“When we protect ourselves so we won't feel pain, that protection becomes like armor, like armor that imprisons the softness of of the heart.” ― Pema Chödrön, When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times If I am being truthful, which it looks like I am, I had known that something was wrong with me, with my body. Although young girls my age were taught no two female bodies are the same, I realize now that there is a limit to the differences. There comes a point that differences turn into medical issues. “ Sorry to break it to you that you are SO different, so special, that your genetics have decided to give you a syndrome that effects just about everything!” YAY ME. There were many possibilities, there are many things that could plague a woman’s body, but I was never given reasons for my differences. No two periods are the same, blah blah. Starting the “we are trying” process was really the first time that I had considered that my lack of normalcy was due to a graver issue than just having a body that acts differently.
Almost two years into “trying” (my RE told me that this word was a purely female word, men are always trying), three different doctors and an endless stream of tests that poked, that took and that hurt; the answer was there. Yes, there is a reason. Part of me was relieved, because finally all those people who liked to tell me their opinions as to why I couldn’t get pregnant, can finally...(you know). “Well, sometimes you just have to be patient, relax and try not to be so stressed. You know, when it is meant to be, it is meant to be!” “No, mam. You are wrong. You have no idea how to appropriately deal with this type of social situation. I have a medical condition called PCOS (jury is still out if I have the ‘s’ or not) that causes cysts to form on my ovaries, causing me to not ovulate. So you think that it is meant to be that I have cysts on my ovaries like little blood suckers latching onto my hopes and dreams, sucking them away?” A blank look, a gapping mouth, like a fish trying to suck in the air that cannot give it life. “Meant to be that for some reason, my body produces these little pockets of disgusting death, that can burst at any time causing a pain that shoots up your spine and into your organs as though they are all being stabbed at once?” Sucks to your ass-mar. They never have an answer and they always walk away thinking to themselves just how much of a rude person I am. They would whisper under their breath as they tried to catch it. Yea, yea, lay it on me. The truth is always hard to take, it is too real. What would have been an appropriate response? I didn’t give her one. In reality, I didn’t have the voice to speak up and offer even the most kind of answers. How this conversation usually goes, if I am being honest (duh, I am) is the employment of the following launch sequence: 1- gaping mouth, like when I try to unblock my ears in a plane 2-eyes to the ground 3- a bobbing of the head side to side as though I am doing the littlest of dances from the shoulder up 4- fake smile behind the tears 5- “ahh, I’m too young for kids!” or “Ahh, one day!”. In both scenarios, real or wished, I am left with the same thought: Maybe that wasn’t fair. Guilt is one of the main emotions we infertiles (as I have often heard other women refer to themselves as) deal with. Again, I feel guilty for my rudeness, yes, but also for her ignorance. For society’s ignorance over this issue. It is my fault, I shouldn’t be speaking in truths. Shouldn’t I keep it to myself, just deal with it...just smile and chuckle when they say things like that? Guilty for, just feeling damn guilty. That has become exhausting. Maybe that first scenario wasn’t fair, but life is not fair. Believe me I know, me and Life, we have beef. Hopefully, next time someone is about to give their words of insensitive wisdom to someone who may or may not be going through what I am, they think about it and choose something else. Platitudes don’t help, these words of consolation that only point to the obvious problem and show it off. “Hey, I see you have a broken leg... ouch... Have you tried walking on it?” says a non medically trained person who once stubbed their toe. “Oh, you know what, no! I’ll try that!” No, time will not fix this. Infertility is a medical condition. Medicine, not your old wives tales, can help. Medicine can give us a chance, not holding my legs up. In case you have caught your self and, perhaps, self identify as a fellow Woman/Man of Wispy Words, I have conveniently provided you with a list of things you can say to a woman or to a couple struggling with infertility: 1. I am sorry this is happening. 2. Do you want to talk about it? (If they say no follow with #3) 3. When you want to talk about, let me know. I can listen. 4. What do you need? 5. I love you. 6. I am here for you. 7. What can I do to help with your pain? 8. Help me understand what you are going through. 9. You are not less of a woman. You are strong, you have worth. 