From Deep Resentment to Gratitude

I've been feeling a lot this year and mostly it's been a deep feeling of depression. It's hard not to ruminate on the negative when you can't get pregnant and have wanted to have children your whole life, at last you get pregnant on the eve of finally accepting that you have to have IVF and have booked an appointment, and then you lose the only baby you've ever been pregnant with, all while watching seemingly everyone else in the world and your life in particular get pregnant (effortlessly) and then give birth to healthy babies.

Booking IVF for a second time has made me feel more than a little bitter. Yeah, I'm blessed to be able to afford it and to live in a time when IVF is even an option (because otherwise I'd probably never be a mother, although I still might never be), but it just feels like, why me? Why do I have to go through IVF, sticking needles into myself for days on end, pumping myself full of hormones, risking a bunch of different complications, all for a flip of a coin chance of getting pregnant (50%) and then having the same risk of losing the baby again (25%)? I feel deep resentment that I have to go through IVF just for the shot at a child when there are so many people who don't even want children getting pregnant and having children. But life just isn't fair and that's something I'm still having trouble coming to terms with.

My father always used to say that the only thing in life that mattered and would make you feel good was helping other people. Every time I've ever volunteered and in the past with my job as a lawyer, I felt the meaning of his wise words repeatedly. Helping people does make you feel better than anything else really can. And I've been deeply isolated lately not just with working from home, but also with feeling unwell and deeply discouraged from this fertility nightmare. So, it's been hard to get out and help people much. All the same, I try to practice loving kindness as much as I can to twin with my meditation practise. I've tried to practice smiling at people I see on the street for years. It's amazing how almost all of them will smile back at me even though they might have so little in life to feel grateful for. To have a smile from a stranger makes me feel good and I hope that it makes them feel a little better too.

This morning I helped serve breakfast at Our Place in Victoria, BC. It's a place where the city's homeless and those struggling to make ends meet can gather to have a shower, a meal, use a computer, or just socialize. I was able to talk to many people who use Our Place and exchange countless smiles with them. I felt a glowing sense of happiness as I left Our Place after my shift of about two hours. I felt a sense of gratitude that I haven't felt in a really long time. My life has its challenges, but I have a lot to feel grateful for.

It was evident to me from the time I spent at the psychiatric hospital and taking classes at the psychiatric day hospital following my diagnosis with Bipolar Disorder and Anxiety that a significant group of the people at Our Place are on psychotropic drugs to treat a mental disorder or illness. I wondered where their families are. Did they not have anyone who could help them? How alone did they feel? Where would I be without my supportive husband and family? Living with a mental disorder is a daily challenge. I can't imagine having to deal with homelessness or unstable housing and lack of food on top of my mental disorder. So many people who suffer from mental disorders or illnesses cannot work at all and they end up on heavy psychotropic drugs to try to keep them stable and then they can't afford food or housing, etc. I just can't imagine the added struggle. I don't know how these people are dealing with that added challenge. I don't think that I could.

Funding for mental disorders and illnesses is insufficient and countless suicides happen every year because people are too afraid or ashamed (yes, people still joke and make fun of mental disorders and illnesses and some people even see mental disorders as a sign of moral weakness or a failure of willpower and not the extremely challenging and potentially tragic neurochemical/genetic disorders that they are) to seek help or there just isn't any available (one woman who I was in the hospital with had to wait six months to be admitted to the psychiatric mood disorders ward in Victoria, BC because she didn't go in through the emergency psychiatric triage unit). One visit to the emergency psychiatric triage in Victoria ("PES") would be enough to convince anyone to not seek help again (unless you get sent there and are held under an involuntary order, then you have no choice). I've been to PES twice and I never, ever, ever want to go back (I'm not alone, others have told me the same, and my psychiatrists have agreed that it is a horrible place). At least I can be grateful that I have not been hospitalized in over three years and now that my psychiatrists have found an effective psychotropic medication for me, I am more or less stable. But others just aren't so lucky.

It was also evident that addictions are a challenge for part of the group at Our Place. This is another issue that is close to my heart. Addictions run down on both sides of my family. I'll be sober ten years come this New Years Day, but it was a terrible struggle for me to stop drinking. I thank my lucky stars every day that I somehow managed to quit drinking for so long after many, many, many failed attempts at staying sober for an extended period. I have long thought that our health care system does not do enough to address this huge societal problem (everyone keeps talking about illegal drugs, but alcohol and cigarettes kill way, way, way more people every year than illegal drugs). My addiction almost killed me.

