Thank you

For your overwhelming response to my last post "An impossible choice". Most of your comments were kind and supportive with wishes of peace. Some offered new angles to look at the problem, some shared  life stories of similar choices made, and some thought it necessary to defend Diver Dude's right to his dream of a childless future. Some angry, some sad, some seemingly based on that post alone with insufficient background knowledge, but all good. All wonderful. All valid.

I wrote my last post from a place of disappointment and a feeling of entrapment. Of course the choices entail more possibilities than described, and naturally I have no idea what the future holds. None of us do, right? This blog is also a place where I try to sort out my thoughts. The good and the bad. The positive and negative. The sane and the crazy.

Tamsen pointed out in her comment that Diver Dude is willing to give up our relationship to not have more children - he has already made his impossible choice.
And he didn't pick me.
It hurts more than I can explain.
But he made his choice when in a hurt and vulnerable state. I have a hard time accepting that this is what he really wants and not just a reaction to a different kind of pain that stems from guilt over not being more involved in his daughters lives. His choice was not to follow a dream of living child free, but to give up on the dream of having a second chance. A shared dream we had in fact worked towards for almost three years.

Another reason why I have a hard time accepting Diver Dudes choice is the agreement we made when moving to England. He was to pursue a new career and I was to "focus on having a baby". We knew that there would be medical involvement, we knew it was going to take a lot of time and money, and in order to be able to have treatment in Sweden I would not be able to take a job. Economically it made complete sense. We also agreed before starting any treatment that we would do three rounds of IVF, and if it hadn't worked by then, that would be it. We did one round.
One pregnancy.
One miscarriage.
One possible chemical.
One hell of a circus and more emotional pain than any of us were prepared for.

Regardless of what choices I'm forced to make in the near future, I've promised myself (and Lady Merlin) not to make them in a state of sadness, hurt or anger. For now, I'm making other life changes. I'm looking for work, researching art schools and getting the rest of my life in order and shifting focus. It's not been healthy for me to have a future child as my sole purpose. It's exhausting to work towards a goal that is so elusive. I need to define myself in independent terms again.

And while I'm taking one day at a time, I'm hoping that tomorrow will be a better day.

An impossible choice

I had a beautiful post filled with hope already written in my mind about the story of Pinocchio and how Diver Dude picked one out for me in a quaint wood shop in Rome. But events have taken a different turn since Wednesday night.

The past few weeks seemed to be moving in the right direction. We talked, laughed, made love and truly connected the way we used to before this circus started. I felt stronger and more confident than I have in a very long time. Our weekend in Italy was icing on the cake. One perfect night in a small bar in Rome,  Diver Dude took my hand to the sound of the italian version of Bob Dylan, looked me in the eyes, and said: "You know sweetie I think we'll get through this, and even though I'm not ready to commit to having a child yet, I really want you to know..." I stopped him with a kiss and asked him to please not say anything before he was ready. And in my heart hope started spreading its wings.

Wednesday night after a single session with Lady Merlin, Diver Dude came home in an agitated state of mind. I turned the TV off and asked him what happened. He told me how hard this all is for him and how much he loves me, but that if he's being true to himself he does not want any more children. That he can't. He may have thought for a moment he could, but he can't. The flutter of hopeful wings grew quiet and instead I felt dark sadness pour back into my heart.

If he has made this final choice and is willing to take the consequences for it, he leaves me with an impossible choice to make. 

I could stay with Diver Dude knowing that we will never have children. I will never be a mother. He won't be the father of my children, simply a father to his. I stay with a man I'm madly in love with knowing that it denies me the chance of ever having a family. I'll be with the man I love. Some people search their whole life for true love. I'll have that. But he's a lot older than I am and if nature takes it's course I will be a fairly young widow. I will be alone.

Or.

I could leave the man I love in an effort to have a child and pursue donor sperm IUI. If it's successful I'd be a single mother to a child I wish had a father like Diver Dude. Is it fair to let a child shoulder the burden of his mother leaving the man that should've been his/her dad just to get a chance to become his/her mother? It seems wrong on so many levels. 

If it's not successful I'll live my life childless and without Diver Dude. Regardless of the outcome, and possibly in a different way, I will still be alone.

I may find somebody else to love and maybe even have children with, but I truly believe that love like ours come around but once in a lifetime. 

It is an impossible choice to make. No matter what choice I make, I'm afraid I'll end up resenting myself once it's too late. No matter how I look at it I don't know what to do. 

I'm not a fool. I know that even if Diver Dude against all odds decides to give IVF another go, we might not be successful. I may stlll end up childless. But at least we'd give it a fair chance and that's a risk I'm willing to take. It's the risk I agreed to when I married a man that had had a vasectomy.

For now, I pray for a miracle. I pray for guidance. 

And I will get down on my knees.

The beach in Sweden where I grew up. 

Photo taken the day I found out our last blast didn't survive the thaw.