Seeking Comfort at a Strip Mall (Part 1)

Originally written on 10/8/05, two days after I learned IVF attempt #4 failed.  It has taken me this long to revisit the raw emotions I associate with this post.

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My husband was with me on Saturday, the day our RE told us  IVF #4 was a bust, that proceeding to retrieval would likely yield just one mature egg.

Before we could leave the clinic, we had to meet with a nurse coordinator.  Waiting in the reception area, I feigned interest in the unique texture pattern of the walls and ceiling, looking up and away from discerning glances with unnaturally wide-eyed interest.  Upon realizing how silly I must have looked, I attempted tactic #2 for hiding public crying:  gazing down at the floor while my shoulder-length, straight hair fell over my face and obscured my expression.  Such is my habit when I am teary-eyed, which happens at least once or twice a day. 

"I'm so, so sorry," I whispered to T, my eyes full of water.

T looked at me with great concern in his eyes, his hand alternately touching my back or holding my hand, trying to give me a bit of comfort. He saw me fighting back the tears and looked about the waiting room nervously.  At one point I made the slightest of noise which he recognized as a prelude to actual sobbing. 

"Why can't we ever catch a break?" I whispered to T. 

He responded, "Not here, not here." 

The semi-public venue of the clinic waiting room held him back, and kept him from giving me the true, honest-to-goodness hug that we both desperately needed.  And, I must admit, I found it upsetting.  I never understood why he consistently chose stoicism over affection.

He drove us home, and in the car my emotions were unleashed.  I cried and wailed and screamed at the sky. "It's not fair! Why did this have to be happening? Why couldn't something go right, just for once, for a change?  We've been at this so long and gone through so much. For four years we've arranged our lives around children that never come."

"We should be grateful for what we have. We have a house, good jobs, savings... That's more than most people," T said.

I took no comfort in those words. "I would give up any of those things to have a child," I croaked between sobs so hard they caused my body to spasm.

"There are people who have it a lot worse than us, you know. People who've tried for 7 years or more."

Again, it didn't make me feel any better. When I continued to cry, T said, "You know what, I think we shouldn't try anymore.  I don't think you can handle it emotionally."

What? Never try again?  I was stunned. It had been less than 20 minutes since confronting our latest failure.  I felt I should have been allowed a grieving period of at least an hour or so.

And then T said something like, "why do you want kids anyway?" and surmised I would only accept children to whom I was genetically linked.  I felt betrayed. I explained the genetic connection was of lesser concern to me than a birthmother taking our baby away from us.

"Well, we don't know for sure that social services wouldn't take away our biological child from us," T debated.

And then I snapped.  Black-sky despair to irate anger within a fraction of a second.  "Are you fucking kidding me?  No one would take our biological child away from us unless I was a crackhead or you were abusing me! What the FUCK, T?" I yelled.

We did not speak the rest of the drive home.

>> To be continued.  Jump to Part 2.

Comments

[wessel]

Sigh. I think my husband needs to talk to your husband. After 30 years of being in relationships with women and many years of marital counselling with his ex, he finally learned the "formula" for responding to my tears. It works really quite well.

Despite what the Androgeny Police would try to make you believe about men and women being just exactly the same, we really are quite different. Reading the dialogue between you and your husband is so crystal clear. You are expressing emotions. He is trying to identify the problems, and then solve them. WRONG!! He is also overly engaging his rational brain, (which usually results in the male form of irrationality), trying to "reason" you out of your fears by making you see that really, the two situations of adopted child and bio child could result in the same bad end, so why fear one over the other? AGH!

The poor guy; he was just trying to fix it. I commend you for not breaking the steering wheel over his head.

I'm sorry that you had to go through that. Christmas is coming up; seriously, get him a book on communication style differences between men and women. There has been a LOT of peace in this house because my husband has practiced his lines and his timing.

[Amanda]

(Ok, I'm confused about how commenting works with regards to a post broken up into parts. I tried to comment on part 3, but it wouldn't let me. I wanted to say it, though, so I put it here in part 1.)

I believe it. Both for you and for me. That's the only way I know to get through this.

[Jenn]

I'm so sorry. It will be ok somehow. I heard this line on a tv show somewhere: "Everything will be ok in the end. If it's not ok, it's not the end." Helps me sometimes.

[Anna H.]

I commented to the whole post on Part Two...

Love to you.

xxoo

[Lut C.]

I agree with Wessel. I read an interesting
book on the differences in the way a man's and a woman's brain work. Fascinating stuff and very recognizable. It's from before the "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus" craze.

Reading books like these won't make your husband's comments less painful to hear per se, but maybe give you some alternative tactics to deal with them/him.

I'm sorry you feel a bit isolated right now.