How do you know when it’s time to stop pursuing your dreams of motherhood? How do you know when enough is enough, when you have to reclaim your life and make new plans? It’s not a simple question to answer.
There were several moments that I wrote about in detail in I’m Taking My Eggs and Going Home. These were moments when I knew, deep down, that I had to stop treatment and had to find a way to move on without children.
The first was when I was sitting at a bus stop on my way home from my third doctor appointment of the week. I realized that getting pregnant had become a full-time job and that it was consuming every aspect of my life. Case in point, I don’t even remember why I was taking the bus (two buses, actually) to my appointments, but I do remember that this had become my habit. I can picture myself now, staring out the bus window, almost in a trance, so wrapped up my world of infertility, I was barely aware of my actions. I knew then I had lost touch with reality and myself.
Another point came not long after Mr. Fab realized that adoption wasn’t going to be a viable option for us. This really should have been the stopping point, but before long I found myself in the infertility section of the bookstore, browsing a book by a doctor who had performed fertility miracles through Chinese Medicine. I bought the book, even though we’d already traveled far down that road. When I mentioned it to Mr. Fab, he said all the right, supportive things, but I saw his face drop for a moment. I knew that he was wrung out, that he had reached the end of his journey, and that I should have been at the end of mine, too. But by the end of that week, I had an appointment with the miracle doctor and I was back on the bus, both literally and figuratively.
One of my last lightbulb moments came when Mr. Fab’s first grandchild was born. That passing of the motherhood torch to the next generation served to tell me that it was time for my journey to end. I had done all I could, motherhood wasn’t going to happen for me, and I had to let it go.
In between these events, and even after I was sure I would not be a mother, there were many moments of doubt, of second-guessing, of what-ifs. But for every step backwards, I took two steps forward toward recovery, and then three, and then four, until the backward slips became fewer and eventually stopped.
I imagine each of you has a similar story of realization and doubts. What were your “lightbulb” moments and how did you finally know it was time to stop?
When I felt like we were wasting money on infertility treatments and having no success or losses. Would rather spend that money on traveling. After over 9 years trying to have a family it was just tiring and stressful.
When real life had been on hold for too long and I just wouldn’t get pregnant again (after a tubular pregnancy and 2 miscarriages). When we couldn’t bear to get our hopes up again and again just to be disappointed. When the need for a plan B for our lives was more important for our mental health than having a baby. That’s when my husband had a vasectomy (last May) – and even though there are still rough days – it has been the right decision for us.
…the day my gyn told me the bad news in just one simple word: no. I cried and cried…and cried. I couldn’t understand why. Why not me???
I did a painting once called the “Stopping point” to remind myself to have one. I still have photos of the painting but it disappeared one day. People tried to tell me I must not have needed it any more but I really do – I miss it a lot and hope that one day I will find it again. My actual stopping point came after a failed embryo transfer done overseas. I believe I have implantation issues and was considering how to negotiate intralipids and egg donation in South Africa with reluctant fertility doctors in Western Australia. I was heavily in debt at this point, could not get any more credit and was calculating the two years to save the $10,000 I would need. The thought of scrimping and saving for two years for another 50/50 chance was too much, my heart sank and I lost the will to continue. I really wanted to live again. What surprised me was being treated as a social pariah on the egg donation forum to which I belonged when I said I was giving up.
Sometimes circumstances are the reason…Physically my body was havinig issues from the procedures that were lifetreatening so I had to stop all treatments. Of course we persued adoption and lost 7 adoptions that would get so close they were ready to hand the baby over to us. So our heartbreaks was too much. We finally called it quits. We had no more money nor time left and we even persued fostering but back in the 80s rules were more rigid. Could not place in childcare or after school care unless aproved by DHS. Our job hours had to be around school hours etc.
I am having trouble with my comments getting published so I dont know if this will make it but if so this is the reason we had to stop treatments
When we were told on our very first infertility clinic appointment that it was going to be 100k….to start. My husband has CF and I’m a carrier. Extra testing would have to be done. Don’t know many 28 and 26 year olds who have $100,000 just lying around. Now we use our money to travel instead of buying clothes, toys, and schools supplies for a tiny human.
Excellent post – thanks Lisa. I found this the hardest thing of all – stopping treatment. We passed the line in the sand “one more” so many times. I think when the drugs arrived for 7th cycle of IVF, and I felt dread rather than excitement, I knew I would hold myself to that one being the last. When it ended with emergency ectopic surgery though – I still hoped to try again. Follow up appointments at the clinic though full of – “chances of success have dropped, more investigations/surgeries required before trying again” made me feel physically done in, these killed off any further hope. A dark cloud filling my husband’s face when I said the clinic had called and offered us donor eggs also made me realise he was done in too. I knew I couldn’t put me or hubby through any more false hope. I lost a stone in weight during the 7th and final IVF cycle I was so anxious and afraid to visit the toilette in case of what I would see. It took over a year to stop looking when I went to the toilette. This also reminds me it was the right thing to do – I still have dreams though – it has taken a lot of time to heal the longing and let go of the dream. I like Annette’s painting – to serve as a reminder of our stopping point and why. I think we need to reminder ourselves or list the reasons and pin them on the fridge – to keep to it. When we finally walk away – we know its the right thing and we have been through so much to reach that point.
My dh & I had agreed we would stop after three rounds of IUIs… although I had some vague thoughts about trying to convince him to try at least one round of IVF. But after our third cycle failed, I experienced some weird physical symptoms/effects… which led me to an awful anxiety attack, and several more in the days that followed. We went to talk to an infertility counsellor, and we agreed to at least take a break, enjoy the vacation we had planned & then re-evaluate. But I knew we were probably done, and taking some time away from the situation on vacation clinched it. I had just turned 40 & dh was in his mid-40s… I felt like the time for parenthood had passed. I knew the odds of success were not good, no matter how many cycles we tried or how much money we threw at the problem. I just knew that I couldn’t keep doing this and putting my body through this anymore (not to mention our wallet!).
It’s a long and winding story, but generally speaking…… menopause.
Currently struggling with this right now. Just did my 5th frozen embryo transfer and I’m still in the two-week wait but I can feel it didn’t take. I struggle with a thin lining. I’ve had two chemical pregnancies in addition to the failed transfers. My doctor told me that, if this one didn’t work and I was his wife, he’d tell me to stop. I’ve always dreamed of being a mom and going through a pregnancy was always part of that. My brain knows it’s probably time to call it quits but I just can’t help but feel like a miracle could still happen.
Today after my visit to the “baby doctor” she told me there is nothing that could be done and I’ll never be a mother. It was the most heartbreaking words I’ve ever heard. For something I’ve wanted my whole life I just knew that was the stopping point, I don’t wanna hurt myself by keep expecting something that’s never gonna happen