About me (Infertility in 10 easy steps)

Happy New Year!
This year is the first time I´ve joined Mel´s Creme de la Creme, so I thought I should write an ´about me´ post, because there isn´t one right now. Infertility in 10 easy steps...

Ten years ago I met this guy at work.  He seemed interested in me, and I liked him. I was 32, but too shy to ask him if he was single, instead I asked if he had kids... Yes, he said, two little boys (and my heart sank). of course he asked about me. So I said I wanted kids, loads, but was still looking for a father.

The next months are a bit of a blur (oh, come ON, did I really want a father who would walk away from his kids? Crazy stupid love hormones, let me sleep! Loads of soul searching from his side, relationship therapy and finally his decision to leave his family and move in with me)
The first year flew by, with limited money and no contact between me and the kids, like a weird dream.

The second year was easier for DP as the housing situation changed and we could be together with the kids in his place every other weekend. It was harder for me, with strange kids who didn't know or trust me in this village where I didn't know or trust anyone. Also learning that DP wasn't ready to try for a baby made it that much harder to be positive towards his boys.

The third year in the summer I quit taking the pill, and refused to pack condoms for our holiday to Berlin. DP didn't go on strike, so we started our TTC journey amidst Knut-mania (the baby polar bear raised by hand in Berlin Zoo) Much to his surprise my period followed like clockwork. I was 35, pissed off at his past where his girlfriend got pregnant while on the pill. Twice.
After six months of TTC I went to see my GP, who told me to pick a fertility hospital. I walked around with that referral letter for 6 months, not yet ready to admit defeat.

The fourth year. We had started to look for a house together. Many hospital visits and a fairly quick diagnosis: a timing issue (just half a day off and the sperms would get killed) and running out of eggs quickly. Thanks to this knowledge we managed one natural conception. And a natural miscarriage at 7 weeks. (later we would name this baby Knut)

The fifth year. After the mandatory 3 month wait we had our one shot at IVF, but even with a mega dose of stimulants we had just two eggs visible, and converted to IUI. This chance at twins was only that, BFN. The hospital said they were done treating me, and referred me to a psychologist, BambiEyes. 
With her I could let my Anger out, speak about my Jealousy, learn to feel my pain. I could bring DP along, learning to open the communication channels between us.
I also learned that I wasn't done with treatments, and managed to get a monitored cycle out of the hospital, since I was still getting my periods. Another two eggs were seen, another negative, again twins that never were more than hope. I stopped looking for a house, because do you know how many houses have baby rooms in the pictures?

The sixth year. I realised the only way for me to get and stay pregnant would be through donor eggs. But I was furious. it was SO UNFAIR. And his boys kept coming, e-v-e-r-y other weekend. I felt less and less like I belonged. They were growing and thriving, while my dream children were only getting fainter and further away. In the infertility blogosphere I found a lot of support for loss and IF, but the stepmothering thing still made me feel lonely. I didn't want to direct my anger towards the kids or their mother, because that was not constructive at all, and was taking power away from me. But I didn't really find much connection there. My childlessness was my pain, and it doesn't help to blame other kids/people for the fact that they exist (or seem to rub salt in my wounds by being around)

The seventh year. The year we had a little ceremony to say farewell to Knut. Acknowledging our loss, our past, our hope, our DNA. Making room for a known donor, a friend of a friend. Hospital visits. Failure.

The eighth year. Enough heartbreak. Running out of time, turning 40. All or nothing. No more energy to find a donor ourselves, we fled to Spain where clinics have screened donors. Young. High success rates. Fast pace. Pregnant with two excellent embryos, I was grinning ear to ear for 8 weeks. Petrified when one tiny heart stopped beating. So hurt when one of the boys stopped visiting.

The ninth year. A healthy baby girl. Turning a monumental office into a dream home. Moving in. Nobody paid much attention to my health, of course I was tired with baby and renovation and losing weight. (When I look at the pictures now I can't believe how gaunt I looked.) But so over the moon happy with Suzy I didn't care about anything else. (silently the boy started visiting again)

The tenth year. Still so very happy that Suzy made it. The fact we used a donor has faded from everyday thought. The fact I'm a stepmother doesn't bother me any more. For the boys it is beyond obvious I'm Suzy's mama and that they all have the same papa. When the oldest said he would maybe move in here after his exams I felt happy (OK I admit, also slightly victorious)

This blog was my diary, my lifeline through infertility. You cannot find it on google, I try to keep it private, intended only for people who understand. So usually I do not participate in lists / games / prizes. At the same time I know I had a hard time finding people in situations comparable to mine who were willing to discuss their relationship troubles and solutions. So if you are reading this and want to know more feel free to ask. Leave a comment or send an email or invite me over to your blog. (sorry I'm not on social media, that's not for me)
I know I didn't write much about my Anger, my thoughts about leaving, my feelings of being a childless stepmother. At the time it was too much. And now it doesn't seem so important any more.

O well, since it is January 1st I'll throw in a resolution: I will take care of me again this year. Time for me alone, time for me and my DP.
yes, on top of searching for a new job and enjoying my combined family to the max.
Wishing you the best for 2015, the strength and patience to make things happen (and to accept what cannot happen)

From Amsterdam with Love,
Valery