The comment I had received this morning on my personal Facebook page basically said that I should never give up, because plenty of people adopt and then go on to conceive naturally.
(Courtesy of Google Images)
This was from a family member. Someone who has conceived her own children with ease. Someone who really has no idea how painful infertility can be. And someone who (clearly) has no concept at all how severe my specific condition is.
I wanted to rage. Wanted to draw out diagrams. Wanted to send the pictures that I actually have of my insides which show both of my ovaries completely scared down to the point that an egg couldn't possibly be released on its own. I wanted to explain that I only have one tube left after my surgeries, and that it is so covered in scar tissue that even if an embryo managed to find its way there – the end result would be an ectopic pregnancy.
Because it is all just too big a mess.
Because the last 2 years have taken away any hope of natural conception.
And the last 2 days have pretty thoroughly slashed to pieces any hope of conception at all.
I wanted to explain until this person understood beyond a shadow of a doubt that adoption was most certainly not going to lead to me procreating naturally.
That almost $25,000 and the best modern medicine had to offer couldn’t give me the end result I so coveted either.
I wanted to point out the stupidity. The insensitivity. The shear ignorance.
And then I wanted to delete the relationship and move forward never interacting with this person ever again.
Canceling my ticket home for the holidays while I was at it, because clearly that was a bad idea.
But instead, I went to church.
This isn’t the first time someone who should have known better said something so painful to me. When I was approaching my first surgery with fear last year, I sat crying to my best friend at the time. I was hurting, she was pregnant. With number 2.
Her words to me then were “I really think you’re taking this too hard. If I were you, I would just adopt.”
She said this as she rubbed her pregnant belly (conceived with ease – in fact, both children were conceived without intention), and watched her perfect 2 year old run around the house.
The epitome of someone who couldn't possibly conceptualize what they would do in my shoes, because they would never be in my shoes.
I never thought someone who cared about me could cut me so wide open without even trying.
But those kinds of comments… they come out even still. Even now. Just days after this blow. Not from her anymore, but from others like her. Others who have conceived with ease and obviously don’t get it, but who seem to think they have the solutions for me.
And this morning, I was raging at all of them. Hurt and upset and angry that they just didn’t understand. That they would never understand.
Because their children had come to them without any effort at all. No $20,000-$40,000 adoption fees, or cycle after cycle of failure.
Their children had come to them because a condom had simply been forgotten, or a pill skipped.
Yet, so many of them seem to know exactly what it is I should do now. Exactly how it is that I should move forward.
Privy to some knowledge that they clearly think I missed out on.
I sat down in church, still shaking. Conversing with Ashley, and trying to maintain my cool, but… just angry.
And then the sermon began, and as always – the words that were spoken were exactly the words I needed to hear.
The pastor spoke about redemption, and redeemers. He was telling the congregation that in order to be redeemers, we need to sometimes have a little extra grace.
And then he said something that completely rocked me to my core.
“Why is it” he asked “that we judge others by their actions, but we judge ourselves by our intent?”
I kid you not when I say he knocked the wind out of me.
He knocked the bitterness out of me.
And I was reminded that none of these people have ill intent. That as I’ve gotten e-mail after e-mail reminding me that I don’t have to give birth to be a mother, no one has meant to hurt me. They have all wanted to help, in whatever way they could.
They’ve just done it in the wrong way.
And then I came back this afternoon to comments and e-mails from this morning’s post – all from people who I know care. All from people apologizing if they have ever said anything to hurt me.
I realized then; people don’t know what to say.
They just don’t know what to say.
And I felt awful, because in my own hurt - I had hurt them back. I had made them feel guilty for their efforts, when really those efforts only stemmed from caring about me.
I had basically admonished people for caring about me.
It’s not a matter of trying to hurt me or digging the knife deeper. It’s not even a matter of indifference.
Because the intent is good. People want to help. They may not know how to do it, but they want to.
And so maybe this is an opportunity. An opportunity to educate. To open up. And to explain what it is that I do need.
Instead of raging against those who give me anything else.
The truth is, the last thing I need right now is solutions. I think this goes for anyone suffering through any kind of heartbreak though. You have to remember that if someone is going through something painful, they have likely already run through all the possible solutions in their heads. I guarantee you, they have already thought of everything. They don’t need you (or anyone else) throwing out suggestions. Because it would be impossible for you to think of anything they haven’t already thought of themselves.
Nothing you could add would be something they haven't already considered.
You have to remember, I have now been dealing with infertility and endometriosis for 2 years. I have considered adoption, and surrogacy. Egg donation and foster care. These are not novel concepts to me. There is nothing you could suggest at this point that I haven’t thought of myself. Nothing that I haven’t considered.
Unless you happen to know of some rare, reversal cure for endometriosis, in which case: SPILL!
I know that when people see someone hurting, they want to offer up a way to fix it. We all want to solve the problems of others. But the issue with that is – my problems can’t just be easily solved right now. And suggesting adoption or surrogacy or anything else at this point not only feels like it’s discounting my intelligence (because again – I promise you that I have thought of it), but it also feels like it’s discounting my right to feel what I need to feel in this moment.
It feels like the suggestion made to me way back when that I shouldn’t take this so hard – because I can always adopt.
We all know I will be a mother some day. I’ve already said it’s a non-negotiable. But… I need the time to feel this too. To mourn the loss of this. To ache for the fact that I will never carry a child.
And upon hearing that sentence, I don’t need to be told to “never say never”. I don’t need to be reminded of all the people who have had miracles happen. I know that miracles can happen, and you had better believe that there is a tiny piece of my soul still holding out hope and praying for my own.
But I need to be realistic too. I need to recognize that the only way to end the reign that endo has held over my life may be to submit to the big H. And then what? A miracle most certainly will not occur when it has all been taken out.
And people need to understand that. They need to understand that I have more knowledge of my case and the state of my insides than anyone else. And that if I am saying it is never going to happen, in all likelihood – it is never going to happen.
At some point, I need to come to terms with that. And I can’t do that if everyone around me is trying to fill me up with false hope.
I can’t spend the rest of my life banking on my miracle, because inevitably – that will only lead to a lifetime of disappointment.
I know that everyone has the best of intentions, but I have to be honest – those I cherish most in my life right now are the ones who are simply there. Not trying to solve this for me. Not attempting to rebuild my hope. Just there. Loving me. Holding me when I cry. Laughing with me when I can’t handle the sadness anymore. And listening to me when I need to talk.
You can’t solve this for me. None of you can offer a solution that will fix this.
And that’s OK, because you know what? I don’t expect you to. I don’t expect you to have the magic words of wisdom that will take away all the hurt.
Because those words don’t exist.
I hope that the next time someone close to me goes through something traumatic, I can remember this lesson I’ve been taught over the last few days. I can remember to keep my mouth shut in terms of solutions and rebuilding hope, and instead just be there. Just listen. Just be a shoulder to cry on.
I hope I can remember, because sometimes even the best of intentions can cut like a knife.
And I hope all of you will bear with me as I try to struggle through this. As I slowly regain my patience and get control of my anger.
Because the truth is, I’m not angry at anyone but myself. My body. Unfortunately, there’s only so much anger you can direct at your own uterus, and from there – other people just get caught in the cross-fire.
I’m trying to remember to judge peoples intentions instead of their actions.
And right now, I am surrounded by people with good intentions.
But you can’t fix this.
None of you can fix this.
And that’s OK. I don’t need anyone to fix anything.
I just need time.
And patience.
And understanding.
And maybe – a little extra grace.
