# Please skip this post if you are not in the mood for any sensitive/emotional heavy-duty stuff.
One particular November I was preparing 'all guns out' to conceive. I was all out, and I jumped all hurdles listening to 'Perfect' at all those jumps except....except for the last one barrier - that one hurdle that mattered the most to me. I was not prepared to fail.
I processed it in shock, numbness, despair and disbelief. I grieved and mourned for the three babies I lost to my dumb body.
And it was those three that I clutched to as my lost gems, till another bat hit me right on my face.
A Sunday, not far from today, I was resting when I thought of the other six that did not make it. Look at me, I was so partial to the trio that I completely glossed over the other six lives I half-created.
What if I had not failed? What if I had the triplets?
The other six would still not have found me. I have never imagined having nine children. I created and managed to lose all of them, but I held on to the grief of only the three I gave shelter to. It is so cruel of me.
I still mourn the three. I have three crows that I brought as a memento. It is a strange* choice of show piece, but it has not been noticed much and I do not mind. Those three crows are my reminders of what I wanted to have and were lost. And guess what? I still did not think of the other six.
I do not want to get into the debate of natural selection, and how would we have chosen to take care of the rest of the embabies, or would we have held them in storage forever. It is all hypothetical and worthless thing to ponder upon. They are lost forever.
I have to accept the other six too. The ones that were left behind and which anyways did not seemingly have a chance.
It hurts. To become aware of it when I am expecting and hoping to give birth to a live baby in 2011 also adds to the myriad feelings I felt. I have lost my writing mojo, and I wish I could pour the sense of selfishness I felt about my mind's selective processing of the loss.
And to know that Kaiser once was exactly what those nine were, that he was not created in a petri-dish but in a suddenly-obedient uterus, I know that I have been unfair.
I hold on to this life inside me even more strongly now because it is my answer to a lot of prayers and unfulfilled wishes of almost six years. More than that, it lets me feel like I have a capability that I no longer trusted that I did. And maybe the nine have forgiven me, and want me to have Kaiser as their blessing.
Someday when Kaiser grows up, I will let him/her know why we have the crows in our showcase. And Kaiser will also know the other six their mother ignored for so long.
And when Kaiser has a sibling, Kaiser won't be the only holder of that information.
I just wish that I am able to tell my children about my fertility struggles without making them believe in the crassness that gossip adds to any history. And that Kaiser and any of my future children are a fruit of love, however they have/may come about.
^WiseGuy^
* Crows embody the soul of the departed.
One particular November I was preparing 'all guns out' to conceive. I was all out, and I jumped all hurdles listening to 'Perfect' at all those jumps except....except for the last one barrier - that one hurdle that mattered the most to me. I was not prepared to fail.
I processed it in shock, numbness, despair and disbelief. I grieved and mourned for the three babies I lost to my dumb body.
And it was those three that I clutched to as my lost gems, till another bat hit me right on my face.
A Sunday, not far from today, I was resting when I thought of the other six that did not make it. Look at me, I was so partial to the trio that I completely glossed over the other six lives I half-created.
What if I had not failed? What if I had the triplets?
The other six would still not have found me. I have never imagined having nine children. I created and managed to lose all of them, but I held on to the grief of only the three I gave shelter to. It is so cruel of me.
I still mourn the three. I have three crows that I brought as a memento. It is a strange* choice of show piece, but it has not been noticed much and I do not mind. Those three crows are my reminders of what I wanted to have and were lost. And guess what? I still did not think of the other six.
I do not want to get into the debate of natural selection, and how would we have chosen to take care of the rest of the embabies, or would we have held them in storage forever. It is all hypothetical and worthless thing to ponder upon. They are lost forever.
I have to accept the other six too. The ones that were left behind and which anyways did not seemingly have a chance.
It hurts. To become aware of it when I am expecting and hoping to give birth to a live baby in 2011 also adds to the myriad feelings I felt. I have lost my writing mojo, and I wish I could pour the sense of selfishness I felt about my mind's selective processing of the loss.
And to know that Kaiser once was exactly what those nine were, that he was not created in a petri-dish but in a suddenly-obedient uterus, I know that I have been unfair.
