It’s tough to be going through fertility treatments under any circumstances. It’s extremely tough going through fertility treatments while you have a full-time job. Infertility itself is a full-time job. There are things you have to do in the morning, in the afternoon, and at night. There are things you have to do on the weekends. Sometimes you even have to go to the doctor’s office on a weekend. You don’t call the shots. (Pun?) Your doctors and your ovaries call the shots. (Pun?) Everything during treatments has to be done when it has to be done. Not the day after. Not on Saturday instead of Tuesday. Most employers don’t want to hear it. And I’ll have to admit: To someone who hasn’t been through it, like your boss, infertility sounds like a scam.
I’m usually pretty good at letting stuff go. It happens. I say: “that sucks. Oh well…” and then I keep it moving. But when I was going through infertility, it was a real challenge. A lot of stuff got stuck in my brain and festered, festered, and rolled around my head like it was a pinball machine.
I was so desperate, so exhausted, so stressed out, I hung onto every word people said. The problem with this is that when you’re going through infertility, the majority of words are coming from only two places: People who know too much and people who know nothing.
So this will be my final Valentine’s Day /Month post this year. (Who said: “Thank Gd?”) And you know why I’ve done so many. Because life has a way of wedging its way into our romance if we let it and infertility, with its blame, guilt, social stigmas, physical, mental, emotional, and financial tolls, is its own special crowbar all by itself.
There are a few reasons why I’ve labeled February as “Valentine’s Month.” (Not to take a thing away from Black History Month or Heart Health Month.) It’s just that this month has a lot of meaning for me. My husband is exactly nine days older than I am. So this, right now, is the only period throughout the year when I can say I married an older man… for at least another few days anyway.
Infertility and its sadistic treatments have a way of gnawing at your relationship like a sewer rat. (Okay, not a pretty visual… But I miss my NYC so much.) So at this blog, we’re doing: “Valentine’s Month” to repair all the damage. It’s like Botox for your heart.
The key to a decent Valentine’s Month, I think, is having a decent Valentine. If you have a loser Valentine who says all the right things, buys all the right gifts, and takes you to all the right places, do the math: Mr/Ms. Loser + Right words + Right gifts + Right restaurant = Mr./Ms. Loser.
However: Mr./Ms. Good Person + Valentine’s Date that went awry = Mr./Ms. Good Person + A few hours of your life that went awry… and oh have I had my share of both.
I’ll be honest… Before I met my husband, I hated Cupid’s guts. Valentine’s Day to me was just another one of those dopey holidays that made people with nobody feel crappy and people with somebody feel obligated to spend too much money for no apparent reason.
Sometimes infertility doesn’t make us feel too romantic towards that partner person of ours. Sometimes, it makes us say unromantic things like: “What’s the point of you touching my woo-hoo when I’m not ovulating?” Or: “Get off of me you sweaty son of a…. There’s a ‘Real Housewives of Beverly Hills’ marathon on and somehow your 22 inch ass is blocking the 32 inch screen.” Continue reading
Continuing with our series: “If You KNEW You Would be pregnant tomorrow, what would you say…” (Check out the first 2 blog posts: “…What would you say… to your doctor?” and “… to your friends” (specifically friends with kids who have irritated you, upset you, depressed you, and angered you no end throughout your infertility struggles. http://laughingisconceivable.com)) So now, how about your family?
Last week I wrote about: If you KNEW you were going to be pregnant tomorrow, what might you say to your doctor. This is Part 2: If you KNEW you were going to be pregnant tomorrow, and everything was going to be fine and you’d never have infertility issues again… What would you say to all of your friends with children?
I mean if you absolutely KNEW with 100% certainty that you were going to be pregnant tomorrow and you were going to have a beautiful, glorious, carefree nine months, and a pain-free joyful delivery, you were going to give one little push and out would float a laughing baby on a bed of bubbles and all of your infertility woes would be over forever, what would you do?
(It’s my hybrid version of: “What would you do if you knew you only had a week to live?” and: “What would you do for a Klondike bar?”)
I know a lot of women would probably thank GD first and then their doctors. Continue reading
We went to a lovely New Year’s Eve celebration downtown where they had a wall for everyone to fill in the blank: “This Year I Will…” My first thought was that a few people should have written: “This year I will… not selfishly hog the whole wall with my freakishly big handwriting.”
I looked over the entries. They were all so noble. “This year I will… be kinder.” “… be a better daughter.” “…volunteer more.” “…be more patient.” I wondered. Did this wall bring out the real decency inside all of us? Or the politically correct us for public consumption? It was 3 in the afternoon. Would people write very different things after dark?: “This year I will… try not to kill my husband every time he watches the neighbor mow the lawn in her tank top.” “This year I will… give my two weeks notice at work both verbally and with hand gestures.” “This year I will… lose weight even if it means lopping off a limb.”
Do we not put goals with deep personal meaning on a wall like that because we’re not ready to face our goals up there, big as life? Does that mean, there’s no turning back? Or do we just not want to share our innermost goals with anyone– even anonymously?
So what about this: “This year I will… get pregnant”? Is that an actual, valid goal?