almost

Tomorrow I will visit the baby I almost had.

At work I had great colleagues, and me not being able to keep my mouth shut, and (what is that expression again?) wearing my heart on my sleeve told them about my IVF when it was happening around this time last year.
At some point a male colleague came up to me, saying they were starting their first IVF attempt as well, a couple days ahead of me. It was quite special, exchanging tips and tricks, and just knowing. Neither of us came out pregnant that time, but they had something frozen. Their first FET attempt did work out, and they had a healthy little boy at the start of this year.
Tomorrow I will visit them for the first time ever, together with another former colleague-now friend who knows the full story. So I can hide behind his shoulder if need be.

Somehow I don't think I will need that. I'm thinking I will be totally mesmerized by this tiny baby, by the privilege of knowing him and how he came to be.
I'm thinking that it will prove it was normal for me to want that, that miracles can happen. Don't know if it will give me energy to hope against the odds again... (it might just rub off, who knows)

just when I was leaving....

My mother had asked if I would please come over and rescue some old school stuff of mine that turned up when they were taking apart bookshelves. We spend a very dusty afternoon going through old paper, throwing most of it out. Twenty years late. Conversation was nothing special, my mother doing most of the talking with her famous half stories and unfinished sentences. And five minutes later continuing where she left of. Can be confusing if you don't practice! (But don't worry, a rerun will come sooner rather than later)
Just when I was leaving, hat, scarf, one leg on my bike, she said:

But can't you get someone else's eggs?

So then we talked some about that. About percentages. Age. About grief and its different stages. About how some couples don't survive that. She was all ears. And all agreement.
It was good to feel my mother firmly on my side. Slightly amazed she is not scared by the idea or technology, thinking it wrong somehow.
Maybe she doesn't let on, but I suspect she wants me to have a baby a much as I do.

Tonight she is babysitting for her upstairs neighbours. I wouldn't be surprised if she took the little one (2 months now) from his crib and hold him for a while he sleeps, wondering if...

a touch of Dutch

We are in the middle of another cold spell. This weekend I took my camera along so I can give you a more visual impression of what happens with the Dutch when it comes to skating.
We started out near the touristy village of Volendam.
If you're not easily susceptible to motion sickness you could try have a look around with my unsteady hand:



From there we crossed to the island of Marken over what was sea till 1927, but thanks to some famous dikes is now tamed into a big lake. To get a feeling from being on the move, and glimpse the difference in sight and sound between flat ice and rubble, click again below. And yes, I was so proud of my new skates that I captured my toes for a split second as well.





There was a fair wind picking up, and we Dutch people not only love skating, we love boats even more. Did you know boats can skate too?



Then I found the pinnacle of winter-Dutchness: clogs with spikes!


Then we did a couple more crossings because ice this flat, fast and easy is rare (it would snow that night already) and ended up in the beautiful old city of Monnickendam and treated ourselves to hot chocolate for me and a Carolus triple beer for DP. No wonder he was knocked out on the bus home!


That night we watched Sven skate and win his olympic gold medal. We now call that city Svencouver...

Slippery slope

After dinner, approximately 36 hours after the Sunday morning conversation, I asked DP if he thought that conversation had gone well. Which conversation? Well, the one about donor eggs. He then asked me if I was seriously considering that option. Yes I am. (And see how I don't get an answer to my initial question? That seems to happen a lot)
I pushed on a bit, asking him to put his thoughts or feelings into words. DP said it was a slippery slope. From TTC naturally, to trying with a little help like IVF, to donor gametes, surrogacy, adoption. Where did I think it would end? My answer 'with a baby' did not reassure him.
DP said more than once that donor-egg-babies would have another mother.
I'm thinking there is a world of difference between his kids who he has to return to their mother at 6:30 PM Sunday and a baby that is with us from before it is even born, and 100% depending on us.