What gets me is the amazing level of ignorance and lack of compassion when it comes to addictions. Addiction is not a matter of a lack of will power or a moral failing, it is a serious medical problem that's genetic. Sadly, we still don't know much about how we can effectively treat addictions even after years of research and experimenting with countless treatments. Unfortunately, most treatments will fail and addicts will fail to get clean and sober over and over and over again. Many of them will die far younger than they would have in the absence of an addiction. Most people with addictions will be at the mercy of their addiction for most of their life. The lack of compassion so many hold towards addictions upsets me. We don't blame people with cancer for having cancer (except for smokers and that's an addiction too), but we freely blame addicts for their addiction. I have heard so many people callously say that addicts just have a weak will or that they're indulgent or lazy or selfish. Being an addict is horrible and guess what, there's no cure. Ever. Even if you're lucky enough to get sober or clean, you'll think about your addiction every day for the rest of your life. I do and I felt empathy for the people at Our Place who I could see were struggling with one or more addiction(s).

Rants about lack of support for mental disorders and addictions aside, I just want to reiterate that I feel grateful for everything that I have and for the support of my husband and family and a couple of my friends. Life could be a whole lot worse, even with the challenges that I have, I am blessed.

Now I'm going to try to enjoy the last week that I have before starting hormones up again for IVF. September 1st, I start Estrace again in the lead up to the IVF cycle that I have scheduled for around mid September. Hopefully my side effects will not be as extreme this time (although it's tough to tell what was a symptom of the miraculous pregnancy of which I was unaware of at the time versus what was actually a side effect of Estrace).

Ross Bay Cemetery in Victoria, BC is a beautiful place to walk and meditate.

Facing my Fears to Avoid a Lifetime of Regret

I was not in a good mood, as I weighed myself ahead of my appointment with my endocrinologist this morning (I had my blood tests done yesterday). Yes, I just had a miscarriage a couple of months ago after taking hormones to prepare for IVF, yes I just returned from three weeks in delicious food capital of the world, Europe, yes I've been depressed and living with a broken thyroid for who knows how long (though medicated with varying degrees of success for about six years now), and yes, I'm on a psychotropic drug known for its weigh gain side effect. But still, I thought that I just shouldn't weigh as much as I weigh.

I suffered from an eating disorder as a teenager (but before that at age 11 I went on my first diet- self-imposed). My eating disorder was not severe enough to attract the notice or at least concern of my family and eventually I worked it out myself, but it has cyclically plagued me ever since. And when I'm not mentally optimal, my eating disorder gets louder in my head. It ferociously growled in my ear as I walked towards the kitchen.

I proceeded to angrily consume my vegetable heavy homemade protein shake for breakfast, slopping part of it down the front of my white patterned Brooks Brothers pajamas. This further worsened my mood.

I went to my endocrinologist, expecting to be further tormented as he weighed me and tut tutted about how overweight I am (this has happened in the past many times). Instead, my endocrinologist gave his condolences for my miscarriage and did not comment really on my weight at all. He asked me if my husband and I were going to try again soon. I told him that I was scared and having trouble getting over the miscarriage. He told me that it is not an easy thing to get over, but then reminded me that it happens to a lot of pregnancies and that it is usually because there was not viable fetus and that it is better to proceed with a healthy pregnancy than one that is barely viable.

He told me that he didn't want to make me feel worse, but just the day before he had had three women in a row my age, one trying get pregnant for the first time, one with a three month old baby, and one who was pregnant for the sixth time after five miscarriages and had made it past crucial week 18 finally (she had been referred to him only after miscarriage #5 and he had found a slight thyroid disorder and had medicated it and this had made all the difference- I was mind boggled that our medical system would leave it this long to refer her to specialists who could save her the pain of repeated miscarriages, but that's our medical system.) All of them have thyroid disorders.

He asked if I would schedule for IVF again soon. He told me that he thought that I should. I was interested to know his opinion, since he's the only doctor who's managed to get my thyroid into a stable range (and there have been several who have tried over the past six years). He told me that my thyroid levels are currently perfect, the best they've been in a long time, and if that was what was worrying me with regard to proceeding with IVF, I need have no fear.

