I'm Fine

It felt so important to remain positive through the endless tests, medicines, needles, and doctors. I thought long and hard about the children I would have. I wanted at least one boy and one girl. But what if I had multiples because I was, after all, doing IVF!?!? This Amazonian body would be used as it should be...carrying a litter! I decided to pick out six names just to be safe.

And so those names would be recited each time I received test results, had blood drawn, or had some horrible chemical injected into my body. I would imagine their red curls or flaxen wisps of fine hair and bluish-green eyes watching me climb up on that table one more time. And they became the reason why, in spite of my logical and emotionally-guarded mind, I kept showing up day after day and week after week.

Until I didn't need to go anymore. "...many levels are not ideal...reaction to Clomid was poor". And I laid my head to the side of the table silently weeping as one by one those cherub-faced darlings that I longed to hold faded away. I stopped hearing anything that sweet doctor was saying but I could see he was still talking with a genuinely concerned look in his eyes.

Somehow I got myself dressed. And with each piece of clothing I put on, I felt a hole being drilled into my heart that would surely never be filled again. I signed out and tried to ignore the overwhelming sadness in the eyes of the nurse checking me out, asking "Is someone here to take you home?" I heard the robotic, steely voice that I would come to recognize as my own whenever talk of my up-until-now-questionable fertility was raised and I felt the false half smile and sad eyes filling with tears that were tempted to spill directing toward her and knew that this would be my reaction from now on: 'Oh poor soul, I will keep the truth from you to spare you participating in this grief. My fake smile should assure you that I'm fine'. With that disingenuous look on my face I lied to this poor woman who only wanted to comfort me, "No, but I'll be fine."

I somehow made it out to the parking garage. I sat in my car and proceeded to throw a violent temper tantrum the likes that most people would never see; pounding my fists on the dashboard, screaming at the tops of my lungs, stringing a slew of curses together that didn't even make sense. People saw me and I wanted to dare them to make me stop. Go ahead, call the police about the insane woman falling to pieces in the parking garage. I composed myself when I realized that instead of the shock, panic and disgust that I expected, almost all of them were shaking their heads slowly, in understanding. No one was indignant and shaming.  Almost immediately I felt the fake smile assume its rightful position and heard the robotic voice say to myself, "I'm fine."

Permission Granted

I haven't spent my whole life dreaming about kids. But one day I found that it was all I could think about. Before I knew it, my whole world revolved around fertility - in my case, a lack thereof.

Depression crept in.

I forgot things that I enjoy, I put them on hold and eventually forgot why I ever enjoyed them to begin with. I replaced those things with hope for a baby. If I don’t have a baby I can’t feel happy. I needed a baby like I needed air. But there is no baby and there will never be a baby.

Instead, there are times of grief. A lot of them.. It’s okay if I don’t want to get out of bed every once in a while - I've given myself permission to not be okay.