I have been thinking about this topic recently and wanted to blog about it. Three months ago - in the middle of September - I attended my first RESOLVE meeting. At that meeting, I broke into tears when I told the group I had my 9 week miscarriage just 2 weeks earlier. I cried as I told them I was there, at the meeting, because I didn't know what else to do. That I had no hope left, and without hope, what does an infertile do. Hope is all that gets each and every one of us out of bed each day, on with our lives, and on with another cycle.
Three months later (last Tuesday), I attended the December RESOLVE meeting. There, at my urging, was a woman I met at my yoga for fertility class. She had a total failure of a fresh donor egg cycle 2 weeks earlier and was so sad and in a state of shock (donor egg is supposed to work, dammit). I urged her to go to RESOLVE and she showed up. She has no hope. She doesn't know what to do next. They have two frozen embryos (that's all that's left) and she is so scared of doing another attempt.
At the RESOLVE meeting, I thanked everyone there (even those I'd never met before) for helping me get back on my feet. For essentially saving me, my marriage, and my reproductive attempts. I thanked the "collective power circle" (what I called them) for being there, once a month, for me to go to. I thanked the few women in the group who are part of the smaller RESOLVE group we started. We are meeting 2 weeks after every official monthly meeting. I looked at her when I thanked them for helping me find hope again and for helping me get back on my feet.
It felt good to be able to thank them and to realize that I have hope again and that I am out of my very deep and dark place and back to steady ground.
So, to you out there who is dealing with a recent loss and who feels like you can't go on I tell you this: time heals every wound. Infertility is horrible for many reasons, but one of those reasons is that each month / each period / each pregnancy announcement is another reminder of what isn't working out as we hoped. It's a vicious cycle or a constant scratching off a feeble scab. The "good" thing about a devastating loss or a failed cycle is that it is a tragedy that stays put. Meaning as each day comes, another day is put between you and that tragedy. Meaning time does allow that wound to scab over.
When I was in my darkest place after our 9 week donor egg bank miscarriage, I barely got out of bed in the morning. When I got home in the evenings, I went through the motions and got the dogs walked and the dogs / cats / chickens fed. Then I promptly got into bed and watched tv on the computer. For. Hours. I didn't make dinner and hubby would come home and find me sobbing to some tv show that wasn't even a sad tv show. I hadn't eaten and he had to scramble to find something to make into a meal (no food in the house because I didn't go to the grocery store). I barely slept at night and often wound up "sleeping" on the sofa. For those who remember my other blog, I spent many a sleepless night on the sofa after the ectopic in 2011, so it appears that's where I end up when I'm really sad. I didn't answer the phone when loved ones called and didn't listen to voice mails until about 6-7 weeks after the miscarriage. I didn't even respond to emails. I told hubby I was not trying ever again, informed him I was going back on birth control to avoid any more of the stupid chemical pregnancies, and even threatened him with divorce (to set him free so he could meet and make babies with a fertile). It was horrible and I never thought I'd get out of it.
I literally never ever thought I'd get out of it.
But I did. Time healed the deepest of wounds I have ever experienced. I can talk about the September miscarriage now without shedding a tear. I can talk about our next plans without shedding many tears. I am even cautiously excited (read: scared shitless) about the cycle we'll do sometime in 2013. Most of all, I am grateful that I have found hope again and that I no longer feel as though I have ton resting on my shoulders and chest.
I'm not saying it'll happen quickly for others. Or that I pretend to know everything or even close to everything. I write this post to share my own story of healing and to - hopefully - instill an ounce of hope in you that you will heal and get strong again and get through this.