I then shared that I was afraid that I wouldn't be a good parent. He seemed genuinely surprised. He told me that "being a parent is easy. You have to:
1. Set a good example; and
2. Have the child's best interests in mind.
That is it." I was amazed that he had distilled an entire lifetime occupation down to two principles. However they didn't seem bad. "You don't think that you can do that?" he asked as I sat there silently. I told him that I didn't know if I could. He told me that he thought that I could as if I was crazy to doubt it.

I am terrified of being a bad parent and screwing up another person's life (and everyone who they then come into contact with), but I suppose having this fear is better than blundering into it without a thought or having the narcissistic belief that you're perfect and will be the "perfect parent."
But it's not just that that I fear. I fear:
1. Taking hormones to prepare for IVF and the impact that they'll have on my body (horror stories all over internet) and mind (I have bipolar disorder, so I have to be careful that I stay stable);
2. Having to use hypodermic syringes to inject myself full of hormones every day leading up to the egg extraction to prepare for IVF (I hate needles so much);
3. Not having any eggs that can be extracted/used;
4. The egg extraction, which is done with a needle through the wall of the vagina (it sounds so horrific- I know they give you some drugs, but still!);
5. Not having any viable embryos to implant and/or freeze; and
6. Going through all of that pain, bloating, weird body manipulation,  and stress and then:
(a) getting a negative result on a pregnancy test and having to decide whether or not to put out another several thousand dollars and try again, going through all of the above, or to give up on the dream of ever being a parent; or
(b) getting a positive result on a pregnancy test and then worrying every day until a baby is born whether or not the fetus will die (I don't think I could handle another miscarriage) or be healthy and live and whether or not my body and mind will survive pregnancy.

All the same, what would it be like to live with regret every day for the rest of my life (however long that is), knowing that I could have done something more to try to become a parent, but I let fear win and I didn't and now I'm stuck with the consequences forever? I don't think that that would feel good either. And going through the thing that you fear is a shorter amount of pain than a lifetime of regret. I've been through many scary things in life including being bullied, dysfunctional family dynamics, car accidents, surgeries (over a dozen), being in abusive relationships, being diagnosed with incurable disorders including hypothyroidism and bipolar disorder, being hospitalized in a psychiatric facility twice, having to give up the professional career I trained for due to my health, and most recently, a miscarriage after years of trying to become pregnant and on the eve of undergoing IVF which I very much feared.

So, I'm not about to let this fear beat me. I called the Victoria Fertility Centre this morning after I arrived home from my appointment with my endocrinologist and I booked in to start IVF on my next cycle (should be around mid September). I know that it's not going to be pleasant (I start the first of the hormones, Estrace, again on the 18th day of this cycle- I'm currently on day 4- so, September 1st), but all I can hope is that in the end it will be worth it. And if it's not, at least I won't have to live with the regret that there was something more that I could have done that I didn't do, because I was too scared.

R.I.P. fears.(This cross is in  Ross Bay Cemetery, Victoria, B.C.).

Where Do We Go From Here?

At the beginning of my next cycle, after my trip, I was supposed to call the Victoria Fertility Centre to tell them, so that they could book me in for IVF in my next cycle (ie. about a month from now). I was seriously overdue for my period (6.5 days) this morning, so I finally took a pregnancy test . It said "not pregnant." I was confounded and went back to bed angrily and proceeded to sleep away the morning, filled with nausea and stomach pains.

My cat, Lamont, gladly kept me company.

Around noon, I awoke and found that I had the first signs of my period. Great, so I just threw away about $16 on something my body would have confirmed for free had I held out just a few hours longer. Why did I go through all of that emotional drama leading up to the pregnancy test? Why did my period have to be that late? Or is this an early miscarriage? The thought crossed my mind only because of all the research I did on miscarriages a couple of months ago when I was going through mine. Apparently late periods are sometimes early miscarriages and women just never realize they are because they never took a pregnancy test earlier, before the fetus aborted.

Either way, I was thoroughly pissed off, but naturally, also disappointed. This whole monthly cycle of hoping, waiting, and then writhing with heart crushing disappointment (almost inevitable, except for that one month, which actually turned out to be a more heartbreaking disappointment when I miscarried).

