When you're infertile and want nothing more than to experience pregnancy and hold your baby in your arms, it seems as though everyone around you has the opportunity -- except for you.
I think any of us who have experienced infertility can relate to these experiences. You're at the mall and every woman you pass seems to have a round tummy, is pushing a stroller, or is toting three kids through the crowds. And you can't help but be jealous. You can't help but envy what all of these women have because it's what you want and what, for some reason, you can't have.
Everyone around you announces their pregnancies. And you have to react joyfully for them -- for each of them -- every time. You say your - Congratulations! The - I'm so happy for you! You ask the expected questions -- When are you due? How are you feeling? You compliment. --You look beautiful! You're truly glowing.
But inside you hurt. Month after month you're faced with disappointment. And month after month, they keep finding success despite your failure. And each time, you're expected to be happy. To be a good friend.
If you're like me, you want to be. You want to feel joy for everyone who achieves what you cannot. It is the most amazing thing one can experience in life, after all. You want to be genuinely happy for these women who you consider to be your friends. But it's harder than some might think. After enough time passes, it's truly difficult to feel joy for others who achieve your biggest dream so easily. While you're left further and further behind. It's difficult to put on the expected show of happiness and excitement. Because all you want is to feel that way for yourself. Finally. After so much waiting and heartache. All you want is what all of these women are experiencing, and there seems to be no valid reason you can't.
Sometimes I'm afraid these building feelings of jealousy and envy and bitterness are harmful to me, too. I fear that karma may get me (or is getting me) for my inability to always experience the kind of joy a good friend should. I fear that the negativity finds a home inside me and burrows deep, and that's not the person I want to be.
I have yet to skip out on a baby shower due to my emotions. I have yet to retreat from my friends because I'm not in the same place they are. I have yet to hibernate and surround myself with my sorrow. So I'm proud of these continued efforts. But I just want to be normal again. I want to be a kind, concerned, generous friend who feels true joy and excitement for the women who mean so much to her. I want to join the club with them. I want to feel included and back on the inside instead of the outside. I want to experience everything that they are -- two years ago. I want to be completely me again.
I hope my emptiness can be filled soon. I hope my dark space can be brightened. I hope my ability to truly be a good friend returns. Because I don't like this.
Saturday, December 14, 2013
Thursday, December 12, 2013
waiting. and waiting.
I haven't written here in more than a month. And I can't believe it.
I'm not even really sure why. Part of me is just trying to get through these weeks leading up to IVF. Part of me wants to avoid thinking about it and therefore avoid writing about it. Part of me wants to pretend everything is normal.
But it's not. My mind is constantly swirling with worry and hope and anticipation and anxious thoughts. I often wish that at my most recent appointment my doctor, instead of telling me my IVF was being pushed back more than a month, would have said -- We're doing this tomorrow! Get ready!
What could I do then? I'd have no choice but to be excited and unprepared and just go for it. There wouldn't have been these weeks of conflicting feelings and a cloudy head and all the ups and downs that come with waiting. The waiting that I know all too well and despise so very much. And today, I would know what the outcome was.
I want nothing more than for January 20th to be here -- the day of my planned embryo transfer. I want to have completed the process and know that I've done all that I could. I also don't want January 20th to arrive, because that will mean a new kind of waiting begins. And when that wait is over, I will have an answer. If it's the answer I want more than anything in this life, then I can only imagine my joy and excitement and relief and hope. If it's not, I don't want to even think about the darkness I might feel. I want to enter all of this as positively as possible, and I really do feel so hopeful and excited, but I am not blind to the other possible outcome. And it's hard to completely dismiss and keep from clouding my perspective.
As I sit at the library with every intention of studying for my graduate statistics final (I do miss the days of no finals...), I instead turned to my blog. Because my mind isn't full of formulas or probability or hypothesis testing. It's full of hopes for our future and the child we so desperately long for. It's full of questions and anticipation regarding my upcoming procedures. It's full of fantasies of a plump belly and swollen ankles and movement within.
It is my hope that once this semester is over and I'm able to completely dedicate my energy and focus to the holidays and my family and friends, that my mind will be occupied by the joy and energy of the season. And when all of it has passed and it's time to go home and return to a quieter life, we will begin IVF.
I can't wait.
I'm not even really sure why. Part of me is just trying to get through these weeks leading up to IVF. Part of me wants to avoid thinking about it and therefore avoid writing about it. Part of me wants to pretend everything is normal.
But it's not. My mind is constantly swirling with worry and hope and anticipation and anxious thoughts. I often wish that at my most recent appointment my doctor, instead of telling me my IVF was being pushed back more than a month, would have said -- We're doing this tomorrow! Get ready!
What could I do then? I'd have no choice but to be excited and unprepared and just go for it. There wouldn't have been these weeks of conflicting feelings and a cloudy head and all the ups and downs that come with waiting. The waiting that I know all too well and despise so very much. And today, I would know what the outcome was.
I want nothing more than for January 20th to be here -- the day of my planned embryo transfer. I want to have completed the process and know that I've done all that I could. I also don't want January 20th to arrive, because that will mean a new kind of waiting begins. And when that wait is over, I will have an answer. If it's the answer I want more than anything in this life, then I can only imagine my joy and excitement and relief and hope. If it's not, I don't want to even think about the darkness I might feel. I want to enter all of this as positively as possible, and I really do feel so hopeful and excited, but I am not blind to the other possible outcome. And it's hard to completely dismiss and keep from clouding my perspective.
As I sit at the library with every intention of studying for my graduate statistics final (I do miss the days of no finals...), I instead turned to my blog. Because my mind isn't full of formulas or probability or hypothesis testing. It's full of hopes for our future and the child we so desperately long for. It's full of questions and anticipation regarding my upcoming procedures. It's full of fantasies of a plump belly and swollen ankles and movement within.
It is my hope that once this semester is over and I'm able to completely dedicate my energy and focus to the holidays and my family and friends, that my mind will be occupied by the joy and energy of the season. And when all of it has passed and it's time to go home and return to a quieter life, we will begin IVF.
I can't wait.
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