10. YOU ARE ENOUGH 11. That’s not fair. 12. When you feel up to do, can you explain *insert procedure, acronym, test, appointment, injection, medication, HERE 13. I love you. 14. I will accept you and love you no matter what life brings. It hurts to think that these words are not on the tip of everyone’s tongue. Shouldn’t this be said to all, shouldn’t friends, coworkers, heck, strangers believe this and say this no matter what? Perhaps I need my own list of key phrases to understand the thoughts of those fertile goddesses with wombs that pulse with life. “Wait. This is not fair”, I hear a voice cry out. This could be the voice of many, maybe that is your voice? “I had no idea that you were suffering from this! How was I supposed to know! You can’t be like this!” the chorus cries. Right now, I can actually be like this. This is what I need. This is what 1 out of 6 Canadians need. Empathy and the move towards understanding. We don’t expect you to understand, that is not possible. You can not understand, truly, unless you have suffered from infertility your self. * DISCLAIMER: (and possible side rant) - you can only say that you have infertility IF YOU HAVE BEEN DIAGNOSED BY A DOCTOR (and fyi unexplained infertility is a diagnosis). “I tried for two months before I got pregnant, I know how it feels.” You were worried, yes. You were anxious, yes. You wanted something really bad that did not happen right away, yes. You had a challenging time conceiving, sure. You had infertility? HELL TO THE NO. Yes, answers are helpful. I know why I can't conceive, I know what to do, I know what I should type into my browser so that I can spend endless hours online reading all the worst cases of this and assume that I will die. We don’t have a Golden Ticket, and sometimes answers make the situation seem more simple than it truly is. In the world of infertility the goal posts are constantly being moved. We know that answers are a mirage we can't trust. In reality, I know that when people offer tips and tricks that have been circling for centuries regarding conception, I know they are full heartily trying to help. I think that perhaps infertility has been taboo (don't even get me started in this...) for far too long, and society still doesn't really know what happens when the one thing evolution has built women to do, is broken. Hopefully, if more people speak about it, like anything else, the stigma will slowly dissipate. Until then, know that my bluntness is not meant to insult, but to simply be real. I will not sugar coat, I will not hide my pain any longer just to make others more comfortable. There will be no sugar tonight, my friends.
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I have already gone through 3 different drafts of this 1st blog post. I have already spent way too many nights tossing and turning going over the words I want to express, but yet still unable to express them. If there is one thing this journey has taught me, there is not thing that can truly, fully explain this journey.
I don't like the word journey, but I use it. Journey for me seems positive and exciting. This is not that type of journey. In case you were expecting that, I want to warn you, this is not the spot for your daily dose of inspiration or joy. (I have the Lemony Snicket's theme song in my head right now... look away, look away....). I should warn you that you may not agree with me and you may also be challenged by what I have to say. I tell my students that in order to grow, you must be challenged and I will say the same to you. If you are new to infertility, then you may find a blog post too bitter, or sorrowful. You may be insulted when I point out some things people do every day that is actually quite hurtful for those struggling with infertility. Do know that this is for me, and for the 1 in 6 canadians that struggle with the many forms of infertility. This blog is for all of those who can't find a voice for their struggles, because I know that feeling too well, and it is stifling and suffocating. In fact, that was me a mere week ago! The week of April 23rd-29th is the Canadian Infertility Awareness Week. In the States, this is also the National Infertility Awareness Week. This is the catalyst for this «coming out» blog post. You may not be aware of the huge and life changing community I have been a part of for the last two years or so. This infertility community is for most of us, found in secret facebook groups, locked instagram accounts, or conversations in facebook messenger. This community is amazing. I have women who I consider friends, who I have never met, but speak to almost every day. I see their ups, their downs and they see mine. Most of all, they understand. Their understanding has changed my life, and changed me. Just look, I am writing a BLOG POST ABOUT INFERTILITY!? If you spoke to my therapist a month ago, she wouldn't believe you. (oh by the way...therapy has also changed my life. You should see someone. Seriously.) CIAW and NIAW has lead to thousands of women and men sharing their stories, and I was inspired. My community has also supported me while I flipped flopped about sharing; they reached out and encouraged me to share. They are here now, reading this post. I hope you don't actually look away, because your infertile friends, your LGBTQ familiy members, your PCOS cousins, your Endometriosis sisters, your low motility brothers... they need you to see them and love them. Please follow me along this journey (or really difficult hike up a mountain that keeps getting bigger?), and thank you for giving me the space to find my voice. |
Author:Sara Collins has always had a passion for writing. Writing song lyrics for the Backstreet Boys, Short Stories, Poetry, and big chunks of half finished novels. Now she is proud to share her writing around her experiences in infertility. Archives |