For Now.

December 13, 2012 at 9:07 am | Posted in And I ran (I ran so far away), Career angst, Crazy Talk (aka: Therapy), Heartbreak, Infertility, Moving On., Pregnancy Loss | 14 Comments

I held my new nephew last night. Twice; once so that my SIL could finish her dinner before she went to feed him, where he vacillated between tired and hungry, in and out of sleep, searching my arm for food.

The second time, after she fed him, sleepy and cuddly, his mouth open in a perfect O.

Oh, he’s so gorgeous. So little. So dark (just like Lucky was). So sleepy. So cuddly.

I looked up at Charlie, who was watching me, and we exchanged looks of shared pain.

This is so fucking hard.


I’ve been thinking about other options ever since meeting with my RE. Okay, so she thinks my uterus might be completely jacked up presenting a problem for implantation.

Surgery COULD be an option, but she does not feel like it’s worth it to attempt. And frankly, I agree with her.

What about surrogacy? Adoption?

My feelings about our options are incredibly mixed, and I can’t sort through them enough to come to any sort of resolution on them.

And right now Charlie isn’t really open to either one, though I am reading into our discussions that he’s mixed as well. I suppose if I pushed the issue we’d both come to a decision that we’re okay with.

I didn’t think it was possible to have less hope than I did before going into this last cycle. But apparently it IS possible to have negative hope. Anti-hope.


I might have better handled a chromosomal issue with the embryo. Since meeting with my doctor, though, I have been struggling.

I know there are no FACTS, that my doctor could only theorize, why we’re not getting pregnant. But you need to understand, I have had questions for so long as to the REASON why our cycles keep failing.

We have gone through nearly 20 embryos over the years. And that’s nearly twenty BEAUTIFUL embryos: the ones that were rated highest by my clinic.

I have felt for years now that my body actively tries NOT to be pregnant. I felt, when pregnant with Lucky, that I had slipped one in under the radar. I was never comfortable, not for one DAY, when I was pregnant. It felt unnatural; he was breech and stuck in my rib.

And then, the two times I’ve gotten pregnant since: miscarriage.

So to hear that my doctor believes that my uterus has some hand in all this Fail… well, honestly, I think she’s right. I FEEL like she’s right. I’ve known, felt, believed this for years now.

And I don’t have the words to describe the utter loathing I feel about my body as a whole, feeling this.

I have a hard time putting the reasons why into words. But it has to do with the fact that my body cannot perform one of the most basic biological tasks of humankind – nuturing a human.

And that’s why running, right now, is not a salve for this ache. Because it’s not the same.

Running marathons will not change the fact that my body is not made for making babies.


Last week, when I went to pick Lucky up from school, there was a large sheet of paper on the wall, where they usually put their class projects and decoration for the seasons. It was a classification chart.

The question was: How many people are in your family?

The buckets for classification were simple: 3, 4, and 5.

The most kids were in the 4 Bucket – 8 or 10 kids wrote their names there. There were a few kids who had written their names in the 5 Bucket.

Lucky was the only one in the 3 category.

It was unexpected, a punch to my soul. I couldn’t breathe for a moment, and I fantasized about pulling the sheet down and ripping it up.

But I wanted to know how HE felt about it. So on the way out, I pointed it out and asked about it.

And he said, Mommy, I really, really wanted everyone to say ‘Three!’ like me. I wanted the number 3 to win.

I told him that he did win, because he was the only kid who had three in his family, that he was special. And I asked him, Did you know that three is a lucky number?

He hadn’t known that.

I hadn’t heard his teacher coming up the stairs, so when we turned the corner, she was there. And she told Lucky, Did you know that I have three in my family too?

It’s awful, but my first thought was, For now.

I know her son is young: 3.

For now.


For now, I’m trying to get out of bed every morning, do my work, parent my almost 5 year old, be a good wife, keep things going with Charlie is traveling.

For now, I’m hopelessly behind on Christmas cards and present-wrapping and making sure that we’re bought for everyone we need to buy for. Oh, and bills, too.

For now, I’m trying to focus on my training program and race schedule for next year and snatch some Zen in the moments where I find them on my runs.

For now, I’m trying to survive this awfulness, the babylust that holds me prisoner, the ache of wanting a sleeping bundle in my arms, catching the scent of baby in my dreams.

For now, I’m just trying to get through one day at a time.

One hour at a time, one moment even.


That’s why I haven’t been posting. Because who really wants to hear my pain? How many times can you all, my readers, comment, I am so sorry, Serenity?

And truly. How many times have I written these same goddamn posts over the years, the longing, the frustration, the pain, the body loathing?

It’s the same fucking story, over and over and over.

And over, for good measure.

Except it’s NOT over.

It’ll never be over.

I am so tired of pain, of longing, of this story. I want off this goddamn ride, where I go from hope to fear to pain to hopelessness to even more hopelessness.

I want this to end. I want to be DONE, I want to move on. I want this pit inside me to be full of the things I DO have, the love that I have in my life.

I loathe this empty yawning ache, and I cannot be rid of it.

For now.



RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

  1. Serenity, you have a right to your feelings. And feelings change from day to day, week to week. But change is slow, which most people have difficulty realizing. It can take months or years to resolve a situation, and even then you will have good days and bad days.

    Thank you for sharing all your days with us.

  2. Serenity–keep purging. If someone doesn’t want to read they can click the little x and leave the page. It’s important for you to use every venue you can to sort through your feelings. In the end, all that matters is that your 3 bucket is full of happiness.