He did point out that part of the fun of parenting is recognising part of yourself in your children. His oldest does indeed have his freckles, light skin, light hair. (OK, those are easy to spot) We didn't go into which part of that recognition was important to him.
We both know that he has a much stronger and more natural bond with his sons than I do. He called it 'blood line'. He is doing almost all the work when it comes to the boys. Picking them up from school, dropping them off, telling them not to fight. I just do part of the cooking and laundry. Although this past weekend I was baking muffins with the oldest and took the youngest one skating to the shop to get milk for DPs cappuccino.
I always figured that if he missed them so much when they're not with us he should get most of the time with them, get to do all the kiddy stuff, bathing and feeding when they were small, playing soccer and chess now. I would wait and see what left over parent stuff there was left for me. So yes, I did/do consciously put myself second rank.
I'm sort of wondering if he is unhappy that I don't love his children as much as he does.

When the bloodline thing came up I did point out I have a cousin that would match, so the d-e-baby would at least be related to me as well..
At that point we cuddled on the couch, and he fell asleep, holding me, leaving me wondering.

I guess that is what is confusing me, why is he worried about a genetic connection while he should still have that? I'm the one who is considering/willing to give that up (my personal DNA I mean) in order to have a baby, be pregnant, be a mother.
And now the other voices creep back in. Why would I spend time with his kids, spend energy and frustration, feel chained to the home if he's not willing to do the same for me?
I did ask about babies, 5 years ago. I did mention that as part of my future, a sine qua non.
It was the very first personal conversation we had.
Now I'm afraid it will be the last as well.

Under Cover

This morning under cover of darkness and duvet we found ourselves awake too early for a Sunday morning. I gently asked if he had given any thought to donor eggs since Jan 6, and he hadn't (while I had plenty). We started talking about some aspects of the process (yes the donor would need to inject medication like I did for IVF.) He mentioned that some male donors don't want any contact with possible offspring, when I said that if I were a donor I would like to visit once a year or so. DP said that the motivation behind the donation might be key with regards to contact.

So far so good. Even though the conversation was kind of 'general'. It was a start. And I think it was safe and non threatening. It went much better than I feared.
Reading your comments made me realise I had to at least try to touch the subject with DP. That it wouldn't be fair to let it come to the point of DE versus breakup, or even make that decision alone. (Thanks Twangy for letting me learn from your story)
I haven't mentioned my cousin yet, or asked how he feels about it. I suppose he needs some time to mull over the facts first.
I also haven't mentioned that a friend of a friend has offered herself as a donor two weeks ago.
Hopefully I'll have a chance to talk to my cousin this month.
Hopefully my counsellor will not point out to me how and why I'm a dangerous fool when I see her on Thursday.

DE means Douwe Egberts coffee in the Netherlands

Donor Eggs.
It is not very common in the Netherlands. We just had the law changed in 2004 (or so) that gamete donors may not be anonymous anymore. Also financial reward is not allowed, and clinics are prohibited from mediating between intended parents and egg donors. Oh, and if you do find someone yourself she can only be a donor if she already has her own family complete (and a list of other requirements of course)
This makes my 20something year old cousin off limits here.
Have to find out about Belgium. Though I'd be reluctant to drag her all the way over there. In this country people think a 3 hour drive is long. It would require days off of work for her, and it seems silly when there are plenty of hospitals around the corner.
Plus I feel I should not ask this big huge question as long as I'm not prepared to take no for an answer. I always tell others not to ask a question if you're not prepared to hear the answer, so I'll stick to that as long as I can. I love her so much, that I owe her at least that. She has been through a lot in life, lost her partner 3y and her mother 2y ago. I've been trying to be there for her, as a big sister. Trying to piece back her existence. She is doing fine now.

I dream of my child calling her nana, sort of mix between dna and aunty, and very close to the dutch mamma...

This bit before I wrote in November. Still wondering. Torn between giving up a dna connection with my baby and the desire that my baby is also family deep down. She (my cousin) looks just like me, we really could be sisters. We have travelled together in different parts of the world. In some ways I feel we are parts of each other.
In the past months she has mentioned that she doesn't know if she wants to have children, leaning to not.
On the other hand, I myself look nothing like my mother, I take after my father. My brother and I seem not even related. (apart from that one personality test about decision making, there we had identical scores)

Again, I have not dared to talk to DP about this. It is going to be this much harder to be disappointed by the people I love most...

Bag

Two years ago a gave DP a bicycle-office bag for Sinterklaas. It is a sturdy office bag with three hooks on the back to hook it to his bike. The middle hook has a locking mechanism so the bag (often holding his laptop) cannot be snatched off easily. Two weeks ago the middle hook got crooked and fell apart. Now it's just the two hooks, working fine, just not as safe.
This morning as he was leaving for work I offered to go shopping for a new bag, asking if he wanted the same thing or that I could look for something different. His reply:

First I have to deal with the grief and sadness, and saying farewell to this bag before I can think about moving on.

I'm not even sure it was meant jokingly.
This was more or less the lesson we took from our counselling session together.

Last Sunday we went to the library and at some point I asked if we should get some books on adoption. (Is it unfair of me to test the water that way?) We have not really spoken about adoption or other next steps. The only suggestion for a book he gave was something on getting happy again after being sad.

Maybe these are both subtle hints that it might be time to pick up my life?

February is the sixth month of me not having a job. Other people might phrase that as half a year. Makes it seem so long. Maybe I should peek outside my cocoon and start looking or a job. Maybe admit to myself that relaxing all these months didn't make any difference whatsoever. Babywise I mean. Is it weird to feel like I'm betraying myself by looking for a job? I don't have to pretend that nothing happened. Because nothing happened. I'm not making sense anymore, am I. Sorry.
Maybe getting a job means admitting I can't have a baby and that I'm over it. That I'm ok with it. But I'm not.
Mhmm, maybe I could get a job while I'm still sad. Maybe being sad can be my evening job. Maybe during the day a could be like my former self, that persnickety pestering tester lady. (thank you May) Maybe I could work with a sad smile instead of my cute smile.

Yesterday a bloggy friend of mine called. She told me her story and asked if I would put that online for her, because she couldn't. I was happy I could do something for her, that she trusted me enough to ask. While I was typing I suddenly felt like a fraud. Infertile me typing a story about contractions and cervix checks . I had to look up what a cervix was, but wiki didn't really explain why it getting shorter was a problem. And I wasn't going to google it.
Strange sensations of not belonging....

Time for fresh air and blue sky now....

downs

When I wrote the post named ups I meant to name the next post downs. My reasoning was that if I write down how bad the bad days are now, that in a while I can see that the bad days aren't so bad anymore.
Or, that if I let it out it will not seem so bad. But I'm feeling very reluctant about it. Part of me is saying drama queen, stop it! Other part says if you write it down it will become more real, and it's bad enough as it is. Now kick yourself, pick yourself up and go do something. Here's your to-do list.....(and that list goes on. and on.) O well, I'll give it a go.

On January 8 I emailed my counsellor BambiEyes to make my next appointment. After a few minutes I received an autoreply, stating that she no longer worked for the hospital, someone else blah blah.... NOOooo! Did I finally pick up my courage and then this! Since last summer I've spend 5 hours with her from the 10 she initially planned, I didn't want to start over with someone else. So I googled her, and found her at another clinic in another city and emailed her straight away. After that I let myself collapse in tears for the afternoon. I put a woolly hat on my head, as if to soften the blow. It is a strange sensation holding myself or my head, softly rocking back and forth. It is weird being so sad and at the same time being aware of it. Being aware of the discrepancy between a minor, solvable set back and the flood of tears. So much easier to cry over something simple, unfair and unexpected than over my non-baby, unfair but hardly unexpected anymore.
(The next Monday BambiEyes emailed back, she is happy to continue with me. Some paperwork, 2 phone calls and 5 emails later I now have an appointment for February 11th.)

