mixed tape

I hate to make the equivalent of a mixed tape, but if there was one, this song would be on it, and I would be telling you how this, all of this, may be coming to an end - I'm not sure how much more of this I can take. I've encountered so many in similar circumstances, or worse, and they, despite the odds, still have all this hope, this knowledge, this belief, this certainty, that somehow, some way this will all work out in the end. I don't have that belief. From the first miscarriage, from the first, "this happens all the time, just try again" I knew something was seriously wrong. And over two years later, no one has been able to tell me what.

I have to take stock of my own life. And begin to move forward. I will always mourn what I have lost. I will never be who I used to be. I have to remember that we have a good life, my husband and I. I love my husband. That is more than so many have.

But I still, I still miss the person that I used to be. And I miss the little ones who I have carried, for such a short time, and what they could have been.

Don't you know that I'll be around to guide you
Through your weakest moments to leave them behind you
Returning nightmares only shadows
We'll cast some light and you'll be alright
We'll cast some light and you'll be alright for now

Crosses all over, heavy on your shoulders
The sirens inside you waiting to step forward
Disturbing silence darkens your sight
We'll cast some light and you'll be alright
We'll cast some light and you'll be alright for now

Crosses all over the boulevard
Crosses all over the boulevard
Crosses all over the boulevard
Crosses all over the boulevard

The streets outside your window overflooded
People staring, they know you've been broken
Repeatedly reminded by the looks on their faces
Ignore them tonight and you'll be alright
We'll cast some light and you'll be alright

--Crosses by Jose Gonzales

I saw the hematologist today. I really believed he would take one look at my medical records and order heparin, immediately. It was maybe my last hope, really. But no one seems to think that heparin is necessary. Not him, not my RE. Just try, try again. "Eventually", my sister says, the doctors say, others say, "just try, try, try again, eventually it will, has to, work out." I'm just not so sure. If someone could say you will have x number of miscarriages and on x pregnancy you will have a child - maybe then, maybe then I could do it. I could muster it up. I could soldier on. But no one can know that. Until they figure out what is wrong, I believe it will just continue - indefinitely.

I'm the friend that you could see adopting. You wouldn't be surprised, you would almost expect it. But here's the reality, at this point, right now, I don't want to adopt. I resent it. I resent that that's what I have to do to parent a child. I don't even know myself anymore. Who is this person? I think adopting is a great thing. I'm just not there.

I'm completely obsessed with myself and my own fertility. I'm a nuisance to the doctors who treat me. I trust none of them. I second guess everything they say. I do my own research. I decide based upon an article here, a study there, a blogger's experience, how I should be treated. It's practically all I discuss with my husband.

I looked at some donor profiles. I found a lovely girl. A college student who loves to write. She's interested in activism. She is short with brown hair and light eyes. She wants a family who cares about the arts. She's looking for a family who is open-minded. I liked her. And when I realized this, I woke my husband up with my crying.

I won't know what she was like at age three. I won't know if she used to draw for hours on construction paper while her mother did the laundry. I won't know if she used to tell the same joke over and over again. I won't know if she had a dog named Rascal or if she got jam stuck in her sleeves. I won't know about the time she slammed her finger in the car door or when she had her first kiss. I won't know any of these things.

I'll only have what I read on a few pieces of paper. Does she wrinkle her nose when she laughs? Does she salt all of her food? Does she always put her hair behind her ears? Does she listen to comedy albums over and over again? Does she spend her Saturdays at art museums?

I have two more appointments with two different REs. We will see what they have to say. And then, I need to reevaluate. I need to be thankful for what we have. I need to stop feeling like a failure. I need to stop feeling like I've failed my husband. I need to put this behind me.