  3. Keep venting. The people who want to be here for you will be. The people who don’t, won’t. We’ve all been through hell. We should be there to support each other through that hell – no matter how long it lasts or how difficult it is. Thinking of you. xo

  4. We can keep commenting that we’re sorry, and that we’re abiding with you during this difficult, difficult time, because we are. This won’t go away tomorrow, and those of us rooting for you, praying for you to find some sort of peace, whatever form it may take, aren’t going away either. I wish I had some words that would help, but we both know I don’t, and so I just continue to abide with you and hope that one day soon, it will all get even a little bit easier.

  5. I was actually thinking I should email you, make sure everything is okay, because you hadn’t posted in so long. So you certainly don’t need to worry about boring any of us (or at least me). If you feel like talking about all this stuff over & over isn’t helping, though, that’s another story. But if it is, keep going.

    I think if your gut is telling you that the doctor is right, she is probably right. There really is something to be said for knowing your body, even if it’s not always rational. Not that it helps you any…

    And I cannot believe Lucky is the *only* kid in the class without a sibling! I guess the town we live in is just different: in J’s class, there would be quite a few 2’s on that chart (single moms w/ one kid). J’s best school friend lives with his mom, little brother, uncle, and grandparents, and the uncle’s kids come on the weekends. Is your town really so full of perfect nuclear families? That sucks 😦

  6. Serenity you have no idea who I am as I have only known you through your blog. I have never commented on a blig before, but Ihave been reading your words for months now. Daily your words bring me to tears. My heart breaks for you and your struggles. I want you to know that from what I know of you on this blog, you appear to be a wonderful person. Your strength is inspiring. Know that “Lucky” is is true to his name to have you as a mother. I know that life is complicated and we all don’t fit into a “perfect” frame of what we think will be, but on those hardest of days give Lucky an extra squeeze and know that you are doing right by him. I will continue to keep you in my thoughts.

  7. Keep posting, and we’ll keep being here. Because we get it. We aren’t the people in your life who will say “just get over it already” or “be grateful for what you have” because we’ve been told those things too. We’re here, because we need you to know you aren’t alone. We’re here, because we care about you and WANT to hear how you’re feeling.

    This: “For now, I’m trying to survive this awfulness, the babylust that holds me prisoner, the ache of wanting a sleeping bundle in my arms, catching the scent of baby in my dreams.”

    So much this.

    ❤ ❤ ❤

  8. I am glad you posted again. I had been wondering about you, but thought maybe you were just taking a break after all the posts in NaBloPoMo or however it is written.

    I can keep writing how sorry I am, because it remains true. My ache that I feel at seeing someone I consider a friend go through such a hard time doesn’t just go away. I don’t get tired of reading your words. I hope so much that my comments offer maybe a bit of solace, a bit of a hug, a bit of caring to help make your (so very dark) road easier.

    I cannot know how you feel, but I fear it will end the same for me as well in a few years, and it matters so much to me that you feel you can continue to process your feelings in this safe space.


  9. I lost my baby right about the same time you did. I’m sorry that we both had to go through this (again – it wasn’t my first loss either).

    Your posts make me feel less alone – that someone else is in the same place I am. So, just know that you aren’t alone in your feelings either. Hug.

  10. I hope that sharing, here, in this safe space, brings you some measure of catharsis or respite. And, the sharing of the pain, confusion, and frustration of this journey will undoubtedly be beneficial to others. No one has the same path, but many of us share elements.

    I hope your therapist returns and that you can resume a regular schedule of seeing her because it is oh so beneficial.

    All of this processing is part of the coming to terms that will lead you down A path. You are in the deep dark thick of it and of course it is demoralizing. My hope is that the clouds will begin to part and that you see the forest for the trees. There is no one right answer.

    For now, I am sending you strength and love and clarity of mind and peace of heart. It seems so trite, but it is the best thing I can do.

  11. Serenity- I was referred to your blog by a mutual friend, as I am in the same place as you- wanting a second child badly, multiple losses, so much anger and sadness that my body is failing me, and absolutely uncertain if I’m ever going to feel normal again. I found myself crying reading this post, as I could have written it myself. I have no advice, no words of wisdom to share, but wanted to join the army of women who follow your journey and understand your pain. I’m right there with you… You aren’t alone.

  12. I agree with the other, please keep writing your thoughts down no matter what they are. It doesn’t matter if some (or many of them) are dark and depressing. You need to get it out! It is your therapy and you deserve to be honest and open. Your writing is amazing and I can truly feel for you. xoxo

  13. Serenity, I’ve been following your story for a long time. I only mention that because I am about to offer some ass-vice. Please feel free to ignore. Have you or any of your REs looked into immune issues, like natural killer cells ( yes, a truly horrible name)? I think you can google for specific tests. Some REs don’t “buy into” immune issues, but I’ve heard of many women finally getting pregnant after getting tested and treated for immune issues. Again, sorry for the ass-vice but hope it helps.

    • Thank you so much for the advice, honestly, it’s very welcomed. And yes, the miscarriage panel included NK, which came back normal. I’ve also had two endometrial biopsies which included testing for natural killer cells. All normal.

      I think it comes down to the fact that if there’s a septum then there’s a spot at the top of my uterus with no blood supply. And if the embryo implants there, or near there, it won’t be a sustainable pregnancy.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Blog at
Entries and comments feeds.

%d bloggers like this: