Normally, I enjoy reading New York Times "Social Qs" column, but today it left me furious. A lady who'd apparently been struggling with infertility and finally got pregnant is asking how to break her good news. (I wonder who on earth, after going through the ordeal of infertility, does not know how NOT to handle this, but whatever). The advice Philip Galanes gives her? Priceless. "Share your intimate news intimately. Tell pals one on one, especially those you suspect may be struggling with fertility issues." So basically, the poor unsuspecting victim of the good news has nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, and has to put on a brave face and offer heartfelt congratulations? I don't think so. Give another person a space to process the news, give her a chance to cry in private, and then to congratulate you. Via email, again. Please. Don't do it face to face, ever. And if Mr. Galanes took time to look up hundreds of infertility blogs, he wouldn't have given such a cruel advice.
Sunday, March 29, 2015
Monday, March 16, 2015
Silence
We used to be friends. Then I moved far away, but we kept occasionally emailing and generally keeping in touch. She was the first one of my friends whom I told about my second miscarriage. And the first. All in the same email, in a bleak December 2013 - and it was also about the deaths of my grandparents the very same year. Sort of "end of the year" report. I've never heard back from her. Soon, through a social media, I learned she was expecting her third child. Okay, I thought. Pregnant and preoccupied and having no time for my dark pit, I get it, totally. I decided to let it go and not to show how much her lack of reaction bothered me.
Recently, she reached out again, after one of my sad musings online. Just a general "hey, thinking of you" stuff. Life, apparently, failed to teach me anything, so I dutifully explained that hey, third and fourth miscarriages, and then a surgery, what a charmed life I live.
She replied. She never ever acknowledged my losses. Like I never even mentioned them. This silence, this total ignoring of my pain - it hurts so freaking much.
Two strikes, you are out.
Friday, March 13, 2015
Just another day
In June 2013, we went to a 2-year-old birthday party. Later, the birthday girl's mom posted pictures of the event, and even now, I cannot look at them. Because this was the day my first miscarriage started. I was half-expecting it - the ultrasound scan did not show anything but the fetal pole on my 7th week - but still the spotting came as a horrible blow.
On this party, the birthday girl's mom asked the ladies present if they are planning to have a second child. Well, it's been almost two years. Every single fucking woman from that party is either pregnant of have had a second baby recently. Every fucking one.
Except me.
And I seriously need to go offline. Hate is not healthy and not productive, but sometimes it's the only thing I feel. And yes, I hate myself for being like this, too.
On this party, the birthday girl's mom asked the ladies present if they are planning to have a second child. Well, it's been almost two years. Every single fucking woman from that party is either pregnant of have had a second baby recently. Every fucking one.
Except me.
And I seriously need to go offline. Hate is not healthy and not productive, but sometimes it's the only thing I feel. And yes, I hate myself for being like this, too.
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
Hypochondria
Somewhere around this time three years ago I experienced my first anxiety attacks. First, I didn't realize what it was. I thought this was somehow a breastfeeding-related issue - I was drastically cutting down on breastfeeding, my breasts were sore, and I remember trying to explain a startled lactation coordinator this horrible feeling of a black cloud suffocating me. Few factors collided to become a trigger for my anxiety - my own health history, my friend's horrible diagnosis, and probably the partial weaning and the following hormonal shitstorm did not help matters as well. Since then, I've became a hypochondriac. I regularly feel symptoms, get scared, go to the doctor, receive simple explanation, breath out, symptoms vanish. I get a few weeks break. And then it starts again. And of course this next time I am completely sure that something is terribly wrong with me.
The recurrent pregnancy loss does not help matters. After three miscarriages, it became obvious that the idea of trying anew creates a new trigger for me. In September, before we were given a go-ahead, I had all kinds of psychosomatic issues - suddenly, my neck hurt, I'd have trouble emptying my bladder, my breasts hurt, etc. It felt like my body was protesting against whatever torture was ahead. In some way, my body was right - I did end up with another chemical pregnancy in October.
So now I started a new cycle and will be trying again soon, and of course my hypochondria is out, surprisingly not in full force, but still it's here and it's loud. Somehow successful pregnancy seems like a cure from it, but I know this is not the case. Rather, it would probably give my anxieties a new focus. Oh well.
The recurrent pregnancy loss does not help matters. After three miscarriages, it became obvious that the idea of trying anew creates a new trigger for me. In September, before we were given a go-ahead, I had all kinds of psychosomatic issues - suddenly, my neck hurt, I'd have trouble emptying my bladder, my breasts hurt, etc. It felt like my body was protesting against whatever torture was ahead. In some way, my body was right - I did end up with another chemical pregnancy in October.
So now I started a new cycle and will be trying again soon, and of course my hypochondria is out, surprisingly not in full force, but still it's here and it's loud. Somehow successful pregnancy seems like a cure from it, but I know this is not the case. Rather, it would probably give my anxieties a new focus. Oh well.
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