Wispy clouds. Blue skies. Threatening gray. Streaks of sunlight. Gusty winds. Drizzle. Ominous clouds. Brilliant sunshine. Rain.
While I’m describing the fast-changing weather outside of London as I make my way to Heathrow to return to the former colonies – hopefully in time for the Independence Day fireworks tonight on the west coast – I could also be in transit in Infertility Land, no? They certainly share the same schizophrenic weather patterns.
(By the way, I love asking the Brits I’ve encountered here on business what their plans are for the Fourth of July. The confused and amused looks I get are priceless.)
Where was I? Oh right. Weather. On the ground in new places I pore over local reports and then take my temperature, so to speak. Catapulted out of my normal routine and suddenly caught up with all matter of distractions I tend to misplace the thoughts and reminders that come with navigating the familiar cul-de-sacs of Infertility Land. (It’s just as well as I usually don’t have any extra room in my luggage.)
But how long will that last the little devil on shoulder demands to know? I’m hoping for an extended run but weather changes in Infertility Land are precipitated mostly by unexpected disturbances such as (and please feel free to add your storm-inducers):
- Glowing pregnant women who appear unexpectantly seemingly from all sides (have you ever noticed that they seem to arrive one right after another almost as though they’re disembarking en masse from pregnancy island?)
- Encountering quintessential reminders of the infertility-induced empty nest – in the case of this weekend, the neighborhood holiday bike parade and ice cream social overflowing with proud parents and happy little faces.
- But perhaps the one that whips up hurricane force winds the fastest is getting the hurtful or ignorant comment that too often roll effortlessly off the tongues of those who know zip, nada, zilch about infertility. Makes me long for the days when it was considered ill-bred to share opinions without any basis in knowledge.
That brings me to another comment from a reader who asks what comforting (internal) words do I say to myself when I’m confronted with the outside world and its insensitivity?
Well, I don’t know if my inner voice goes for comfort so much as self protection. When a verbal weapon is fired in my direction my internal response — which is highly dependent on my hostility barometer — usually ranges from:
- These people are so pathetically dense they’re not worth my time and thought.
- What a pity these individuals could reproduce and pass along their insensitivity genes.
- Clearly I’ve evolved to perfection but they still have a very long way to go.
- Do they have any idea how hurtful they are? (And would their actions and behavior change if they knew they were inflicting hurt? Of course, I always hope the answer is yes, but sometimes I just don’t know).
Additional thoughts, anyone?