Can't believe how hard this was to write. In my head are metaphors of scars and grief that want to be told. Stories of the beginning of meeting DP. Thoughts about travelling. About life with step kids and how alone it makes me feel. About how maybe they are some kind of gift to my life. About thinking of staying with DP, surviving this together. About leaving everything behind, moving to South Africa and start with a clean slate (and a SA donor egg program). About putting up some of my test results so other people with POF can compare notes, as there are not many blogs with POF. About other possible remedies popping out of the internet and how that makes me feel. Or how the ice melting makes me feel, compared to last year. Or that it might start freezing again. It is too much, I cannot concentrate anymore. I'm defeated for today.

ups

The Netherlands are frozen over. This is good news for ice skating people. And it is snowed over. This is not good news, as this is making the skating difficult and the ice unpredictable. But with effort and brooms and swishy machines the snow can be put to the side to make a path for skating.
The entire country is engulfed in this sub-zero fever, and I'm joining. It is good for the soul I believe. On skates you get to go places you otherwise don't. You go as fast as if you're running, but with half the effort and a fraction of the noise. Today I did an official tour, with thousands of other enthusiasts. The line of people meandering over that frozen plane, almost as if we are a giant snake, part of something bigger.
Sometimes working your way against the wind (oy you eastern wind, was it really that cold in Russia?) sometimes wind in the back, making you feel you are almost flying, hardly touching the ice.
The sounds of the ice itself varies. Sometimes it howls like a seal, or a clucks like a bottle filling. Or it can creak and moan. Or be very very silent. Sometimes the only noise is a bit of snow whispering under my skate.
Yesterday my best friend managed again to take time off work, we jumped in his car and rode to some tiny village. As soon as we saw an unusual line of cars parked we knew we were close, parked and jumped out.
When there is not that many people on the ice it is easier to feel the magic. Exploring some smaller waterways running of the main lake, a last swan lost in a white field.
At the end of skating there is always hot chocolate milk. Yesterday it was provided in the tiny village.
Today I worked out how the coffee machine steam wand at home worked, and made hot chocolate with more than maximum froth, I think the milk to froth ratio was 2:3. Heaven! (on the second floor)
Tomorrow the ice should still be good, and DP and I will go together for the afternoon.
Despair is only allowed back when thaw sets in.

more snow, more tears

Today was the meeting with the doctor after the monitored cycle. Not quite sure what cause and effect was in that cycle, but progesterone was too low and cycle too short. This cycle is even shorter. Although one could argue that 17 days doesn't really count as a cycle. I think that was the message the good doctor was trying to get across. Diminished egg reserve, cycles failing, success percentages plummeting, hormones giving up, high FSH, all part of this same package. And it will gradually get worse. Skipping cycles is going to be fun. Or unexpected heavy bleeding for weeks on end. (I still think 4 days of bleeding is a design flaw. I rather donate my blood than let it go to waste.) But all in all it is going to be an unpredictable process, could be years, or this could be my last period. If I don't want to deal with that I can go back on the pill. what???? Well, obviously after I have accepted I will not have a genetic child. Upon reading my incredulous face he adds that we were miles away from that stage. That I should probably contact my counsellor again.
I did manage to pipe up the words egg donation. Yes, fits my diagnosis. But since commercial egg donation is prohibited in my dear Netherlands very hard to accomplish. Plus it is not a replacement for a genetic child. I should not forget the grieving process of my not existing child.
It just seems I'm stuck in the denial phase of that process. I don't want it to be true. I just want a miracle baby. I want it to be 2001 rather than 2010. What is the point of moving forward in time if there is no future?

My mother told me that when I was little and we came past the baby store I always wanted to go in and push the strollers around.

This afternoon she took me shopping, and bought me a cashmere cable sweater. baby blue. I might just unpack it and snuggle up with it on the sofa. that sweater better be tear-proof.

Gosh, after the appointment this morning DP and I sat down in the cafeteria for tea and a cookie. He said he can't wrap his head around egg donation. It would be another woman's child.
Would he not notice there are another woman's children in our lives already?
sorry, that's mean of me to say.

I will give it some time, I will make an appointment with BambiEyes, I must find a way to explain to DP what this all means to me. But the thought that I'm out of here if he doesn't change his mind was quicker.