And The Answer Is....

First off, yes, I am a total whore for comments.   It is an ugly part of my psyche, I know.  But Dr. Phil says I need to love myself and embrace myself for who I am, ugly parts included. So this morning, I woke up, walked over to the mirror and said "Susan, you might be a whore for comments, you might be a pathetic women who cries at work and in coffee shops, you might be a negative thinker and depressive to the extreme, you might even be a former sorority girl, but I LOVE you anyway, dammit!

I just wish it made me feel better.

-----

So, onto the big question.....What are we doing next?

Well, I'm not just going to come out with it.  That's not the way cliff-hangers work. You have to read the back story first:

At work, I have a private office and right outside my door sits an older Russian woman with whom I don't work directly.  She doesn't speak much English, and our interactions are primarily of the "Good morning, how are you, nice weather, see you later" variety.  Nothing more than that.

A few weeks ago, she stepped into my office and closed the door. 

"I hear you sick," she said, "that you not well."

"Oh, I had a cold last week, but it's gone now.  I'm not sick anymore. I'm fine."

"No.  I hear you SICK," she said, pointing to her lower abdomen.

Oh, I thought. She must have heard about the infertility thing, somehow.

I hadn't told her.  The only people who I had officially told were two co-workers and my boss.  But I was sure my infertility was known far and wide all over the company.  During my tenure, I had two ruptured ectopics that waylaid me in the hospital.  People hear about things like that and discuss them over lunch.

The woman pulled out a necklace with a huge amber pendant on it.  "This is special healing necklace," she grabbed my wrist and placed the silver chain and a note in my hand.  "It's from Baltic Sea. It will cure you."

So I gathered the amber pendant was some kind of fertility amulet.  I didn't know what to say. I didn't know this woman very well and felt uncomfortable accepting. But would it be too rude to refuse?

"Thank you. You're very kind." I said, politely, "It is beautiful.  Thank you for thinking of me."

"May you get better," she said, and backed out of my office.

I sat down, and realized the note was in Russian. I couldn't read it.  Later, a friend translated it: Dear Susan, May your cancer be cured.

Shit! She thinks I have cancer!  Where did she hear this? 

The Russian woman, she is a bit of a loner. She is not plugged into the office gossip network.  If she heard this, then probably everyone else had been gossiping about it for months.

Fuck! Everyone thinks I have cancer! 

I thought back over the previous months. My conspicuous absences from the office.  My constant telephone conversations, in hushed tones, with medical professionals, conversations that would be incomprehensible to the average person except for words like "ovaries" and "uterus".  Someone must have overheard me! Or perhaps someone noticed me crying in my office.  As I reviewed my mental tapes, I realized that most of my co-workers had either completely ignored me in the few months or had been overly nice.  And looking back, I saw they had pitied me. Because they thought I was dying of cancer.

But I'm not sick!  I 'm not dying! 

I asked a colleague about it, and he confirmed that everyone thought I was suffering from incurable ovarian cancer.  That cancer was supposedly the reason I had been hospitalized three times, why I had lost weight recently, why I was always at a doctor's appointment and seemed so depressed all the time.  Hhe gently suggested that while he was glad to hear I was not sick or dying, that I sure acted like I was.

He was right.  I had known this all along, but this time it hit me like a cannonball in the stomach.  OK, a cannoball without a lit fuse. I didn't explode, but I was knocked on my proverbial back for more than a few days.

For over three years, I've lived life as a sick person. I've been poked, prodded, and had every organ in my reproductive tract examined and found defective (I am not kidding: ovaries, tubes, uterus, and cervix have all been found lacking). I've lived at my doctors office. I've seen the operating room more times than most people do in their entire lives. I've experienced internal bleeding so profuse that my blood pressure while lying down was once 65/17.  I've consulted with the best professionals in the field. I've become an expert researcher in the vagaries of infertility treatment, a frequent reader of the Fertility and Sterility  and Human Reproduction medical journals. I've tried alternative medicine, major diet changes, pills, shots, and surgery.  All with no end in sight.

