When the going gets tough, this girl goes for Joni Mitchell.
Over the last week I've been thinking a lot about illusions. How important they are to us, our fantasies, our illusions about what is, what can be, what we contain within ourselves, what it means to retire an illusion, how vital we feel when our illusions are met with reality, and how crushing it feels to have an illusion disintegrate right before your eyes.
We've really been struggling with pulling the trigger on the donor. Hmm, I almost changed that, but really, it has felt like 'pulling the trigger' on ourselves. We have both been wrestling the end of illusion that there is genetic child in our future, and it's a tough one for each of us to let loose of. I wonder how different this process would be if were only incorporating one donor. I know that before we knew about the translocation, in my wrestling with the move to donor eggs, I felt both jealous of, and comforted by, the illusion that my relationship to our child would be strengthened by his or her genetic tie to my husband. And when we thought that donor sperm might be our path, there was the illusion that because we would both have my genetic tie, and our tie to each other to cushion the rough spots.
There have been moments when I feel the desire to keen at the loss of my own fertility. I am reminded of how women describe the moment when they realize they are in menopause, and it is the end of the illusion of childbearing, and how for so many the sadness catches them by surprise. I feel that now. At my saline sono, I was so bitter when the NP said "here is your follicle for this month." Instead of letting it pass I said "fat lot of good that will do me." Ugly bitter moment.
I know everyone thinks their situation is different, but indulge me for a moment. Ours is different. We are a heterosexual couple, choosing to make our family through donor gametes. We could adopt, we have chosen not to. Probably because of another illusion: if we choose the donors, we will have some sense of who the child might be. Of course, that is the biggest illusion of all. Even if we were to make love today and I got pregnant with our mutually genetic child, we could assign characteristics to that child based on our wish to see the links between us and them, but those are fantasies and illusions as well. We are all both the sum of our genetic makeup, and totally unique.
It feels as if we are struggling with post modern realities in our very bodies. And no matter what my mind can do with ideas, my body is less than modern, it is prehistoric (Husband may not see things this way, so I'm not speaking for him in this case.). There are moments when I cannot imagine how I can take this alien into my body. This little creature made from the genetic material of two strangers, who I/we have chosen because of our fantasy that they are enough like us to allow us enough of an illusion of sameness to facilitate the connection. And then, I hold my friends babies, and kiss their sweet little heads, and field their sticky fingers on my face and neck, and I say "Yes, yes, I can do this. I can love any baby. I can love. Period."
I am scared. I am scared of being pregnant. I am scared to being a mother. I am scared of so much. I am scared of getting my hopes up again. I'm scared that each little disconnection between me and our child will fuel my illusion that I wouldn't feel this way if this was our (even partially) genetic child.
I think this fear haunts me because I felt so different from my mother, and so insecure in our connection to each other. Even though we are good friends at this point, I still rarely allow myself to 'want my mother'. Clearly, the illusion that a genetic child guarantees a connection is bull. It is opening myself, to a genetic child or not, that creates that (healthy) illusion of connection between mother and child.
Many of my friends who are mothers by more conventional means tell me that my fears of not being able to connect to my baby are not unusual. Indulge me in a bit of philosophizing here:
One of DW Winnicott's most important ideas is of the transitional object. It is a concrete placeholder for the developmental transition between the "me" and "not me" that allows an illusion of connection to the mother when she is gone (the blanket, the binky, the stuffed animal etc). I wonder if, for all mothers and fathers, the genetic connection (mostly unconscious for the vast majority of those who conceive) serves as this transitional object to smooth the transition between being a non parent to being a parent; between the "me" and the "not me" of this totally separate human being. For example, my fears of being a mother and parent, and the way it will transform and disrupt my life, are normal. If we were to conceive a mutually genetic child, my illusion of sameness, or my fantasy that I will recognize myself or my husband in the child (the 'me' in Winnicott's theory), would serve as a transitional experience/object to soothe me as I make this developmental shift. In my case, the fact that it is a much more conscious illusion leaves me scrabbling and scratching to hold onto some illusion of sameness with the donor, be it in appearance, or outlook, and it is difficult to sustain. This is all to say that perhaps my fears are less about the real baby, and more about myself and my fear that if I don't have the transitional mental space of an illusion of sameness, that I will fail to connect to the child.
So how do I create enough of a transitional object to transport me from this place to that one? Well, nothing like good old awareness, eh?
