The End of Possibilities

We miscarried twice before our first was conceived and born. Both were brutally painful to endure, as I chose not to have a D&C. Both times, the fetal tissue took over a week to expel and was incredibly gruesome. 
We had our second with no issues, no miscarriages. Lucky us, he was conceived with no anxiety or worry. 
Our third miscarriage happened about two months ago. I was at school. I decided to stay and work for the week because I could not get a reliable sub. This time, the process was excruciating. I smiled through teaching for three days while I bled until I felt faint. It was one of the stupidest things I've ever done, but I didn't feel I had the right to be upset or inconvenienced by this loss. After all, I was beyond the appropriate age for conceiving. What were we thinking?
When we told people about our pregnancy, we told very few. Our families still do not know, and for good reason. Reactions to it varied from laughter (which was awful) to concern (equally as awful.). No one was happy for us. (Or, I should say, very, very few were happy for us.) Usually the first reaction was, "What are you going to do?" We decided to keep quiet after our doctor showed us the heartbeat on the sonogram, because she looked solemn when she advised us to "not tell anyone just yet." Ouch. 
The reactions also ranged when I told people about the miscarriage. I only told very close friends, people I felt wouldn't judge. They were all very kind, very understanding, reliably sad. 
I also told a few friends who had recently expressed how upset they were with me for not (in their opinion) properly maintaining our friendships. Life had gotten in the way, and we had drifted for whatever reasons. None of it was personal or purposeful, but to them, it was my fault and they wanted me to atone. I told them about the issues my husband and I had had recently, and included sharing the miscarriage in a weak attempt to ward off their catharsis. They didn't flinch at the news, and now we aren't speaking. Their disappointment overshadowed my own, in their opinion. Miscarriage wasn't an excuse. 
Fertility is a painful process for some, and although we were fortunate to have our children naturally, it came at a price. Three pregnancies, three possibilities, gone. Sometimes I still imagine them as children in my life, people I never had the chance to know. In a strange way, I love them as mine, even though they never came to be. 
Miscarriage is a brutal process. I'm inspired by my friend, who just recently wrote of hers in a lovely post that made me so thoughtful about the topic. How can we comfort our friends who suffer through it when we have created an ignorance about it? After all, people fear what they do not understand, so let's try to understand it.

Unanswerable Questions

I worry about the fact that I'm older. I'm having what's technically known as a "geriatric pregnancy." Insulting? You betcha! But any woman over the age of 35 is doomed to have this scribbled over and over again in their doctor's notes. Underlined and highlighted, even.

So with this coming up in nearly every conversation I have about the baby, I was asked the other day by a relative, "Well, why didn't you start trying earlier?"

The tone wasn't merely inquisitive, it was accusatory. WHY on EARTH would you choose to wait? YOU, madam, are a MORON.

Instead of exploding into a violent rage, I actually stopped this time. I thought about it. Why did I wait? Why did I take the chance I did that I would be too old to have a baby? What made me think it would be ok to be nearing 40 and giving birth to my first born?

The thing of it is, there is no answer. I don't know why. I can only guess about my feelings year after year. In reality, I never really thought about it. Time just...passed.

I have excuses, sure. I was busy with my career, my life, school, marriage, relationship issues, doubts about money, women have babies in their fifties, I was ignorant about age and fertility. All of them are valid excuses, really.

But here's what really happened. Honest.

I never wanted to give birth to a child. I always wanted to adopt, ever since I was very young and saw a picture of a North Korean orphanage with children, stomachs bloated because they were starving. I wanted to take one home when I was ten. I still want to, every single time I think about it.

I never had that urge that most women start getting in their twenties and thirties. That clock just never started ticking for me. Maybe mine was silent, digital, batteries dead.

In my twenties, I wasn't even sure I was going to be a mother. The thought never even crossed my mind.

In my thirties, I knew I was going to adopt children, two, perhaps three. I never thought I wouldn't. It was a certainty.

And then, my forties crept up on me. My husband and I talked about it from time to time, with nothing done about it. We just talked and thought and talked and contemplated until finally, I was 37 and looking at an international adoptions website. There it was in bold lettering...MAXIMUM AGE OF PARENTS ALLOWED. We were nearly at the limit. I got nervous.

At the same time, my gynecologist appointment came up. She took a minute of our appointment to say, "Y'know, if you're thinking about having children, now is the time to do it."

At a silent auction one night, I saw a listing for an initial counseling session with a top adoption lawyer in our city. It was priced at $500, but no one had bid, so it had been marked down to $75. After the husband agreed it was a good deal, I bought it. We made an appointment a few weeks later. This is what we found out.

Adoption is incredibly expensive. It's not guaranteed. It's always a long process, and it's an emotionally painful experience full of uncertainty and ridiculous amounts of paperwork before it's the joyous, incredibly fulfilling journey you'd always dreamed of. All of it seemed doable. I was prepared for the difficulty of the adoption process.

But the money was what stopped me dead in my tracks. $30,000 to adopt in the U.S., even internationally would cost us close to that amount, plus travel expenses and time off to make multiple visits to the country. Either that or hire someone to do it for you, which cost just as much if not more. In addition, international adoptions are notoriously difficult due to the corruption of the governments that are placing strict rules and restrictions on adoption in their countries. In other words, you may pay out the nose with a terrible result...no baby and nothing you can do about it.

I made a very quick decision that week. I told my husband, "I know you've always wanted a biological child. If you really want one, now is the time to do it. It's literally now or never."

We started trying that week. And off on our journey we went. The husband was ecstatic, grateful, and beyond the clouds excited. I felt no doubt I had made the right decision.

But it was the most painful choice I've ever made in my life. Having this baby was, in a way, letting go of my adoption plans. I was making a choice my whole heart and mind had told me my whole life was the wrong road. I had to choose. Either way, adoption or pregnancy, my time was simply running out.

So I think my belated answer to the question "why" would be that I didn't wait. I chose to live my life. I chose to be who I am today through my experiences. I was happy with that choice until people told me I should have done things differently.

I believe I will be a mature parent, yes, but a grateful one. One that keeps in mind that fate brought a child to me. Fate brought me to the auction. I bought that adoption lawyer time because it was "on sale." If it hadn't been, I wouldn't have touched it. And if that lawyer hadn't been so thorough in explaining all the costs we simply couldn't afford, I probably would still be waiting to adopt right now, naively thinking it would happen eventually, not considering that time would catch up with me sooner than later.

My journey is mine. I take it with an open mind and heart. There is no map to follow. That is the adventure. Frustrating and beautifully engineered.