The Diary of an Infertile Woman
May 11, 2013This is a somewhat fictional account based on my experiences. Lots of the details, dates and names have been changed, because I felt like changing them.
Beware: The contents may not be appropriate for all audiences. If you don't feel comfortable with the words Sex, Sperm, or Mucus, you may not want to read it aloud to your 6 year old. Also, it is LONG. Sorry about that.
January 1: So this is it. We have been having unprotected sex for a year today and now we are a officially an infertile couple. We have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. With a specialist. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to see some stupid doctor. I don’t want to deal with this. I’m nervous. Can’t I just get pregnant so I don’t have to deal with this? Ugh. I hate facing my problems. But Richard is sick of me moping around and figures we ought to see if something can be done. Humph. Darn him and his decisive actions.
January 2: Well, we had the appointment with a fertility specialist. We told a man we don't know all our most intimate secrets: Yes, we have been having unprotected sex for over a year. Yes, I get my periods regularly. Yes, we are pretty sure we are doing it right. Richard was cracking jokes like he discusses his sperm with strangers every day. The doctor reviewed our test results with us, pointing out the problems and discussing options and treatment in a very soft, pleasant voice, but what he was really saying suddenly hit me all at once. This isn't a fluke or a quick fix or a simple problem of intimacy. We can’t get pregnant. We can't get pregnant. Not without some really serious intervention and the chances are pretty crappy even then. The air in the room started to feel thick. My ears got heavy and I couldn't swallow. I had to dig my fingernails into my palm to keep myself from falling right through my chair into the hole that opened up in my heart.
How can something be wrong? I’m healthy. I've always been healthy. And I want kids. People get pregnant all the time that don’t want kids. Shouldn't those who want them get them? All I want to do is be a mother. How can this be happening?? I feel like I have been betrayed by my body. I've had to deal with the pain, inconvenience and anxiety of a period for over ten years and it was all for nothing? I can’t seem to think anymore. My hands are shaking so bad I can barely type. What are we going to do? What am I going to do?
January 27: Ok. So we are infertile. Whatever. That doesn't mean we're sterile. Who does that doctor think he is anyway? I went to the library and checked out several hundred books on fertility and read them all. Now I’m not sure if the source of our problem is a vitamin C deficiency, hormones in our chicken, not enough breaths of fresh country air, or my choice in laundry detergent. I guess I'll have to read some more. Richard tried to convince me that all the girls he knew in high school who spent all their free time reading were not the ones who ended up pregnant.
February 12: We started a cleanse that I am really hoping will boost our reproductive systems: Beet Root and Molasses. I, for one, am really excited about this! But I think Richard might want to kill me. It is clearly a testament to how nice he is that he is both eating the beet root and not complaining about it. We have also started a vitamin regimen, and a very strict exercise schedule. We are going to have the most well functioning bodies the world has ever seen! I am not ready to give up yet!
February 28: Got my period. I don’t know how long it is supposed to take before my body starts functioning like the perfect machine that it is supposed to be, but I am starting to suspect the cleanse was a dud. Stupid beet root. I wonder if Richard would be above going to a witch doctor?
March 3: Am I being greedy? My life is good. We have so much. I love my husband. Shouldn't he be enough for me? Shouldn't our love be so complete and all consuming that I never need anything more? I really, really love him. But it’s like there is this whole separate compartment of my heart set aside for loving a child. Because it is not getting used it is dying from the inside and spreading to the rest of my heart like a disease. And it seems wrong for me to feel this way. Which makes me depressed. I am such a mess.
- Rub the belly of a pregnant woman. (That seems like a service they should really be charging for.)
- Drink the same water as someone who is pregnant. (Tomorrow I will be sneaking into my local Lamaze class and going to town on their water bottles.)
- Pluck the feathers of a hen during the new moon, and then spread the feathers in a circle. Have intercourse on the full moon feathers and you will conceive. (Also, you will get feathers up your bum.)
- Capture a little dirt from where your man of choice man has walked (without his knowledge) and bake it into a cake that you both eat. This will ensure that you carry his child. (And will ensure that you both eat dirt, which adds excitement to an otherwise boring meal.)
- Stand in the rain in view of a rainbow for a full 10 minutes. Sleep with the wet clothes under your pillow for two weeks and then wear them again during intercourse. (And what man isn't into moldy, smelly, wrinkly clothes?)
August 29: Our case worker has told us that we shouldn't just wait to be chosen by a birth mom, we should actively try to find one of our own. It's a good idea, but we're not really sure how to do that apart from approaching pregnant women on the street. And I don't think they would appreciate that much. Richard suggested going to a local bar and buying drinks for young girls, but I told him that wasn't even slightly funny and smacked him on the arm.
August 30: Saw not one but TWO teenage girls buying pregnancy tests at the store today. I spent several minutes nonchalantly following them around trying to figure out how to tell them that I wanted it if they didn't.
September 26: Still waiting. Our case worker likes to remind us that this can sometimes take up to 3 years, so I am trying to be patient. And I am failing fantastically. In my head I know that we have not been in the adoption pool long, and that waiting is part of the package, and that it won’t be forever. My heart, on the other hand, thinks that it already has been forever. And it is not interested in listening to reason.
October 18: Went out to dinner with my college roommates Every month I listen to them talk about being pregnant and giving birth. Which is fine. Just because I have a problem shouldn't mean they have to watch everything they say. Tonight, however, someone said, “There is nothing worse than being pregnant.” I wanted to punch her in the face. I still want to punch her in the face, but I really try not to do that to my friends anymore.
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