An Addiction to Hope

It's been a rough week for me as, every other day, I have learned of another friend, relative, or co-worker who is in their first trimester of pregnancy.  And, although it may not be my first thought, I am truly happy for them.  Knowing first hand how horrible infertility is, I don't wish it on anyone.  Still, hearing the news when I am still raw and not yet through this month of loss (next week would have been my due date with Oliver), I just get angry at the unfairness of it all. I also get cranky because I hate being told no.  I am one of those people who will stubborn my way through to anything I *really* want and being told "no" only makes me work that much harder.  All of which helps explain why, late last night, I was reconsidering our decision to stop IVF.

Now, please understand, cognitively, I have no desire to try again.  I hate the shots and the roller coaster and the waiting.  I hate not being able to plan vacations or use leave time in case I need it for maternity leave.  I get anxious at the idea of having to be pregnant while Lil' Bit goes in for another heart catheterization next spring.  But, being bombarded with all these pregnancies, on top of viscerally feeling the loss of Oliver, and, at least emotionally, all I want is another child.

Finding myself confused about holding both of these diametrically opposed positions, I consulted my "IVF Bible"--The Infertility Survival Handbook by Elizabeth Swire Falker [I highly recommend it for anyone suffering with infertility!].  In it, there is a chapter on how to know when to stop, and she points out that fertility treatments are addictive:  "[R]eproductive technology offers perpetual hope of having a child.  It's almost impossible to walk away from that."  And she's exactly right.  You are forever asking yourself if the next time would be the time that worked.  In addition, there are stories of women who have undergone six or more fresh IVF cycles, and however many attendant FET cycles, before achieving their goal.  It's quite easy, especially for those of us who want to push through and do whatever it takes to get what we want, to slip into a never-ending cycle of treatments.

As I tried to explain all of this to Phil this morning--not because I necessarily want to renegotiate our agreement, but because I wanted to communicate with him where I was (after all, he doesn't know unless I tell him!)--I realized that I was stuck.  I am having a difficult time releasing the energy I have invested in having another child.  However, I am fairly certain that once I have my hysterectomy, I will be able to let go.  There are no more one-in-a-million shots at a miracle child.  There is no more possibility of changing our minds and trying one more round.  I will be physically incapable of achieving pregnancy.  Period.  Then, and only then, will I be able to let go of the energy I have invested in having another child.  Until that point, I am, for better or worse, irrevocably addicted to hope.  And nothing, not our agreement, not poverty, not my infertility, not even common sense, will stop me from hoping against hope that something will change and pregnancy will come.  Which, unfortunately, also means that my real healing may not begin until then.  Instead, every month, until I am proven wrong, I continue to have unreasonable hope that I could be pregnant.  Is it rational?  No, but addictions never are.  And, it appears that nothing short of impossibility will fix it.  Until that time, I still have it within my power to try and to hope against all hope.  And, as long as there is something within my power that I can do, I can't give up.  That's just my nature.  It doesn't mean I'm not going to try to to heal until that happens.  But, at the same time, I have to be honest with myself.  So, this is me, being honest about where I am; about being stuck; about being addicted--to hope.