This is not the post I imagined writing about this topic. But then this is not the blog I imagined writing about this family. I should know, more than most, to expect the unexpected. This is also likely to be a meandering ramble, please get a large tea and bear with me.
I once saw a story about why it is that certain memories embed in our minds more than others – why it is that some events fade almost immediately and some stay with us as if it were yesterday. It’s adrenalin. It’s meant to keep us safer going forward – if we encounter a traumatic situation which produces adrenalin, in turn it makes the memory of the situation stronger, and we know to avoid it in the future. This is the reason why I can tell you the most intricate, irrelevant details about the hours after Ava’s accident. And this is why, I can also recall in minute detail, the very moment I had this most unexpected thought:
“I need to have another baby”.
Actually, unexpected is really too subtle. Shocking is better. You see, in that moment, we still had four children here. Ava had not left yet. Not in body. She still had 24 hours left on Earth and doctors were still saying she should survive and loved ones were still believing she would yet, as her Mummy, I knew this simply wasn’t so. And somehow, in the midst of the horror and the disbelief, that thought came to me as I walked into the parents room on Sunday afternoon. Dimly lit, quiet, wearing my sisters dress that was a little too see through.
I recall the frown that crossed my face. The confusion and the guilt. The wondering how and why? Who mourns their child before they’ve even left? And worse, who thinks of having another child whilst so deep in tragedy? It made no sense and it made me ill with guilt until thankfully, one day a counselor explained that it was perfectly normal, within the realms of the completely abnormal Universe I’d moved into, to feel as I did.
It was though, still such a strange concept to me. I was previously so sure I would never want a fifth baby – we had hoped for four and four is what we were blessed with. Two of each, perfect age gaps. Everything we’d ever wanted. I recall a phone call with Jennifer one Saturday morning. Noisy, disjointed, interrupted-by-children conversation. Standing in the kitchen with the sun shining and a whole lot of assumption, I said.. “I mean really, we have four children. What are the odds of getting every one of them to adult-hood, well adjusted and happy? Surely one of them will give us a hard time along the way.”
How I wish.
So, over the course of a few months, and in the midst of our suffocating grief, we wondered. I took time to make sure that such a huge decision was not ill considered, given our circumstances. We thought it out and came up with every reason why having another child would be wonderful for our family. We wanted to see something meaningful, I mean really substantial, come from the loss of our beautiful girl. What could be more so than a new life? We would never, ever have dreamed of having another child so this person would not have been if not for our tragedy. We imagined seeing them at 21, on their wedding day, with their first child. We wanted something amazing from something unbearable. For not just us, but as much for our children, we wanted to give them something joyful. We wanted four here in our house again. Not noisy enough. Not busy enough. There just weren’t enough squabbles or laughter or demands. We yearned for something to hope for.
So, with all this said… three years ago in September 2007, we did in fact begin our journey for another baby. And for us, thanks to an ill fated decision after the birth of Ivy, the only way we could try was through IVF. With so much naive assumption and still navigating the early days of brutal grief, we excitedly faced our first cycle. And then, two months of drugs and anticipation later, we didn’t even get to transfer stage. After having four children delivered by the stork immediately upon request, this is not the outcome we’d anticipated. Actually, we were devastated. The IVF process, when unsuccessful, is nothing short of soul destroying. The hopes and expectations and waiting and believing. The needles and the scans and the tests and the tears. And then the nothing. The drugs make the hard days harder and then you find yourself wondering what on Earth you’re doing anyway. The news that our cycle has failed felt like a fresh downpouring of grief all over again. Looking back, it was a little bit crazy that we even went down this road so soon after losing Ava but you do what you at the time to try and keep facing forward.
So, five months later and still very much determined and hopeful, we embarked on cycle two. Different clinic, different approach..and we got to transfer. Pregnant Until Proven Otherwise, they call it in IVF World. I did the bed rest, I waited out the days, I was just so sure it would work. But it didn’t. Not even with double the hope. And the tears fell harder for twice as long but we know, time does help fade the awful.
A few months on and we began Cycle Three. By then the excitement was dulling a little and the expectations dropping a lot but we had so much hope..and real determination, still. We dusted ourselves off and believed, with all we had, that surely our luck would change. But it didn’t. We got the same horrendous phone call telling us it had all been for nothing. I was so anxious it wouldn’t work long before we knew it didn’t, I wasn’t really surprised..but oh the tears we cried. It was just so hard to believe that we were facing the prospect of IVF not working for us. So much of our quest was tied up in grief and to see the one thing we believed would help mend our hearts crumbling away was too much to bear. I knew I didn’t want to keep going but I didn’t want to stop either. Crayton wanted this as much as I did and by that point, we’d told the children what we were trying to achieve. With so many visits to the doctor and hospital, we just thought it easier to tell them so giving up just didn’t feel like an option. It was just so hard to keep going.