To the outside observer, my life was indistinguishable from someone with a terminal illness.  And, I realized, it was indistinguishable to me as well. My infertility had become the biggest tragedy of my life, enough that occasionally (rarely! I'm not suicidal!) I thought death would be better than a life without children.

I realized I didn't want to continue to live that way; I was tired of that shitty life.  I couldn't be SICK anymore. I did not want to be a patient for even one more day.  I had to stop living the life of a medical experiment.  I wanted to stop being a freak of nature immediately, that very instant.

I wanted to be healthy again.  But I could not be a quitter when I still wanted a child.  So the decision to move on was still not made.

But then, later that day, I received an email from someone who reads this blog. It contained this paragraph:

There have been times when I've read your posts and I've wanted to say, "Susan, it's okay to stop the treatments." After my miscarriage this fall (after two years of IF), many people encouraged me not to give up, to keep on trying. I was so depressed, I felt neither mentally or physically capable of continuing. Yet, I beat myself up, thinking, "if you give up now, it just goes to show that you're not willing to do whatever it takes, and you don't deserve a baby..."

I saw what I had been subconsciously thinking for years printed on my computer screen. For three and a half years I've put myself and my marriage through hell, all because I thought that if I wasn't strong enough to endure every treatment option available, to move mountains if necessary, that I wasn't strong enough to raise a child and wasn't worthy of a baby.

Of course, when a fucked-up superstition like that is examined in the light of day, it is much easier to discard. 

So, I "tried on" the idea of adoption.  No cycles, no donor eggs, no donor embryos, nor gestational surrogates. Every day since, my resolve has grown stronger.  And T has been very supportive because he's wanted to adopt for months.

Already, I feel much healthier.

----

PS - You'll notice that I still haven't told you whether we're doing domestic (#4) or international adoption (#5).  That has its own little story, a post for another day.

Comments

[Sassy]

I'm soo happy you've found a plan that can help you have a baby and be happy & healthy at the same time. You've been so brave to get this far, I can't wait to meet your child.

[April]

What wonderful news.

I am so incredibly excited for you both.

[labia lady]

Wow.... just, wow.... you've got a plan...

Isn't it funny (or not) that your collegues thought you had cancer. IF has this huge influence on you that people think you must be dying... if that doesn't say anything about the trauma of this fucking IF nightmare, then nothing does.

[Nico]

That must have been somewhat shocking to you to find out that people though you had cancer. I'm glad that, if nothing else, that made you realize what your path is. I'm excited too! Can't wait to hear about what's going to happen when.

[DD]

A *Recovering IF*, that's what you are, and you are entitled to all the empowerment and privelages associated.

Won't your Russion co-worker be so thrilled to know that her pendant has cured the "cancer"?

I'm excited for you and either decision you make.

[HoldingPattern]

DD, I have no idea what to tell the Russian woman. I still have the pendant in my desk drawer. Should I return it? Keep it?

I've kept it so far because I've so mortified by the rumors, and the lengthy explanation I'd have to make in order to explain why I took the necklace even though I am not sick....

[Amanda]

Congratulations, Susan. I'm so happy for you. I can't wait to find out the details of the plan.

[Mary Scarlet]

They do say that people dealing with infertility have stress levels similar to those dealing with terminal illness. I'm so glad you have a plan. I also am facing my last ART treatment, and while I am desperately hopeful for a positive outcome, I am MORE looking forward to having this process behind me. Congratulations -- can't wait to hear more about your plan

[Emily]

Susan, I'm extremely excited and happy for you and can't wait to hear more.

[Donnie]

Congrats on a very exciting decision... I hope it brings you much joy. Now get on with the details!!
:)

-D.

[wessel]

So glad to hear that you have made a decision. I remember when I decided to move on from trying with my own eggs--yes, DE is not guaranteed, as I have already demonstrated--but I just remember feeling such relief that I was getting off the crappy eggs roller coaster and embarking on a Plan B that had better odds. Can't wait to hear more about your plans. :-)

As for the Russian lady, what a sweetie! I would be so moved by her gesture. Could your translator friend write a note in Russian that briefly explains that you didn't have cancer, but that you did have other medical problems which are now resolved? And then, of course, thank her for her concern.

