Have You Thought About IVF?
http://20six.co.uk/hjb1
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Judging...
There's a story here and in countless other papers here about the 63 year old woman who has had assisted conception and is now pregnant. Whilst I'm happy to judge people at all sorts of levels about haircuts, accents or choice of newspaper - in fact, you name it and I'll happily judge away. However, I've always tried not to judge people on their choice to have children or not to have children; to adopt or not to adopt; to have assisted conception or not to have it.
That story makes me feel different.
And as a friend of friend pointed out - "She came here with her husband, the couple love each other, she is very slim, blonde and in perfect condition, she fits all the criteria for maternity."
So, that's okay then.
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The Family Man
My attention has been drawn to this new series on the BBC. I am torn between wishing that I had know about it earlier and asking someone to tape it for me and, on the other hand, being really glad that I don't live in the UK and so don't have to watch it. More importantly, don't have to be part of the 'water-cooler' conversation the next day when people disect the plot, the characters and what is wrong and who should be 'allowed' to have IVF, and isn't it wonderful that IVF is there and that means that everyone can have babies whenever they want. And etc.
On a more serious note, it's interesting to see that IVF and infertility is now featuring as the main thrust of a drama series. Obviously I haven't been too aware of UK TV schedules for the last 3 years, but my understanding has been that infertility has only been tackled through the documentary process or through some allusion to characters 'trying for a baby'. It's a good social marking point when something is approached through the medium of the soap-opera or a drama series.
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the next steps
I'm not sure what to do about this blog. It's a sub-division of my main blog and I'm unlikely to blog on DMTS at 2six anymore. At the moment, I'm not entirely clear about what will happen to all the additional blogs that I'm entitled to hold under my early-adopter status. Personally, I'd prefer to keep all of this separate from my main blog for a number of reasons. The other thing I like about this blog is that I've set it up so that other 20sixers can post. With my new blog I can't offer that.
Today, I posted a piece about my feelings about how people who aren't able to have their own children naturally have to work that bit harder to prove that they are worthy of children than people who can have children naturally. As ever, it is my perception, my truth. It may not be yours and I welcome disagreement, providing it is offered with some sense of tact.
It can be read here.
and to save you going clickety click it's reproduced here.
I'd be interested in peoples' thoughts on this blog remaining as an independent entity on 20six, and etc....
What excitement when I discovered that moobs
had gone and got himself one of these new-fangled dotcom thingies. (ed:
you may want to reconsider your use of new-fangled). He’s a 20sixer who
I discovered relatively recently and he was partially responsible for
me writing about my own experiences and the more general notes about
miscarriage and infertility. This morning, I read his piece about
surrogacy and it pressed all those buttons that make me squawk and
shout at people.
Once we realised we weren’t going to have our own children we pretty
much decided that that was it and if we couldn’t have our own then we
would forget it. Adoption or surrogacy wasn’t something that we felt
would be quite right for our particular situation. Amongst the many
reasons for not wanting to adopt was that neither of us could quite
face the process that we would have to go through in order to be deemed
acceptable to adopt. Surrogacy wasn’t something that we even
considered. People who knew that we couldn’t have our own children,
after suggesting that we try IVF, would ask us why we didn’t adopt. I
never bothered to explain because I wasn’t entirely sure why I didn’t
want to adopt, I just knew that I didn’t. But the minute I said that I
didn’t want to adopt I would get this unspoken ‘thing’ that people were
thinking that if I really, really wanted a baby then I would adopt.
Quite clearly I didn’t want one badly enough. Obviously, I may have
been projecting like mad, but I wonder if people who have children of
their own get asked if they’ve ever considered adoption.
Moobsie mentions in his piece about surrogacy that in this
particular situation the surrogate mother would probably expect Penny
to give up work. Why? This isn’t a debate about mothers with employment
outside of the home versus women who stay at home with their children.
This is about having a child of your own. In the great days of planning
our family with absolutely no idea what having children was like, my
idea was that I would return to work part-time when our child was about
a year old. It was all going to work like clockwork because I’d have
this great job, I’d have great childcare, I’d have no guilt about going
back to work, I’d have a fabulous employer who would be really
supportive and I’d not even have to think about the problems of school
holidays. It was all fantasy. But, it was my fantasy about my baby and
no one, other than my husband, would have had the right to say that I
shouldn’t be seeking employment outside of the home.
We’d had enough social control through the small amount of
investigation towards my sub-fertility. They couldn’t blame our
situation on my weight, smoking habits, drinking habits or anything
else so they let me have some blood tests. If you’re infertile or
sub-fertile you have to have a squeaky clean lifestyle before you can
expect to get any of the testing to determine where things may be going
wrong. If you’re considering adoption then you get asked all those
questions too plus they get to poke around inside your cupboards to see
what you may be hiding.
It’s clear that there have to be some checks and balances because we
can’t be handing out kids to just anyone. I mean if you’re stupid,
overweight, smoke like a beagle and like a nice Diamond White to wash
down your KFC dinner then you can’t be trusted with a child. Well, not
unless you made it yourself. I have no idea what the answer is to any
of this but it really flattens my souffle when I see people who can’t
have children having to agree to things that no one who can have
children naturally would be expected to agree to. Maybe, just maybe, we
should be looking at whether or not a baby will be loved,cared for and
kept out of danger by the prospective parents.
