…but I’m in a pretty good place right now. This despite having an older laptop stolen from a back room in a week when roofers were crawling all over our house, new doors were being in stalled and electricians were wiring. There were just too many subcontractors employing temporary crews. I discovered the loss only when I was going to transfer some photos that were stored on it.
Sigh. I had backed up most of the data recently, but not all of the photos. It’s those that I’ll miss the most — and yeah, it and had my entire iTunes library on it, too. But still, the theft didn’t send me into orbit the way it might have in years past. I’ve just become more zen-like (okay, everybody, say it with me…) since infertility changed the way I see the world.
Being in a good place has me a wee bit worried especially since we’re coming up on the mother of all Norman Rockwellian periods — the time of the year when, tra la, the images online, on television, in the stores — everywhere you turn — show happy shining faces of proud parents and cherub-like children and if you don’t fit that ideal well, you can’t help but feel a bit deficient, sad, left out of the party taking place around you.
Infertiles aren’t the only ones left standing in the cold. We’re joined by a sub-set of singletons who would prefer to be part of a couple and others who have suffered loss. Hmmm. Not a jolly crew to be sure, which is why it’s essential going into this season to have your game face on and your expectations set low. Just knowing there will be episodes that suck BIG time makes it that much easier to cope.
I was reminded of this again when I was strolling down the hall past a supply/copy room at work. It always seems that I need to get a new folder, staple refill or copy something at the same time one of a handful of women in our office is using the room to well, let’s just say, restock their babies food supply. It’s usually a blow to my senses, the proverbial sucker punch when I see that door closed with a handwritten post-it note reading “privacy please.” It brings it all home again. The closed door is the perfect metaphor. I’ve been shut out of a major life experience. I’m outside of the circle of women who can conceive and nourish their children.
When the supply room was first assigned to do double duty as a temporary lactation room it made my blood boil. Arrgh! Did I really need to be reminded of my infertility on such a regular basis? Surely there had to be a better, less conspicuous place to conduct this bit of biological business. But what was I going to do? Protest? It would not exactly have been sisterly of me to deny them or make a scene so I gnashed my teeth some and challenged myself to face it like the infertile warrior that I am. That which doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.
And that’s why I think I’m in such a good place at the moment. But there are others who are having a tougher time. I’ve read recent posts from women who are walking down the
same path I am — carving out a life after treatments didn’t work —
and they’ve had a few setbacks. They are not in such a good place. I’ve also received emails from women from virtually every corner of the world who aren’t comfortable leaving their thoughts in the comments section that remind me just how deep the pain can go, how lonely this time of year can feel. By the way this is not just a Western or Christian phenomenon. I’ve received emails from women in other parts of the world who live in cultures that effectively shun and totally devalue infertile women and the Internet is their lifeline.
So taking a cue from Mel over at Stirrup Queens I’m opening up the living room here for those who need to vent. I’ve found the best way to work through the not so good place is to let it all out. You’re welcome to do so here.
P.S. And if you need a good look at how and why it’s difficult to explain and relate at times given the unpredictable nature of the way infertility colors our world, check out this excellent post by Chicklet over at Bloorb.