I had thought that I would be ready to proceed with IVF (for real this time, because I didn't anticipate getting pregnant on the eve of having IVF last time) when I returned from vacation. But now I feel even more conflicted, if that's possible. With each passing month and disappointment, I feel more and more doubtful that I could ever be a competent parent, let alone a good one. I grow more and more scared of if my body can actually carry a baby to term (didn't work out last time), if my brain can withstand the hormonal changes brought on IVF hormones and then pregnancy if it happens, if my brain can withstand the sleep deprivation and further hormonal changes with having a baby if I ever get there, and how I'll manage being a parent for the rest of my life. I'm overwhelmed with fears and doubts that have only multiplied with each year that I have not had a child. I've been on prenatal vitamins for six years. I've watched almost everyone in my life, who is plus or minus 10 years of my age have children (some willing, some reluctant, and some surprised into parenthood) and I have remained childless, feel increasingly socially shunned and isolated, and more and more doubtful that I can ever fit into this clique.

Maybe it's a sign and I'm not meant to be a parent. Maybe the curtain it falling on my childbearing years to allow me to explore something else in the next stage of my life. Maybe my genes are just bad. They say that it's darkest before the light, but I feel like it's been dark for so long that I would be permanently blinded if the light ever found me again. Perhaps this shadow world is my permanent home and my life is just not going to include children. But how could I live a life without children when they've factored so deeply into my plans for my future life and my future identity? I've defined myself always as a future parents and the future just isn't arriving, so who am I? Who am I becoming? What will I do with all of those years that might be left in my life? Am I going to have to become a kitten rescuer or something?

My husband has been devastated by this journey as well and tells me not to decide right away, but I know that he just desperately wants to proceed with IVF as soon as possible before it's too late and we're forever barred from becoming parents (except by adoption or divine intervention perhaps). He has always defined himself as a future parent and sees it as crucial to his life's plan. What would he ever do if he had no children?

We've already become weird hermits who have an unhealthy obsession with our one cat, Lamont. Our increasing desperation for a baby, has led to increased babying of the cat (not that he minds it most of the time). 

You can very clearly see Lamont thinking 'not again!'

Most of our friends have drifted away to other cities or into the parenthood club that we are not a part of and may never be. I think that people think that our life looks pretty charmed, but many are not aware of the unexplained infertility struggle/nightmare that we've been living the past many, many years. They see us doing things that they would like to do, but can't because they have children and say that they're jealous. We look at them, snuggled at home with their bundles of joy and feel hot tears sting our eyes and our throats tighten with emotion that we can't share with most of them, because it's just not socially acceptable or would be seen as oversharing.

Should we go through with IVF this next cycle or should we wait? We were already warned we shouldn't wait long, because of our advanced ages (the miscarriage rate keeps going up every year by a lot). But it's hard to get excited about spending thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars and injecting myself with countless hormones, undergoing further tests, having my eggs extracted out of my vagina with a needle, etc. all for the roll of the dice odds of getting pregnant (minus the 20-25% chance of miscarriage). I had talked myself into it and hyped myself up last time, only at the last minute to find out that I was pregnant naturally and "didn't need" IVF. Well, I do again, and I feel like I've lost my nerve again. Great.

I know there are success stories (it would increase our odds of conceiving per cycle from 3% or 50%), we've all heard them and read about them, but there are also countless couples who don't find success with IVF either after all of that time, money, and pain. I just never pictured having to do this (not that anyone does) and I'm having a really hard time (again) accepting that this is my path.

Perhaps a few good sleeps will make the future look less bleak and make our decision become more apparent.

Another Pregnancy Test

This morning was Day 36 of my cycle, so I was a full six and half days late. My husband had been encouraging me to take a pregnancy test, so that I would know one way or the other if I was pregnant (I need to inform my specialists immediately if I'm pregnant, so that my medications can be kept at a therapeutic level with the changes that pregnancy brings).

I was really reluctant to take a pregnancy test. They are expensive, annoying (I hate having to hold my urine for as long as I can in the night and limit my fluid intake in order to have "perfect pee" that is not too dilute to test accurately), and have done nothing but disappoint me, or falsely get my hopes up (ie. you find out you're pregnant and then less than a week later start miscarrying).

I knew I wasn't going to screw around with the non digital type of pregnancy test this time though after what happened last time . Of course, digital tests are much more expensive, but with something this life changing, I didn't want to mess around.

Was my period just obnoxiously late from the miscarriage I went through a couple of months ago or traveling or was I actually pregnant for the second time in my life (could lightning really strike me twice?)?

I passed an uncomfortable night last night knowing that if there was no sign of my period, I'd be doing a pregnancy test in the morning (I even bought two yesterday in case I couldn't believe the first one- by the way, two digital pregnancy tests are $30 plus tax in a two pack, yes being a woman is always expensive).

