“From what I see and read, there are also relatively few recounts from people who have been here [dealing with infertility] and emerged out the other side. I find it hard to grasp why they would almost pretend it never happened.
They must remember the sadness, they must remember the frustration and they must remember the prayers they offered, or deals they were willing to strike with anyone, just to end their longing.”
I am thrilled to be pregnant, I am also aware of people who are still reading my blog while trying to conceive. I find myself trying not to blog about the mundanities of pregnancy; especially early pregnancy with its fear of miscarriage, because I don’t want to feel like I am rubbing it in.
For this same reason, I am less likely to comment on infertility blogs. Someone said that ‘her diagnosis of secondary infertility between her 2 children didn’t last long enough to mean anything’ and that is how I feel. I don’t feel like I have any right to have an opinion on TTC anymore.
We did 4 months of low stress trying and then 12 months of concerted trying; complete with cycle counting, sex on cue and propped hips afterwards. Also added in for extra flavour, cycle depression, many ‘just relax and stop trying’ comments and the always welcome ‘well maybe you are just trying too hard, stop stressing about it’.
I have been bitter and wept at pregnancy and birth announcements. I have lamented my bitterness when a pregnancy announcement that hurt me badly ended in miscarriage, twice. I have been happy for friends, but sad, so awfully sad for me and then horribly sad when their pregnancies ended in sadness too. [No link for my other friend, she doesn’t blog]
I feel like I have walked over hot coals to get here, but compared to others, I had an easy run. Because of that, I don’t feel qualified to offer advice on infertility. It feels like I wasn’t there for long enough to be considered part of the group.
I don’t talk about trying to conceive much anymore. It feels a little surreal, but more than that, I would hate for someone to come and visit my blog only to feel blindsided by my pregnancy. The last thing you need at the end of a failed cycle is to head over to someone who has been understanding and sympathetic, only to find them whinging about morning sickness, exhaustion and toddler tantrums.
We do indeed remember the sadness and the frustrations. We remember our longing; the prayers and deals offered all too well. That’s why once you walk through the fire and end up on the other side, you are a bit hesitant to talk about it.
I remember intensely the feeling of hollow emptiness at the beginning of every period. I remember how angry I was with other people simply for being pregnant when I wasn’t. I remember the heart breaking sadness of a failed cycle; of knowing that my daughter was going to be just that little bit older; knowing that the age difference was going to be that little bit bigger.
Once you have walked over the hot coals that is TTC, you are much more aware of how tenuous this all is. Of how lucky you are to be in this situation and how close you came to not being here right now.
It makes you infinitely more grateful for everything, but also so much more aware of everything that could go wrong. Because you wanted this so badly, it tears the carpet out from under your feet when you just need to whinge about it all. Someone is always ready to remind you about how badly you wanted this, and what right do you have to whine when *someone else* has never seen 2 pink lines, or heard the doctor say congratulations.
I can’t claim infertility because in the end, I didn’t need treatment to fall pregnant with this little one.
I can’t claim a surprise pregnancy either, because it took us so long to get here.
I remember exactly what it felt like when I wasn’t here. I know that I will be a much more supportive friend to anyone needing fertility treatments, doctors visits or simply a shoulder. I know that this has made me a stronger person and it has made me that much more grateful for a strong heartbeat and morning sickness.
And I am able to stand here and sing ‘Ner ner neernerner’ at the ‘just relaxers’ because I know we conceived on a train wreck of a cycle, when I was more stressed than I had ever been. I am living proof that relaxing doesn’t get you pregnant, it takes a sperm meeting an egg, in whatever way you can get that to happen.