I received an e-mail from a friend yesterday that made me realize I didn't do a very good job of expressing my feelings in my last post. Sure, I mentioned being overwhelmed a few times and delved a bit into my unending feelings of failure as a woman for not being able to conceive (easily) or carry a child to term, but I don't think I adequately described the real feeling behind this new direction we've been thrust into: fear.

Yes, I'm absolutely scared shitless about these next steps. And it's not just because of the extra 45 minute drive, in addition to our commutes. It's not just because it will cost us our savings. It's not just that this doctor wasn't overly welcoming or explanatory, setting us at ease with the whole process. Rather, it's because the decisions we're making now are absolutely, without a doubt, the most difficult and heart-wrending decisions we've ever had to make.

I guess I should start by explaining that this ovulation induction method--using the Follistim I described in my last post--involves a whole lot more than giving myself daily shots and being monitored by ultrasound/blood tests. Before we are even allowed to embark on our first cycle of "FSH madness," we have to sign a whole bunch of release forms. I've read through the forms several times now, each time walking away and almost hoping I'll have a different reaction the next time I come back to read them. I have to tell you...the first time I read them? I bawled uncontrollably. In them, they reiterate all of the risks of undergoing FSH treatment (the ovarian hyperstimulation and higher risk of multiple gestations I mentioned before), but they also delve into the risks to the child for being conceived in this "unnatural" way (congential abnormalities that they don't yet understand), and, worst of all, they discuss selective reduction. The first time I read through this particular section, I lost it. I know that I'm getting the cart before the horse here, but I am not okay with selective reduction. To me, it is just another way of saying, "you will pick which of your conceived children will live and which will die." And I'm not okay with that.

It feels crazy to write those words here so frankly. On purpose, I've mostly stayed away from discussions on abortion or, say, the Octo-Mom here. I don't really crave being all political and controversial on my blog, but I guess there comes a time when I just have to lay it all out there, unapologetically, if I'm ever going to truly convey my trepidation and feelings of unease.

I'd call myself a moderately liberal person, so I don't characterize myself as a fanatical right-to-life person, though in general, if you care to know, I do believe that "life" begins with the formation of an embryo. I know that my beliefs are biased by my own experiences. With each of our children (our angel babies), we bonded so completely with each of them the moment we knew they existed. Some people have minimized (not with malice, but without tact or true empathy) our losses as "just" miscarriages, because they did indeed occur within the first trimesters. However, for us, the fact that our babies died at that time vs. 20 weeks or 32 weeks or being stillborn full-term, doesn't make any difference. They were little lives who meant everything to us. Seeing my two babies being ripped from my body has given me an appreciation for the miracle and fragility of life more than I ever thought possible.

So, to read those words about choosing which fetuses to "reduce" (if it comes to that) brought me immediately to inconsolable tears. There's no other way to describe this: we are just entering extremely scary territory. I do realize that, from the outside, this is probably hard to relate to, or even an easy statement to disagree with. "Wow, way to get worked up over something that may or may not happen," I can almost hear people thinking. But, you see, that's just it. These difficult decisions need to be discussed and decided NOW, before we find ourselves in a place where the decision is right there in front of us, and we have choose what we'll do. I don't want to get to that place not knowing, not having considered the ramifications of our decision to just barrel forward with the next steps.

I know many of you have expressed hope and optimism for us embarking on this next leg of the infertility journey...that perhaps this is just what we need. I understand those feelings and do admit that I waver back and forth between my feelings of fear described above, and the feelings of "OK, let's just do it; this is it."

Part of me wants to just jump right in, screw the feelings of unease that seem to have settled so heavily in my heart. Part of me DOES think that making these difficult decisions and taking these risks is what needs to be done (and, of course, will be well worth it if we achieve the desired outcome of a healthy child).

But part of me, like I mentioned, is heavy-hearted. Why am I hesitating so much on this? Is it Someone trying to speak to me and tell me that this is not his will for our lives, or the life of our child? Is it just the fear of the unknown overtaking me and making me irrational? Why can't I shake these feeling of unease with the whole situation?

