I was in a bad way last Sunday. I was feeling bummed out, sad, irritated. That was when I was 36 and 364 days old.
The night before I turned 37 I reminded myself that I am still childless. I’m not ungrateful by any means. I have a roof over my head, a job I love, a loving family, a caring and sympathetic husband, three cats and an adorable poodle named Louie. What’s not to be grateful for? I am not suffering in any way whatsoever. Not anything like those who are beaten on a daily basis or those who have no access to medical care or those who are malnutritioned or those forced to do unthinkable things just to survive. The list goes on.
Because I have not experienced these horrors, I wonder what right I have to feel terrible about not having a baby. Yet I do. I feel terrible. And sad. And angry. And pissed off at my body because it won’t work the way it should. I hate that I have to pop pills and time cycles and hope that it all works; even when my heart knows it hasn’t.
As the time ticks by, the sense of loss becomes more urgent. Truth be told, hope takes a backseat at times. I know I sound pessimistic but I am trying to explain the unexplainable. Do other infertile men and women feels this way? Magic 8 Ball says ‘Most Definitely’.
But just as despair is about to drag me under I have to push back. Eric and I will rally and put our heads together to figure out the next plan of action. We will scheme and plot against our own bodies and attempt to force them to do what they will not.
We will try IVF.
I can’t say when it will be. I just know that we will make it happen. At 10 to 12 grand a pop it won’t be easy. However, life is not always easy and getting what we want won’t happen overnight. But this is my birthday wish for all those in the same boat as we are – I wish for us to have the baby we have dreamt about for so long.