Hey, Jealousy

The thing about infertility is that you can't escape from it. It's always there. Sure, there are moments I forget about it, a few precious minutes when I am too happy or preoccupied to remember that my body doesn't work right. But they're just moments. Not days, not weeks. Moments. And then, if only for a second, the pop of a pill or the stab of a needle forces me to remember.

Most days, I am able to smile through it and soldier-on.

Then there are days like today. Days when the emotional tidal wave hits without warning, and I am overcome with fear, anger, resentment, and doubt.  And the jealousy. Oh, the jealousy. Sometimes I feel like it's eating my soul with its wickedness and I wonder who I've become. Last week, I was actually jealous of a pregnant dog. A DOG.

Over the past few weeks, no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to turn my good moments into a full day. There are just too many triggers. It makes sense, though, when you think about it:  There are people all around me. People created by people who could make people. People who could do something that I cannot.

I am annoyed, volume II

Dear Hospital Administrator,

Congratulations! You are not infertile.

Relax,  I didn't hack into your medical records. I didn't need to. In fact, I don't even know your name or your gender. All that was required for me to make this diagnosis is a quick drive around your medical center's parking lot and a short ride in your elevator.

Let me explain. Yesterday, I was running five minutes late for an infertility appointment at your hospital's medical center, and I was having trouble finding a parking spot. As you know, your parking lot is massive. So massive, in fact, that you employ a shuttle service to transport patients to and from their vehicles.

I circled the parking lot three times, but it was completely full. It was 98 degrees and the shuttle wasn't running. Not good. All of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted eight open parking spaces right next to the door!  Eight! I didn't see any handicapped symbols, so I scooted over toward Mecca.

I pulled in, put the car in park, and was about to get out when I noticed the sign: Reserved for Expectant Mothers Only.

Awesome. Not only am I unable to have a baby, I am also destined for a life of shitty parking spots.

Fifteen minutes later, out of breath and covered in sweat, I was finally in the elevator.  I scurried  in just as the doors were about to close and asked a very dry (great parking!) and very pregnant woman to press the the button for the fourth floor. "Oh! That's where I'm going, too!" she said. Of course she was.  Of course.

See, I know you're fertile, because only a fertile person would plan a perinatal/multiples ultrasound center next to a fertility clinic. It's like putting a chemotherapy center next to a hair salon. Way to go.

Love,

Dorothy

What NOT to say to someone experiencing infertility

I am an open person about most things. Probably too open. If I have a problem with something or someone, I talk about it.  I write about it. I complain about it. I may will probably even talk behind your back about it. (I'm trying to quit that last one. It's on my list of things to stop before I'm 30). That's how I roll.

So it's no surprise that I chose to be open about our experience with infertility and PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome).  To give you a little background, with my severe PCOS, we have a 1-4% chance of conceiving on our own without treatment. I know that our road has been short compared to so many infertile couples, but I don't know any of those couples. So to me, it sucks. A lot.  So we have been trying fertility drugs and IUI to help us, which increases our odds to 15%.  So far, no dice.

Even though I don't regret being open about this whole process, I totally understand why many (heck, most) infertile couples choose to keep it quiet - because when people hear news that makes them feel uncomfortable, their first reaction is to try to make the other person feel better. Often, they try to accomplish this by making  well-meaning, yet annoying (and sometimes hurtful) comments like these:

What NOT to say to someone who is experiencing infertility:

1) Just Relax!
I tried relaxing. In fact, I relax all the time because I don't have kids, remember?  That's why I want kids!  So I can never, ever relax again!  

2) Don't worry about fertility treatments. It will happen when you least expect it!
What are you? A wizard?  Infertility is an illness - something is wrong with my body.  Would you tell a cancer patient that their cancer will be cured when they "least expect it?" 


3) "Just enjoy the time to yourself right now.  After you have kids, you'll never have peace and quiet. "
I'm not an idiot. I know that kids take an insane amount of time and energy.  They're messy. They're loud. They're expensive.  They're exhausting. And that's ok! See, I don't just want a baby - I want the mess, the exhaustion, and everything that comes with it. And I won't stop wanting that. 

4)  Just be glad you don't have to deal with this horrible morning sickness / sore boobs / swollen ankles, etc. (And other complaints from pregnant people)
I would give anything to be sick if it meant I was pregnant.

5) You can always adopt!
Really?  Thanks!  I didn't know that! And next you'll probably tell me some great story about a couple you know who adopted a baby and then "poof!" They got pregnant.

6) It just isn't meant to be right now. 
Thanks, God. 


So what SHOULD you say?  If she brings it up, ask questions. Be supportive. Acknowledge that it sucks. Let her have time feel bad about yet another negative test. Go out for drinks. Ask her about testing dates, and tell her that morning that she's in your thoughts. If she doesn't want to talk about it, give her space. You can't go wrong by just being her friend.