I went to see the Dr to say ‘Hey I finished the Metformin!’ and she sent me to have a blood test to make sure I’m not carrying HIV, Rubella or Hepatitis. The funny thing is that usually I’d run out of the Dr’s office, straight to the hospital with my arm out as I eagerly await the blood to be taken. Usually I just want answers. However this time it took me a week to get the hospital to get the blood drawn.
As I drove back from the hospital I couldn’t work out whether I’d accepted the infertility situation or whether I was choosing to ignore it. I think it was a mix of both.
That night I sat and made the raspberry sound. I was feeling
flat like poo and reflecting on the fact that this is not what life is about. My husband had found ‘The Secret’ lying around at work and brought it home. I noticed it on our bookshelf but always thought ‘I don’t need to read some airy fairy stuff on how to be happy!’ Yet, it was approaching midnight and I couldn’t sleep so I decided to flick through the pages. And then 38 pages later, I had to ask myself…
“Why aren’t I visualising or believing in my fertility? Why aren’t I fantasising about seeing the two pink lines and having a healthy pregnancy?”
The answer is fear and protecting myself from disappointments.
Fear that I’ll never conceive.
Fear that I’ll never get to see two pink lines.
Fear that I’ll conceive and then face the worst.
In doing that, I’m holding back, I’m blocking the flow inside me and this is probably going to sound really airy fairy now but I’m not allowing it to manifest itself because I’ve already mentally shut it down. It’s as if I’ve said to my body ,’Well, it hasn’t happened in all these years so why fantasise about it now?’
So I forced myself to daydream. I pictured what conception would be like (thanks ‘Looks Who’s Talking’ for helping with that), what it’d be like to be super fertile, seeing those two pink lines as I stood in our tiny cubicle of a bathroom, caressing my bump and welcoming home babies (yep, in my fantasy I got greedy and opted for twins). It was the most euphoric feeling ever and it felt attainable.
As long as I don’t turn into some crazy psychopath who ends up kidnapping babies (like you see on Criminal Minds and CSI), I think I’m going to hold onto those daydreams.
Nothing is ever guaranteed but I choose to believe in my body without fear. Plus I really need to rid myself of the word ‘infertile’ – maybe I’ll start using struggling fertile instead?