There is a blog I check on occasionally, mostly because it tends to put a humorous spin on infertility.
And sometimes I just need to be able to laugh about all of this.
As hard as it is, there are aspects to this journey that you just can’t help but laugh at. The mesh panties you get sent home from surgery in for instance, are hysterical.
The fact that I asked for an extra pair last surgery is hilarious.
Shopping for sperm is amusing (in a total “never though I’d be doing this” sort of way) and I’m sorry, but if you can’t laugh when a doctor insists on inserting a vagisound in you every month or so, than you really need your funny bone checked.
I’m only kidding about that of course. I totally get that many women do not have the same appreciation for vagisounds that I do. I tend to laugh in uncomfortable situations.
It really works to add to the awkwardness.
So anyway, I decided this morning to take a peak at this blog. I hadn’t looked in a while, and I figured I could use a laugh.
The post was titled “Thank Goodness I’m Not Her” and went on to list the moments we as infertiles tend to have when we hear about a woman who has it worse than we do.
It listed things like women who have been TTC for 20 years, or who have suffered through multiple failed cycles. It wasn’t so much funny, as true. We all have those moments. I cringe when I hear about miscarriages after trying so hard to conceive. Or women who have had to face the big “H” because of endometriosis.
It scares me. I feel for them. I know that there are a few women who read this blog who fall under those categories, and to them I can only say; I admire you. Your strength amazes me. I'm not sure I could do what you do, and you have nothing but love and support coming from me.
And I hope I didn’t just make you feel how I felt this morning.
You see, the last item on the list said:
Thank goodness I’m not her… she’s still single.
Whooosh. That was the sound of the wind being knocked out of me.
When did I become a cautionary tale?
When did my marital status put me at the same level as women who have tried and failed over and over and over again?
The comment was not directed towards me, and I doubt the blogger has ever even read my blog (she is a bigger blogger, and the only reason I’m not posting a link to her blog here is because I don’t want her to get any negative comments as a result of this post of mine. I do love her blog and I know hurt feelings were not intended at all.) It still stung though. It turns out I’m more sensitive than I should be.
I am still single.
I am maneuvering this journey alone.
There is no adoring hubby to wrap me in his arms when I cry, or hold my hair back when I just can’t keep dinner down.
There is no one to help me with these decisions. No one to guide me to the bright side when I get locked into the darkness.
I am still single.
When this all first started, I did believe that was possibly the saddest aspect of my story. I did feel that it set me apart. I searched online and couldn’t find information on any other women suffering solo with endo or infertility.
I didn’t look hard enough.
I have come to realize that I am not alone and that my story is not unique. There are many women with endometriosis (and other conditions) facing these choices on their own. Some choose to wait and see if Mr. Right comes in on his white horse just in time, and others make the same decisions I am making right now.
But my story is not atypical. Many women get an endo diagnosis early on. The fast progression of my disease sets me apart, but facing it alone does not.
And truthfully, as I have delved further into the Trying to Conceive community, I have come to realize that my story is far from the saddest. There are women whose strength and perseverance I admire. Women who have been through so much more than I can imagine.
Women who I would not want to trade places with, despite their loving husbands.
There are things about facing this all alone that are actually beneficial. When I feel like crap, I don’t have to cater to anyone. I don’t have to put on a happy face and pretend I’m OK to some man. Instead, I can crawl under my covers and watch as much stupid television as I want.
I can stay up all night writing without feeling like I’m disturbing that partner.
I can get 18 different kinds of sick and not be embarrassed about a man seeing me in a moment of weakness I would never otherwise want witnessed.
I can feel and think and plan exactly how I want to. I don’t have to watch my moods or worry about someone else’s feelings. I can take care of myself.
Solely and completely.
That isn’t to say that I wouldn’t want that partner. Of course this would all be easier with a loving husband by my side. Of course I would prefer that hand to hold and shoulder to lean on.
But we’re looking at the bright side here!
And being single is by far not the worst thing that could happen to me.
It’s not even the first thing I would change about my predicament if I had a choice.
It’s not the saddest part of my story.
Maybe we’re all just given what we’re equipped to handle. To think that a woman who has experienced losses and failed cycles I can’t imagine dealing with pities me and my singledom kind of puts things into perspective. As much as I would love a man who loves me by my side right now, I am perfectly capable of going it alone. I am built to survive and thrive independently when need be.
I am fine. This is something I can handle.
But just as I can’t imagine facing the trials of many of the other women I’ve read about, maybe some of them can’t imagine facing this alone.
Maybe that’s the point.
We all get the parts that we are actually capable of taking on. We may not like it, and we may not think we can handle the pain, but in the end we can. In the end we get exactly as much as we can take.
And I can take this.
But Prince Charming is still welcome to show up anytime.
ADSPACE
