I came across this post on a blog through an e-mail from the Resolve infertility network. It really spoke to me. Here’s a blurb from it: There seems to be a misconception among outsiders that, once you have set on a certain path to motherhood – such as adoption – or once you have a child, you are no longer infertile. You are no longer in pain. That you perhaps you should consider getting over it.
The last time I went to my GYN office, I cried the entire time. This was less than a year ago, so I had already been a mommy for over a year at that point and my infertility battle was way over. But what this author says is so true. The scars from infertility never fully go away. Even if they remain dormant most days, they’re still there and can show up with unexpected triggers. I remember that trip to the doctor’s office. I was perfectly fine that day. It was sunny out, my baby girl had a good morning and I had four or five new pictures of her beautiful face on my cell phone to show the nurse who I had known for a while. All was good. But then when the nurse left the room and I was alone waiting for the doctor, I started noticing everything around me. All the pictures of babies, the charts that show the development of a baby during pregnancy, the anatomy pictures that illustrate how the reproductive system works, and the books full of hundreds of birth control options for married couples who have to try NOT to have another kid. All of a sudden I felt so empty, and the tears came fast. Never having to deal with the body issues that come from giving birth and never dealing with birth control ever again may sound great for some people, and honestly I do consider these minor side benefits to this whole deal. But the fact is that my reproductive system for some reason doesn’t work like everyone else’s. That basic human function is somehow broken, which, before Bean was born, would make me feel like crap almost every day. Like less than human or not part of the human race. I wasn’t expecting the tears that day in the doctor’s office. It had been so long since I felt that pain, because it seemed to have vanished into thin air the day I first help my baby girl in my arms. But I guess it just went dormant, hidden in a secret corner of my mind. The doctor came in a few minutes later to my mascara stained face and red eyes. She comforted me as best as someone who had just had her second baby and who helps hundreds of people have babies could. We talked for a few minutes and the tears and pain went back into their secret hiding place.
Everyone has scars, and a lot of people have worse emotional and physical scars than I ever will. I’m not writing this to complain. For me this is just a recognition of the very constant human condition of pain and healing. At least I know that THAT basic human function in me isn’t broken. That makes me feel like part of the human race again.