I am a 50-something European woman doing what I once thought wasn't possible: finding happiness after infertility. While it's been a long, difficult and emotional journey (10 unsuccessful IVF treatments), each day I take another step down the path toward a fulfilling new life. This is my story of reinvention.
I will be happy to hear from you: klara.soncek (@ ) gmail.com
Monday, June 6, 2016
On Hope (written by Elaine)
hope is considered as a positive concept. In my country (Switzerland) we say:
"Where there is hope, there is a way". I do think it is often true,
but not always.
even think that hope can become destructive. Especially when this hope has not
been fulfilled for a very long time. It somehow turns bitter. At least that is
what it did in my case when we could not have children after years and years of
end of infertility treatments, I realized that continuing treatments would have
kept the hope alive, but it would never have been a guarantee for holding a
baby in my arms. Before that, I kind of thought I paid that price (i.e. the
operation, the treatments) for the baby itself. But all we got was the hope.
And honestly, that hope got smaller with every cycle and every disappointment,
while the price seemed to rise higher and higher. I even came to the point
where I caught myself thinking "Why should it work this time? It didn't
work last time either."
So when we
said goodbye to hope, it was a relief in some ways. Giving up this hope also
meant that we had to grieve. And that was no fun at all.
I got through the worst of the grief. I started to feel better. Then, something
unexpected happened. I wonder whether others have experienced the same? While I
had given up hope, a very close friend of mine would not. She continued
mentioning that she still believed I would be a mother one day. She would look
up alternative treatments, natural medication and things like that. I told her
that it was okay if she wanted to keep that hope for me, but that she should
please understand that I had to let it go. It was a question of survival. She
said she understood. But she kept mentioning it all the same. Again and again.
Until the day I told her that this was doing no good to me.
was my aunt. I have not seen her in years, but we do write each other for
Christmas and birthdays. Last December, I wrote to her that the year 2015 had
been a tough year for us because we had to let go of the dream of having a
family. I am sure my aunt meant well. She answered "I would not give up
just yet". As if that hope had only been there for a short time. As if it
had not been honoured the way it should.
responded to that. I do not expect her to understand. Some people do not
realize that by the time you are able to tell them that you will never have
children, a lot has happened. Years of hoping, of treatments, tears and continuous
disappointment. It is not like we got our diagnosis and accepted it right away.
our society, people think that hope is always the right answer. It is not.
Sometimes hope is just plain wrong.
think that the healthy kind of hope exists. The hope I have now is completely
different: I hope for a fulfilled life, even without children. It's the kind of
hope that makes life better, not worse.