It makes me so sad that almost four years after starting this blog I am still blogging and still charting. I’ve come to terms with Frank and I most likely never having a biological child. I see the more than 200 hundred likes on my Facebook page, and my heart breaks for the 200 families who find themselves in our situation. I wish I could be more helpful. I wish medicine took us all seriously.
We’ve gone from wanting to adopt children who needed a home most of all, to admitting they would never be a part of our family. The work we did identified their intense needs that CPS preferred remain unaddressed because documenting them made the children hard to adopt.
The responses of family and friends can often be its own challenge. Yes, people mean well. But most are rather unaware of how raw we are. In attempts to cheer us up some have commented that things are, “so much quieter now,” with a broad smile.
I don’t expect them to know how deafening the silence of infertility and a failed adoption can be. However, when one moves a loved one to inconsolable tears, an apology usually follows. Others just ignore things and let them go by without acknowledgement…cookie parties happen and we’re not included because we don’t have kids this year. What should have been our baby’s due date, passes without acknowledgement. The anniversary of our loss passes in silence. There’s either silence or sadness. Sometimes there’s numbness.
I still chart to monitor my health. Right now charting is telling me that my endometriosis is most likely coming back. We knew there was a chance. The bright side is, another surgery would optimize my fertility again and make conception possible.
We’re also saving for a private adoption. Since the children have left our home things haven’t gone back to normal as we might have wished, instead things from other realms have popped up: the death of a colleague; the death of a former student at the hand of another former student; friends and loved ones battling illness. Not really the best time for a home study…but we’re getting things together.
Despite all this, I’m still in it. I’m exhausted but I’m here…blogging…and charting…barely. I don’t know if the exhaustion I feel is from all the loss and change, the new puppy who slathers us with kisses, or from endo as it takes a hold. I’ve known this journey would be long…thanks for walking it with me. Love, Catherine