Thursday, May 6, 2010

Party time.

I have to admit I have been in such a place of self pity lately. Getting the word that we are not eligible for our clinic's new money back program is confirmation that the doctors who know our case the best, and were still offering platitudes of hope do not think that we are a good bet. Every little morsel of bad news seems to compound my feeling of loss and deepen my pathetic need for some recognition and a good pity party. I just feel so alone. I do not know that this is actually true right now, but my brain is telling me that the rest of the world has moved on, and that my family members, who were informed of the IVF and the failure, did not give me what I needed or wanted, because they can't read my mind and are unwilling or too uncomfortable to ask. They either think it isn't a big deal, or they just don't think of it at all and it is nearly killing me.

Strangely, this ungracious, dank place has led me to some deep thinking about what other situations create terrible lonely holes for the women I know. I cry and occasionally feel so much pain because of the death of my embryos, which is compounded in my sick head by the fact that no one but me would consider that a significant or true loss and how angry I am that no one thinks to send flowers. (This to be expected from a family that did not even offer condolences, nor send flowers to our mutual brother in law when his father died unexpectedly of a heart attack, is truly proof that I am being unrealistic right now - pack of selfish heathens. And YES, I am in a very ugly place right now, and yes I will be deleting this last part as soon as I regain control of my beating heart and brain)

You know who else never gets flowers? People who go through divorces. And I am only starting to scratch the surface in understanding how terrible and awful that pain is. I am thinking of my really nice, really awesome neighbor who I barely talk to and who I have awkwardly skirted around the issue of her husband leaving. The few things I have said have likely been inadequate or maybe even unintentionally hurtful. Truthfully, I have just been way too wrapped up in my own life and business and stew to acknowledge hers. And maybe that would actually be a kind thing to do. Literally the least I could do. As I was lying in bed simmering, I knew she very well could have be doing the exact same thing. Feeling so lonely and unrecognized and horribly sad. And I felt so driven to use this crap for some greater good. To not let it eat my soul. To let it deepen my sympathy, and more importantly, my awareness of others.
Have any of you had need for this kind of horrendous pity party? I would love to hear about your reasons. I really don't want to miss one more invisible invitation to anyone's.


Jennifer said...

You mean the kind of pity parties that find you sobbing on the floor of the shower? Yeah, I've had them. They are usually when I hit the bottom of the barrel due to being a bipolar freak. It's always funny to read about, but it is horrible to experience, even unbearable at times. A lot of WHY and I CAN'T and MAKE IT STOP screamed into the bath drain.

People who aren't mentally ill can't know, and it really can't be totally communicated. People who are mentally ill usually sit by my side and wait until I can handle support. They take care of the crap I can't take care of, and the important stuff like my kids. I sob because my kids have to be the children of a freaking crazy lady. I cry because I can't be a better wife because I am wrapped up in the pain of me. I lose compassion and forget to ask about other people, too.

I struggle making comments to you because I feel like everything I could say would be unitentionally hurtful. What could a lady with 3 kids know about your pain? Nothing. But I always feel pain for you and excitement about your adoption plans and IVF event. I agree, let's all meet and pity together. Thanks for the post.

Alisha said...

Getting caught up-- you've been a busy blogger. I really enjoyed reading the post about how to be a friend to the infertile. Very witty & educational. I am sorry for your pain. Like what Jennifer said, its hard for me to comment for fear or making something worse or saying the wrong thing. Just know that I love you, pray for you, & support you. You are stronger than I could ever be, that's for sure. Miss you.

Natalee said...

I think the 6 months before and the six months after Ethan was diagnosed were a big long pity party. I've never felt such sadness and such loneliness. It really was a dark place for me. I feel like I spent all day trying to understand a child with a disability that made it hard to communicate and I would spend all night trying to cope with the reality of our lives. It was exhausting. A lot of people just didn't know what to say. I kind of know what you mean about mourning the loss of your embryos because I had to mourn the loss of what could have been for my son and embrace the reality that he may never do those things and live that life but that his life would still be really great regardless. It took a long time to get over and sometimes it still breaks my heart. You know what though I think it's just fine to have a pity party. You keep on partying as long as you need to because what you are going through is really difficult regardless of whether or not someone is considerate enough to send you flowers.

Sarah said...

I'm in the throes of a big time pity party right now but no one's invited but me. I don't want anyone crashing my party and telling me that it's not that bad or that things could be worse. Things could always be worse people. That doesn't mean it's not bad right now. Shut up your face.

Melissa said...

I have missed your updates. Hope you are well and everything is going okay.