I might be the last of me

My first post was so information-filled—I need to lay out the facts, but I don’t want to cling to them.

I want to write about yesterday, curled into a ball on my bed, in the bath, crying, hurting, feeling all of that loss that is stored in my body and mind. At least I don’t have as many PTSD symptoms (panic, insomnia, loss of appetite, nightmares) as I had after the second miscarriage and the horrors of Cytotec. At least this last loss happened early. At least I have a supportive, loving fiancé and good friends and my health. Yoga and acupuncture. An MSW degree on the way that will allow me to help others as a career. I have my dear friend R, who is also struggling with infertility, who picnicked with me in my neighborhood park a few days ago and helped me look at all the things I have gained through this experience: a serious yoga practice; the Buddhist Refuge Vows (my fiancé and I took them during a ceremony in the spring, right after the third loss); a love relationship with DH that has grown even stronger and more intimate; insight about my own mortality. And so on. A lot of things. Yes. I do feel that. Most of the time. Some of the time. But yesterday was a day when all I could feel was the loss.

What is it that I have lost? I have lost four pregnancies, and I may have lost my ability to give birth to our biological child. Am I hung up on biology? Am I attached to the idea of  carrying on my genes? Not exactly. But I do need time to process the very real possibility that, biologically speaking, I might be the last of me.

At the last Resolve support group meeting, we ventured into talking about the topic of our mortality, and the existential crisis infertility can pose for some of us. I believe that at the core of my longing to have a child is a desire to protect life, to pass on, to teach, to share. But I would be lying if I didn’t say that at the core of my  longing to have a child is also a desire to create life, coupled with a fear of my own death, a desire to not be the last of me,  a desire for my DNA to go on living, after my death, in another person whom I have nurtured and loved. I need to write much more about this. I need to understand it–before, perhaps, letting go of it altogether.

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