I often need to be reminded, not so much about the issue but about my place within the group, as if I need to constantly be told, “Yes, you belong here.”
My voice is not loud and boisterous (it never really was) and my story is not current. Honestly, sometimes (although I’m ashamed to admit it) I forget.
Until I read the posts and see it trending on twitter or I hold the announcement of a long awaited (and long fought for) baby, and then I remember.
Much like I do when news of a pregnancy is announced, my stomach knots and aches when I read about two people who take to their bed, or romantic hotel room or even the backseat of their car and the result is not tears, blood and heartache but rather ultrasound pictures of “BABY, due in September!” or “spontaneous twins!”.
I am still utterly surprised (and angered) that the mere act of sex can produce children. Even after all this time.
And yet, when I try to talk about the lump in my throat and through the tears stinging my eyes, I am faced with the survivor guilt I have been carrying around in my heart for six long years.
I am infertile and the mother of twins.
Little boys with no allergies or lingering respiratory issues, twins who beat the odds of autism, cervical openings and 24 week contractions, children who are healthy and smart, the right size for their age and alive.
My children are living, breathing miracles; my greatest accomplishment wrapped in my body’s greatest failure.
I cannot talk of the success of invitro-fertilization without mentioning the four years of 28 day failures I endured. I cannot hide my jealousy and complete awe at the ease others have in the arena of procreation, but I also cannot hide the delight and happiness for my dearest friends when they announce their news.
I am a conundrum of feelings that span the distance from one ovary to another and wonder where my story fits on the spectrum of infertility.
I am infertile, of this I am sure.
Even today. I am still (and always) infertile.
I still wish for a third child.
I still daydream about conceiving my children in a way other than one involving stinging needles, expensive medicine and dimly lit operating rooms.
I harbor gratefulness in my heart for the gift of my sons.
I am so incredibly thankful for stinging needles, expensive medicine and dimly lit operating rooms.
So I hum my fight song, the song of trains and angels, for the people still struggling to make their own wish of parenthood come true:
I won’t give up, if you don’t give up.
a stream of consciousness
a free write with :
This time of spring, when things are budding and rebirth is a word tossed around like an Easter egg
is also National Infertility Awareness Week. (NIAW) April 20-26th.
Resolve was an encouraging , informative and helpful partner in my own journey to parenthood.