle the pain of anyone who has had a miscarriage, still birth, or has had a child die at a young age.  I can’t imagine that pain…but I know that I wouldn’t be strong enough to survive it because looking at the embryo pictures makes me break down in tears.  And yet, I can’t bring myself to throw them away.

The truth is, I didn’t throw away anything in this list, except for the email from my cousin and the article on marriage.  I feel like I need to let some of the other things go…like the mountain of fertility paperwork or the journals.  But the idea of throwing these things out makes me panic.  Like I’m giving up on having a baby if I let that stuff go.  Or like the pain isn’t real or wasn’t as bad if I don’t have “mementos” to remind me of how awful it was.  That’s ridiculous of course…there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t remember how much IF has hurt…but the irrational fear is there, anyways. And it is the same with all of the extra medications and needles I have.  I need to donate them back to the clinic, for people who can’t afford them…but if I let them go, then it is official that I am not trying ever again with my eggs.  I know that is the decision we’ve made, but for some reason, giving away the medication makes it too real.  Now I know why I’ve buried myself with this crap in my bedroom…the alternative is facing down demons I’m not ready to deal with yet.  But if not now, when?

He said...She said...But They Really Meant...



There are no fairy tales (or at least none that I know of) in which the princess and prince speak different languages until magic steps in and causes the language barrier to crumble.  There should be.  With all of the other analogies to real life situations that fairy tales cover, why not an analogy for the most common problem between couples – miscommunication.

Last Saturday, the Prince and I went to marriage counseling.  The Prince, as usual, threw a bit of a fit about going…picking a fight as soon as I woke up and stating that he wasn’t going.  He openly admits to our counselor that he hates coming to counseling.  He even understands that he hates counseling because he is very uncomfortable dealing with feelings and emotions, whether they be mine, his, or someone else’s.  However, the Prince went to our appointment on Saturday and, as usual, he admitted at the end of the session that the counseling was helpful and that he wanted to schedule another appointment.  And I have a theory about why he values marriage counseling even though I think he does actually hate it.

My theory is that the Prince recognizes the magic that is occurring in the counselor’s office when the counselor translates between Man Speak and Woman Speak.  I also think that, somewhere buried deep inside the Prince, there is an “observer” that recognizes that being forced to sit in a room, as opposed to running away, while I cry and express my feelings about infertility is a valuable exercise for him.  He needs to hear what I have to say, but he doesn’t want to because it makes him feel “too much.”  Having to hear it in a safe and controlled setting must make him feel more connected as a husband, whether he is able to fully understand what he is feeling and why, or not.

On Saturday, I brought up my intense fear that the Prince is going to run away emotionally when things get tough this cycle…which they will.  The Prince feels that I am being pessimistic about the cycle and that he thinks it is going to work this time (yeah…at least one of us is Positive Polly).  I explained that I’m not talking about the outcome of the cycle, I’m talking about hormones swirling through my system as we go through our most critical cycle yet…right before mother’s day.  I need a plan for us to handle my mood swings and any potential set backs, so I can feel some security going into this cycle of the unknown.  The counselor pointed out to me that the Prince is being optimistic that this time is going to work and that I should feel comfort in that, using him as a rock when my hope falters.  The counselor also made the Prince remember a time when he was terrified of something that was out of his control (of course the Prince chose an example from when he was six years old), and asked him to remember that feeling every time I cried or asked for comfort.  At one point, the counselor even forced the Prince to follow the source of his aversion to answering a certain question until the Prince finally blurted out “It sucks that I can’t fix this!  What does she want me to do?  I can’t fix it.”  I started crying…tears of joy.  I’ve waited three years, hoping to hear the Prince say that.  Not because I want him to be frustrated or uncomfortable, but because every other IF husband I know of will say how badly he wants to fix the situation to spare his wife pain.  This counseling session was the first time the Prince indicated that his avoidance behavior was about his own pain and feelings of helplessness, as opposed to irritation with me.  It was the first time I heard him say that he wanted to make this easier for me and recognized that he couldn’t.  I know that’s not the exact words he used, but as the counselor pointed out…that’s really what the Prince said.  The counselor was able to break down the language barrier, turning Man Speak into Woman Speak for just a little while…and that takes magic.