What I want is to get to that place of being able to feel and hold 'both sides'. The side where I have my real losses, and grief and trauma, and the other side where I accept that my losses, grief and trauma are part of my package, and I don't fear that it will affect my mothering, and my greatest wish of all to be a mother who fiercely loves her children, and whose children feel deeply loved.
On Friday I was remembering a girl I knew in high school who loved the story of her adoption: her parents and brothers went to the home for unwed mothers, and of all the babies there, they picked her. She exuded a sense of being loved and wanted and special--sort of like what it is like to find the love of your life. It seems impossible to be in a relationship with anyone else. I know that there are more factors that went into her experience than just her family's attitude, but at the same time, that story always spoke so strongly to me of the power of being wanted and cherished. That was something sorely lacking from my own entrance into my family. I understand why (brother died, marriage already in disarray, mother depressed etc), but it has been my mission in life to welcome my child(ren) into the world wholeheartedly, even if only to assuage my own wounds.
So here we are, with our illusions in disrepair, our dreams a bit unscripted, and our hearts mired in confusion, searching for a guarantee of connection in the smallest of elements.
And yet, just in writing this, I feel clearer. Clearer about why I am struggling so hard to stay in my fantasies that don't serve my reality, and reality feeling a little less daunting
Thank you so much for sharing this post - it touched me on so many levels.
First, you are so brave - I admire your honesty and your inner searching - truly inspiring. You are going to be an amazing mother to your child(ren) - no matter where they come from.
I never pretend to know what someone else is feeling or thinking - and I cannot know here. I can share my experience with DS - and I know that is only half of your equation and I can only guess as to that process - my support and thoughts go out to you.
I get afraid at times that my husband, even though he says (and I believe) that he will love these two as much as his own genetic children, that he will not.
On the other side of the coin, I relate to what you said about having a non-genetically linked child inside of you - there were a few times when I felt weird about #1 - another man's sperm inside of me - and #2 - a child that is genetically half of someone I have never met and that I only have a questionnaire about...
All that being said, the times that I have felt odd or scared or insecure can be counted on both hands - for the most part, I am over the top excited and my husband appears to be as well. We fought hard for this and I truly believe that these two were meant to be our children - whether that is as a result of a belief system that actually exists (god, universe, destiny, etc.) or just because.
((HUGS))
Posted by: meinsideout | February 21, 2010 at 03:43 PM
The thing about infertility is that it makes you rewrite your dreams. First the rewrites are the "little" things--no romantic romp will get you your baby. It's feet in the stirrups with at least 2 other people in the room besides you and your partner. When you have to move to donor eggs/sperm, adoption, etc. the rewrites mean coming up with completely new dreams. Although these new dreams may make you as happy as you would be if your old dreams came true, they are replacing those old dreams. And replacing dreams is a hard, hard thing to do.
It might be interesting for you to know that for me, as a donor egg mom, my transitional object was the pregnancy itself. My connection with my son developed when I felt his movements while he was in utero. Here was this little being not genetically related to me, yet also a part of me. To this day, TK will sometimes make a movement and it makes me think back on those days and wonder if that was the sort of movement he made in utero. Perhaps not the same as feeling a genetic connection, but for me it was a powerful connection all the same.
Posted by: Summer | February 21, 2010 at 08:59 PM
I certainly don't know the depth to which this issue must be affecting you, but I can appreciate its impact. It is indeed a unique scenario by which to connect to your future children. The only thing I thought I might add (and it might not be relevant but somehow it came to mind reading your post) is about a conversation my husband and I had shortly after we became pregnant.
After so many years of trying, we were more focused on fertility than anything else that came after - we hadn't thought about parenthood particularly, just the chance to get there. Well, my husband himself is adopted and has never been in touch with his birth family in any way, and one day this observation hit me hard: our child was going to be the first blood relative he had ever met.
Unexpected to me, when I mentioned this he seemed a bit shaken, like he might have been more comfortable with bonding with our impending child when he was NOT conscious of the genetic link to himself, since that's how he'd bonded with everyone in his entire life... by "choice" and not by blood. With this child of ours on its way, I think it required completely rethinking how he'd relate to her. And it's not that he wasn't excited about the idea of meeting his first "blood relative" but he seemed to feel a different pressure for some reason. This has all resolved itself because ultimately, whether it is by genetics or by 'choice', he is getting "his" child either way, and I think he finally let go of his worries when he realized the distinction wasn't relevant to his love for her. The 'transitional object' came to be without him even trying. In fact, I don't think he could have stopped it if he wanted to. And she's not even born yet.
