I keep thinking of posts to start and things I
want need to say, and never following through on them. Partly because I don’t feel like I have the time to get it all out and get it right. Partly because sleep deprivation really messes with your head. But mostly because I’m a bit afraid now that I put this all out there to people I know in real life. I’ve been censoring myself, and I don’t want to do that anymore. So I’m not going to. I know there are a lot of people who care about me who read this now, and I hope that you can understand that I just need to get somethings out to help me process my own thoughts. This is how I think things through, and I need that now.
I’ve been thinking a lot about birth control and the (short and long term) future of our family lately, and that’s mostly where this is stemming from. Oh the irony of the infertile girl worrying about getting pregnant…
Just the thought of thinking about trying again makes me want to curl up in my bed and cry. Who knows, maybe we won’t need a team full of medical professionals to get knocked up next time (although, just a note for all you fertile people out there: just because you can get pregnant doesn’t magically make you fertile. Yes, some couples can have a second child on their own, but not as often as you think. I know you mean well, but you don’t know the details of our diagnosis and if that will be us. Your comments, which you think are kind and hopeful, really just aren’t. Ok? Wow, sorry about that rant).
Where was I? Oh yeah, crying in bed. Now I fully admit that I have a tendency to needless worry over many things, and Pignut isn’t even 70 days old yet. But still. Do you know how hard it can be to even think about trying to reach a goal when you know odds are you’ll fail? And I’m talking about something so basic, so simple, so innate that millions of people can’t help but do it. Drug addicts. Teenagers. Depending in the stats you read, 35-50% of pregnancies are unplanned. And then there’s us: the infertiles (dear Jesus autocorrect, stop trying to change that the “inferiors.” I don’t need your help making me feel worse)
And that’s really the hard part for me. I can take the needles again. The side effects. The procedures. The risks. The blood draws. The internal ultrasounds. The way it completely consumes your life, marriage, every waking thought. But I don’t know if I can take the emotional abuse infertility dishes out. I don’t want to feel like a failure again. I don’t want to put everything I have into something I really have absolutely no control over.
We survived last time. I survived last time. But this stuff really fucks with your head. And it’s not just the two of us anymore. I wrote once about how surprised I was that made it through round one ok (and, yeah, obviously ok is a relative term here. It’s quite clear infertility has done some damage. That’s kinda the whole point of this post.). But I have a sweet, beautiful little boy who needs me now. What if I’m not so lucky next time? What if I don’t make it out ok? Is that I risk I can take anymore?