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I is for Infertility Sucks

Infertility sucks. 

I could end the blog post here and most of you would understand. Those two words encompass everything there is to say…

About the inability to get pregnant—or, like me, stay pregnant longer than three months—and give birth.

About the tears you shed every month along with your useless uterine lining.

About the cramping in your heart you feel when see that woman at church with five kids waddling along, full with another child. Couldn’t God spare just one for you?

About the twinge you feel in your uterus when you hold your neighbor’s newborn, and how for a brief moment, you imagine escaping across the northern border with this precious bundle to finally realize your dream.

About the way friends withdraw and stop including you in plans because they don’t know if you’re going to be sad or mad or if they will say something to offend you.

About the cousins who continually invite you to their baby showers and first birthday parties, and the obligation you feel to attend even while your heart breaks with every coo and waah.

About the blood tests and sonograms and that painful dye test they do to see if your tubes are open, the one where the technician says, “This will cause a little cramping.” Yeah, the same way my foot in your balls will cause YOU a little cramping.

About the hormone injections that turn you into a weeping, raging bitch on wheels for an extra week a month.

About the daily heparin injections that really don’t help you get over your fear of needles. And now you have more track marks up and down your thighs than a junkie on a bender.

About the way your sex life becomes a series of business meetings, scheduled based on your ovaries most convenient time to release eggs.

About the bargaining and praying you do constantly: “I’ll pray”, “I’ll pray more”, “I’ll be more religious”, “I’ll be a better person”, “I’ll give more to charity”, “I’ll call my mother more”, just “pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease make me a mother!”

About the tens, hundreds, thousands of extra dollars you spend on specialist appointments, services not covered, home pregnancy tests, and booze after the HPTs (all six of them) show a Big Fat Negative.

About the excitement you feel when you finally get the Big Fat Positive, only to have it dashed moments later when you realize you tested too soon, and really it’s just the test’s reaction to that HcG shot you received ten days ago.

About getting a genuine BFP, only to spend the next several weeks panicking whenever you use the bathroom, afraid you’ll see that smear of red on the toilet tissue that signals the end of the dream.

About hearing the heartbeat for the first time and then being told at your next appointment that they can’t find it.

About dodging questions from strangers and casual acquaintances regarding your parenthood status. As if it’s their business anyway!

About suffering through another story from your well-meaning mom/grandma/aunt/friend/co-worker about someone they know who tried this, that, or the other thing and now has ten kids. Or worse—that they decided to give up and then it happened for them; all they needed to do was relax.

About enduring endless assurances that this is all God’s plan. That may be true, but why can’t people understand that you don’t yet have the distance and perspective to wax philosophical? All you want is a damn baby, and considering the crack whores and teenagers that are able to pop them out like Pez dispensers, if this is all “God’s Plan”, he has a seriously warped sense of humor.

About how your mate wonders where the vivacious, confident, SANE, person they married went and can she please come back because this obsessive, depressive, broken shell of a woman is scaring the crap out of him. Not to mention, he is less than enthusiastic about doing his business into a cup yet again and no, he will not cash out his 401K to pay for IVF.

About the endless cycles of optimism, hope, dread, and despair you go through every month.

About the fear, then the pain, then the depression, and finally, grudging acceptance that this just may never happen, and how all that leaves you so hollow, so fragile that just the wrong look could make you fall apart.

About being part of this exclusive club that no one wants to be a member of, but for which you are at least a little grateful, because it means you aren’t alone in the dark.

About L. Catharine Tayler

Mom, Wife, Writer, Catholic, Thinker, Reader, Amateur Gourmand, 'Phins Fan, Superwoman--not always in that order. Fueled by passion and too much caffeine. Lost my cape--it's buried somewhere under that mountain of laundry. Once I find it, look out world!

Discussion

8 thoughts on “I is for Infertility Sucks

  1. I can totally relate to this, but perhaps was too afraid to articulate these fears and sorrows. Thank you for your brave words, thank you so much.

    Posted by mel | April 10, 2012, 09:42
  2. Thanks for sharing this heartbreaking post.

    Posted by Jenny | April 10, 2012, 23:32
  3. Thank you for your comments! It’s funny how easily I was able to tap into the anger and hurt I used to feel from when we were having our problems. I guess it kind of stays with you on some level.

    ~Lynn

    Posted by A Common Sea | April 11, 2012, 08:00
  4. this is so powerful and there are many of us who im sure take our fertility for granted. thank you for this eye opener. good luck to you.

    Posted by Pammy Pam (@Pamlovesbooks) | April 11, 2012, 16:29
  5. Thanks for writing this and I am sorry that we are in the same club.

    Posted by sugarmapleoflife | April 15, 2012, 01:17
    • Definitely not one anyone wants to be a part of. But I’m truly grateful for the other members I’ve met. I don’t know if I could’ve gotten through without their support and encouragement. There’s always hope, and I found it in abundance in a club like this. :)

      ~Lynn

      Posted by A Common Sea | April 16, 2012, 09:22
  6. Thank you so much for this. I was a walking ob/gyn text book on a few of the ways a pregnancy can go way wrong, way fast but managed to come out with 2 beautiful daughters. The best part of this post, for me, is that it reminded me when with someone going through difficulties like this, or any major life tester for that matter, the most important thing is NOT to offer advice but to simply listen.
    Thank you again.

    Posted by VB | April 19, 2012, 11:18

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