I am nearing the fourth anniversary of the beginning of my fruitless attempts at being fruitful. No babies yet. Not even a miscarriage. Not even a chemical pregnancy. Not even a missed period. It does not feel like I am nearing a fourth anniversary at all. A four year old is a relative new comer to the world. Things are still interesting and fresh to a four year old. I feel worn out - Like I am middle aged. And out of fairness to myself I truly am middle aged. I will liken my infertility age to something more similar to dog years. At one period exactly every 28 days, over four years, I am almost fifty two infertile years old. Now that feels more accurate.
I hope not to offend any fellow mule with my comments about not even having a miscarriage*
*One of the side effects of my case of infertility has been a certain crassness and hardness in my manner of speech, my outward appearance, even my inner talk. I have began sporting a thin unsavory shell around me as a means to protect. But we all know how well those hold up. One tear squeeks through and the entire shell disinigrates. Ever seen M&Ms sitting in water? Yeah, not good.*
Grieving for my intangible losses is one thing, but my heart hurts so much for you who are given tangible hope only to have it flushed away. I realize that my plight could be worse.
This blog is my attempt at articulating the feelings I have, and the feelings I try so hard to bury. I have found so much comfort in commiserating with complete strangers who have given words to my pain when I had nothing but tears. Their blogs have made me laugh, made me cry, and made me own up to feelings and truths about myself that I had subconsiously been avoiding. My hope is that writing about my experiences might do the same for others out there. Maybe I can help the newest members of this crappy club we all belong to. After all, I have nearly fifty two years experience behind me.