LJ Idol Week #5: A Different Seed, A Different Bloom

[chasing_silver]

The stick does turn blue. They're not joking about that. It turned blue, for one precious day.

We watched the lines, faint as a whisper, slowly bleed onto the surface of the tester's window. We dared to hope. We dared to think it was our turn, this time.

When you're a same-sex couple, people assume you can get pregnant by, to coin a term, "turkey baster". Like it's easy to just shoot up someone else's sperm, that all you need to do is lie back and let it happen. It's not easy. For us, it was far from easy.

It took a year to get the blue stick. It took just a day to lose that, too.

It had to be my wife, because they told me my parts were broken long ago. I was 30 when I was told I'd never have a biological child, not without an ectopic pregnancy, or many miscarriages. Too many scars. Too many endometrial deposits. Too many ovarian cysts. And anyway, said the gynecologist, "it wouldn't be good for you, not with your health issues. You can't be on those drugs when you're pregnant. It'd be a miserable time even if it could happen."

I packed that dream away along with many others, but it somehow wiggled out of those tightly locked chests I placed it and all the others in, and became a growing hope, when I married my wife two years ago. We knew we were meant to be parents. I put aside all of my sadness and doubt and we clawed our way towards this child.

The thing is, we're not young, and they don't give you a turkey baster, anyway. What they do is invasive tests: blood tests, ultrasounds, pinching wands in places you never want a pinching wand. And they tell you things like "There are cysts. Your lining is too thick. These numbers aren't great. Low ovarian reserve. We want to do further testing."

And between those appointments, you flip through websites and profiles of hundreds of sperm donors, and you wonder and think about if this guy's eyes really are the same green-hazel as yours, or if he really is a doctor, or if being good at math also means that you can be a painter at the same time. If it's fair that this potential baby may never truly know their father beyond just a printout of medical information. You don't have any names. You just have dreams, and someone else's biological material.

And then they tell you that it's time, the stars lined up right, whatever you want to say. You go into a room and she climbs on the table and they use this long tube to inject the sperm right where they say, it will have the greatest effect. And you wait. And you hope.

And the stick turns blue.

We stared at that stick that entire October day. We laid in bed and we stared at it. We ignored the fact that my wife was beginning to bleed; that this tiny dream, this little seed, wasn't ever going to make it to flower. We just wanted one day where we could hope, too. Where we didn't get to watch everyone else with their children, where we weren't "just the nannies or aunties or babysitters or teachers", where our families could welcome the next generation with us.

But in a day, it was gone, and so, it seemed, was our purpose.

~**~

I do believe in foreordination, when it comes to some things. I think that in many cases, what you are meant to do ends up showing up in your life when you least expect it. It's just hard to accept that what you're meant to do is really the truth. And "when you least expect it" usually means that you need to be ready to accept it ... which honestly, I never have been, not until it's shoved under my nose.

This year, my wife was told that she needed to lose significant weight for us to begin in vitro fertilization (IVF). We were labelled "geriatric parents", and told that we had less than a 25% chance of this working. The procedure we had done in the fall was less invasive; this required general anaesthetic and much more preparation. We had no idea if she would even be able to harvest enough eggs to make any embryos at all. Coupled with the fact that our state is slowly and surely rolling back all reproductive and fertility rights and protections, we were worried.

Last month, after she had only lost 15 lbs and was progressively getting sicker from the weight loss medications, we decided that having her carry a child was not what we were meant to do.

It took us this long, because it's really hard to give up the only thing you've worked for in two years. It took us this long, because despite the illness, the lines deepening on our foreheads, the fact that we both celebrated birthdays that have placed us firmly in our early forties, we really believed this was what we were meant to do and have.

And being wrong in such a devastating way is, quite simply, awful.

Alongside these consistent hopes and heartbreaks, I changed jobs. I went from being a marketing professional who absolutely hated what I did to an educational assistant in a special education classroom. I moved from that to being a one on one assistant, an aide for an absolutely wonderful boy who is medically fragile and has also experienced what it's like to have everything you've hoped for ripped away because your body doesn't work right.

As my wife and I look at our options, I know now that what I have always pictured myself doing is adoption. I know that the love I have to give isn't just for one imagined child, it's for many already existing children ... and I see this played out day after day, in my work; as I look after other people's children as a part-time nanny, and in the joy I feel in my niece and nephew.

The child I was meant to have wasn't ever supposed to come from my body. The child I was supposed to have is meant to be grown within my heart.

And so, yes. The stick turned blue, for one precious day. Its fleeting colour took with it our hopes and dreams for a baby grown within my wife's body. We mourn it, but we accept it.

The seed that has been growing since then has been unknowingly nurtured for years within me. It is and always will be, my foreordination, my purpose, and my eternal hope.

This has been an entry for therealljidol. This week's prompt was "Oubaitori, which is a Japanese idiom that comes from the kanji for the four trees that bloom in spring: cherry blossoms, plum, peach, and apricot. Each flower blooms in its own time, and the meaning behind the idiom is that we all grow and bloom at our own pace."

This is a true story.

Thank you for reading and voting.

Comments

[tonithegreat]

What a beautiful hopeful story to start us out this week! I’m sorry for your painful experiences and wish you both the best on the adoption journey.

[adoptedwriter]

Hugs...Best of everything!

