Misery Loves Company

I’m pretty sure that some of the feelings I’m about to admit to in this post make me a pretty despicable person. But you know something? They’re real. I can’t help how I feel, and actually admitting it makes no difference to who I am, because whether I’m honest about it or not, this is my truth. I know that I shouldn’t waste time on such negative feelings, or concerning myself with the lot of others, but again, I just can’t help it. My blog has always been real, so here is a little more of my reality:

Something that comes as an inevitable side order, a buy-one-get-one-free of sorts, with infertility is jealousy. I know that I’ve touched on it before, but it’s completely impossible to keep the green-eyed monster entirely at bay when you desperately want a baby and it seems as though it is happening all around you. For everyone but you.

My general motto and reminder to myself is that I cannot know each person’s own, personal experience. What I frequently see are the bumps and the babies. But I recognise that these are each the product of a journey that I do not see and cannot know. Those apparent happy endings may be the result of years of heartache; Failed efforts at fertility treatment; Multiple miscarriages. I remember that and, many times in the last couple of years it has helped to soothe my sore, impatient soul, wracked with longing and envy.

Lately, though, my green-eyed monster seems to have morphed in to a new beast. One that is turning me in to what feels like a very nasty, bitter kind of person. One that is unleashing thoughts that I am – and should be – utterly ashamed of.

I guess my new super jealous state is defendable, if not entirely excusable. It’s been a couple of months since we smashed in to the brick wall at the end of the road. Since the light at the end of the tunnel went out. Ours is no longer a journey in motion. My hope can no longer be fuelled by tales of triumph over adversity or success after repeated failure. When I see a round, pregnant belly I can no longer tell myself that one day I too will get to rub away the kicks and thumps of a growing life inside me again. And tempering my envy with the fact that this may have been a longed for, hard won pregnancy is no longer enough.

All of a sudden, my jealousy extends even to those whose battles I know. Those women who have experienced the pain of infertility and put themselves through IVF, ICSI or other invasive, unpleasant and costly assisted reproductive techniques. Those women who’ve had to wait patiently for this, their shining moment. It shames me to say it, but I begrudge even them – the ones who truly know infertility – their happy outcomes. Whereas once upon a time anyone overcoming infertility was a cause of genuine happiness (and of course a source of hope too) now I can’t bear to hear of those who got lucky on their first round of IVF. Especially with twins! I can’t help but think we were only even allowed two embryos on round one because they were such poor quality, because we were supposed to have good odds. Yet here we are in the total failure pile, whilst for others it seems to just work. Two embryos in, two babies out. (I know that twins are no walk in the park, and have never been my desire, but it’s more the super success they seem to represent, when we could not even get a single embryo to stick.) I hate myself for thinking it, but it just doesn’t seem very fair. I cannot stop myself wondering why them, and not us?

I know it makes me sound like a terrible person, but I cannot help but roll my eyes now when I hear people describe themselves as “devastated” because their embryo transfer was cancelled due to hyper-stimulation but they’ve got six, or seven or more embryos in the freezer. I can’t take it seriously when they say they feel as though it will never work for them. Right there they already have more opportunities that I’ve ever had. They’re right there in the trenches of infertility, but I still envy them. I still want what they have.

I know it doesn’t do to compare. Fertility is so complex and so individual that one person’s story rarely has any relevance for another’s. But it’s all part of the horrible jealously I’ve succumbed to. The feeling, no matter whether right or wrong, that having a single successful cycle is nothing like trying over and over. That feeling that everybody else is achieving something that I cannot. Will not.

And it really does feel like “everyone”. When you try for a baby, pregnancies and newborns suddenly pop up everywhere and this is in no small part because you’re primed to notice them. I know that not “everyone” is really pregnant. But within infertility communities I struggle to find the people like me. The ones who’ve been forced to walk away empty handed (or more specifically with empty uteri). The ones for whom it never worked, never mind working first time, or more than once or with twins.

And yes, before anyone raises it, I’m still very aware of just how blessed I am to have one child, and these feelings do not for a moment dilute that. I understand that I too could be the object of others’ jealousy as I have a happy, healthy three year old. And I also don’t for a moment think that these women who’ve had such great outcomes should censor themselves, or that they should not be proud and happy in their success and share in any and all ways that they wish – I know I would in their shoes. But equally, I can’t force myself not to feel this way, or pretend that I don’t.

I suppose what I do want is to feel less like the only one in my situation. It’s true that misery loves company. And whilst I truly wouldn’t wish the experience of infertility on anyone else, right now I’d love to surround myself with people who not only “get” infertility, but “get” that it isn’t always able to be overcome.

There isn’t always a happy ending.

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One Reply to “Misery Loves Company”

  1. ((((Caro))))

    It’s ok to feel like that. Really. It’s ok and more than that, it’s normal. It certainly doesn’t make you a bad person. x

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