love, life, and the pursuit of liberation
I’m not gonna lie. I was (still??) hesitant about labeling myself with the dreaded word…. infertile. Maybe it was a good thing because it allowed me to be naive optimistic. Maybe it was detrimental because I wasn’t fully invested in learning more about conditions and treatments. But whatever the reason, here I am, entering into my teens (or is still at 11.. I’ve lost count momentarily) of ttc cycles with a total of three breaks in between.
This time around, I’m working to educate myself and to participate in supportive communities with other women who’ve fought to stay out of this category. For the most part, we’re a silent crew. We know each other, but others have no idea. We give each other that silent nod at the RE office. We mentally shake our heads at the new, eager couple that come in thinking that it’s going to be one or two months before that BFP. We “hmmph” at the celebrity couples who claim they are delaying having children because of career because we secretly know suspect the truth. We form tight, silent bonds when we see the same couples in the RE office a year later, can practically give ourselves ultrasounds and even read those screens that are grey blobs of nothingness to the untrained eye. We know the different gauges of needles and share tips about how to deal with progesterone shots and suppositories. We have battle bruises on our bellies and bottoms. Yet, somehow, we have hope (though we often wish we didn’t). We endure the pregnancy announcements and nosy relatives. We think of nice things to say to the friends on facebook and wish we could yank up the mother with the 1, 2, 3, 6 kids she asks like are a disturbance to her existence.
Hear are some other voices in our personal war:
There are countless more. But those are a nice place to start.