I hate the term “bump” and wish we, as an English-speaking people would strike it from our lexicon. While I’m at it I also hate the term “hubby”, “preggo” and “fur baby” and many others. I have dogs. I love them. They are not my babies. I also have a husband who I also love, and if I ever call him hubby please feel free to punch me in the face. I am not now nor will I ever be “preggo”. Because it’s a freaking canned spaghetti sauce for the love of all that is holy.
I’m probably a little raw to be writing this today but I’m in a fuck it mood.
There are things about the online IF community that really bother me.
1. That some of you call yourselves infertile because you started trying 6 months ago and weren’t pregnant in the first month you wanted to be. The definition of infertility does not include you. I’m sorry.
2. That people have such a fit over pregnancy announcements. Yes it hurts. Quit bitching about it. Everyone else’s lives should be put on hold because you are having trouble conceiving? Get over yourselves.
On a kinder note, how can you possibly expect to have a grace bestowed upon you when you resent or have envy at someone else? I do not understand this thinking. Yes, it stings. Sometimes I have flashes of jealousy but actually letting it ruin my day? No. Its past time we put on our big girl panties take it on the chin and actually open our hearts to the new life they are beginning, weather or not we perceive them or judge them as deserving. If it’s really that awful for you, terminate your Facebook account and don’t look back. Become a hermit, let it define you, lay down and get comfortable in your misery. Actually don’t do any of those things, take your power back. Don’t let some unknowing person take your strength or your compassion for others.
3. That people avoid the mall because they don’t want to see other pregnant women. See bullet two.
I know that this post does not show the compassion or empathy that some of you deserve. I know it does not change how long some of you have been trying. But here’s the real truth. Most of you are barely in your 30′s or are in your early 30′s. You have at least another 10 years to keep trying. Trust me when I tell you as a 44-year-old woman, my time is fucking short. This isn’t what I wanted for myself, it isn’t ever where I thought Id wind up. But it’s where I’m at. Every month I face some new ugly surprise that makes continuing down this path scarier and scarier. Every month that’s failed costs me roughly 3k plus, and that doesn’t include meds. I have 2 blasts, that it’s taken me 7 months to make. The truth is I need 5-6 so that I can PGD testing them to make sure there are no chromosomal abnormalities. Statistically, the chances are of the 5 or 6 that are tested, maybe 1 will be normal or maybe none. If there is 1 that is normal and transferred, there is no guarantee that will become a live birth. Stare that in the face for a while. Because those are the cold hard facts of my situation.
My other choice is to carry on. To keep trying, to try to make light where I can, because no matter how this ends, it will not define my life or who I am as a person.
I didn’t want to be an old mom, but if I am given the opportunity to be one, I will be. People say… “well just adopt then”.. only no one wants to give a child to a family where there is someone who is over 50. My husband will be 50 in October. So that’s out. Fostering? Same thing.
This is my only option, aside from Donor Eggs which will mean having to find someone, and it costing another 30k. It’s still on the table but its a last resort for me.
I do not have the ebb and flow of even normal IVF cycles. I do not have the comfort of the same thing happening month after month.
I read so much misery and despair in your blogs. I see so many women sad and getting used to that misery. I want you to want better for yourselves. I want you to open yourselves to the grace of being happy for others who are receiving the gift you want so much.
In my 20′s I miscarried at 5 months. I know about loss. In hindsight though I was married at the time to an abusive alcoholic so it was probably the best thing for all of us. But it took me 2 years to get past it. And every year on the date of my miscarriage I count its age and wonder what that child would have been like and how different my life would have been.
I can’t change any of this. I can’t wish for things to be different, for me to be younger, for my life to have turned out differently, because it won’t. This is my reality. Its hard. In fact its the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Some of you have called me brave. I’m not. I’m terrified, I am scared out of my wits. To be completely honest after yesterday appointment, I did some writing on a project I hope will turn into a new job, talked to a friend for a few minutes and went to bed. At 7pm. When my husband got home around 9:30, I was still awake, but I didn’t talk to him about it, I just lay there with the covers over my head and tried not to think. Tried to numb the overwhelming feelings of fear. I eventually went to sleep, but “brave?” no.
When I got up this morning, I hoped Id feel better. I don’t. I’m still scared, still afraid. Still don’t know what is going to happen this cycle or next or the one after that. What I do know is I will face it, keep trying to move forward, fight my tendencies to isolate and keep trying. With or without children I am determined to try to find a way to make my life meaningful.
If I have alienated you I am sorry. it’s not my intention. There are times though with the points of view in this community are very one-sided, and I think for the sake of an open honest discussion you have to hear both sides.
If you take issue with anything I’ve said here please feel free to comment. I welcome opposing opinions and challenging questions.
And thank you for taking the time to read my ranty post.