Worth reposting

I posted this letter over a year ago and my feelings still ring true:

I want to share my feelings about infertility with you, because I want you to understand my struggle. I know that understanding infertility is difficult; there are times when it seems even I don’t understand.

This struggle has provoked intense and unfamiliar feelings in me and I fear that my reactions to these feelings might be misunderstood. I hope my ability to cope and your ability to understand will improve as I share my feelings with you. I want you to understand.

You may describe me this way: obsessed, moody, depressed, envious, obnoxious, aggressive, antagonistic, bitter, and cynical. These aren't very admirable traits; no wonder your  understanding of my infertility is difficult. I prefer to describe me this way: confused, rushed and impatient, afraid, isolated and alone, guilty and ashamed, angry, sad and hopeless, and unsettled.

My Infertility makes me feel confused. I feel confused as to why this is happening. I feel confused when I get diagnoses such as unexplained secondary infertility. A title I do not want. Surely if I try harder, try longer, try better and smarter, I will have another baby.

My infertility makes me feel rushed and impatient. I learned of my unexplained secondary infertility after we’d suffered the loss of our second son and began trying to become pregnant again. I not only grieve the loss of a child, but now I grieve the loss of my own fertility. And I wait. I wait for medical appointments, wait for tests, wait for treatments, wait for other treatments, wait for my period not to come, wait for pregnancy. At best, I have only twelve opportunities each year. How old will I be when I finish having my family?

My infertility makes me feel afraid. Infertility is full of unknowns and I’m frightened because I need some definite answers. How long will this last? What humiliation must I endure? What pain must I suffer? Why do drugs I take to help me, make me feel worse? Why can’t my body do the things that my mind wants it to do? Why do I hurt so much? I’m afraid of my feelings. I’m afraid of my undependable body.

My infertility makes me feel isolated and alone. Reminders of babies are everywhere. I must be the only one enduring this invisible curse. Sometimes I have to stay away from others, because everything makes me hurt. No one knows how horrible my pain is. I feel so alone and I wonder if I’ll survive this.

My infertility makes me feel guilty and ashamed. Frequently I forget that infertility is a medical problem and should be treated as one. Infertility destroys my self-esteem and I feel like a failure. Why am I being punished? What did I do to deserve this? Am I not worthy? Am I not a good enough mom? It is easy to lose self-confidence and feel ashamed.

My infertility makes me feel angry. Everything makes me angry, and I know much of my anger is misdirected. I’m angry with my body because it has betrayed me. I want and need an advocate to help me. I’m angry with my medical caregivers because it seems that they control my future. They humiliate me, inflict pain on me, pry into my privacy, patronize me, and sometimes forget who I am. I’m angry at my expenses; infertility treatment is extremely expensive. I’m angry that insurance companies do not value my basic human right to have a family, even if it means that I need medical intervention to do so. I’m angry that they would rather provide coverage to terminate pregnancies than to help a family’s dream of being parents. Finally, I’m angry with everyone else. Everyone has opinions about my inability to become and to stay pregnant. Everyone has easy solutions. Everyone seems to know too little and say too much. 

My Infertility makes me feel sad and hopeless. Infertility feels like I’ve lost my future, and no one knows of my sadness. I feel hopeless; infertility robs me of my energy. I’ve never cried so much or so easily. I’m sad that my infertility places my marriage under so much strain. I’m sad that my infertility requires me to be so self-centered. I’m sad that I've ignored many friendships because this struggle hurts so much and demands so much energy. Babies, pregnant women, playgrounds, baby showers, birth stories, kids’ movies, birthday parties and much more, surround me. I hate that I must miss out on things in my friends lives for my own self-preservation. Sometimes I feel so sad and hopeless. 

My infertility makes me feel unsettled. My life is on hold. Years spent doing treatments has put so much on hold. The more I struggle with my infertility, the less control I have. This struggle has no timetable; the treatments have no guarantees. The only sure things are that I need to be near my partner at fertile times and near my doctor at treatment times. Should I pursue adoption? Should I take expensive drugs? Should I pursue more specialized and costly medical intervention? It feels unsettling to have no clear, easy answers or guarantees. Occasionally I feel my panic subside. I’m learning some helpful ways to cope; I’m now convinced I’m not crazy, and I believe I’ll survive. I’m learning to listen to my body and be assertive, not aggressive, about my needs. I’m realizing that good medical care and good emotional care are not necessarily found in the same place. 

I’m trying to be more than an infertile person.