I hold on to this life inside me even more strongly now because it is my answer to a lot of prayers and unfulfilled wishes of almost six years. More than that, it lets me feel like I have a capability that I no longer trusted that I did. And maybe the nine have forgiven me, and want me to have Kaiser as their blessing.
Someday when Kaiser grows up, I will let him/her know why we have the crows in our showcase. And Kaiser will also know the other six their mother ignored for so long.
And when Kaiser has a sibling, Kaiser won't be the only holder of that information.
I just wish that I am able to tell my children about my fertility struggles without making them believe in the crassness that gossip adds to any history. And that Kaiser and any of my future children are a fruit of love, however they have/may come about.
^WiseGuy^
* Crows embody the soul of the departed.
I wish I was there to hug you.
ReplyDeleteTruly, this is so real...and you're allowed to feel and hurt and mourn. You should.
xxoo
I don't think that grief ever truly ends... it simply eases. There are moments when I think of my lost ones and the pain is as sharp as when I was losing them. Other times I think about who they might be now if they were with me.
ReplyDeleteThey are a part of your story... and have shaped who you are and the kind of mother you will be to Kaiser and any others who come along after.
I have often wondered if anyone feels the loss of a failed IVF cycle as a miscarriage...because for that very short time, we ARE pregnant...we have embryos our body helped create inside our womb...
ReplyDeleteSo it is absolutely right, to me, to mourn them. I would. Thank you for sharing this very emotional story.
I wish I were there to hug you. For now, I can just say thank you for sharing this with us. (((HUGS)))
ReplyDeleteGreat post - I like that you're planning on what to tell Kaiser.
ReplyDelete(*hugs*) Don't beat yourself up over not thinking about them, and grieve as you see fit. Thinking of you.
ReplyDeletei'm sorry your heart is heavy at what should be an unequivocally joyful time. i understand all too well and i wish i could give you a hug.
ReplyDeletedh and i once talked about all the dead embryos/babies we've created. if people knew. if my parents knew how many grandchildren...
xxx
Big hugs to you.
ReplyDeleteI still have sad moments on the due dates of my previous pregnancies. I felt like it was a little selfish of me since I have Skeeter now and considering if those babies had made it, I wouldn't have him.
But I think it natural to mourn the loss of any life. Especially from a mother to her child.
First, I am always in the mood for sensitive/emotional heavy duty stuff.
ReplyDeleteThose who deal with infertility get a front-row seat to the mysteries of life's beginnings. I never got as far as you in the whole "assistance" process, but I imagine my feelings would be similar.
I don't know much, but I do believe that all of your struggles will make you into a more sensitive and caring mother. And Kaiser is a lucky one to have you.
YOu know hon, I think we reach a point where our grief has the potential to overwhelm us. When we get to that point, it is easier to sort of scale back what we are mourning. Maybe that is why you have a representative 3. It is a number you can wrap your heart and mind around without the grief totally overwhelming you.
ReplyDelete{{{Hugs}}}
I have to agree with Kristin's line of thought. Perhaps you chose the three because you know it would be too much for a heavy heart to take it all in.
ReplyDelete(from the creme)
I agree with Quiet Dreams...
ReplyDeleteThose who deal with infertility get a front-row seat to the mysteries of life's beginnings. This is one of them.
Now following from Creme de la Creme.
We created a total of 15 embryos (in four cycles). Two arrested in the petri dish. Thirteen were transferred (in four transfers). One baby was born. Twelve were lost in my uterus. I miss them. I understand.
ReplyDelete(Here from creme.)
I keep typing sentences but everything seems trite and inappropriate. I know you've had to experience so much loss and that is has had a profound affect on you. I'm so sorry for the loss in your life. I am writing this on the 23rd and I read last night that your daughter, Lola, passed away. Reading this post, as you talk about her growing up, it just tears me apart inside. Maybe it is cruel of me to even say that in a comment that you will read today or tomorrow. Maybe it rubs salt in a wound so deep it seems it would destroy you. I don't know. I don't want to ignore the loss I know you suffered but I can't seem to find the words to honor it as I should. I'm sorry for that. I know I can't bring you any comfort or ease your pain but please know you are in my heart and in my thoughts today and every day.
ReplyDelete