Archive for February, 2011

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March

Sunday, February 27, 2011

March marks five years of trying to have a baby.  I never thought we would make it to this point.  I’m sure *no one* ever thinks they’ll make it to this point.  No one starts out trying to get pregnant thinking, “I’m sure this will take at least five years….”

But here we are.  Five years.  My husband and I haven’t even been married for six and a half years yet, and five years of that time has been spent trying to have a baby.

Uselessly trying to have a baby.

That also means it has been more than two years since we gave up trying to get pregnant, and more than two years since we moved on to adoption.

And here we are.  Still waiting.

I could have a four year old by now.

But thinking about that doesn’t help any.

Five years.

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An Infertile’s wish list…

Thursday, February 10, 2011

(Stolen and modified from a friend’s Face.book page; originally about the loss of a loved one.)

1. I wish I wasn’t infertile. I wish I had a baby.

2. If I cry and get emotional when you talk about the loss of my dream of having a baby, I wish you knew that it isn’t because you have hurt me. My infertility is the cause of my tears. You have acknowledged my loss and you allowed me to share my grief. I thank you for both.

3. Being an “infertile” is not contagious, so I wish you wouldn’t shy away from me. I need you now more then ever!

4. I need diversions, so I DO want to hear about you, but I also want you to hear about me. I might be sad and I might cry, but I wish you would let me talk about my desire to have a baby, the overwhelming topic of my daily life.

5. Just because I don’t want to hear about your baby doesn’t mean I’m not happy for you, it just means that it hurts too much right now.

6. I know that you think of me and pray for me often; I also know that seeing my pain hurts you too. I wish you would let me know these things through a phone call, text, card, a note or a real big hug.

7. I wish you wouldn’t expect my grief to be over in two, four or six years.  I wish you could understand that my grief will never be over. I will suffer the loss of my dream until the day I die.

8. I am working very hard, so very hard, on my recovery but I wish you could understand that I will never fully recover. I will always miss what could have been, and I will always grieve that it never was.

9. I wish you wouldn’t expect me to “not think about it” or “be happy”. Neither will happen for a long time, so don’t frustrate yourself.

10. I wish you understood how my life has shattered. I know it is miserable for you to be around me when I’m feeling miserable. Please be patient with me as I am with you.

11. When I say “I’m doing okay,” I wish you could understand that I don’t “feel” okay and that I struggle daily.

12. I wish you knew that all of the grief reactions I’m having are very normal. Depression, anger, hopelessness, fatigue and overwhelming sadness are all to be expected. So, please excuse me when I’m quiet and withdrawn or irritable or cranky.

13. I wish you understood that grief changes people. When I lost my dream, a big part of me died with it. I am not the same person I was before infertility and I will never be that person again.

14. I wish very much that you could understand………understand my loss and my grief, my silence and my tears, my void and my pain. But, I pray daily that you will never understand.