Yep, over 30 cool smackers for a two pack of these. Being a woman is expensive in so many ways.

At quarter to six this morning, I couldn't hold it anymore and went to take the test with my husband holding his breath beside me. Could this explain my moodiness and bloating lately or was that just a late period coming on and jet lag?

We waited the few minutes for the results and number of weeks if applicable to pop up on the very clear Clearblue digital screen.

I had told my husband over and over again in the past almost a week that I was not pregnant. It was too remote of a possibility that I would ever get pregnant without assistance again and especially so close to miraculously having done it a few months ago. But secretly, inside, I wondered and hoped if lightning could have indeed struck a second time in this roller coaster of a year. Was I pregnant? Could I carry the baby to term this time and finally become a mother? Or would this test just lead to further disappointment, anger, and disillusionment with my life and this world?

In truth, as much as I have wanted to be a mother my whole life, I was terrified that the test would say "pregnant" because I was so afraid of going through another miscarriage. I doubted that I had the psychological or emotional reserves left to survive another one of these horrors (and it's still too fresh in my memory, I'm still having flashbacks all the time).

Then I felt guilty for not wanting to see a positive result and thought about what my counselor had said about making a good environment for a baby to come into, including psychologically and emotionally. If I was fighting becoming pregnant, would I ever become pregnant and how would my husband who had always wanted children feel if I never became pregnant?

I was absolutely swirling with emotions, as we sat there together in the tiny cramped bathroom, waiting for a result that could either change our lives or further increase our feelings of hopelessness and despair.

And by the way, we didn't tell anyone that we were taking a pregnancy test this time, because we didn't want to disappoint our emotionally ravaged families anymore. Plus, I feel I have no one really left to talk to (except my husband) . How many people know what it's like to fear, loathe, and despise the inanimate object which is a pregnancy test (I've found some of these wonderful folks on the internet, but they're not sitting in my living room, with a cup of tea, able to stare into my eyes, and try to comfort me).

With regard to pregnancy tests, I think that most women fall into the following groups:
1. Oh, shit! I think I'm pregnant and I didn't mean to get pregnant. Guess I better take a test;
2. My partner and I just started trying to get pregnant and we think we are (we haven't been trying long enough to be worried or jaded). Let's take a test;
3. It's been taking a long time to get pregnant, but I think I'm pregnant. Oh my God, I am. (Nine months later or thereabouts) . . . look at my beautiful child;
4. I can't get pregnant and I've never seen a positive test and I never will; or
5. It took me forever, I can't actually be pregnant. Oh my God, I am. No, that can't be true. Oh my God, lab tests confirmed it, I can't believe my luck. I'm going to actually be a mother when I had given up all hope and had started to try to adjust my expectations of what my future life would be like. Oh, wait, I'm miscarrying. I actually might never be a parent, but I don't know and the uncertainty is pushing me further and further towards the edge of that cliff, ever though my life looks perfect from the outside, because it's not socially acceptable to discuss infertility or the pain that it brings, so I must try to look perfect and happy and okay with the fact that I have no children and respond coyly to the questions that everyone is asking me such as if I have children and if not when I will have them or why I don't have them.

Other than my mother, I don't know of anyone else in camp #5. My mother went on to have two children and regularly dismisses my feelings of hopelessness, despair, and disillusionment, telling me that I'm definitely going to have children and that I need to stop worrying and being ridiculous or fatalistic (it's not just her, I have other family members and friends who are in this Pollyanna/denial group). I don't want my feelings dismissed. It's far from certain that I'll ever be a mother. And if I do become a mother, it's most likely that it will be because I undergo expensive and protracted IVF (and remember it's only a 50/50 chance of even conceiving each cycle and I have a 20-25% chance of miscarrying each time due to my age) treatment(s). My mother was able to conceive naturally and gave birth at 32.5 and 36.5 years old; I've only ever become pregnant this once and then I lost the baby and now at almost 36 and half years old, my time is running out, so I doubt that that dream is going to happen for me.

This is the worst thing I've ever had to go through in my life (I would go through all of those over a dozen surgeries that I've had in my life again, just to avoid ever having to go through unexplained infertility and the terrifying and heartbreaking roller coaster ride that it entails. Emotional and psychological pain is way worse than physical pain, but I've had my share of that too on this infertility journey with all of these tests, the hormones, and the miscarriage).

