T-Swift help me, I’ve got to figure out how to shake these blues!
The past seven to eight weeks or so have been a rollercoaster ride. I realized just yesterday that this should have been the week that we found out we were finally – after so many months, so many appointments, so many injections, so many tears – finally expecting our little miracle.
The Husband reminded me that I can’t think that way. That what happened was what was supposed to happen. We were never supposed to have our frozen embryo transfer two weeks ago. We were never supposed to find out this week that I was pregnant. We were always supposed to suffer this heartache. Knowing that is painful enough; accepting it is a whole ‘nother beast.
I’ve started suffering from some pretty serious infertility side effects lately. I don’t mean weird things going on with my body. I mean my mental state and my ability to feel happiness for others. A number of friends and family members recently have either announced pregnancies (usually a second or third), or have given birth. And I find I have a complete lack of ability to cope. Instead of congratulating them or giving them the requisite “squees” of excitement, I find myself hiding them from my Facebook newsfeed, dreading emails that come across my inbox, and other not-so-healthy reactions.
That stomach-sinking-to-your-toes feeling.
It happens even with complete strangers. I was sitting in the passport agency the other day and a woman was feeding her baby, who was only a few months old. And instead of the reaction I would have had in the past (what a sweet baby, how adorable, can’t wait for my turn to do that), I found myself almost in tears because I’m afraid I will never have that experience.
I’ve come across a few blogs in the last few weeks written by women struggling with infertility. Or, at least, they were struggling. And wouldn’t you know it, instead of being happy that these women overcame adversity, I find myself disappointed that I didn’t find someone in a similar situation, someone who, for no known reason, has not conceived despite medical intervention. I want to not feel alone, and I’m disappointed when that feeling continues.
I’m a horrible person. I’m still grieving. That’s my excuse.
I’m ready to move on, but everyone tells me it’s too soon, that I’m still processing. Maybe I am, but my way of processing is to find another way to get what I want, to succeed in my endeavors. My way of processing isn’t (at least it isn’t anymore) wallowing in self-pity. It’s picking myself up, dusting myself off, and finding a solution. Probably not the healthiest thing to do, since sitting and having a serious discussion about what happened or how we might move forward still almost brings me to tears.
I am infertile. For whatever reason, I am infertile. And I’ve got to find a way to deal with the sadness that creates within me. I’ve got to shake it off and get back to being me. Because the Husband, and any future child we decide to have (by whatever means), deserve Me.
Are we out of the woods yet? Because I know I’m sure as hell ready to be!