Monthly posts, you all can handle that many, right? Ahh, so much to talk about and yet, so very little. Should I discuss what I don't want to talk about first? Why not . . .
I think I mentioned little white pills as the first concession on a dr's part that yes, something could be wrong with a 24-year-old's reproductive system. And after taking them for a month and them presumably doing what they were supposed to do (apparently labs are not open Christmas day to draw blood to find our for sure). Then, how about one damn cycle of not taking pills, not watching the calendar, not scheduling sex, and all around not trying? The first such in about 11 months. This past month has allowed me to do a peculiar thing: push every thought of fertility and/or the lack thereof, straight out of my mind. Do you believe me? Need proof? No desperate measures for this next cycle either! I'm thinking that if I pretend not to care HARD enough and for LONG enough, that eventually, I really won't care.
Won't care that I'm infertile, or seriously sub-fertile, or practically barren. Won't care that I have no baby and that some stupid man called god gets to play Russian roulette with the calendar in deciding when and if I ever do get a baby. Won't care that other people can simply look at their wives and knock them up. I won't care that I can't plan my life and I can't see my future. Won't care, won't care, won't care.
Apparently, that last paragraph is a type of denial and doesn't disguise the anger that I am so very prone to. Which is why I have two options: get myself into therapy or run :-). Since I am lazy and actually enjoy paying people to listen to me talk about my feelings, I'm opting for therapy. We'll see how it goes. In the meantime, I really don't care.
Because there are two great women at work pregnant, I also want to very sweetly ask, how the hell do I get the sign off my head that says, "Tell me you're pregnant and feel nauseous all day long, really, I'm a good listener!" The sign used to just say "I'm a good listener," but somewhere along the way it got an upgrade. I appreciate being told early because it gives me a moment to beat off the jealousy with a huge stick and be genuinely happy for the pregnant pal. Maybe I should just leave it there.
It's funny that even as I write this, I am not actually thinking about any of it. I think its called disassociation. I am really not thinking about February 11. I remember and I'm very much okay if I am the only one. Give the impatient person an abundance of time as her punishment and surely she will learn. What am I supposed to be learning here?
1 comment:
This post is eerie to me, mostly because your thoughts are the oddly similar to mine. I hate the "cycle" and all it includes, the timing, the planning, the total loss of spontaneity.
I also dislike the thought that my body has failed me. What do those "others" do that I have not? What can I try differently? And why am I left with so many questions.
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