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The ugly truth

December 7, 2009

Disclaimer: This entry contains information regarding our adventures with trouble trying to conceive. Feel free to skip over if you wish to avoid too much information regarding my reproductive parts. I won’t blame you. I’d rather skip this stuff, too.

I do it. I don’t see the point in it, and I’d rather not, but I compare myself with others. To be more accurate, I compare myself with other women who have no fertility issues.

To be perfectly honest, I’m not bothered by the fact that we’re facing fertility difficulties. Everyone faces their own difficulties, and everyone does what they can to overcome them. Do I wish I didn’t have to snack on meds and be shot up for my body to function as it should? Of course I do.

There are many aspects of my life I wish were less difficult, many hardships I wish I hadn’t experienced. The thing is, those are my experiences, and they’ve played a large role in who I am today. Plus, I like to think I’ve always come out on top, even if it took a while to climb up there.

But damn if I don’t feel left out. This business of infertility is rough. So many classify their feelings toward the so-called Fertile Myrtles as bitter. I classify mine more as longing.

It really does feel like being picked last for a team or group in grade school or maybe even like that group of students we see lined against the gym wall in “Sixteen Candles” at the dance – the kids no one has asked to dance.

Do I smell funny? Is there something on my face? In my teeth? Am I trailing behind me a toilet paper train stuck to my out-of-style shoe?

Oh, no. That’s right. My body just doesn’t work like it should.

That knowledge right there is just as good as finding out that, yes, I do in fact smell bad. Really, REALLY bad.

Tomorrow will be a month from when I started bleeding and found out the pregnancy I was getting excited about was ending.

What started out as an awful week ended even more horribly when my uncle passed away entirely unexpected.

The time I spent with my family in the week following his death retaught me a lesson I find so important that I had it tattooed on my ankle: Carpe diem. Sieze the day.

And so, rather than dwelling on what could have been with the pregnancy we lost, I switched my focus to what still could be.

It’s just too difficult and too exhausting to think about the pregnancy we lost, the ultrasound photo I could be looking at right now, the plans we could be making.

Life is too short to dwell on the past. I’ve known far too many people die far too young to feel an ounce of comfort with being anything but proactive.

I won’t lie and say it’s just a conscious decision I’ve made, to just pick up my sad bags and move forward. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I’ve discussed in the past how I’m an “out of sight, out of mind” type. I’ve had to cut myself completely off from seeing/hearing/thinking anything about what happens in the first trimester of pregnancy. I avoid all topics and the possibility of accidentally running into topics regarding that like the plague.

That makes for a sticky situation right now, as I’m in that most impatient phase of a TTCer’s cycle – the time when one’s waiting on two pink lines.

I’m hyper aware of my body and my various “symptoms” (some different and some quite similar to last cycle), but … I just don’t know. I don’t know if it’s anxiety because of where I could be right now if I were still pregnant or if it’s anxiety because of the distinct possibility that this cycle might be a bust. Hell, it could be an evil combination of the two.

In any case, I feel a lot like I’m riding a bicycle with no hands. Only, it isn’t that triumphant, double-fist-pumping feeling of victory when you finally get it right. It’s more of the wobbly, grab-and-let-go dance you do when you’re first learning. To be quite honest, it also feels like someone’s tied my hands behind my back because I can’t grab onto the bike to balance myself. Sometimes I fall flat on my face and cry, and other times I’m able to right myself for a few more feet without falling or grabbing on.

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. Anna Marie (love.wins) permalink
    December 7, 2009 2:02 pm

    DH and I aren’t close to TTC yet, so I can’t commiserate with you on that front…

    But I’m proud of you for being so candid about how you feel. Somewhere out there is a woman going through the same thing as you who realizes because of your blog that maybe she’s not alone, after all.

    ::e-hugs:: keep on keepin’ on.

  2. Jenny permalink
    December 8, 2009 1:10 pm

    Just wanted to comment a hug to this. I admire you being so open and candid about this and can relate on a level to this. Stay Strong.

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