Being happy

Two days before I got AF (which was 5 days late), I couldn’t stop crying. I’d seen the latest new baby being held by big sister pic on Facebook and felt like the pain would never go away. That of all the people facing secondary infertility at my age, it was me that wasn’t getting a happy ending. And it just isn’t fair. I am a good mom, a good wife, a good friend and damn it, a good person. I cook meals for friends in need, listen to them cry, offer advice to others in the same boat , suffer through baby showers and even play the stupid games, smile and coo at the endless parade of newborns at my son’s preschool and am happy, really happy with my son.

And then I just had to stop. I had to stop feeling so damn sorry for myself.  Bad things happen. Its not fair. Life goes on. I am simply over being in this place that every month when the AF hormones kick in, a whiny, unstable version of myself takes over.  Everyone suffers. DH goes silent. DS asks me if I am happy while tears flow down my face watching Caillou (you know when Caillou is playing with Rosie and all I can think is that Miles will never have a sibling). And the dog knows best to stay outside.

So I am saying it now and hopefully stick to it. I want to be happy and enjoy my life whatever that brings. I want to really be happy for my pregnant friends, even those that announce it at 6 weeks before an ultrasound, I want to move past the pit in my belly that turns my smile into a trembling line when I hear someone show sadness over the sex of their healthy fetus or worry about the size of car they need for a family of six and two double strollers. I want to truly feel lucky to just have my one perfect son. Lucky for the time I do have for myself, lucky for the time we have as a family, lucky that we will have more resources to travel the world, lucky that he can have all my attention and devotion without losing myself.

That is my mantra. But for the record, we arent done. We signed with AdoptHelp in Sherman Oaks and will continue to try naturally. And Dr. Rosen is putting my case by all nine REs at UCSF to come up with a miracle last-ditch protocol. But in the meantime, I am happy.

Bhutan anyone?

Easy first pregnancy then six years and a whole hell of lot of loss and ART for second at 41 and then voila surprise healthy third pregnancy at 43. Whats the trick? A visit to Chimi Lhakang, a fertility temple in Bhutan, and getting whacked on the head with a piece of wood. Charlotte Bacon tells her story in Sunday’s New York Times and to a 40 year old woman with a perfect son and then 4 failed IUIs and 3 failed IVFs with a chromosomal termination and miscarriage along the way, let me say I was inspired.

Bhutan has been on my wish list for years. I meant to go back in 2005 when I had a couple weeks in between jobs but I put it off then I met Dave and well, it never seemed to work out. So learning that there is a miracle fertility temple in one of my bucket list destinations gets me thinking. And before I could even ask, Dave told me I could go. He’d stay home with Miles.

Of course, I shared this with my girls and I got some other takers. After the thousands we have spent on futile fertility treatments that promised success, really what is so wrong about spending $10k to fly to Bhutan to get hit on the head with a stick? I’d guess my chances of success are about the same as doing another IVF treatment if not a little better. And it would be much more interesting and a hell of lot less painful than another Mayan massage from Esther. 

And bonus would be a chance to meet the five women in real life who have been my source of sanity this last year. If anything, we can be assured of a lot of belly laughs, amazing culture and scenery and a crazy experience. And the rest of my friends in real life can honestly say that I’ve lost it.