Sunday, December 6, 2009

wishing things were different than they are

I think the owl post was my apex of hope and joy. This post is going back to doom and gloom. My apologies for the hope-filled out there.

This was another weekend of confronting my infertility. It seems to be the case with many of my weekends and I don't believe the Universe is after me and wants me to suffer more or anything like that. God does not hate me. Infertility and loss is simply what's relevant inside me at the moment and so it gets reflected in what I see on the outside. Neutral stimuli become loaded, get ascribed a specific meaning because of my loss. I live in my loss these days. And kinds of wishing I wasn't will not get me out of this uncomfortable place.

My honey and I were having supper on Saturday night, rushing to get to a choral concert for which he had gotten us tickets. That's when it dawned on me. This was the Pleasantville* Youth singers giving the concert. Pleasantville YOUTH singers. Children. Parents. LOTS of parents. And us, a childless couple. At dinner, I thought about how this woman in our community had chastised us for showing up at the Waldorf School Winter Fair a few years ago. She said in an almost snide voice "What are you doing here?". I joked with my honey that she would be at the choral concert and ask us again what we were doing there. He didn't find it funny, but instead noted that I was holding a grudge. Yes, I most certainly am holding a grudge against this woman, and again, no amount of wishing I wasn't seems to help that.

So we went to the concert, with the lovely children, the multitude of proud parents, and our awkward selves tucked away in a back pew. What are we doing here, I wondered?

Today, I went out Christmas shopping with friends, one of which I had not seen in a long time. She put it out that it had been a rough year because of fertility problems. My stomach turned. Not her too, I thought. Why does she have to go through that pain? It was difficult to gauge what I should share or not. In a way I wanted to connect with her, since infertility is so dreadfully isolating. But then I thought about how she is still going through treatments and the last thing she would want to hear is that another woman's treatments have failed. Unequivocally failed. Who wants to hear that? Certainly not someone in her shoes.

And sharing it with her would have meant to say it. Out loud. Once more. To reify it, yet again.

I did tell her and I regret it, even though I wish I didn't.

My honey and I were lying in bed silently after returning home from lovely and excruciating experience at the children's choral concert. There wasn't much to say on my end, I was just hoping sleep would come fast. But he is wiser than me sometimes and wanted us to talk. He said he is not grieving from the failure of our infertility treatments, that he had never felt he needed to have his biological children but instead always thought he would adopt. I mustered a few words on the many levels at which this affects me. I will never look at a child and say he or she looks like me or like my dad or my mom. I will never be pregnant. Infertility isolates me from other women.

He said he was about to tell me that those things did not mean I was broken. But he thought better. Instead, he said he loved me with my brokenness. And I don't believe I wished that part to be different.

*The name has been changed to protect the anonymity of the people mentioned in my blog, including me

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