I suppose I should also explain where I'm at spirtitually right now, which might give you some insight into the situation. Most of you know that I grew up in a religious household, and although I don't know if I can call it "falling away" from God or religion in college or the years directly follwing college, I can say that I, rather unknowingly, put a personal relationship with God on the shelf during most of those years. I was expanding my mind, studying other religions, and trying to understand where the beliefs I was raised with fit into the overall picture. Though I wouldn't call myself religious these days, because I keep finding so much that makes me uneasy and, frankly, rather ill within the structured ideologies that people cling to moreso than truly having a personal relationship with God, I would say that my relationship with God has been restored, and I feel that my faith has been renewed.

Even a couple of years ago, I didn't really believe that this was possible. My faith was really tested during those horribly dark and difficult days of the demise of my first marriage and subsequent divorce. And I'm ashamed to say I could not find the comfort and strength in God during those days to help get me through. Instead, I felt bitter towards him for allowing me to go through what I did. I was astonished by how hatefully I was treated during a time when all that I already felt inside was shame and utter sadness for not being able to save a marriage that was horribly broken and probably never right in the first place. Then, during our first years of infertility and losing our first child, LJ, I also became very angry with God. I still felt so relatively young to be tackling such HUGE life disappoints in such a short period of time. I kept asking God, "Haven't I been through enough?" I'd look at friends or family around me who'd had perfect marriages the first time around, supportive families, and only limited (if any) difficulties in having children of their own, and I'll admit it: I became very bitter. When going through crises, many people will utter the words "Why me?" and I was the worst offender during those dark days.

I spent a lot of time wondering why I was considered, by God, to be a much worse person than everyone I knew. "Am I really that horrible, God? Because you must be punishing me." I must admit, I still have days when I think "Why me?" or, I sincerely wonder why the hell it isn't God's will for us to be parents yet. I don't know that we're necessarily supposed to make any sense out of it. People often say, "When it happens, you'll realize the timing is perfect." Eh, sorry. I don't really buy it, and I honestly don't believe I'll feel that way. We've been ready for years, and anytime now would be "perfect." But, I do know that there are things about our life and our relationship that God understands better than us, and that if it's supposed to happen, it will happen in his time. I understand that and do accept that better now.

Since our first pregnancy loss, slowly but surely, I've felt myself turning to God again. I'm still trying to discern if I needed to hit rock bottom, emotionally, before I surrendered to him and let him take control of my life. I do think that that's probably what happened. I was at such a low place in my life, where I literally felt like what I held most dear had been stripped away from me, and I gave in. "Fine, then, God," I said. "YOU tell ME how this is supposed to go." And that is where I continue to be right now. Every day, I ask God to tell me where this is supposed to go. I don't need the ultimate answer, crystal-ball-style, from him, but I'm mostly just asking for wisdom and guidance as we go about our days. I talk to God a lot more than I ever used to. Prayer, for me, used to be something I thought needed to be done "just so" to be worth doing at all, but now my prayers are often as simple (or possibly as irrevent) as "Help me!" or "Seriously, God?" or "Please just be with me today; I need someone by my side, otherwise I know I won't have the strength to make it through." It has been so comforting coming to this sort of relationship with God. I feel comforted and at peace with my spirituality.

So, I guess what I'm wondering is...is this current discomfort and fear that won't go away happening for a reason? Should I follow my heart, and hold off making any hasty decisions until I find some clarity? Or should I follow the logicality of my head, and delve into the medical intervention to help us conceive a child?

I guess I keep coming back to the "magical" month when I got pregnant with LJ. We were taking a break from all the testing and drugs, and we became pregnant for the first time. I want to believe that, if we got pregnant once without all the medical intervention, it can happen again. So then the question just is...do we sit tight and wait around for that to happen, or do we jump into hyper-space mode with Dr. Soup-Nazi?

Thanks for letting me get my feelings down. I think I'm going to try to get back to bed now.

-Em