I think this will run and run.
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Should I say or should I ...
I've never been able stay pregnant for
more than 10 weeks. Usually a lot less. I have dodgy chromosomes
and lupus to boot, and about 5 or 6 years ago I decided that I
couldn't 'try' any more.
I still feel that my decision to focus
on the things I have in my life (rather than those I don't) is one of
the most positive and significant decisions I am ever likely to make.
It was with that decision that I moved away from despair and
depression and started living a full life again.
There's this 'but' though ...
A number of close and not so close
friends have had babies since then. And a sister. Every single
time, I have gone through the pregnancy with reasonable equanimity
(barring a roar of pain the first time I get too drunk after I find
out about the pregnancy).
Then, nature taking it's course,
there's a baby ... and that's when things always seem to get hard.
I'm good at babies and small children. I am the youngest of a large
and fecund family, so I have been around children of all ages since I
was a child myself.
... So I find myself with a baby in my
arms, and I coo and cuddle and comfort, I relate and engage and
stimulate and I think generally I make most babies I hold feel relaxed,
safe and probably loved.
I give it back to mum or dad, go home
and howl. I might see the baby only one or twice, or a little more
often, but I get to the point – every time – that I just can't
bare to spend time with them. I have avoided a sister and friends
after holding their new babies. Every time someone I care about has
said “I'm pregnant”, I have promised myself that I will not back
off. But I do. Every time.
By the time the child is toddling I can
bare it again, and fortunately on most occasions, relationships have
been re-established at around 1 to 2 years. But it does feel like it
has impacted on my relationships with loved ones, that it throws up a
barrier.
... And here's my dilemma ... being
able to recognise this defensive (protective?) response in me, do I
talk to my friends that are due to have a baby soon? Do I tell them
that I will back off, but come back to them when s/he's walking?
I am terrified of the 'offence' I may
cause. Or the loss of that friendship. But I know this pattern now,
and know that I'll feel hurt and low and sad every time I see their
baby, to the extent that I WILL back off.
I want to get it out in the open, but I
just don't know how or even if I should. Part of me thinks that new
parents may actually not see my backing off in the same light as I.
They may just read the lessening of contact as being a natural part
of being new parents. I wonder if I really just want to put a damper
on their joy, by letting them know I can't bare to share it? Or
magnifying my 'issues' further than I should.
I just don't know. My friends will be
parents within the next 6 to 8 weeks. I'm already stressing. Where
on earth do I put it? esm
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My Story
I've just found this blog as it was on the front page, I hope you don't mind me joining in. Delete it if you like, I found just writing this helped a bit.
I was 16 when they told me my ovaries were a bit messed up and that I might have trouble conceiving. At that point, it was a horrific thought. Me? Children? Never! Besides, the fact that I only had about 5 periods a year was a bonus!
When I was 18 I met the man of my dreams and I was very open with him about it. We were thinking ahead: He was happy to try for children, and if necessary we'd adopt. We got engaged, were each others' 'firsts' as we planned to be together forever. My happily ever after was really happening.
When I was 21 and half way through my final year at uni, I sunk into the depths of depression. I was so tired and emotional and sick; I couldn't eat or sleep or study. I could barely get out of bed. That new year's eve, at my lowest point, I told him that he should start the year without me.
I got very drunk, a lot. I smoked, a lot. I skipped lectures, didn't sleep for weeks and had mood swings so bad I couldn't even stand to be with myself.
Almost a year ago today, I started to bleed like I'd never bled before. There wasn't really any pain. There was a slight cramp, and then so much blood, more than usual, more than there'd ever been. Despite my medical background, I didn't know what was happening even though looking back now it's so obvious. It's so different when it happens to you. I walked along to the A&E in the middle of the night. When they told me, I didn't believe them. I couldn't believe them.
I was about 12 weeks gone when I lost my baby. Everyone tells me it's not my fault, and I know I'd probably have lost it anyway, but no one will ever be able to get rid of the guilt. I drank, I smoked, I stayed out late and partied too hard. For all I know that might have been the only chance I had, and I didn't make the most of it because I didn't know it was there growing inside me. How didn't I know? No matter what anyone says, ever, there will always be a part of me that knows I may have killed my child. I should have known it was there, things could have been so different. Maybe the ending would have been the same. For a long time I didn't tell anyone, not even the father. I was so ashamed, so guilty, so dirty.
One year on, and it seems all my friends and family are having children. There are babies and bumps everywhere I look. Each new announcement makes me feel happy, sad, totally inadequate.
No one else remembered the due date when it passed; no one else will remember the day my babe was lost.
I should have known it was there.
I should have known it was there.
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Untouchable
I signify that hidden pain
The deadly, doom-laden empty ache
That never stops.
I am the metaphor for loss;
The empty vessel, the false prophet.
Like an untouchable
I watch you retreat
Into Purdah.
Talking your harem talk behind the curtain.
If you avert your eyes I won't be there
And you can have rest
Where my voodoo powers can't reach you.
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Remembering
When you can't quite catch my eye;
You smile too quickly, or look away.
I remember that you have not forgotten.
You ask me if I'm going to town.
Can I collect dog food?
Will I post a letter?
You prune more branches from the apple tree
And hide behind not talking.
And I hide behind throwing sticks for the dog
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