Monday, December 1, 2008

stack o' posts: 3 of 4

Thanksgiving was interesting, as are most indicators of time passing to those of us who have been shaped by infertility. At one point, I told my mom I would NOT be cooking next year because I'd be too busy trailing a crawling infant. I said it without thinking, but once the words were out there, they hung in the air the like a comic strip and I stared at them for several minutes, thinking about the power of what I'd said and how amazing and humbling it is to be where I am right now. This reminded me of the intensely painful place I was in exactly one year ago, and my heart broke for each of my friends - both in "real-life" and online - who are still waiting for their children to find them.

My period came the day before Thanksgiving last year. It signaled the end of try #11 and it was one of those BFNs that completely eviscerated me. I was staying under one roof with most of my extended family for the holiday, M wasn't in town yet, and I simply couldn't stop crying. No one except my parents knew what was going on at that point so I had to get away. I ended up spending the day driving through the country by myself, then sitting in a deserted park, crying and surrendering completely to the overwhelming grief. We'd been TTC for over a year by then and my NP had told me time and time again that there was just no reason that I wasn't pregnant yet! I was sure at that point that I was broken beyond hope and that I would never find the magic solution I was so desperate for.

There are days where I'm able to forget how excrutiating the lows of TTC were, but it takes very little to remind me.

On this Thanksgiving, I thought of each and every one of you that are where I was a year ago - feeling empty and drained and hopeless. As I look back, I can clearly see that holidays were among the hardest times for me. I think they are for many of us who track our lives in two week increments and dream of where we will be by the next [insert time marker here] and I am sure that many of you were in pain. I wish there was something I could say to make it hurt less, but know that you were in my heart and I sent (and continue to send) out hopes that one year from now, you will look back on this time from a very different place.

1 comment:

Mrs. Bluemont said...

What a thoughtful, gracious post. Lovely darling. Thank you.