Barren and Bitchy
That title came to me this afternoon as I was mulling (pre-writing, we'll call it) over this post and as quickly as it came to me, I thought that 'Baron of Bitchy' would be an excellent name of for a ranty feministy blog - right?
But I not the almost-royalty type of 'baron'. I am barren. Straight up, dried up. Or something like that. No buns in my oven (check these videos out, they are quite hilarious and also, spot on.).
It's taken a long time to get to the point where I can even think that word. But I'm slowly coming to terms with it, although I (obviously) don't like it. Was it Elizabeth in the Bible who was barren until she had John the Baptist?
I've lost count of the number of babies who have been conceived and born to close friends and family members during the last 2.5 years, but it is up there. I thought about counting for the purposes of this writing, but I have so far resisted the urge. It would be too depressing. In fact, it has been long enough now that we are on round 2 - the same friends are announcing their SECOND viable pregnancy (not including miscarriages). It is unfortunate, but every announcement a voice screams at me 'YOU'RE THE ONE! THE ONE WHO ISN'T FERTILE. YOU'RE THE ONE OUT OF 6, 10, 15, 20 PEOPLE WHO CAN'T HAVE BABIES. OR EVEN GET PREGNANT'
This is where the 'bitchy' comes in. I am not nice, sometimes. I am downright vicious and terrible. I'm not happy when people tell me they are pregnant. I am pissed. I am jealous. It doesn't make sense, isn't fair, and isn't right, but it is what it is. A year and a half ago I wrote about not wanting to be this way, about wanting to be able to be there for friends, but it turns out, I can't.
I can't hear about how worried people are about miscarrying (I am sure that is awful), because all I want is to worry about that (it has gotten to the point that I no longer hope for a baby. I only hope for a positive pregnancy test. Actually, even that is more than I hope for these days). I can't talk to pregnant people about infertility; even the most empathetic person is experiencing the EXACT OPPOSITE of what I am experiencing, and that discrepancy just cannot be overcome. I can't hear how excited and terrified people are. Much like when you are single and don't want to be, other peoples' love can be offensive and hard to take, so is other people's fertility for me. Thus, I am a bitch, and send very curt 'congrats' emails and texts and cry all the while.
It is a tricky business, fertility. It isn't an illness, per se, but it something wrong that sometimes can't be fixed by 'doing' (trust me, you name it, I've tried it). It's not a health issue - as in, I'm not sick - and yet it is, because my body isn't doing something it's designed to. It's something people assume you have choice in and control over (and thank goodness the odds of that being the case are higher here than in other parts of the world), when maybe you don't. It's something that some people use as proof of their superiority and virility (esp men: 'first try!'), but I am healthy too! And so is J!
The word Equity runs around a lot in my head these days. I work in a place where this is a word we hear and use constantly.
I'm trying to see this fertility business less in terms of 'fair' (because this is shit-ass-more-swears-than-are-really-necessary-but-feel-so-good-to-say-sometimes NOT FAIR), and more in terms of 'equity'. It's helping, slowly. Very slowly.
Equality would be that I, along with my 14 and 15 year old students, would be able to get pregnant 'the first time!' (that's what they always say, but in more of an incredulous and upset way, not in a bragging way). But equality would also be that my 14 and 15 year old students would have a fridge full of healthy and delicious food as well as a stable, clean, and welcoming home to spend time in. Which, they do not always have. Equality would be that I, like pretty much everyone else I know, can have babies when they want them. But equality would also be that everyone else I know would have as many holidays as I do, and make the money I do.
J and I are lucky. We live close to a clinic that provides Assisted Reproductive Technologies (so clinical!) and we can afford to pay for it. We don't have to miss work or move to a different city to do it. The longer this whole process goes on and the more I read and think, the more I am approaching ART (see above) as 'medicine' rather than 'elective'. There is something wrong with me and maybe modern medicine can fix it. 50 years ago there wouldn't really have been anything anyone could do for me, but now they can. So why not take advantage of it? Much like if I needed a blood transfusion, I would take one. (But I'll end the comparison there as I am well aware of the pitfalls and inappropriateness of comparing fertility to life-threatening medical conditions. It is not the same and I am aware of that)
We're going to start 'throwing money' at the problem and see what happens. Maybe it will work.
I'm not sure how to wrap this up. What is this blog post? An explanation? An excuse? An attempt to explain my behavior to myself? An attempt to be more open in the hopes that I can let some of the bitchy out and make room for graciousness? (that would be nice)
I dunno what it is. But it is.
