September 13th, 2011. CD14.
*Warning – Pity Party Ahead*
I’m really tired of getting happy, joyous, absolutely wonderful news from people I love and then feeling terribly sad about it.
And I’m tired of feeling guilty about feeling sad.
And I’m tired of eating my feelings.
…Okay, that last part’s not entirely true. I do love ice cream, and even pregnancy announcements from very dear friends that make me happy and sad and guilty do not diminish my love for frozen sugary treats.
Anyway, on my drive home yesterday, I received “the call” from someone very close to me, who shall remain both nameless and description-less so as to protect her happy news from going public before she’s ready… Someone who I know is reading this post now, and has probably been anxious about my reaction since the day she found out she was expecting. Someone who is such an important part of my life, and who has had her share of ups and downs on this road to motherhood, that it makes me feel like absolute dogshit to even feel anything but pure joy at her news.
I’m selfish. I try not to be. I try to give it to God and all of that. It’s just hard to hear other people’s good news and not feel bad for myself and my dried up, lonely uterus. It’s also hard to feel like such a burden to the people close to me. I hate the thought that they have to think about how they will tell me about their pregnancies and take into account how I will feel when they have just received the best news of their lives.
I should be the last thing they are worried about… But infertility puts me–and my fertile loved ones–in a delicate position.
And so, I cried a little in the bathroom at work today.
Not because this news hurt me to hear, or because I’m an emotional mess who does this a lot, but because I realized, almost 24 hours later, the overwhelming enormity of my situation.
Of my five closest friends, four have conceived in the past three years. The only other one who hasn’t, just got clearance from her oncologist to proceed in the baby-making direction after a nine-month battle with lymphoma has left her in remission. I pray that the radiation and chemo didn’t damage her reproductive system, and that she won’t have to go through treatments to have the child she so desperately wants.
But when that happens, I will probably cry again.
And If I haven’t said it before, I’ll say it clearly now: I am not a crier.
It must be that it’s harder to hear from the people closest to you. I see pregnancy announcements on Facebook all the time, and while they annoy me and eat away at my confidence a little, they don’t make me feel so desolate.
My workplace is also filled with people celebrating pregnancies and babies and their children’s milestones. I get emails at least twice a week announcing coworkers’ new additions, complete with smiling hospital photos of mom and baby. As I type this (on a break at work, of course), the guy sitting behind me is on the phone with his wife apparently figuring out that no, she is not in labor, but the doctor wants to schedule an induction for Monday if baby hasn’t yet arrived. A whole group of male coworkers has now gathered and is asking questions that sound so humorous to me…
“Has your wife had an exam this week?”
“Is she effaced at all?”
“I bet the doctor will strip her membranes before they try anything else.”
Ew. And also, LOL. Men shouldn’t talk about membranes unless they have an “MD” after their name. They should just hand out cigars and be done with it.
New life is everywhere… Everywhere except my midsection, I guess.
I really shouldn’t complain. My friend’s pregnancy will be high-risk, and I know that the road ahead is going to be a tough one for her. I will do everything I can to be there for her, regardless of what is or is not going on inside of me at the moment. The same way she has been there for me through all of this, and the same way she took such great care to be sure I didn’t hear her news from anyone but her.
I’m so happy for her, truly. Seriously. Ecstatic. And supportive, and understanding, and excited!
…And yet, I’m sad for myself. And craving carbs. I might eat a loaf of bread for dinner. And cry a little. Because being bloated and puffy-eyed is exactly what our robot-sex-life needs right now.
And when I’m done with my pity party, I will pick myself up off the floor and start thinking up ideas for my friend’s baby shower, because she’s one of my favorite people, and she and her little person deserve the best darn shindig this barren broad can possibly throw.
As sad as I am for myself, I am happier for you.
I love you, Admin.