moving forward.

It's time.

I have spent every moment of sanity since my failed IVF meditating, praying even, about what our next step should be.  I truly just internally let myself feel the experience, listen to my heart, and embrace the outcome.  Before, I thought, How in the hell does anyone make a decision like this?  How do you figure out what to do next?

You stay quiet, and you listen.  I'm not sure what I listened to.  I don't know if it was my heart, or God, or some bigger sense than me.  I don't know.  I don't feel a need to identify it.  But as time went on, it has become completely clear to me that I know what's next and what is right for J and I.  We are ready.

My heart began to fill with warm feelings about adoption.  This is something my husband and I have always been open to.  My entire life I've envisioned a family made up of biological and adopted children, all my children to love and to raise and to hold forever.  I couldn't shake this need to read about adoption, to consume all of the information.  I felt excited as the days went on.

It hasn't even been very long since my IVF failed.  Approximately one month.  I should still be mourning all of the loss I've experienced over the past two years.  And I am in some ways.  But I am mostly looking forward for some reason.

Our post-IVF consultation was scheduled with my doctor for March 4th.  I received a call last week that they could now get me in two days later, and I was ecstatic.  I was so ready for some answers and to put all of this behind me.  I knew I couldn't expect any kind of definitive information.  I knew my doctor wouldn't say that I should definitely do IVF again because next time it definitely would work.  I knew he wouldn't say there was no chance in hell it could ever work, and I should just move on.  I was expecting something along the lines, "Odds just weren't in your favor this time.  If we try again, we can hope for better results."

But I really wanted answers.  Something that would allow me to let go, to forgive myself.

And so at the appointment, my doctor explained that he believes my endometriosis was so severe for so long that it essentially destroyed the quality of my egg reserve.  He couldn't have known this without trying the IVF, so it was very informative.  He said if we were interested in trying IVF again, his recommendation would be to put me on Lupron injections for 1-2 years.  These would return me to that menopause state from this past summer (which was fairly miserable) and would really force my immune system to reset and get rid of any remaining endometriosis.  He would also suggest I eliminate gluten from my diet and begin CoQ10 supplements.  After that two-year period, he would change my IVF protocol to one that he would be more likely to use with older women who have egg quality issues.  I asked if he felt confident that this approach would change things for us, but he couldn't say.  There are no guarantees.  I only asked for confirmation of just that.  We can't know anything for sure.

I can't explain it, but I left that appointment feeling so happy and satisfied.  I felt I had done what I could.  I did what I owed myself and my husband and my future family.  We did what we had to do to learn what we know now.  And what we know now is that no matter what, J and I will probably never have biological children.  It makes me sad, but it's okay.

We will have children.  They will be our children, and we will love them so much.  So much.  I can't even begin to imagine how much because I can hardly comprehend it.  I could burst.

I left that appointment knowing what was next.  We would adopt our babies, and we would be happy parents full of love.  I left feeling like I had permission to want these things, permission to move forward, to make things happen.

I left feeling encouraged even though I was delivered bad news.  I left feeling relieved that I could for once know a certain path.

Sometimes I wonder if on some level I've always known I wouldn't be pregnant.  I wouldn't give birth.  From the moments our first attempts at conceiving didn't work, I felt a sinking feeling.  Everyone told me to calm down.  They told me I was ridiculous.  Even as we made progress through fertility treatments and approached IVF time, I didn't feel incredibly positive.  I tried to; I forced myself to.  When it didn't work, I wasn't at all surprised.  I was devastated.  That's for sure, but I wasn't surprised.

Sometimes I wonder if on some level I've always known I would be an adoptive mother.  Adoption stories have always held my attention and my heart.  Nothing gets me moved and emotional like a woman telling the story of bringing her adopted baby home and into her family.  My favorite baby dolls as a child were always of different ethnicities.  (Which I thank my parents for.  So progressive and awesome!)  Even as I was preparing for IVF, I was blogging about seeking out conversations with adoptive mothers and learning as much as I could from them.  I even wondered aloud why that was my focus when I should be concentrating on IVF.

Sometimes I wonder if on some level I've always known this was my path.  I ignored it, or maybe I just did what I needed to do to get here.  But now I know what it is, and it feels so good.  I'm going to be a mother.  My husband is going to be a father.  And we can't wait to meet our children.  Can't.  Wait.

Last night I started crying for the first time in days, maybe even a week.  It hit me that this road probably won't be simple or easy, either.  I'm tired.  We're both tired.  And it would be so wonderful if something could go smoothly for us in our journey toward parenthood.  But if it doesn't, we will be okay.  Because in the end, we will be parents, we will have children, and we will be a family.

I'm going to keep listening to my heart.