A few things these past few days have me reflecting on being hard versus being strong. As I certainly don’t have to tell you, fighting this IF/ RPL battle is not for the weak. It tests you in every way. It dangles your deepest desire in front of you almost every moment of the day and then cruelly yanks it away. It makes you sit and smile and watch and somehow find a way to embrace your deepest desire being handed to everyone around you. It finds you in a public bathroom stall injecting yet another hormone that might not do anything but cost a ton of money into your abdomen while the pregnant lady in the stall next to you helps her other child go to the bathroom. It finds you sobbing into your pillow late at night when the monthly reminder comes to kick you in the gut the night before yet another holiday you face childless and hopeless. It sends you crashing down when the Doctor looks away from the ultrasound with that look you have grown to dread and whispers ‘ I’m sorry’. It is the look on your husband’s face when he is playing with your niece or nephew and that pang in your heart because you can’t give him the most basic of life’s gifts. It is quietly drinking from your non alcoholic drink while people around you discuss pregnancy and babies. No alcohol because you are starting another treatment cycle not because you are pregnant. It is the despair, the agony, the endless losses, the meds, faking you are ok, navigating and plowing on. It is hard. It is cruel. It is not for the weak.
Going through all this over and over and over like the Groundhog Day from hell will change you. It has to. It is not sustainable to not adapt or mold into someone who can weather it, who can adapt, who can still live a normal daily life. I know I have changed. I can think back to the first few IVF failures my naive mind full of hope before when I fell to the floor sobbing and in despair. Then fast forward a few failures later when I would get the news, feel a momentary crushing of hope and lace up my running shoes, go for a long run and have a glass of wine with my husband and prepare mentally to do it all over again. Barely a tear shed, as if I had grown to expect and accept it.
It makes me wonder if this all made me harder or stronger. What I mean is did I learn to bury the emotion and brush it aside or did I learn to carry it with acceptance and peace? It is hard to delineate between the two, especially during the survival phase where you can’t think too much. You just have to gear up to fight again. But with reflection I can say I don’t feel ‘harder’. As in, I don’t feel calleoused and bruised and bandaged. I simply feel a bit more resilient and powerful. I still feel things deeply, maybe more so, but my instinct is to sit with it, accept it then find a way to the positive. Kind of like my 7th or 8th IVF fail or my 2nd or 3rd miscarriage- I stay in the sadness very briefly then moved on quickly. I felt a bit more resilient instead of even more bruised.
I can’t quite explain why I was able to make that transition. I can’t fully say I won’t one day let all the devastation crumble down on me but I will say I am grateful I don’t feel hard or cold or battered from this fight. I feel slightly tender, like you do after a good cry sipping a cup of tea in the morning sun. I feel compassion and empathy easier and deeper but I don’t feel hard.
For that I am grateful.
Fighting Infertility 
I feel like I could’ve written much of this – it’s so similar to my experiences and feelings (the miscarriages, the sadness when you see your husband playing with your nephew and niece, the going for a run and having a glass of wine to cope, the injecting in a public bathroom) ! There is always a danger that this struggle hardens us – it’s a way of coping. But for many I think though it changes us, it does make us strong. I think I’m still a bit in the survival phase but I hope I too feel compassion and empathy deeper. Great post.
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Thank you my friend. I am glad you seem able to not feel hardened too ❤️
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Thanks for this. I’m not yet in the “retrospective” phase. I’m right in the hard, uncertain middle of it. Still in the middle of my FIRST try — never mind number two if we don’t end up with twins.
I have also learned to let the sadness pass through me and not dwell on it so much. Feel it, and let it go. But I still most definitely have PTSD that can be triggered without warning. A travel delay (that reminds me of the horrible travel day we had before my first miscarriage) can smack me down into a deep hole.
But I nose my way out of the hole faster and faster, and I always know I CAN nose my way out, even when I don’t yet see how.
That’s not to say I’m not damned tired of holes (and NOTHING else, at least when it comes to this particular life-altering endeavor). But it has been humbling in a lot of good ways. It helps me understand better, truly, deep down, that the sun shines and the sky rains on the just and the unjust alike. I don’t have any kind of special exemption from that. There but for the grace of God go I, in every way imaginable.
If this is the worst burden I ever bear, I can only be grateful. And if things get worse, I can still only be grateful, because even if I never get another thing in life, the universe has already given me so much more than I ever “deserved.” It was just a gift.
If I get this other gift, too, of a child or children to love and raise, so much the better.
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Wow do you have a way with words and a perspective that is so elevated. I appreciate your insight and thoughts more than you know. You have proven your character in the rain- so look forward to you basking in the sun
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I think I’ve been both hard and strong. When we were actively living through our losses, there were times where I was both strong and hard – births of other nieces and nephews, lying on the operating room table, insensitive comments from family/friends, etc. I would say I was basically always outwardly strong, and I saved my bruised and hurt moments for the safety of my home and husband.
But, there were times were I was nothing but strong – choosing to go through yet another pregnancy, choosing to start the adoption process, etc. These decisions were not taken lightly, and honestly, I firmly believe they are the reflection of strength – to try again in the face of so much loss and devastation, that’s the result of strength and courage.
As you say, this path changes us. Some things for the better – I am a much more empathetic and supportive person today then I ever was before. And honestly I truly believe our losses have made me a much better mother then I would have been otherwise. I am thankful for every single moment with Little MPB and I don’t think I’ll ever take him for granted. But, on the negative side, to this day, I am basically petrified of pregnancy (mine and anyone else’s), unfortunately the losses we endured permeates my subconscious.
And I have to admit, I look to you as a shining example of how a beautiful soul who continually weathers this storm so gracefully.
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“Groundhog Day from Hell” is a perfect way to summarize this shitty experience. You definitely nailed it. Great post.
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