Well, judging by the comments to my last post, a lot of us out there have a Gus.
My own Gus has receded once again, back into the shadows of my infertile mind, but he has left an impression on me with his visit.
I think I still might need help.
After the first miscarriage, I went to see a therapist. I was in bad shape, not eating or sleeping for over a week, losing ten pounds, and my husband was worried. I only went a few times, felt better, and then used the learnings from those sessions to carry me through the next two losses. After Gummy Bear died, I went back to the therapist, because I was a mess. I kept seeing her until about my seventh month of pregnancy with Will. I just felt that I wasn't really getting anything from the therapy any longer and just didn't feel as if I needed it.
I think I might have been wrong. My therapist advised against quitting, but you know, I figured I knew myself best.
However, all of these months later, I still find myself very focused on infertility. I still grieve very much for my lost babies. I can't be happy for other people when they announce a pregnancy. I mean, yes, eventually, I get on board and can go to baby showers and all that jazz. But I don't like the way my mind works when it comes to All Things Baby.
We drove past our fertility clinic the other day, for the first time since we had been there back in the first trimester. I had a physical reaction, felt dizzy, couldn't breathe very well, and was sick to my stomach. I was distracted for the rest of the day, feeling very caught up in everything infertile.
I feel as if I am still doing a lot of looking backward and not forward. I treasure Will so very much and I don't think that he is suffering because of my infertility fixation, but I still don't feel that it is healthy. I almost think it's kind of weird.
I still feel a lot of anger. I am angry that we had to try so long and lose so many babies. I am angry that we have to plan for Baby #2 in a way that most people don't, including timing for possibly more miscarriages. I am angry that we have to budget for the conception of Baby #2 and say things like, "Well, we won't probably be able to afford to take a vacation the year that we have our FET." I am angry that every six months, we have to pay to store our embryos, sign a release form, and think about those tiny little brothers or sisters sitting on ice.
I still feel broken. I still wonder why me, why us, why our babies? I thought that once I had a successful pregnancy, this feeling would go away. It did for a little while, but now it's back.
I still feel very sad. I still cry when I think about those dark days of blood, loss, and death. I miss my babies so much. I look at Will and try to put a positive spin on it, saying to myself, "Well, we wouldn't have him if those other babies have lived."
Then I think, "But I mother shouldn't have to think like that."
And I'm angry all over again. To be honest, infertility just really frosts my cookies. I mean, c'mon, what the heck?! There are people shaking babies, tossing them into dumpsters, slapping their kids around, not feeding them dinner . . . and then there are so many people that would kill for just one, or really would like to have two, and those people are good parents and should have as many babies as they want.
Yikes. I guess my Green Eyed Monster Gus has an evil twin Monster, Angry Angus, I shall call him. It really doesn't make them any cuter to name them, does it?