I'm sick of being in this stressful limbo and not talking about it (except on this blog and with a very few friends and family members). I'm a perfectionist from a dysfunctional family, who puts up a perfect looking facade to fool outsiders into believing that my life is rosy and that the birds sing me out of bed every morning, because that's what I got used to doing as a child. Plus, as mentioned above, it's not okay to talk about infertility or how awful it is to be going through it in our society. The dialogue is starting to happen a bit more, but it's still the exception not the rule. Most people don't understand infertility and many don't want to hear about it or understand it. People are incredibly insensitive and ask the most personal questions without considering how the other person might feel. Consider the time that I was at my family reunion two years ago and my aunt wandered up to the table that I was sitting at with some of my cousins and one of my aunts in the huge hall packed with assorted relatives and practically shouted "why don't you have any children yet?" Well, I'm done giving polite, coy, and/or misleading answers that make it seem like I'm okay with what's going with my uterus, like "well, we're working on it" or "we'll see." Next time someone asks about whether or not I have children and then asks why I don't or when I'll have them, I'll be sure to give them an honest answer. I'll tell them about how it took me years to get pregnant for the first time and then how I lost the baby and I don't think I'll get pregnant naturally again, so I'll be paying $10,000s just for the roll of the dice odds of ever getting pregnant and then the waiting to see if I lose yet another baby, bleeding profusely for days and days and days, reminded constantly of what I don't have and may never have. I doubt they'll ever be that insensitive to another woman ever again. If they are, they're a complete sociopath.

I was drawn back into the present moment by my husband's voice. He read the test first, as I was staring off into space, contemplating what this life of mine is supposed to be about and where it is heading. "It says not pregnant," he said gingerly.

I stormed from the bathroom and threw myself back into the still warm bed. It was before six in the morning and the day was already ruined. I felt awful, not just emotionally, but physically. But I knew that the nausea and gastrointestinal upset that I was having were not pregnancy related. That much was certain (or about 99 point something percent certain).

All I could think, as I struggled to get back to sleep, was fuck all this shit. I'm sick of this roller coaster ride. I want to get off. But I can't. And there is nothing worse than the feeling of being trapped, hopeless, and helpless.

Halfway Around the World and I Can't Stop Thinking of You

Whenever something bad happens in my life, my usual instinct is to flee (though other times fight is my reaction). This summer has been filled with vivid and perhaps drastic examples of me trying to run from the pain of my miscarriage after waiting years to become pregnant. 

View from the Nativity Tower of Gaudi's La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, Spain

Going up to Kamloops to stay with my parents in law gave me a break from being at home in the usual routine of writing, housework, and seeing where the whole miscarriage scene unfolded. I caught up on sleep that I had lost, started exercising again, basked in my parents in law's love, and felt somewhat stronger when I returned home to Victoria.

Coming back from Kamloops I looked better rested than I had on the way up.

I then turned around almost immediately (four days) and left again for three weeks in Europe with my husband. We had been planning to go to Europe this summer or early fall anyways (depending on the IVF schedule/ pregnancy and waiting for the first trimester to be finished) so we seized the opportunity to do it in July before getting onto the next IVF schedule.

The cat was displeased with the reappearance of suitcases which signaled our imminent departure.

I had long dreamed of showing my husband Amsterdam and Barcelona where I had found so much wonder and joy as a teenager. Returning to the former 18 years later and the latter 20 years later was sure to be interesting. What new things would I notice? Would they be significantly different? The world is shrinking, how would that impact two of my favourite European cities? Would this cruise that we had received basically free of charge after our last disastrous cruise with Costa last year be better? I had never been to a couple of the Spanish Islands and Italian cities that we were stopping at on the cruise or Monaco, what would I learn from these places?

Exploring Amsterdam 18 years older than I was last time.

I was also nervous. What if something wasn't right after the miscarriage? After all, I hadn't been examined during or after it and had not had a D&C (it had just happened naturally). What if I discovered a uterine infection while I was away? Or what if the bleeding suddenly started again and became uncontrollable? If the condition was apparently stable before leaving, but hadn't been examined by a doctor and it reappeared, would it be a pre-existing condition, not covered by our travel insurance (yes, a lot of this anxiety is from my past as a litigation lawyer representing clients who were denied travel insurance coverage and other insurance coverage).

Panorama from our room at the W Barcelona.

