Cracks In the Armor: Infertile SOS

Yesterday I had an infertility SOS.  Every Infertile... well, I'd argue any woman who is TTC (trying to conceive), has had an SOS.  Your best friend is pregnant before you, you've found out you're going to miscarry, or even something so small as a dissolving into tears at seeing adorable little baby socks in the store--anything can trigger a breakdown. 

The early years were hard for me, and for many others as I've found out.  Through my posts from the last several months, I hope you've seen that I've come to a fairly balanced place in my fertility journey.  Yes, I'm snarky.  Yes, I'm bold.  Yes, I have my moments.  But overall, I understand that there is some greater cosmic purpose to all this that is still unknown to me.  I'm learning to wait. 

From this patience, I've developed Infertility Armor (coming to a store near you).  This magical armor deflects Facebook pregnancy announcements, repels annoying fertility advice, and shields you from the Carter's outlet store in the mall.  And acts as lightweight protection while you fight crime, which is also convienent. 

I don't think this is a rouse... I suppose it's possible that I've numbed myself so much that I am fooling myself into believing infertility doesn't bother me anymore.  However, I think it's more likely that I've realized the futility of these negative feelings... I don't feel better about my situation because of them.  Perhaps God has cut me some psychological slack... for, who could go on, as many years as I have (including multiple miscarriages) feeling all the anger, frustration, resentment, hostility, jealousy, and desperation that infertility created in me?  How could I have endured, not just in TTC but in life in general, carrying around all that negativity? 

Yet, as I've said before, this doesn't make me an impenetrable fortress of indifference.  Just last week I watched a movie that caught me in a wrong way (a touching scene with mother and child), and I shouted at the TV with tears in my eyes "What more can I do?!" 

Lately, the cracks in my armor have grown past subtle, hairline fissures to full-blown chucks missing.  It leaves me totally exposed to all manner of insignificant daily life reminders.  I think it's the approach of what would have been my due date.  Let's rewind for newcomers.

Last summer, through the help of my fertility doc and Clomid, I conceived my fourth pregnancy.  Despite having three miscarriages before, I felt at though this one was different.  We were in the hands of a good doctor, we started pregnancy sustaining medications immediately, and my HCG (the pregnancy hormone) levels were doubling normally.  I was starting to believe that this would be The One.  I couldn't wrap my mind around it, that I might actually get to be a mom.  I let my guard down.  I started to hope. 

When we went in to see the doctor for our eight week "heartbeat" ultrasound, our spirits were light.  I FELT pregnant... more and more every day.  I tried to remain indifferent, reserved--just in case, but as time went on, well it was hard to stay neutral. 

What happened at that ultrasound was painful.  It's difficult for me to think of even now at five months later.  It will be a blog soon, but not today.  Long story short, we learned it wasn't viable.  My due date would have been mid-March.

Life moved on, I had a D and C at about 11 weeks, I grieved and processed.  I healed.  I got back up on the horse.  The armor began to repair itself.  However there was one major flaw in my protection... this impending EDD (estimated due date).  All reminders of it would catapult me back to that moment of the air being sucked out of the room, "I don't see a heart beat." 

Fast forward to my SOS.  Yesterday was a dear friend's baby shower.  I've known her since I was 14 years old, she's like an older sister to me.  I adore her, and am thrilled that she and her wonderful husband are going to have a child.  They will be wonderful parents.  I found out shortly after our miscarriage that she was pregnant, with an EDD just a week or so before mine.  I ached... not only at my loss, but at the loss of the opportunity to share such a wonderful journey with someone I cared about. 

I checked in with her at Christmastime to see how she was doing... At this point, the armor was back on and I was feeling great.  She told me that they were painting and decorating the nursery, trying to get everything ready.

Whoosh.  There goes the air again. 

Again, it has nothing at all to do with what she said.  It was just a reminder to me that, had things gone well, that's what Adam and I would have been doing right about that time as well.  We'd be picking paint colors, shopping for furniture, and getting the nursery ready.  That could have been us.

Yesterday was this friend's baby shower.  I had a minor SOS a few weeks back after receiving the invitation.  But, I gave myself the "cowboy up" speech... that this is a dear friend, that I am sincerely thrilled for them, and that I would later regret missing such an important rite of passage in her life.  I said "of course I am going to go", and put it out of my head.

Enter shopping.  More specifically, shopping for her baby shower gift.  I freaked.  It should have also been me!  People should be shopping for me too!  Hot, sour tears burned their way through.  It surprised even me.  Aren't I past this?  Haven't I made my peace?  My subconscious laughed in reply.

So, I chickened out.  I'd like to think it was selfless... I've kept it together at dozens of showers, no sweat.  Smiling face? Check. Smell the chocolate in the diaper?  Done.  Steal clothespins.  Victory!  But this one was just too close to home, and I regret that my friend missed out on the joy that is my presence (ok, you've got free reign to snicker) because of it.  Honestly, my biggest worry wasn't how hard it would have been for me... I was worried one sneaky alligator tear might slip out, and I then I run the risk of exposure.  I'm not ok.  I am struggling.  Then comes the onslaught of sympathy, advice, etc... and pity, worst of all.  And as irritating as all that is, I hate the thought that the spotlight would be taken off my friend for even a minute.  Because it's her special day and, because she is a wonderful friend, she'd feel bad for me.  And she has every right to feel apologetically joyful on that day of all days, without any guilt. 

I went instead to one of those mall Shiatsu massage places, and sniffled into the table while a strong Asian man apparently attempted to re-adjust my internal organs from the outside.  But he was kind, and gave me a Kleenex when I flipped over with soggy red eyes.  I hit Ross and got a new carry-on for my upcoming travels (more on that to come).  And all the while I felt like the biggest jerk, but also that I had made the right decision.  I knew my friend would understand. 

For us Infertiles, I feel like there are limited places we have to turn during our SOS moments.  Not that other friends can't or won't support us, because they do.  It is just difficult to cry our guts out (over tiny baby socks) to someone who someone who hasn't been there.  Yesterday, in my lowest point, I sent out the SOS over Twitter.  I thought maybe I'd get a couple of replies back, saying we're thinking of you and hang in there (perfectly good replies). 

Boy was I wrong.  I estimate about 30 different people sent their thoughts out to me... Sending hugs, support, telling me to go easy on myself, that they've been there too.  It was the best electronic hug I could have ever asked for.  To everyone who sent me tweets... thank you.  Really.  Sometimes I feel like you're God's gift to me, to tell me it will all be ok.  It meant the world to me.

Today?  Well, today I breathe.  In, and out.  In, and out.  I cut myself some slack.  I prepare to call my friend and ask when I can celebrate with her and give her the gift I cried over.  Maybe I don't rush to throw the armor back on.  I won't dive immeadiately back into smart-ass Infertile mode.  At least, not until I have enough wine-in-a-box to break my fall.