Cycle Four. December 08. We changed to a new and very highly recommended doctor. He was the man you saw when all else failed. Our faith was restored but the drugs were taking their toll. I remember that period as very, very difficult. I struggled to stay calm in the lead up to transfer day and became increasingly terrified that things would not go in our favor. I tried so hard to push my fears aside but all too frequently they bubbled over into teary tantrums. When we got the news that our fourth cycle had failed..our sky fell once again.
I gave myself no break then, I thought quicker was better and rushed back for Cycle Five. Two months later, in Feb 2009, we were in the same lounge-room on the same telephone when we got the same call. Cycle Five was out.
Just as we could never have imagined losing a child, we could never have imagined doing IVF and then, not having it work five times over. This was another element to our new Universe that felt impossible and strange and unfamiliar. But, indeed, there we were and in the back of our minds, we knew all about life not going to plan. About not having expectations and about there being no such thing as fair. It was hard, but we’d done harder.
Now, something else about this journey. Being an open person, it’s been strange to have kept hush along the way. I’ve worried that sharing our hopes for a baby openly might be perceived as a step away from Ava. It’s so important to me that she continues to be honored amidst Life Going On. No matter how much joy may be one day handed to us, I’m under no illusion that the missing of our beauty full girl will be reduced. Joy on the left, grief on the right.
We tried something new for Cycle Six. We had a long, relaxing holiday and we tried to forget where we’d been. We hoped all over again and transferred three embryos. We’d never had that many and for a fleeting moment, we thought we’d done it. The odds were in our favor and it seemed so possible. When a little while later, a blood test proved otherwise, I knew we had to be nearing the end. Two years is a long time to keep failing at something. I so wanted to be able to give our family a baby, but our family understood. It was hard on them too and we all agreed a break was in order. Anyone with status of Trying to Conceive will tell you though, you never really do have a break. You never stop hoping and you keep on trying new things and the yearning only intensifies every day. We spent six months exploring other options and procedures and medication and natural therapies to no avail.
In February this year, we embarked on yet another cycle. It didn’t really even get anywhere before it ended. A long story that I’ll just make into a short one…Cycle Seven, over and out. I’m not sure if the failures were getting easier to handle or harder..we kind of expected them by that stage but my resolve was well and truly fading. Or faded. I put a deadline on our mission and said we’d try one more time. Just once more before we’d have to reassess, which was pretty much code for “I’m done”.
April saw my best and worst cycle yet. Everything was text book perfect, I was relaxed, the protocol was easier, and I responded well. As it turned out, much much too well. In the IVF literature you receive back on Day One, there is small print and the mention of 1% that covers off something called Ovarian Hyperstimulation. OHSS. This 1% likelyhood saw me in hospital, morpheined up, for fifteen days. I gained forty six pounds of fluid in ten days, which they tried to remove via a drain in my abdomen. I vomited continually and needed oxygen to breathe. I cannot describe the agony or the misery that is Hyperstimulation. And then, the best bit at the end? You don’t even get to transfer because of it. They freeze your embryos and wait for you to crawl back from near death to attempt a new cycle. If I was having doubts about stopping the IVF torture previously, this sealed it for me. For all of us. The time away from our children, the impact on my health. It could not have been clearer that we were really done. We agreed that we would not attempt any more full IVF cycles, rather just use up our frozen embryos and should that not end in our favor, so be it. It was the one of the easiest, most difficult decisions we’ve made. How very, very much we wanted this to have worked. But how impossible it was to keep investing so much and get no result. We just wanted a normal life back. No doctors visits, no injections. No marking off calenders and waiting for blood test results. No more devastation.
So, along came July. And a less involved cycle with less stress and an air of acceptance we hadn’t really had before. We’d made our decision and no matter what, just having an end in sight made it bearable to at least try. On July 17, we drove the quiet Saturday morning roads to the clinic with a familar anticipation. I took photos of the hot air balloons drifting in the sky and stared out the window wondering ïs today a Red Leter Day?’ Would it be a date that mattered ten years from now? Or would it slip into the abyss of disappointment like so many others? The doctor sang while two of our embryos were returned to me. I kept the red hospital band from my wrist and felt the familiar wash of cautious hope fill my tummy.
I waited the impossibly long fourteen days. I filled the hours with an irrational mix of imagining and wishing and Googling. I drove myself insane wondering if an extra yawn or a funny smell or a blinking street light meant something. Anything. Come day 12 and the arrival of some clearly non-pregnant symptoms, it seemed we’d failed again. An ocean of tears fell and I moved the blood test one day closer to put us out of at least some of the misery.
One day closer came and then,
so
did
something
else:
Baby Rosemeyer Five.
Due 05 April 2011.
We’re still speechless and amazed and just, wow. And so very afraid of believing. It’s early to share and the whatif’s are terrifying but right here, today, at least I get this moment with you all. I’ve waited so very long.
xx
