The world has continued to spin despite my personal crises, can you believe it? People are going on and living their lives. Do they not KNOW that I am upset? Do they not CARE? Okay, perhaps it is self-parody, but you know, some days it is not far from the truth.
Another infertility cycle completed, another negative pregnancy test. And it is really getting harder and harder, the more this stuff continues on, not to wallow in self-pity. It’s a tiring, frustrating, isolating process. And on the boards I go to, people continue to get pregnant every time I turn around. In real life, people are having babies, people who cannot even train a dog or responsibly hold up their end of a marital relationship or cut the grass. People are allowed to endanger the lives of the children they have by driving without putting them in car seats. And yet, month after month, I desperately go through the 5 am drives to get the 7 am blood tests and the 9 am internal ultrasounds, and take injection after injection so that my ovaries swell to the size of oranges, and to endure a rash from the hormones that has caused me to scratch so badly that I have a bruse the size of my hand on my leg — all in the hopes that I, too, will be deemed blessed enough to have a child.
But I never am. Am I somehow not as deserving as these other people? Am I not working hard enough to have a child? Am I not a good enough person? Not strong enough? Not desperate enough? What is it? Just tell me, and I will do it. If someone could just tell me what it is I have to do to be as worthy as the likes of Britney Spears or that tit across the street and his wife or any of the many ladies on my boards, I would do it. I would do it.
I am on the outside looking in. I am not allowed to be part of that special club where women talk about mommy things. I do not have a baby to take pictures of and take video of and brag about. I do not know how wonderful it is to have a baby grab your finger in her little fist, or to smell that delicious baby smell, or see his first smile or hear his first laugh. I cannot feel that unbelieveable, unshakable love one has for a child.
My heart breaks, completely and utterly, every month.
Here’s how I would explain it. The joy of creation takes precedence over the pain of disappointment. You are expected to suck it up and move on and feel happy for and applaud all these women getting pregnant and having babies. And you would want that for yourself, if you were the one who was pregnant — you’d want the congratulations, the happiness, the attention, so you understand that you need to rise above and rejoice with all the others. And really, no one likes someone who wallows in their own pain.
But it is NOT you. It is someone else. It IS painful. It hurts like hell to see it always, always happen to others, never to you. You get so very tired of the doctors, the procedures, the blood tests, the drugs. You begin to feel despair, knowing that if may very well NEVER happen. And you begin to withdraw a little bit, to hide away where you do not have to see it so often. You get tired of hearing yourself complain, of crying. You begin to feel embarassed about how you feel, what you need to say, who you are. You begin to feel isolated.
And the world keeps moving without you.
So I need to go find that box where I keep my smile, so that I can plaster it to my face and pretend to be full of congratulations and joy. Move out into the world again. Forget how bad I feel for awhile. And brace myself to try again to join that very exclusive club.