The break away from home and all of the new sights and familiar sights were good (see my travel blog: www.tworestlesswanderers.blogspot.ca), but no matter where I went I was often preoccupied and sometimes even brought to tears, thinking about the baby that I had just lost. In the old protestant church, Oude Kerk, in Amsterdam, I lost it and started crying, despite the fact that I was in public, as my husband handed me a candle to light for the baby and one for ourselves.  I was halfway around the world, in someone's dream vacation (certainly mine), and unable to escape from this fresh loss in my life.

I was sombre lighting a candle in Oude Kerk in Amsterdam for our dead baby.

It proves that when you're running from yourself and your own grief, there is nowhere far enough that you can go. There is no escape. You have to feel the hot tears stinging your eyes, the tightness in your throat, the crushing feeling in your heart. You just have to feel. It's painful, but there is no escape.

The view from the W Barcelona's infinity pool.

Beauty around me, I scrambled to make sense of this world. I had expected to be taking this trip pregnant, happy in the almost certainty that I would finally have a child and now all I had was the bloated body of someone who had freshly lost a pregnancy. I couldn't help but ruminate. How could I not be able to get pregnant for years and then finally get pregnant on the eve of having IVF done and then lose the baby? Why is it that people who don't want to get pregnant get pregnant and actually carry the baby to term, but I couldn't? I know that life isn't fair and I've struggled with this concept my whole life (especially as a lawyer, sharing the pain of injustice with my clients, don't even get me started on insurance companies). My Myers-Briggs Personality Type, INFJ, makes me a very strong believer in justice, so really I'm just fighting myself. I guess I'll just never feel comfortable with how this world really is. But if you give up the fight, what is there left in life?

One of my favourite paintings from the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, Jan Steen's "The Dancing Lesson." Yes, I too loved to make cats dance as a child and I still do (much to Lamont's delight).

It being summer vacation, there were children everywhere. Harried parents, tired from travelling, and probably from their children's antics, didn't look grateful enough to be parents to my child hungry eyes. I know that children are annoying and try your patience and I get that not every day is a great day, but I've been waiting so long for a child, I hope that I'll appreciate every day if I ever become a parent. And it's hard not to doubt that I will ever be a parent, especially after this fresh loss in my life.

The remains of a dead teenager from Pompeii. I found the remains of the dead child too macabre to even photograph.

My husband I celebrated our eighth wedding anniversary on our last full day in Europe. We have grown more in love with each other every year (we've been together 10 years this New Years Eve), but a giant hole has been left in our lives, as we have been unable to have a child or two to grow our family and enhance our lives. We talked about children's names the night we met, having children was an important goal for both of us, and we've still be unable to name a child, hold a child, or move on to a new stage of our lives.

In the Grand Central Hotel Barcelona's rooftop infinity pool on our eighth wedding anniversary.

On the other hand, we've had much more of a chance to be adults without children than most people ever have (except those who never have any children). We've been able to both obtain advanced degrees, try out various and diverse careers, have more leisure time and hobbies, travel the world, and get to know ourselves to an almost unnerving degree. We've skipped across various islands of French Polynesia, wandered north to south through Japan, and strolled through many countries in Europe together (this year and last year) and Morocco (last year). Dreams like returning to Amsterdam and Barcelona, seeing a giant EDM concert with David Guetta in Ibiza, exploring the ruins at Pompeii, or gazing off into the sea in Monaco where Grace Kelly might have stood, might not have ever been possible if we had had children earlier.

Taking in the famous Monaco view.

In Ibiza for David Guetta's "Big" EDM event.

I thought that returning from Europe, my resolve to proceed with IVF would be stronger than when I left, but I'm finding the contrary. Perhaps I'm just exhausted. Also, my period which was supposed to show up a few days ago (so I could inform the Victoria Fertility Centre what my Day 1 is so that they can book me in for an IVF cycle starting with my next cycle) has not shown up. Perhaps my body is still confused after the miscarriage, or by the 9 hour time change, or by traveling, or there is that other remote possibility that I can't risk hoping for anymore (even if I were to be pregnant, which is highly unlikely, what if I miscarry again? I don't think I would survive that mentally).

Lamont has the right idea. Take it easy.

So, now I wait to see where I am mentally and emotionally with regard to when to start IVF and physically for my period which is necessary for me to even tell the clinic when I would be ready to start IVF. Sitting with the unknown is terrifying and highly uncomfortable, but at least I am home with my cat now. Lamont's the best life coach I've ever met.

My guru gazes off into the distance, fake crow disciple awaits the latest life lesson.