When we were in the diagnostic part of our infertility journey we were told things like ‘you don’t ovulate,’ ‘you have scar tissue, cysts, swelling etc’, my Dr called my insides ‘a bit of a mess,’ But I was young, I was told there’s no need to remove anything yet, age was on my side. Denial could very well be used to describe me. I denied that anything that was said was overly bad, it was fine, the doctors could help, they were professionals, there were drugs I could take. I’m young, everything is fine.
I was angry at the world. I was angry at the fact an early 20 year olds body could be failing so badly. I was mad that every time we went to the doctors we got more unwelcome news about the mess my body was in. I was so angry that people could fall pregnant after a drunken one night fumbles, yet I couldn’t with years of trying, doctors help and drugs galore.
Just the one, I’ll be happy, no over the moon, with just one. Please. I’ll cherish every single moment, even the bad ones. I’d give up every wish on shooting stars and birthday candles, I’ll never want for anything else as long as I should live, just give me one!
Bargaining is a sad and evil stage, things are out of our control which is why we try and bargain, by praying, wishing, or by whatever means we have, the desperation and longing in our hearts drives us to think and do strange things. I tried to work out what I’d done in life for karma to come after me so brutally.
Once anger subsides and bargaining fails, what’s left of a person but a shell of who they use to be. A wasted, pinpricked, scared shell of a women. With no hope and no desire left in them, it took all my strength to get through 5 years of hell, I was nothing at the end of it. The denial just left me unprepared, the anger left me drained, the bargaining left me desperate, the depression broke me
What does that feel like? I think I am getting there, piece by piece, day by day, I seem to be getting three. Sure, I have accepted our decision, but does that mean I have made peace with it? Nope, not yet.
Truth be told I think I still flit back and forth between all the stages, some days I flit back to anger, and rage against the world, then I’ll mourn my lack of children. Sometimes I’ll even catch myself bargaining to whomever may listen to my most quiet of voices, buried deep within me, that a miracle will happen and my tubes will magically grow back, or the sperm will have teleported to my womb. I don’t know what goes through my mind sometimes but in the quiet of the night, a tiny part of me will sometimes still whisper, please, I’ll be the best the child could ever wish for, I’ll be and do so much good.
Some days I’ll wake in such a sad mood I barely have the strength to wash and dress let alone live my life and look for the hope and happiness in it.
So, here I am flitting between 1, 2, 3 and 4 on my way to 5.