I asked my husband to guest post a while back because honestly, I love his writing and it always sticks with me regardless of what he writes about. This post is no different. I hope you enjoy.
1,000 Needle Sticks
Shot of what? Inject it where? Mix it how? Give this why? Is it time? Hold your legs up? How long has it been?How long do we wait? One day two days three days four days one week two weeks two weeks and two days two weeks and four days now your’re late we’re late really we’re late how do you feel I feel nauseous a bit you do yep I do man man man oh man do you think we got it right this time yes I feel like we finally got it right this time holy cow I think we got it right this time how late are you we are late baby baby baby –STOP – I STARTED TODAY….blank expression…watery eyes…turn around, turn away, walk away, stay away for two more weeks of avoiding the topic and wondering how on Earth we’ll ever get pregnant…
Infertility kills. Infertility hurts. It will –and yes it will – beat you down. It will be the elephant on your shoulders, weighing down your every step. Making every movement slow, deliberate, burdened, unnatural. You lose the flow of life. Lose the simple joys of a mockingbird on your brick wall somehow mocking the sound of a red tailed hawk. Normally, that would be fascinating – absolutely fascinating. But you just shrug that off and put your hand on the car door, open the door, sit down, close the door, sit in your silence for a few seconds, then put the key in the ignition and spiral your way back down into your own private hell. Every. Single. Cursed. Day.
The mechanism of infertility. The steady, methodical demolition of the self. The brutal machine that quite quickly condemns one of life’s greatest joys into one of life’s greatest failures. That “BFN”. Big. Fat. Negative…Big. Flaying. Nife.
You may never feel this alone. You may never feel as alone as you will as you endure this arduous process. But it is a process. But you are not alone, unfortunately. There is no solace in that, however – because who gives a rat’s rip that other folks are in your unique position. It doesn’t help. There is no help when there is nothing to help you. Either you get pregnant, or you don’t. If you try to look much beyond that, well… then I wish you the best of luck, friend.
Luck. Faith. Work ethic. Talent. Humor. Perhaps we’re not as solid as we thought? Perhaps we aren’t the strongest person we know? Perhaps we will never, ever get pregnant? Perhaps. I mean, it’s been over 2 years (I quit counting the months when I realized it’d been two years) so why should it change now?
And then I came home from Dick’s Sporting Goods around 8:00 one night. Had to get a new team catcher’s mitt and new BBCore approved bat. I walked in from the garage. I took two steps into the kitchen. And then I saw her emerge from the hallway. Her hand outstretched. Her face a beautiful display of one thousand raw emotions at once. In her hand a white stick. But I already knew because I had already connected with her eyes – her beautiful, oceanic eyes. She was shaking, barely able to speak, barely able to stand, barely able to barley be able to. Her body, like a life-sized tuning fork, hummed and sung with limitless energy. The test said we were pregnant…
So did the next test. So did the third test. And the fourth. And the fifth. And the sixth. So did the bloodwork. So did the next round of bloodwork. So did the ultrasound. So did the world-changing sound of the “thwump-thwump-thwump-thwump-thwump” sound of a beating heart – the beating heart – of our baby. Yes, yes – it finally worked. It finally, finally, finally, finally, finally actually worked.
Look. You may be down in that deep, dark, dank emotionless cave that only you can reach. You may be as cold as a mountain stone. You may be one step away from either retreating for good, or taking your first step towards the mouth that leads out of this damned cave. I wish I could take your hand, look you in the eye, and tell you that it’s going to be perfect. I wish that would make a difference. At some point, you’ll either get pregnant or you won’t. At some point, you’ll either keep trying for one that is of your own blood, or you won’t. Just don’t ever quit trying to fight your way out of this. Fight your way through it. Fight your way to your own unique sense of peace with your path –whatever that path may be. It isn’t easy. It was never meant to be easy.
I wish for you that which you need most right now. - Rik