Hole in My Heart

It's been a difficult couple of weeks. My grandmother passed away on June 17th. All told, she lived three months after her official diagnosis for Stage IV lung cancer. In the weeks before her death, she had been undergoing chemotherapy treatments because she believed she could "beat this thing." Unfortunately, the chemo treatments only made her weaker and more susceptible to disease. She died of an infection in her lungs, which resulted in reduced lung capacity, and ultimately she suffocated because she couldn't get enough oxygen. While she lay dying in her hospital bed, she remained positive, making jokes and expressing concern for us. I cannot explain how helpless one feels to watch someone they love writhe in pain, trying to find a comfortable position, knowing that no position was going to remove the pain of dying. We held her hand, stroked her hair, tried to cajole her into eating small bites of sherbert and drink sips of water. But, at some point, we began to realize that this was futile and that she was slowly detaching from the physical world. I don't know if one ever gets to the point where they accept their fate, but I do think that one gets weary. And, the alternative is more attractive than struggling to survive.

Just beyond my computer, I have a picture of my grandmother with Nugget reaching out and touching her face. It was taken a little under a year ago. I stare at it often and can hear her voice in my head. She called three times to congratulate me after getting 5th place in the Fall Marathon. She may not have understood why I ran, but she supported it and told everyone she knew about her "fast" granddaughter. I had several people come up to me at the funeral who asked if I was the runner. I feel so blessed that she got to meet my son and delight in his antics. He's actually named for her father, who she idolized. How can I explain to you what a special woman she was? She was always learning...in fact, prior to getting sick she had been taking courses on world economics and algebra. She never wanted to stop growing and wasn't afraid to try new things. How many grandmother's do you know that have a Facebook account? She had busy, creative hands that were constantly knitting, weaving, sewing, or making some other hand-good. I too often spend my time wondering what I am accomplishing with my life, trying to write my obituary to see if it would have meaning. I helped my grandfather write gmom's obituary. It was simple and some said it was beautiful, but I felt it barely reflected who she was: she loved her family, she wanted to better understand the world, she was a quiet woman with an adventurous heart. Words can't capture her. It reminded me that all these things that we hold on to so dearly, that we think define us, all go away the moment we leave and all that is left is the memories we leave with others.

Parallel to mourning her loss, I am still reeling from the failed FET. I didn't want to be defined by infertility again and have it swallow my life. But, I sit deep in the vortex of its belly. There is little light here in this purgatory. Everywhere I go, I am reminded by my failure. Pregnant bellies with smiling mothers. Two or three toddlers in tow. Whole families. Complete families that I assume don't know the daily, physical pain of infertility. That blithely ask "when are you going to give Nugget a brother or sister?" I am trying to find my zen calm place, but I am raging at life for dealing me this crap set of cards. I have been fighting the rage and trying to "be a better person," but have recently decided to allow myself this time to be angry. I am grieving and it is unfair of me to expect to just move on.

We are currently fighting with my insurance company to get coverage. While my husband's morphology automatically qualifies us for IVF, they also want to see unmedicated Day 3 bloodwork to check my FSH levels and make sure that I'm not in early menopause or have diminished ovarian reserve or anything. Unfortunately, I haven't had an unmedicated cycle since January. Every cycle we've been doing Clomid or some other drug to give my hubby "extra targets." So, now I just have to wait for my period. Who knows how long that will take. I'm on day 21 and STILL haven't ovulated. In fact, my estrogen levels keep dipping lower and lower. I'm worried that all this stress is preventing me from ovulating and that we'll just end up waiting for months and months and my period will never come.

I'm only running 4-5 days a week, 6-10 miles at a time. I ache to train again. My running club buddies keep asking when I'm going to come to the track and I see their race results getting faster and faster. I know that my goal isn't to be racing right now, but I miss the things that define me. My body has gotten soft and weak. I went to move one of those big water jugs for the cooler at work the other day and it was much harder than I remember it being. Plus, I can't run faster than a 9 minute pace without feeling like I'm pulling muscles. Guess 2-3 weeks off will do that.

So, all in all, I'm a big, miserable, b*tchy, grump right now that is fully consumed by infertility. It is hard to come here and post because I have nothing new to report.

Still infertile? Check.
Still not training? Check.
Still depressed? Check.

I try to find the joy in life. I try to enjoy the few happy, smiling moments I have with Nugget.

But, infertility is a huge cloud that distorts everything in my life. I cannot see this for what it is: a difficult phase that will pass with time. I just see it as time spent feeling like I have a huge hole in my chest that is slowly draining the life out of me.