My monthly was late. To most women this signals a minor inconvenience. To infertiles it wreaks utter havoc. Like some other infertiles I know, I have shorter cycles than most women which means I get an extra cycle per year. So not only do I get the extra fun that comes with an approaching menstruation more often than most women, but I also get the knowledge that I fail at my goal an extra time each year. I get a little hot under the collar knowing that not only do I not get the chance to have children, but I have to endure emotional trauma in addition to the normal physical crap that comes with Auntie Flow's visits. It seems extra unfair not only to not have the ability to reproduce but still have to go through the bodily preparations for something that's not going to happen. But then add in one more lemon squeezed into the wound: the hope that comes with a late period.
Hope is the most dangerous and painful thing for an infertile woman. No matter how much you try, each day that does not bring your completely unwelcome but expected guest adds hope to an already aching heart. That doesn't sound so bad. Nobody wants to live without hope, right? Hope is a good thing. In one way, yes that's true. But here's what happens to a seasoned infertile when hope arrives on the scene. Every day after the expected arrival that it doesn't come, hope filled thoughts occur:
Maybe this is the month.
No of course not. It's just like any other month, just later.
Huh, it's still not here. I wonder...
Don't be stupid, Laura. You know it's not going to happen.
I'm starting to feel possible signs of pregnancy.
Yes, and most of those signs are also signs of an approaching period. Don't do this to yourself.
I fell nauseous today. That's not something I normally feel before "the arrival".
You're skating on thin ice. You know you can't allow yourself to feel this kind of hope. It'll only be extra painful when it comes. Stop now.
I've never been this late before. That has to mean something!
Stop it! Stop it! Stop it now! Don't hurt yourself like this.
On and on it goes until you are finally proved right once again. And your heart breaks for the thousandth time. This month I was a week late. I've never been that late before. Sometimes I REALLY hate my body! It sure knows just the right way to ruin my peace of mind and crush my dreams. It also creates many opportunities for me to beat up on myself because I was stupid enough to have a small grain of hope that it could still happen. Even when I already know that those kind of miracles only happen to other people. They're not made for me.
An infertile friend once wrote on her blog that she understood the meaning of insanity now. They say insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. I agree with her. It would seem I am certifiable. This month marks the 5th year Lyle and I have been trying for a child. That means I have done the same thing 65 times (appx) and failed EVERY SINGLE TIME yet this month I still thought it was possible to be pregnant. So this is what insanity feels like.
Though most months I don't break down when that beastly day occurs (why break down when I know I'm not going to be pregnant?), the months where something different happens, I can't stop my heart from feeling so empty and yet in so much pain.
My oh so wonderful husband has left me wallowing with tissues in my pajamas to go to the store and buy some comfort for me. Since I can't have a baby I'll have to make do with Mr. Pringles, a candy bar or two and of course my two best friends: Ben and Jerry.
This post wrenches at my heart, too!! Love you, friend.
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