[xeena]

I'm so sorry <3 thank you for sharing this.

[elwendell]

Another thoughtful and, this time, heart wrenching piece. I hope your new dream comes true.

[christinafairy]

This was beautifully written. I hope you do get your child/ren that have grown within your heart. <3

[night_owl_9]

Thank you so much for sharing such a beautiful piece ♥

[muchtooarrogant]

I'm so sorry for you and your wife's loss!

This happened to me and my wife twice, and it's such a hard dream to relinquish.

But, after the preceding paragraphs, Reading this felt like a celebration, "As my wife and I look at our options, I know now that what I have always pictured myself doing is adoption. I know that the love I have to give isn't just for one imagined child, it's for many already existing children ..."

Thank you for sharing this very personal story.

Dan

[greghousesgf]

this was so moving.

[fausts_dream]

Sending love and light, a sad story well told, but maybe not ended yet.

My sometime girlfriend's adopted daughter and son have two mothers, who were together more than 20 years. They and smart and attractive and the girl is an amazing athlete, and the boy is a musician and artist. Elizabeth and Stephanie (yes, real names) raised them from infancy before they separated and now, they are staring down JHS and High School respectively.

[roina_arwen]

I can relate to this, being infertile myself. Much love to you both as you walk the path that was meant for you. Any child would be blessed to be loved and nurtured by you.

[xfirefishx]

This is beautifully written but full of pain and a bit of hope there at the end. I'm sorry that the journey has been so hard and that you've come to the difficult decision to stop IVF. I wish you all the best in your adoption journey. Becoming a parent is not easy but I hope you will get the resolution you want and deserve soon.

[pixiebelle]

This was so beautiful and heartbreaking. And relatable for me, as I have always wanted to be a mother and it feels like a fleeting dream at times. I don't post about it at all, but I know these feelings all too well. I'm sorry you're going through this. I am glad there is hope at the end though, and that your dreams will come true. Any child would be lucky to be loved by the two of you.

[halfshellvenus]

That must have been just devastating. I think you can mourn the loss of a hope, a dream, and you both must have done that a couple of times over.

But I'm glad you've found the path to parenthood that you feel was always meant to be the right way.

The child I was supposed to have is meant to be grown within my heart.
This was especially lovely.

[banana_galaxy]

I felt so much for you, reading this. It was heartbreaking, and also contained a sense of optimism at the end. It's truly something to identify your purpose, even if it doesn't look quite like you expected it.

[inkstainedfingertips]

I am sorry for the pain you have experienced on this journey. But I do like that there is hope for you to find your joy. A very moving piece.

[erulissedances]

I'm an adopted child - my mother was unable to bear children. She wanted a child, though. The US facilities told her she was over the age limit, so she started looking at Europe and found me in an orphanage in West Germany. I was six months old when she was able to bring me back to the US, and I think I was right around 4 years old when I held up my hand like others in a room and became a true US citizen. (I was a cute kid. The family story is that the Judge bounced me on his knees for a little bit after the ceremony.)

My parents were never anything other than open about my adoption. I always felt wanted and loved. They offered to help me locate my birth mother after I turned 16, and I turned them down. I didn't need to know - I had parents; I had the BEST parents. I've never regretted that choice. I had a family - I was one of the lucky ones.

May your hunt be as fruitful, with a child who may be headstrong and rebellious at times, but who will basically love you dearly because there aren't any other parents they could imagine wanting to have.

- Erulisse (one L)

[static_abyss]

This is such a beautiful story. You can tell that there is so much love in your family and within you. I wish you the best of luck in your journey to becoming a parent.

[bleodswean]

*hugs* Your pain is so deep here but to rise up out of that and into a place of hope is beautiful. I wish both of you the best as you begin another journey!

[mollywheezy]

I'm so sorry for all you and your wife have been through. My husband and I struggled with infertility, too, and never had children. We didn't feel called to adoption, and decided to be a really good aunt and uncle rather than having our own. Thank you for sharing your story.

[swirlsofpurple]

Thank you for sharing such a deeply personal and painful story *Hugs*. Best of wishes for your adoption journey.

[drippedonpaper]

I am so sorry :( Miscarriage hurts so much, especially after such a long journey. I hope you find a child to give so many decades of love to. Your writing reveals such a beautiful soul.

I hope you soon find the child(ren) of your hearts.

[murielle]

Coming to understand what is meant to be in our lives when it means letting go of something we've dreamed of most of our lives is difficult and painful but often glorious and exquisitely beautiful when it finally comes to fruition.

Blessings for you and your family. ❤❤❤

[alycewilson]

It is beautiful to find hope after so much heartbreak. Your words moved me.

[reidharriscooper]

They always say "It's not the journey, it's the destination"...
they don't know what they're talking about. This journey guided destination and I appreciate you sharing it.

[rayaso]

"It took just a day to lose that, too" - what a horribly heartbreaking line! I am so sorry for you and your partner. "The child I was meant to have wasn't ever supposed to come from my body. The child I was supposed to have is meant to be grown within my heart." This is a beautiful line, and so hopeful. I hope you find the child to match your heart.

[talonkarrde]

this was beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.

[unmowngrass]

I ran out of time reading when this was a live poll, although I voted for it anyway, having seen your comment re: the subject matter. I knew it'd be good. Thank you for sharing.