I have a secret. It's dirty. Shameful. Embarrassing. Life altering. The most painful thing I've ever been through in my life and trust me my dears I've seen some major shit go down.
It's one of those things you don't talk about. It isn't dinner conversation. No one "knows how you feel." Not even those who have gone through it. And, it never, ever leaves you alone. It gnaws at you. It's teeth gnash at you, changing you into an awful representation of what you were. What you'll never, ever be again. No matter how hard you try.
It's a big pink elephant that you carry around on your shoulders. An albatross that weighs a ton. It's so heavy it weighs you down and you can't even walk. It feels like if you breathe too hard, or dare have hope or joy you'll break.
Well loves, I've broken. IT has broken me.
What is IT?
IT is iinfertility. I. Am. Infertile.
IT is unfair.
IT makes you bitter, no matter how hard you try not to be.
IT makes you hate things. Yourself. The "lucky ones." Time. Medicine. Hope. Faith.
Faith, that's another laughable word to those like me. I used to have faith. I used to have a lot of things before IT came along. Of all the things IT has taken away from me I miss faith most of all.
I had faith. Faith in myself, God, doctors. Faith that I had lived a good life that I would be blessed with the "desires of my heart." That was 30 months ago. 30 periods ago. 4 IUI's ago. Thousands of dollars ago. Four doctors ago. Hundreds of vials of blood ago. Countless tears ago.
I had faith in Clomid. Faith in ultrasounds that felt like they were checking my brain stem by means of my vagina. Faith in shots and timing and trying over and over. Faith that the pain and embarassment, the time, the effort would pay off. Faith in myself that I had the strength to do this again next month. And the next. And the next. And. The. Next.
I don't have faith anymore. I can't. I just don't have it in me. I am too tired to have faith. I know that makes me a bad person. Good people always have faith of a better day, of their wishes coming true. I'm ok with being a bad person. I'm infertile, I can handle being a bad person. I mean, really, can it get any worse?
There are lots of different reasons why people can't have kids. We have "unexplained infertility." E's fine. I have a badass uterus and kickass ovaries. So of all the IT you can have, we have the most screwed up kind. The kind that makes doctors scratch their head and search for words that won't cause you to cry in their office yet again. The kind that you just get medicine thrown at you and told to have sex as much as possible. Whoopie.
I can't even blame this on anything. If I had something to blame I'd feel so much better. Wait, I do. I can blame God. That doesn't get me anywhere but to rot in Hell though. He doesn't care if I blame Him. He made me, in His image none the less. He made me perfectly and wonderfully...infertile. Thanks big guy.
My dad died when I was 9. I thought that was the worst pain I could ever feel. It wasn't. Don't get me wrong, it was awful and has affected my life in every way since. But I healed. I moved on. His memory is always there. I had no control over his life or death, I was merely a victim of it.
I can't control IT. I can't even grieve IT. Death is an end, it's final, it's closure. Every month I say "this is it, I can't do this anymore. I'm done." It's not that easy. You can't just walk away from IT because every month you wonder, "is this MY month?"
IT is crack. IT draws you in, tempts you, teases you. You know it's bad for you. You know in two weeks you'll be at your desk with cramps trying not to cry at work and you'll vow: "this is it, this is the month I sober up and quit IT." Two weeks later you are crack sick and you take another hit. Then you're swearing sobriety again. IT is a vicious cycle in so many ways.
IT has won. IT has defeated me. ME! Of all people. I can do anything I set my mind to. If I find something I can't do, well I know who to call to get the job done. But not this. IT is bigger than I am. IT is stronger, more hard headed and meaner than even me. I have called in all my favors, used all my tools, all my tricks and IT has still won. I was no contender to IT. IT always had the upper hand. IT had my hope and faith, I had nothing left to fight IT.
IT KO'd me. I'm too tired to get up off the mat. I can hear the referee counting but I can't even lift my head, I am too exhausted. The bell has rung and my gloves are off. For the final time. The Champ is retired.
I'm too tired to hate pregnant women. Too tired to get up early for blood work. Too tired to wait "patiently" for the doctor to call for this months disappointing hormone levels. I don't even have the energy to take my Folic Acid.
It has come to this.
Forever emptiness. Cavernous, heavy grief that I have failed 30 times and just cannot do a 31st.
I'm ok with it. Well, not really. But I will be.
I reall am strong, despite what IT says about me.
