Painting

After my miscarriage last November, I started painting our house. I painted and painted and painted some more. I accomplished so much all by myself that some people actually started to worry about me a bit. But there was something soothing in rolling on thick, smooth paint. It felt so therapeutic to me. I don't have control over my body, but at least I can control how our walls look like (and ceilings, but I don't like painting ceilings...).

Around the same time, I began reading house improvement/renovation blogs and stopped one by one reading infertility blogs. Most of them already had or expected babies and the few still struggling stopped blogging; understandably so. All the babies of *my* pregnancy cohort are born safely by now. I cheered for each and everyone of you. It's a bit bittersweet though to be left on infertility island.

The place I stayed at temporarily - or so I thought- on this island looks more and more like a permanent dwelling. And if this is my permanent dwelling, shouldn't it be as nice as possible? I think so. And so I will go on and try to make the best of this place that I find myself in.

Right now I am painting my fence. And it feels good.

Still here

I was just checking my own blog and realized it's been a while; a while, but nothing (in)fertilitywise has happened (to me that is) in the meantime. And it may never again happen. Or it might. Who knows.

It's been almost four years of trying. ART hasn't exactly helped me, and I am feeling like I should just let it go. The last year has given me a couple of little pregnancies, which I treasure. In terms of moving on, however, they haven't helped me one bit. They somehow gave me the illusion that, indeed, I could get pregnant. But it isn't so now, is it?

I found the picture of my four lost embryos (IVF #2) last weekend. I was happy to find them, they were missing from my little white memory box. Now, that I put the picture in the box, the box feels strangely complete. Nothing more to add.

I still cry "WHY" out into the night. Having kids was always very important to me; infertility has truly hurt me deeper than most people can fathom. And I can well imagine that the loss of fertility at an age when most women do not have to worry about it yet (34) will haunt me and sadden me for many years to come. Of course, that doesn't mean, I won't be doing fine. I will. But, as I said, it's been a very deep and painful loss.

Gosh, I didn't want to get all teary here. I am just sorta reaching the point where it seems more difficult to continue with ART (whatever little options there are left for me anyway) than leave it.

On to a happy note: I may be going to turn 38 this year, but I still pass the pencil test just fine!