Empty Arms

Every once in a while, when I’m not posting random sentences together and calling it a post, I decide to give you a glimpse of my true self.

The self that I kind of like. The one who isn’t as crazy or bitchy or backwards.

I felt compelled to write something that has been little known to anyone except my very close friends, after reading this today.

I first started reading weblogs because I belong to a miscarriage and infertility network. I joined it back in 1998 after my last miscarriage. It began as a mailing list. Then the blogging world exploded. I would spend hours pouring over the words of so many women who were going through the same thing I was.

Then something happened.

They all began having babies. They all began getting pregnant. The margin started to narrow. In the end, almost all the women in my network had gotten past their infertility problems and conceived. I was still standing there mourning my dead babies with no live ones to show for it. I began to feel like an outsider. I began to feel like I had nothing in common with these women anymore. They were no longer struggling with infertility, from my perspective. They’d all gotten the prize.

We’d tried almost everything to conceive. Clomid, Progesterone shots, Laparascopic surgery to try and find out why my ovaries were in a coma. We had some ideas as to why. I was diagnosed with a fairly common disease but women with my disease were having babies! My ovaries were just being stubborn. I honestly cannot tell you the last time I ovulated. This is the truth. Before I went on the pill, it’d been years. I’ve been on the pill for over two years now. Ironically enough? The pills are my last ditch effort at “resetting” my hormonal system. Sounds unconventional? Well, you’re not my doctor. And you didn’t have to sit with me while I broke down in tears in your office after I BEGGED you to just level with me and tell me if I was ever going to conceive a child. You didn’t look me in the eye hesitantly and say to me: “It isn’t likely with your medical history…not without A LOT of work and possibly a small miracle.”

My aunt struggled for almost ten years to have a baby, with every method out there, and the pill worked for her. She was on it for one year. She had a baby girl ten months after going off. I figured with my odds? I’d try two years. And if this doesn’t work, I’ve decided that I’ll call a truce with my ovaries. I’ll tuck them and read them a bedtime story and tell them they don’t have to worry about me trying to interrupt their sleep anymore.

Then I’ll look at other options like adoption.

Or maybe I’ll take my sister up the offer of surrogacy.

But I’ll be grateful everyday of my life for my health, my good fortune, and for people like Jessica who give me a good slap in the face with some perspective. And who do it with humor and grace and who never give up until the very end.

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