Smiles and Tears
With a hollow heart I take one more deep breath before I tell my sister, my best friend, my father-in-law, and my co-workers that it didn't work again…. and again. The process pulls at every point in my body, every which way, as I try not to allow a second pink line to define me. My mind concedes and betrays me. It whispers to me that we have become, the “infertile friends.”
In the beginning of our IVF journey I scheduled everything with pride, a badge of honor proving I could do hard things. I was optimistic that IVF was a means to an end. I could see the finish line. I watched my husband sit quietly and question every next step. As this process has become longer, I'm still ready, but guarded. I am cautiously optimistic.
People give me unsolicited advice and I can even smile when they say, “It will happen.” I smile because I remember and can briefly connect with that hope I once had. I smile at others through the sympathetic eyes, smile through the silence as we leave a room, and always smile after the awkward pause following the question, “What's next?” To me these smiles become a flood of tears as we walk out the door. All of these smiles mask the blunt truth. The fear.
I am forever thankful to the people with whom I don't have to smile. Through this process I have insisted this journey will not define us, But I can’t deny that fertility has become a large part of our identity.
Fertility has made us question everything: our next steps, the process, my safety, and even my body’s ability to fight. I hang on to momentos along the way to give me strength when the process is just too much. I keep things that make my heart happy. I have a pencil box full of meds, a bell that rings- symbolizing angel wings, in my purse, and the hopeful smell of lilacs to remind me that future is in full bloom. I now find myself listening to the colors of life and the timeline that we should be dancing to. I wish on hot air balloons and believe in my vivid dreams.
I also thank my husband for poking me in the butt.
I remind myself what motivation looks like. Most days motivation looks like progesterone and a syringe on a strict schedule. Some days I feel like a pincushion just waiting to be deflated. Life is hard, infertility feels harder. I have learned to trust my body in the most uncertain of times. I appreciate my body's abilities, love it unconditionally, let tears flow when needed, but also tell it to buckle down for the hard stuff because we have work to do. I am grateful for my mind and body’s strength to forge forward during such an uncertain time. As I keep our goals in mind, my heart is the biggest process in our IVF journey.
In the end, love will let us know when our journey is complete.
~Shantell Guy-Rolfe