Accepting an infertility diagnosis can be an emotional rollercoaster.
Not over it.
Not even close. Infertility that is.
What? You say? Isn’t she supposed to be all well adjusted and such?
Guess not.
Changing the label you apply to your life, does not erase the feelings. Or the memories. Or the desires. It’s like changing your name. You look different on paper, you sign a different signature, but you are still you at the end of the day and you can’t escape that. What am I supposed to do? Rewrite my life history? Change my personality? Get a new genetic code? I am at a loss.
I miss trying to conceive. A lot. I miss ovulating. When we stopped trying all together, my body stopped working as well. It is as though I was mentally willing myself to cycle, and when my brain stopped bullying my body, my body shrank into itself and quit.
Kaput.
No more reproductive Russian roulette.
I liked the gamble. Loved the high of the gamble. When would I ovulate? Will we have timed things well? It was both exciting and terrifying at the same time, thinking it might be THE CYCLE.
I know this sounds like a beginner in the TTC game, but I really was like that most of the time. The first few years of trying were rough because I had no idea why I wasn’t cycling. And I didn’t look like a typical PCOSer (Poly cystic Ovarian syndrome), so no one would listen. But after getting diagnosed and starting Metformin, I was able to take things into a new perspective and really worked on my body. And it worked. And ever since, I have been optimistic that some day my body would just work and pregnancy would happen. I still sort of think that way. And that might be a problem.
It will always be in the back of my mind that I still have a chance at pregnancy. And as long as I still think that way, I will never be able to completely move on.
I also really miss the closeness. Infertility brought Mr.JAC and I closer together. We were a united front, us against the Infertile Beast. It was a common ground that we both despised and provided an avenue for our general frustrations. Need to blow off steam? Vent about infertility! It’s the ultimate scapegoat! I am only saying this partially tongue-in-cheek.
Also, whenever I was feeling sad about something, it seemed to be related to IF. I think that made it easier. The ability to pinpoint my sadness made the emotions somehow more manageable.
Now I am floundering. If it’s not being infertile, then what is it? Why am I so sad?
My label switching is not working.
I’m not Childfree. I’m Infertile.
Damn.