Most days I have it together

Growing up if I ever said things weren't fair my parents would quickly correct me. We were always reminded as children that others had it worse off than us. We were reminded of everything that was right in the world and to appreciate the little things.

After the reduction I remember laying in bed staring at my Dad who sat by my side. He told me it was ok to cry- one of the few times he's ever said this to me. I cried as calmly as I could, not to upset the baby I was trying so hard to hold on to. I looked at my Dad and quietly whispered "this isn't fair". He nodded his head and said, "your goddamn right it's not."

My brother once told me that maybe the reason why I suffer with infertility is because I am strong enough to take it. My strength has been tested time and time again. I question the strength I still have, if any. I always think it's a little funny when people reach out to me saying they admire my strength for being an open book. It's not strength though. I talk because that's what gets me through. When women reach out asking how I do it I always say, "I don't know. I guess I just have to". And that's the truth. There's no secret in trying to achieve your dream.

Last week I had a long sit down with my Neurologist. We spoke about my upcoming Mayo trip and I told her why it's so important to me that they figure this out. It's not just about wanting to feel better, but I feel like for the past two years my life has been put on hold. I want a baby! I've been patient and I'm getting closer to hitting a wall.

She looked at my chart and said, "you're still young! The guns not to your head yet." 

"We started trying when my child was one. She's about to turn 5."

"Time is on your side. We have to get you healthy first."

"I have to have a baby. I have to. We have to get moving. I'm losing my patience."

"Don't you want to feel better?"

"I don't know what is worse some days. The heartache that comes with not being able to have a child, on your terms, it's unbearable."

"Give us time to figure this out and then you'll have your baby."

I pouted. I actually wanted to leave the appointment, but I love my doctor and I know she's right. She finished the consult by giving me a stack of tests she ordered. I am so over tests. I am tired and annoyed and just over it. She left the room and had her nurse come in to explain some of the tests to me. A few minutes later she opened the door and peeked her head in,

"I bet you're a great Mom."

"I am. I try. Thank you."

"Have a nice weekend."

The nurse asked me to go set up my next appointment and then head to the 3rd floor for some blood work. I didn't do either. I didn't feel like being poked that day and just wanted to go home.

I stood in the elevator feeling sorry for myself as a young child entered with their mother. The child was wearing a mask and looked quite ill. I initially put my head down feeling rather ashamed for the pity party I had just thrown myself. The child stood there looking at me and I told him I liked his mask. It had characters on it and seemed fitting for a child his age. He thanked me and told me he liked my shirt. I smiled.

I left the elevator and told myself that I was an asshole. I have a team of doctors trying to figure out what's going on with me and they deserve my patience. I couldn't imagine what that little boy was going through. What was his diagnosis? What appointment was he coming from? How was his mom holding up? I can't imagine and probably couldn't bear hearing the answers to the questions in my head.

It quickly brought me back to the days that I would complain to my parents about things not being fair.

Infertility is a bitch. It's cruel, heartbreaking, gut wrenching and will make a person go crazy. I do feel like it's not fair that people who struggle with infertility would make the best mothers and fathers. But I also know that there's children out there struggling to see the next day. There's people who wish they had one more day with a loved one. There's people who are on their knees begging for a little luck to come their way.

I don't have it all that bad. I tell myself this often. Some days I am guilty of feeling sorry for myself, but I'd like to think that most days I have it together- and that I'm truly thankful for the gift of the present moment.