I don't have the strength today to put a positive spin on my latest breakdown, or maybe, as it happened about thirty second ago, I just don't have the perspective yet. In fact, what I do have is the need to just share my string of thoughts, in all it's crazy.
Five minutes ago I got home and washed my hands. Four minutes ago I slipped into cozy pants and wiggled my toes happily in plush slippers. One minute ago, I poured myself a small glass of juice, still having sugar consumption in the back of my mind as a PCOSer. And thirty seconds ago, I sat down at the computer, linked to the internet, ran my mouse over the Google icon, read International Women's Day and promptly began bawling.
Needless to say, I don't feel much of a desire to celebrate my womanhood today. In the past, being a woman always meant that I would be able to have that irreplaceable, undeniable bond with my child whom I carried for 9 months. But now, I wonder if that will ever really happen. It is true, we are no longer seeking parenthood through fertility treatments and it feels wonderful. I am no longer scrambling to squeeze appointments into my schedule, taking countless meds or paying exorbitant sums of money. I am no longer peeing on sticks in a scrunched elementary school bathroom on my lunch break, sticking myself with needles or being prodded with cold wands. I am no longer obsessing about . . . everything. But most of all, I am no longer just trying to make it through each and every day. I am not struggling to focus or walking through life like a zombie. I am not continually fighting back the tears that were always welling up in my eyes.
It is true, times are not quite as tough here these days and I walk around quite gaily sharing our new adoption plan. Still, I wonder if people realize that it doesn't all just disappear. I have been down in the depths for a long while, stricken by the pain of infertility and while I have pulled myself out, while many have helped to pull me out, that doesn't mean that it all just disappears. The constant crying has ceased, the day to day, even hour to hour struggles have let up and I feel quite certain that if one did a caricature of me today I would no longer have a rain cloud hanging above my head, following me everywhere I went. It is different now. It doesn't follow me. In an odd way, it is me. Over the last two years, I have felt that my infertility was external, that it followed me, that it poured down on me. I felt, I suppose, that I would be relieved of it somehow, someday. But now, I feel as if it is simply part of me and that I will carry it with me as long as I live. I am not sure how heavy this load will turn out to be. Perhaps it will feel heavier some days than others. Perhaps life changing events will change my acute awareness of its presence. Nonetheless, I am quite certain it will always be here with me.
There have been so many times through the course of this journey that I have thought that I was about to put everything behind me, times where I thought that I could push everything aside and bury the pain once and for all. I suppose, dear infertile friends, that isn't going to happen, is it? I suppose it is only you who truly understand this. The real world doesn't. When I was going through infertility treatments, friends asked me regularly how I was doing. They asked about treatments, they asked if I had gotten news and they asked just in general--how are you doing. But now, no one asks. I'm sure they thought as I did one time, that it would all melt away with the coming of a new endeavor.
But it is still very much so with me. So, how do I cope?
1 day ago