Knowing what I know now

Knowing what I know now, I wish we had done this sooner. Two and a half years and it’s still a living hell. It’s been invasive; it’s been confusing. I’m afraid and I’m sad. I feel hopeless, afraid and guilty all at the same time. No one understands the daily struggle and I fear my own reaction to these struggles. Knowing what I know now, we should have done this sooner.

Most of all I feel unsettled and angry. My life constantly feels on hold. It’s impossible to make a decision about my future. I simply cannot make a decision about holidays, career, education courses, moving house, having a dog or eating out. The more I try and struggle with infertility, the less control I have. The more questions you ask, the more you struggle. Should I try the new expensive fertility drug? Should I undergo further expensive testing? Should we attempt adoption? It’s unsettling to have no guarantees.

I’m angry at my body for betraying me and I’m angry at my husbands body for betraying him. Our anger is easily misdirected at times. We fight. We argue. We never seem to be on the same page in this infertile journey at the same time. It tears us apart some days but we’re closer than ever because of it. My anger gets directed at my family. My younger brother has a son. My mum use to tell me when I was younger that she was very fertile and surely I would be too. What a lie! It makes me sad to see my parents show off their grandson. Being the oldest sibling, wasn’t I entitled to bare the first grandchild for them?

I’m angry at my Doctor because she controls our future and charges us for it. My doctor rips me of my dignity and invades my privacy. She also inflicts pain on me. This is humiliating. My husband and I make so many sacrifices to pay the medical bills and our health insurance company barely provides anything in return.

Finally, I'm angry at everyone else. Everyone has opinions about our quest for parenthood. Everyone has easy solutions. Everyone tells you to relax. Everyone seems to say too much.

Someone once old me ‘It’s not the journey, but the destination’. But what if this is wrong? Maybe in my situation “It’s not the destination, but the journey’. Today I begin a new journey. Today I seek my STORK.

One day my struggle with infertility will cease. It will never disappear but it will change me. I yearn for the day I’m not controlled by this struggle but I’ve accepted I cannot return to the person I once was. When it does cease I will be left with a bucket load of empathy.