Infertility Sucks!

Since I received so many heart-felt comments on “Infertility and Loneliness Go Hand in Hand”, I’ve decided to follow this thread a bit longer.

Infertility not only strips a woman of her most basic role and status in life as a mother, it maims friendships, and mangles even the strongest of family bonds. Our loved ones just want us to get over it, get back on the saddle, and pick up life where we left off without realizing that that life no longer exists, and never will again.

Time doesn’t necessarily heal all wounds, especially when women hear  their biological clock ticking like a jack hammer.

Chapter V – Summer 1995 to September 1997

“…Friends welcomed us back into the fold, excited to hear about our adventures, catching us up on life and gossip, but thankfully skirted the topic of children. I’m embarrassed to admit that I selfishly didn’t reconnect with all of our friends—those who had babies, toddlers, or were in any stage of pregnancy were off limits. I’d rather undergo a root canal sans anesthesia than withstand the stories, photographs, and videos of their baby’s head crowning while a sage midwife coached them at home, in their bathtub, to the sounds of Enya or Kokopelli flutes. The thought of watching my friends with their kids, up close, mortified me. It hurt, and I don’t mean my feelings. It physically hurt, like a scalding bucket of water thrown on me. I’d feel sunburned for days. Give me time, I’d plead with Marty, who finally threw his hands up in the air and grew used to me ditching him whenever there was a family sighting. He’d stay to congratulate and fawn over our friends’ kids, pretending I was somewhere else, and promised that we’d get together.  Soon. Soon equaled never. No way. No how. When I’d reappear with a flimsy excuse, he’d scowl and tell me he hated lying to our friends. My apologies were wearing thin.


Deep down inside, though, I didn’t care if our friends felt slighted. After one cautious visit or two, I knew the powerful floodgates of motherhooditis would give way. I’d come back from México tanned, fit, with a resolve to create a new life, but beneath my brittle veneer, nothing had truly changed. Why did I have to sacrifice my feelings, I reasoned, just to be polite? Marty countered that I couldn’t keep running away and hiding from life. Oh yeah, says who?”

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