I’m Letting Go of Hope and Here’s Why
By: Gloria Panzera
Tags: Infertility, Women, Self, Motherhood, Sex

My plan this month is to enjoy the treatments because acupuncture is fantastic. I’ll be keeping up this gluten-free-dairy-free-alcohol-free bullshit for one more month. To keep exercising, not because exercise is good for fertility, but because exercise releases endorphins and this chick needs endorphins. But, I’m also mentally preparing to say good-bye to the possibility of baby number two. I’m trying to be positive, but I also think I need to be prepared for the very real possibility that I’m going to have one kid naturally. I’m going to be preparing to mourn the very real loss of that big family with four kids I once imagined for myself.

Here’s the thing: in my endless hopelessness, I hear those voices that say, “You know when you stop trying is when it happens.” I hear that and think, for just a short breath that maybe it will happen. Maybe I shouldn’t give up. This is the time the kids get excited about the Macbeth cheer. This is the job where I’ll need to know about neighborhoods, better check Redfin. The spiral happens quickly, my friends.

It really is hard to let go of that hope, and maybe not all of it has to be let go, but giving up is critical for me. I need to shut that fucking door. It’s been swinging open and shut for three years, and I’m tired of hearing it click open and having it damage the drywall. Every time my cycle has been a day late. Every hopeful pregnancy test. Every time my husband’s work schedule meant the timing was right that month has just chipped away what’s left of me.

One of the hardest parts of this whole experience has been grappling with the lack of control. My husband loves to remind me that I can’t force anything. Things will be what they are, and there isn’t much I can do about them. The fact of the matter is, if this month it doesn’t happen, I have to be ready to say goodbye to that image I created of children running around. I’ve got to let go of those big holiday dinners with my kids and their kids and their partners. The containers of baby clothes need to be removed from the attic. I have to let all of that go. It’s necessary though because the half-hopeful, half-depressed lady that roams the halls of this house has to move on for the sake of the other inhabitants and frankly for herself.

Being present as a mother and spouse is difficult. We are all pulled away from the moment by all the things: work, the news, a fucking pandemic, laundry, our parents, our siblings, our friends. I’ve not been at my best these past 3 years. I’ve been an absent mother worried about the next one that might never be. I’ve been an absent partner to my husband who deserves a wife who isn’t thinking that this is the time she got pregnant. That one felt like the one. He (and I) deserve intimacy that doesn’t have to be about the end result.

So, every day of this last month of treatment, I’ll be working on gratitude for the beautiful family I already have. Finding the positives in what not having another baby might look like for all of us. In preparing to let go of what might have been. In so many ways, I’ll have to think about ways I’ve not failed to give my son this one thing that I wanted to gift him so badly while simultaneously reminding myself of all the gifts I’ve already given him. But mostly this month will be about mourning what I never had to lose while still letting a small dose of hope gently tugging at me for the last time as I wait for one more little miracle.