My mom asked me, about 8 weeks into my pregnancy, if I felt as though I had "crossed-over" into the world of the pregnant - if I had left behind the "infertility" world yet.
"God, no!" was my answer. And that is the truth today as much as it was back then, regardless of the fact that as of last Friday I began the second-half of my pregnancy. I tried to explain to my mother that infertility is a part of me; it will always be with me - being pregnant and having a baby doesn't erase that, it simply changes the dynamic of my infertility status. I am no longer "struggling" with my infertility so much as I am overcoming some of the obstacles that being infertile has placed in my life. But, strange as this may sound to my mother and to many other people, becoming "pregnant" does not "cure" me.
This discussion has come up over and over again on the various blogs that I read, and a lengthy discussion on this topic recently took place over at
Tertia's. Some commenters (including myself) suggested we refer to ourselves as "infertility survivors" if we have achieved a pregnancy and a baby after infertility. There were MANY commenters who disagreed and felt that once you get pregnant (and successfully have a child) you are thereby no longer infertile. Yet another commenter pointed out that being infertile is NOT the same thing as being barren; and this is the opinion I tend to agree with.
It took us three years, 2 surgeries, 1 IUI and 3 IVF cycles to achieve one pregnancy, and it still remains to be seen whether I will actually have a live baby at the end of this (see how jaded infertility makes us?). My RE told me, IN NO UNCERTAIN TERMS, that if we wanted to try for another child after this one, that we need to NOT breastfeed our first child so that we can IMMEDIATELY begin IVF cycling again, because my clock has all but run out. I don't consider myself cured in the least; having this pregnancy is nothing short of a miracle that worked against all odds, and the chances of us ever being able to have a second pregnancy are slim to none, even with IVF. The fact that someone would claim that I am cured of my infertility truly surprises me. However, my mother and even Anthony have both said "but you're PREGNANT now, you're NOT infertile - INFERTILE means you can't get pregnant!" If that were truly the case, why would anyone diagnosed with infertility seek any sort of treatment whatsoever - if being infertile meant that the outlook was that bleak, wouldn't we all just "not bother" with all the invasive, humiliating treatments?
Anyways, I am bringing this up because I have an unfortunate situation at work and it is definitely catching me a bit off-guard. There is a woman I work with who is several years younger than me, who just celebrated her one year wedding anniversary. There are 3 women at our office who are currently pregnant (including me), and two men whose wives are pregnant. There have been jokes about "don't drink the water here or you'll wind up pregnant" and anytime this one woman is around when this joke is made, she seems to emphatically imply that parenthood is not something she is interested in right now. However, it turns out that this was an act. Not that I blame her for that in the least; I understand the need to keep your desires to start trying to get pregnant quiet in the workplace - just because I didn't have that luxury myself doesn't mean I would begrudge anyone else.
Long story short, the week I was off on vacation, she had a miscarriage. It turns out she was almost 10 weeks pregnant at that point, unbeknownst to me.
I returned from my vacation last week to discover that she had been out the whole week I was out, and that she would be out for the rest of that week as well. Someone else that I work with confided in me that this was indeed what had happened with her, but she also told me that I was sworn to secrecy because she was not supposed to tell anyone. I was stunned, because I really had been given the impression that she was not interested in having babies yet; I was also terribly sad, because I remember being close to my 10th week all too well. Even though I wasn't quite out of the "danger-zone" at that point, I still felt very comfortably pregnant and very secure in the fact that I would be having a baby. To lose it at that point would have been utterly devastating for me; it didn't matter that this woman was young and that this was their first attempt at achieving a pregnancy, because all I could think about was that she must be absolutely torn to shreds.
Here is the weird part; she is avoiding me like the plague. Okay, to everyone else in the world that would be obvious; I am her friend and I am a walking reminder of what she just lost. But for me, odd as this may sound, I still don't see myself as pregnant. At least, not by definition. I had a rude awakening today when I realized that I am now the "pregnant" woman that she will be glaring at, angry with, jealous of, etc. I have spent the past three years feeling all of those same feelings towards other women who were pregnant, because I was envious and hated that they had what I did not. It never even occurred to me until today that there may actually be women out there looking at me with the evil eye; other women out there glaring at me, the "lucky" pregnant person. To be on that other side today was horribly strange.
I want to talk to her; I want to say something to her, anything, to ease her pain. But I can't. First of all, I am not supposed to know, and until she tells me herself I need to act as though I DON'T know. Secondly, I understand that just the sight of me is probably enough to send her into a tailspin right now. I don't want to do that to her. She ran out of the office crying at around 11:00AM this morning; God only knows what triggered it. I hate that she has to sit and look at me and watch me growing and being happy and enjoying the very thing she just lost. I hate it.
There is a part of me that also feels like, "but I did nothing wrong." She knows everything that Anthony and I went through to get pregnant; in fact she was the first one to come over and rub my back when I got that phone call at work telling me that this IVF was probably not going to work, and that it was "time to stop pursuing pregnancy." I feel like she should know that if anyone understands the way she is feeling, I do. Part of me wishes she would come and talk to me, because I know as well as anyone what she is going through right now. But I guess for the moment I need to try to stay invisible, since the sight of a pregnant woman is the last thing she needs right now. Even though I did nothing wrong, I realize I am the enemy.
Hmm...I wonder if this is how all those pregnant women I used to glare at felt, too?
I am soo not prepared to be on the other side of all of this.
