In comparison to years past, the showing on social media for National Infertility Awareness Week was pretty remarkable. It's heartening to see how much it's expanded over the last few years. There were many in my friends list who did a great job contributing on an almost-daily basis. One of my buddies had a 'topic of the day', including everything from 'Adoption does not cure infertility' to 'Infertility Etiquette'. Some friends posted their personal infertility stories on Facebook and of course RESOLVE was posting topics frequently to which countless people responded. I've never felt more proud to be a part of a community in light of this showing of support. Of course, it goes without saying that being infertile sucks donkey balls and I'm sorry others have to be here, too, but for better or worse, I am in the company of some truly remarkable people.
Posting everyday was initially my intention until I was hit full force with a beast whose presence was so vile I can only describe it as 'the stomach bug who shall not be named'. By the end of the week, my nausea was still blinding, leaving me certain that this couldn't possibly be anything ordinary. Of course, that means running to Dr. Google and looking up insane diagnoses, thus forcing my real and non-Google doctor into a series of needless tests and requisite eye-rolling on the other end of the line. I'm not usually that histrionic about health stuff, but I was desperate. I could barely work and wanted respite. After a little over a week later, my stomach still isn't quite 'right', but I can function. I'll take what I can get...
Being in the ballpark of reproductive age, you can imagine how many times I got, "are you sure you're not pregnant?" Gotta love that one. Yes, I am 99.99999% sure, but thanks for reminding me of my non-existent chance of reproduction without the use of multiple lab coats and a nice young lady looking to earn a few bucks. So, of course, that series of labs included a pregnancy test. I groaned when the phlebotomist mentioned it and bit my tongue from explaining the groan. You see, if I am going to be tortured by a BFN, it needs to be on my terms. I never leave it to a phone call. Every negative (or positive) I've ever received has started within the confines of my own bathroom, so when the nurse calls (or when the email lab result comes in*, in this case), it's never a surprise. I don't leave it in anyone's hands but my own. I grieve on my timeline. Maybe that's part of my controlling nature, but in this world of IF, so little is private or within our hands that I seize any opportunity I can to have that moment without the intrusion of others.
How do you handle big news?
*Not to ruin the suspense, but it was negative.