I agree with the above commenter who said that the rumors are a testament to how horrific and stressful infertility is to us, that we actually project such desperation, fear, and sadness to the world. Sigh. I'm better now but not completely--feel like I still have a long, slow recovery up ahead.

Anyway, this is very exciting!

[heleen]

The Russian woman is great, is she really the only one in the office who shows that she sees your suffering?
Sad detail that comes to mind when I read your story: Statistics show that infertility is more likely to cause serious depression than cancer. (I don't know about terminal cancer though.) Wheather you adopt or give birth to a baby, having a child will cure the depression caused by infertility.
The thing that makes the infertility extra unbearable is the treatment: the waiting, the guessing, the not-knowing, and the chance of another dissapointment. And how many dissapointments can you take before you really hit the bottom?
I think you've made a brave decision and wish you all the best on the new journey you have chosen. I hope it will be a much easier and happier one.

[thalia]

Ha. I was at least 50% right. Feeling smug now.

Seriously, I'm so pleased you've made a decision which seems to make you so much happier. I look forward to hearing about how it comes to fruition.

[Bonnie]

Isn't having a plan a wonderful thing? Maybe the Russian woman's gesture is an omen that you should adopt from Russia...!

So glad I didn't win. I really, really didn't want those fertility books.

[Deanna]

Like someone else said, I'm feeling smug for guessing at least half of the question right. Good luck on this new journey. I won't lie to you and tell you it's an easy road. In fact I think the road is just as rocky as IF but the good news is that there is an end to this journey. With ART treatments you never have a guarantee, with adoption... you'll be able to become a mother.

Sometimes I second guess our decision to adopt, maybe we should have pursued ART more, and then I think about how much damage the ART treatments were doing to my mind and body. Mostly I think back to how much it was hurting my husband to watch me go through all the shots and doc appointments. Nothing is worse than watching someone who loves you worry about you. It made me decide adoption was the next step and the right step. We will continue to try different methods of TTC but I have promised him I will never do the injectable IF drugs that made me so sick. It was a hard promise to make, because I would have endured anything to make a baby, anything but ruin my marriage and hurt the man I love.

[Denise]

Congratulations on your decision! We gave up TTC after only a few setbacks (nothing like what you have gone through). I found adoption to be a pretty straightforward and easy process, and we are choosing to adopt a second child. Not that it's always straightforward or easy, but it's worked well for us. Can't wait to hear what happens next!

[Lisa]

Congratulations on your decision! I really loved this post because it describes how most of us who have experienced infertility have lived life, as if we were dying. We don't have to live like that. Thanks for pointing that out.

[Jen]

Delurking here to tell you I am very happy and hopeful for you. I have been reading your blog for a few months, and I wish you and your husband all the best. Good luck, good luck, good luck....

[Jenn]

Congratulations! It IS ok to stop.

[Molly]

Such good news! Won't it be nice to actually turn your face to the sun and KNOW that there's a child on its way to you?

[Wavery]

So glad you're where you are.

[akeeyu]

Hmm. I guess I'm the only one who read this and thought "Hey, increased inner peace, AND you got a spiffy necklace out of it, too! SCORE!"

I love your russian woman. Wouldn't it be nice if all awkward illnesses at the office were occasions for jewelry?

"Hey, I heard you had superbad food poisoning over the weekend, so we all chipped in and got you a toe ring."

[PJ]

How awesome for you Susan. Plans are good. Can't wait to hear whether you're going international or domestic.

[Pamplemousse]

Fabulous news, sweetie! You do sound so much better already.

[Donna]

One of my friends also told me that it was OK to stop when I was struggling so hard with that decision -- I'm not sure I believed it at the time but it really helped. If you are feeling relief and happiness at having made this decision then in my book that means it was a good one. Can't wait to follow you on this new path.