This aspect of my life is not my most shining. But it is real. It is human. So maybe that's enough.
But I not the almost-royalty type of 'baron'. I am barren. Straight up, dried up. Or something like that. No buns in my oven (check these videos out, they are quite hilarious and also, spot on.).
It's taken a long time to get to the point where I can even think that word. But I'm slowly coming to terms with it, although I (obviously) don't like it. Was it Elizabeth in the Bible who was barren until she had John the Baptist?
I've lost count of the number of babies who have been conceived and born to close friends and family members during the last 2.5 years, but it is up there. I thought about counting for the purposes of this writing, but I have so far resisted the urge. It would be too depressing. In fact, it has been long enough now that we are on round 2 - the same friends are announcing their SECOND viable pregnancy (not including miscarriages). It is unfortunate, but every announcement a voice screams at me 'YOU'RE THE ONE! THE ONE WHO ISN'T FERTILE. YOU'RE THE ONE OUT OF 6, 10, 15, 20 PEOPLE WHO CAN'T HAVE BABIES. OR EVEN GET PREGNANT'
This is where the 'bitchy' comes in. I am not nice, sometimes. I am downright vicious and terrible. I'm not happy when people tell me they are pregnant. I am pissed. I am jealous. It doesn't make sense, isn't fair, and isn't right, but it is what it is. A year and a half ago I wrote about not wanting to be this way, about wanting to be able to be there for friends, but it turns out, I can't.
I can't hear about how worried people are about miscarrying (I am sure that is awful), because all I want is to worry about that (it has gotten to the point that I no longer hope for a baby. I only hope for a positive pregnancy test. Actually, even that is more than I hope for these days). I can't talk to pregnant people about infertility; even the most empathetic person is experiencing the EXACT OPPOSITE of what I am experiencing, and that discrepancy just cannot be overcome. I can't hear how excited and terrified people are. Much like when you are single and don't want to be, other peoples' love can be offensive and hard to take, so is other people's fertility for me. Thus, I am a bitch, and send very curt 'congrats' emails and texts and cry all the while.
It is a tricky business, fertility. It isn't an illness, per se, but it something wrong that sometimes can't be fixed by 'doing' (trust me, you name it, I've tried it). It's not a health issue - as in, I'm not sick - and yet it is, because my body isn't doing something it's designed to. It's something people assume you have choice in and control over (and thank goodness the odds of that being the case are higher here than in other parts of the world), when maybe you don't. It's something that some people use as proof of their superiority and virility (esp men: 'first try!'), but I am healthy too! And so is J!
The word Equity runs around a lot in my head these days. I work in a place where this is a word we hear and use constantly.
I'm trying to see this fertility business less in terms of 'fair' (because this is shit-ass-more-swears-than-are-really-necessary-but-feel-so-good-to-say-sometimes NOT FAIR), and more in terms of 'equity'. It's helping, slowly. Very slowly.
Equality would be that I, along with my 14 and 15 year old students, would be able to get pregnant 'the first time!' (that's what they always say, but in more of an incredulous and upset way, not in a bragging way). But equality would also be that my 14 and 15 year old students would have a fridge full of healthy and delicious food as well as a stable, clean, and welcoming home to spend time in. Which, they do not always have. Equality would be that I, like pretty much everyone else I know, can have babies when they want them. But equality would also be that everyone else I know would have as many holidays as I do, and make the money I do.
J and I are lucky. We live close to a clinic that provides Assisted Reproductive Technologies (so clinical!) and we can afford to pay for it. We don't have to miss work or move to a different city to do it. The longer this whole process goes on and the more I read and think, the more I am approaching ART (see above) as 'medicine' rather than 'elective'. There is something wrong with me and maybe modern medicine can fix it. 50 years ago there wouldn't really have been anything anyone could do for me, but now they can. So why not take advantage of it? Much like if I needed a blood transfusion, I would take one. (But I'll end the comparison there as I am well aware of the pitfalls and inappropriateness of comparing fertility to life-threatening medical conditions. It is not the same and I am aware of that)
We're going to start 'throwing money' at the problem and see what happens. Maybe it will work.
I'm not sure how to wrap this up. What is this blog post? An explanation? An excuse? An attempt to explain my behavior to myself? An attempt to be more open in the hopes that I can let some of the bitchy out and make room for graciousness? (that would be nice)
I dunno what it is. But it is.
This aspect of my life is not my most shining. But it is real. It is human. So maybe that's enough.
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