It's one of those things you don't talk about. It isn't dinner conversation. No one "knows how you feel." Not even those who have gone through it. And, it never, ever leaves you alone. It gnaws at you. It's teeth gnash at you, changing you into an awful representation of what you were. What you'll never, ever be again. No matter how hard you try.
It's a big pink elephant that you carry around on your shoulders. An albatross that weighs a ton. It's so heavy it weighs you down and you can't even walk. It feels like if you breathe too hard, or dare have hope or joy you'll break.
Well loves, I've broken. IT has broken me.
What is IT?
IT is iinfertility. I. Am. Infertile.
IT is unfair.
IT makes you bitter, no matter how hard you try not to be.
IT makes you hate things. Yourself. The "lucky ones." Time. Medicine. Hope. Faith.
Faith, that's another laughable word to those like me. I used to have faith. I used to have a lot of things before IT came along. Of all the things IT has taken away from me I miss faith most of all.
I had faith. Faith in myself, God, doctors. Faith that I had lived a good life that I would be blessed with the "desires of my heart." That was 30 months ago. 30 periods ago. 4 IUI's ago. Thousands of dollars ago. Four doctors ago. Hundreds of vials of blood ago. Countless tears ago.
I had faith in Clomid. Faith in ultrasounds that felt like they were checking my brain stem by means of my vagina. Faith in shots and timing and trying over and over. Faith that the pain and embarassment, the time, the effort would pay off. Faith in myself that I had the strength to do this again next month. And the next. And the next. And. The. Next.
I don't have faith anymore. I can't. I just don't have it in me. I am too tired to have faith. I know that makes me a bad person. Good people always have faith of a better day, of their wishes coming true. I'm ok with being a bad person. I'm infertile, I can handle being a bad person. I mean, really, can it get any worse?
There are lots of different reasons why people can't have kids. We have "unexplained infertility." E's fine. I have a badass uterus and kickass ovaries. So of all the IT you can have, we have the most screwed up kind. The kind that makes doctors scratch their head and search for words that won't cause you to cry in their office yet again. The kind that you just get medicine thrown at you and told to have sex as much as possible. Whoopie.
I can't even blame this on anything. If I had something to blame I'd feel so much better. Wait, I do. I can blame God. That doesn't get me anywhere but to rot in Hell though. He doesn't care if I blame Him. He made me, in His image none the less. He made me perfectly and wonderfully...infertile. Thanks big guy.
My dad died when I was 9. I thought that was the worst pain I could ever feel. It wasn't. Don't get me wrong, it was awful and has affected my life in every way since. But I healed. I moved on. His memory is always there. I had no control over his life or death, I was merely a victim of it.
I can't control IT. I can't even grieve IT. Death is an end, it's final, it's closure. Every month I say "this is it, I can't do this anymore. I'm done." It's not that easy. You can't just walk away from IT because every month you wonder, "is this MY month?"
IT is crack. IT draws you in, tempts you, teases you. You know it's bad for you. You know in two weeks you'll be at your desk with cramps trying not to cry at work and you'll vow: "this is it, this is the month I sober up and quit IT." Two weeks later you are crack sick and you take another hit. Then you're swearing sobriety again. IT is a vicious cycle in so many ways.
IT has won. IT has defeated me. ME! Of all people. I can do anything I set my mind to. If I find something I can't do, well I know who to call to get the job done. But not this. IT is bigger than I am. IT is stronger, more hard headed and meaner than even me. I have called in all my favors, used all my tools, all my tricks and IT has still won. I was no contender to IT. IT always had the upper hand. IT had my hope and faith, I had nothing left to fight IT.
IT KO'd me. I'm too tired to get up off the mat. I can hear the referee counting but I can't even lift my head, I am too exhausted. The bell has rung and my gloves are off. For the final time. The Champ is retired.
I'm too tired to hate pregnant women. Too tired to get up early for blood work. Too tired to wait "patiently" for the doctor to call for this months disappointing hormone levels. I don't even have the energy to take my Folic Acid.
It has come to this.
Forever emptiness. Cavernous, heavy grief that I have failed 30 times and just cannot do a 31st.
I'm ok with it. Well, not really. But I will be.
I reall am strong, despite what IT says about me.
I hope all of this is worth it in the end.
ReplyDeleteoh my goodness sweetie. that kills me. i'm wishing you the best and hope your dreams come true soon.
ReplyDeletethank you soooooo much for the comment love, and those shoes are at target RIGHT NOW!! :) heehee - I hope to see you wearing them soon. They will bring an instant smile. :)
much love
jessica kane of www.fatshionchic.com