Infertility Myth: Single women don’t have fertility problems they just need husbands.
ha ha ha ha!
This blog began as a super cheerful and optimistic and hopeful place. Then 13 failed IUI’s happened. Well that’ll make a girl kind of cranky. IVF was supposed to be the golden child to my, er, golden child but there was so much stress and drama involved that I was constantly waiting for shit to hit the fan because poop on the fan was ALL I knew.
When I got a positive home pregnancy test it was as if the door to Oz was being opened for me. My black and white, hit by a tornado life was blushing with Technicolor. I ran towards the dream with open arms and vowed to learn how to perform cartwheels. My first beta was ok. It wasn’t great. And I knew, I really did, that it wasn’t going to work out.
I wrote the following post while I was waiting for the results from my repeat beta. I know that as I now write about toddler etiquette and assembling toy kitchens that I seem planets away from infertility. But the battle scars of infertility leave jagged marks all over us that never go away.
This is National infertility Awareness Week – Participate in their myth busters blog challenge.
December 30, 2007
My weekend is a whirlwind of busy. I spent most of Saturday shopping for maternity clothes & registering for baby gifts. Today it is ALL about decorating the nursery and calling family with the news. We will also distribute a note to all of our neighbors requesting baby name ideas. Oh what fun it will be!
The truth: I spent the first waking hours of Saturday reading all about how low estrogen in early pregnancy is one of the top causes of miscarriages. Next was lurking on all of the “I just found out that I am pregnant!” message boards and going green with envy over everyone’s pretty, triple digit, beta numbers. So many posts from so many women wondering if their beta of 200 or more was “good enough”.
Then I peeled myself away from the computer and slept for most of the day. (well slept and watched Merlin on the SciFi network.)
I wanted this moment in my life to be filled with excitement and wonder. Two fucking years of waiting for my body to make it work and when it does it does it in such a half-assed way. I am completely disappointed and irritated in how inglorious this feels.
Where is my choir singing Ode to Joy? Where is my God Damn glow? Where is my congratulations without the tacked on decree to be “cautiously” optimistic? Fuck that.
I want all or nothing here. I want you ARE or you are NOT. I don’t want to be the gal that gets reassured that it can all work out. I want to be the girl that everyone says, “holy shit! That beta is so getting a high five!” “Check you out and your fancy beta bonanza!”
And I don’t mean to be ungrateful here. Yes I have seen the chart that says my little number is in some sort of range…it just isn’t what I wanted. I wanted a number that would calm me, reassure me, make me proud.
I wanted being pregnant to be the exact opposite of being infertile. With infertility there is bitter body hating, raging jealousy, sadness, fear, anxiety, depression, and clock watching. So far that is all still the same. I didn’t get to cross some invisible line or join some fancy club of smug belly rubbers.
My body hating is in full effect, my jealousy is out of control, my sadness, fear and anxiety feed the depression. I am still totally an infertile today.
And I can’t turn my brain off thinking about statistics. I am in a great buddy group on eff eff and just this week four of us had two lines on pee sticks. Four. Odds are that we won’t all be holding fat and healthy babies in September. And because I am in the right state of mind to say it – it looks like I am the one that is doomed.
Now I can’t get away with saying any of this shit out-loud in my house. Mother is going through one of those, “be positive!” “don’t wallow in negativity!” phases. It just kills me. I can’t be positive right now & I don’t think being positive is going to make a lick of difference. If anything it seems ridiculous to slap a grin on my face and hope for the best. I don’t want to fucking hope- I want to BE.
I just want to curl into the smallest shape possible at the end of my couch and melt away.