I'm not sure exactly how this relates to you, only that maybe it turns your concerns around to another perspective on things? Your dreams are indeed unscripted, but that's not to say the connection you have to your child won't be exceptionally powerful, just for reasons you haven't thought of yet. :)
Sorry for the rambling comment. Hope that made some sense. :)
Posted by: MMC | February 21, 2010 at 11:20 PM
What Summer said. I hesitated in every step of my own (far less arduous) journey because it wasn't the story I wanted to tell. I didn't want to have the Clomid or the Follistim or the IUI or the IVF be a part of my family history.
And on a daily basis, it isn't. I look at my son and I see him--and only very rarely do I remember the effort it took to get him.
I wish you clarity, and I wish you the very best of luck.
Posted by: After Words | February 22, 2010 at 10:57 AM
I was going to say something like what Summer and After Words said- that being pregnant has, at least for now, eased or perhaps erased the distinction between this baby inside me and any other baby who might have been available to become ours. I've known this baby since before her first breath. My face will be the first he sees. I think a shared history can offset the unshared genes. Oddly enough, it's this intimacy of knowing before birth that I most looked forward to about having children and why adoption was never more than a distant option.
I'm glad that putting this in writing and thinking it through has brought you clarity. Best of luck with everything.
By the way, I gave you anaward on my blog. I haven't commented as often as I should have, but I visit your blog often and have been following awhile.
Posted by: Beth | February 22, 2010 at 02:06 PM
You are in a hard place and you do a good job of articulating that. This is difficult gut wrenching stuff and it takes what it takes to get through but you have all the right stuff: courage, wit and love. xo
Posted by: Eva | February 23, 2010 at 08:42 AM
It's such a huge step to take, isn't it? I feel it with our choice to use donor eggs and can only imagine what it's like when it's both DE and DS. I'm glad you came to a clearer position after writing your post.
Posted by: Sweet Georgia | February 23, 2010 at 10:40 AM
I just recently subscribed to your post and wanted to say that I am hoping for the best for you and I know that whatever choice you make will be the right one for you and your family. I can tell by reading your blog that you put a lot of thought into the things you do. I wish I could be that way sometimes I just don't think about things or I tend to think of the negative only.
Posted by: Stephanie | February 23, 2010 at 12:48 PM
So many complex thoughts here.
I know from my own experience these things: I loved my mother because she was a mystery and because she didn't want me. Now that she's dead I understand so much more what it means to mother. Friends' mothers are more of my mother now than my mother ever was...emotionally, in connection.
What's important is that you want your children. My mother didn't want me, so she wasn't really my mother. Other mothers have wanted to mother me, and they have become my mother.
You want your children. You're worried that you won't--and that is an emotion you need to know--but I hope when they come, you want them, and it becomes less about a connection with them and how they are like the donor who is like you. More about how you want them, plain and simple.
Posted by: the good eggs | February 23, 2010 at 06:14 PM
This is so hard. I don't pretend to know what you are dealing with but after I lost my 1st - Emi, I really did not have a freaking clue about our reproductive future was going to look like. Therefore, I entertained every scenario out there, including adoption, embroyo adoption, donor egg, donor sperm, etc. All this was very hard on my husband but easier for me. You see, I worked at an adoption agency for a while and came across so many families that were uniquely made, but families no less. I would process donations that often came accompanied by letters of happy adoptive parents.
Would you consider maybe talking to others whose families are forming in a way that they maybe did not anticipate? Maybe joining an online support group on an in-person support group like Resolve. They discuss so many topics including this one. I hope this is not assvice, but rather some food for thought.
Posted by: jaded | February 26, 2010 at 06:44 AM
Thank you for this wonderful post - and I'm glad the writing of it helped you gain some clarity. I think we could talk for a long time about our journeys with de/ds - even if they are so very different.
I am a big fan of Winnicott so I was really excited to read your contemplation of the transitional object and how this might be replicated in your situation.
My most favorite part of Winnicott is his discussion of the holding environment. I have always embraced this in the social work that I have practiced with the most disaffected and disconnected people. Not that your baby will be dis anything. But that holding environment, that safe nurturing place that brings equilibrium to the stormiest seas, I think that this is a really important piece too.
So thanks again; I think you're going to be a wonderful mother.
Xoxo
Posted by: Tireegal | February 28, 2010 at 09:04 PM