Four Options

Since my last cycle, the spring flowers have (long ago) come and gone, and April has evolved into the 90-degree days of mid-July. I can't stay frozen like this all summer. It's time to make decisions, or inaction is going to end up making them for me.

So … after letting go of these options for parenthood, at least for now, which ones are left? There are four that come to mind:

• Live without children and put my energy toward other things. I'm putting this one first to make the point that it doesn't have to be a last resort, a punishment I feel sentenced to by fate, but can be an actual choice. I can choose to step off the hamster wheel of trying and waiting. I can still be a mentor, a Big Sister, or a court-appointed advocate for children if I choose.
• Continue to TTC with my own eggs. Yeah, I know. Here's the thing (well, one big thing that's been a factor): I'm not just an only child, but the only grandchild on both sides of a close-knit family. The thought of it ending with me feels deeply wrong on a level that I've never felt before. I don't want to be delusional, though, to keep trying beyond all reason and at all costs. Let's just say that I'm very conflicted here.
• Look into embryo adoption. What a wonderful idea. There are concerns—the wait for a match, the cost, the need to research an entirely new set of issues. Also, I'd need to change clinics again. (Neither of my clinics will transfer donated embryos, because they believe there are too many unknowns about the embryos' origins.) That said, I may still sign up on a website that matches donors and recipients. If a match that feels mutually right comes along, well, wow. I would be unspeakably grateful! If it doesn't come along, I won't be up for more years of trying to make it happen.
• Become licensed as a foster parent. One thing that excites me about this option is that it can throw me into the parenting deep end right away. And while there's no guarantee of eventual adoption, the possibility is there. But I can't proceed until things are more settled. I don't see fostering as another path to parenthood so much as a separate thing, deserving of its own sincere commitment. And there are other hurdles. Let's just say that I'm very conflicted here, too. 

The Daughter of My Dreams

This week I've been reading Hyperbole and a Half: Unfortunate Situations, Flawed Coping Mechanisms, Mayhem, and Other Things that Happened.

Isn't that an awesome title? The part about "flawed coping mechanisms" can't help reminding me, though, of my last post about habits of avoidance.

I've been taking it for granted that my desire to be a parent was obvious. Otherwise, why be here at all, right? But I'm feeling the need to clarify: the avoidance that I battle sometimes is NOT a sign of losing interest in motherhood, or of feeling that the path there won't be worthwhile. It's just my own type of "flawed coping mechanism." After all, it gets hard to stay focused on things that hurt.

Years ago, I did do all the "right" TTC things: kept up a positive attitude, did fertility yoga, exercised... but not too much. I ate a low-sugar, low-dairy diet … but not dairy-free, because that one study suggested that some whole-fat dairy might be a good thing. I took all the CCRM-recommended supplements (still do). And I carefully visualized things I hoped were happening each cycle: healthy eggs growing, embryos implanting.

I always struggled, though, when it came to picturing a baby. Was that allowed? I wanted to daydream about it, of course, but hesitated to get attached to any one image of gender, age, or race. I knew from the start that odds were bad, so I needed to stay open to fostering and adoption. Who knew what my child would really look like? It wasn't as simple as picturing my eyes and my husband's chin combined.

So I stopped picturing anything. Eventually, I stopped bothering with the myriad of diet and lifestyle rules, too, and just did the best I could, which is pretty good on most days. But sometimes I need the motivation that comes from actually picturing my dreams.

The image came when I was talking with a counselor two years ago. She was saying something about welcoming the child who was meant to be when the time was right ... and although I don't believe in "meant to be," the part about welcoming that child opened something in my heart.

In an instant, there it was: an image of me standing on the sidelines of a soccer game with a little girl right in front of me. Maybe ten years old, mousy brown hair, lean body tense with concentration. My hands resting on her shoulders.

Maybe it wasn't a soccer game but field hockey or some other sport instead. It doesn't matter; I know nothing about sports. And that's kind of the point. I was there for my daughter.

Even today, two years later, I can't picture this scene without crying. (There's not much that makes me cry anymore.) It's not the image of the girl that touches me, because it's not really about this particular dream-child. It's the way my hands rest lightly on her shoulders.

Is she tense because something happened and she ran back to the sidelines for comfort and support? Is she tense because her whole focus is on getting back into the game? Either way, I'm there right behind her, hands ready both to welcome and, when needed, to let go.

I don't know why I haven't let myself picture even this one vision lately. (OK, yes, I do: fear of more disappointment.) But I need to let it back in, to allow myself—in the midst of worrying about the what, when, and where of treatments—this one lovely reminder of why.

Another Fostering Option: URM

This week I heard about something called the Unaccompanied Refugee Minor (URM) foster-care program, a network of specialized foster-care agencies. Kids in this program range from about 4 to 20, with most in their teens. They may have come to the US as survivors of war or trafficking (slavery). They may have come alone or with a caregiver who then abused or abandoned them, or who otherwise couldn't meet their needs.

Here's how it works:

"URM programs follow the same state or county laws and regulations that govern domestic foster care. The children in the URM program are eligible for all of the same services as an American born youth in a state foster care program… 

URM programs are funded by the Office of Refugee Resettlement, via the State Refugee Coordinator's office. This office oversees the administration of the URM programs. All URM programs are licensed and monitored regularly by their state child welfare authorities. In addition, LIRS and USCCB provide quality control and serve as an ongoing resource for the programs."

LIRS is the Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Service, and USCCB is the US Conference of Catholic Bishops. If I'm interested, the next step would be to contact them for more information.

And I am interested. I'm actually really interested.

I mean … not yet. We'll have to see where the TTC path leads first, because it's the one that's time-sensitive, and I dearly hope that it leads to a child of my own. But fostering in general, and this type in particular, doesn't feel like a substitute for having my own child. It doesn't feel like a consolation prize. It just feels like a very different path ... which I know I don't have energy to pursue very far right now, but which also (Thank God!) makes me feel some genuine excitement. I want to do BOTH of these things.

I'm still sorting out why I feel so drawn to the URM option and how much of that attraction is realistic. Some of it comes from reading Half the Sky a few years back. I stayed up literally all night reading that book, with its stories of women and girls forced into prostitution and exploited in the countless other ways that people can abuse each other. It was one of the most nauseating, heartbreaking, infuriating, energizing things I've ever read.

It was also wonderful to learn about the ways that people have been fighting back. I actually decided that night that if my dreams to have my own child couldn't be fulfilled, then my next step would be to spend a few months working for one of the groups in that book. Why not? I'd have no strings to tie me down; I'd be just the kind of person who could actually go and do it: working on contract, single, no kids of my own. Why not at least try to do something useful for someone's child? Meanwhile, it might keep me from drowning in self-pity at the time when I'd be most tempted.

And now … here is this option, right here in my own country.

I sense that my excitement is terribly naïve. I mean, I've never really pictured myself fostering a teen or pre-teen domestically, and now all of a sudden I'd consider fostering what's likely to be an even-more traumatized teen who speaks just a few words of my language? What on earth am I thinking???

What am I thinking? I'm thinking that I care. I'm thinking how many of the URM kids come from Central America, and how I have two years' worth of rusty Spanish that it wouldn't be too hard to resurrect. I'm thinking of these ads, and the fact that agencies provide some training. I'm thinking first of the reasons why it actually might work, which has not been the norm for me lately.

And I'm thinking, too, of the reasons why it might not work. My mind knows that there would be some special challenges, which I may decide I'm not truly able to meet once I find out more. And yet my heart still feels called—that's the only word that fits here—to take the next step and find out more anyway.