How Infertility Has Changed My Life (LOOONNNGGG)

    A few nights ago as I was lying in bed, I started thinking about how different my life is now than it was just a few years ago and how unbelievable some of it would have been to me if I could have had a look into the future.  I realized that so much of these changes have developed because of infertility and the ways that it affects my life, my emotions, and even the way I feel about myself.  I know many of you that follow my blog can relate and won't find any of these changes to be news to you, but I hope as time goes on, I'll be able to reverse some of these changes and add more positive ones.  

   I used to always consider myself to be an extrovert.  I had always been open and friendly with pretty much everyone I met, but recently, I have realized how much I want to be alone.  I've noticed how exhausting it is to me to be around most people.  My definition of a good time has changed.  If I am really honest with myself, I know so much of this is because I no longer feel like I can relate to most people, and I often feel as if I don't belong.  Teenagers and women in their forties can get pregnant, but I can't.  It seems that every woman and even some men have tips and advice for me that I have already tried and that didn't work.  They want to talk about babies and children and how hard it is to be a mommy, and I can't contribute to those conversations.  They want to know why we don't have kids and whether we are going to have them soon.  If I am honest with them about my miscarriage, it's often minimized or treated as a positive since "at least I know I can get pregnant".  If I say that it's not that simple and that we've been trying for another year and a half since we lost that baby, I'm told to relax, adopt, go on vacation, etc.  Basically, most people don't want to understand, because they don't want to be uncomfortable.  And I've lost respect for people, because they can't get past their discomfort to be compassionate for a few minutes.  Meanwhile, there are so many others like me who live in the discomfort of not being able to create life and feeling as though everyone is entitled to an explanation as to why.  

    Maybe this goes along with becoming more introverted, but I find it harder to be a good friend since our struggle began.  I know this is common for those going through infertility and loss, but it adds even more guilt to the equation.  My friends have been through their husbands deploying and through last minute, cross country moves, and it feels sometimes as though I have nothing to offer them.  And because many of them are on their second and third children and others are getting ready to start their own families, I pull away, because I don't know if my heart can handle one more celebration for someone else while it is hurting so much.  I wish that it wasn't like that.  I wish that I could be happy for others without also being so sad for myself and my husband.  I wish that seeing their pregnant bellies, their ultrasound pictures, their healthy babies being born, and their husbands' adoring smiles didn't make me feel so worthless and pained, but often, that's my reaction.  

    Another major change has been in our lifestyle.  Three years ago, we discussed how many children we wanted and imagined that when we were ready, they would appear for us as they do for everyone else.  We bought things for ourselves without a second thought, we rarely went to the doctor, and we made our decisions based on us alone.  We expected these things to change when we had children.  We didn't expect to change our lives for children that we don't have.  Instead of new clothes and weekly trips to our favorite restaurant, we are scraping together money for an IUI.  Instead of missing my husband when he's gone for long periods, I'm worrying about how he is going to escape from work for blood tests and for IUI day. Neighborhood BBQs and family day for DH's work now cause me anxiety and sadness, because I know that we'll be the oddballs without children, and we can count on being asked about it at least once or twice.  There is no escaping infertility, it seems. 

     Despite all these changes that have been difficult or upsetting, I am doing my best to see the silver lining.  Though infertility has absolutely brought more stress and conflict to our marriage, it's been proof that it can withstand incredibly tough times.  It's reminded me that while many people are "lucky" enough to have children right away, at least we know that after being together for 10 years, we have a foundation that was not built on children, so if we do have children who eventually grow up and start their own lives, we know that they weren't the only thing keeping us together.  Additionally, I've developed more compassion and sensitivity to other issues.  I never knew how much an innocent comment could hurt someone who is going through something I don't understand.  Now that I'm aware, I can do my best to think before speaking and not offer advice about a situation unless I'm asked.  I've become friends with women who have experienced so much pain and struggle but continue to pick themselves up and try again.  I've learned to weed out people from my life who don't bring anything positive to it.  I've pushed myself to face some of my biggest fears (giving myself injections, going back to the hospital where my miscarriage was discovered, being open with people about our infertility and miscarriage), and I know that my desire to be a mother and the love I have for our future child(ren) must be so strong to motivate me to do whatever it takes to bring home a baby.   For those things, I'm grateful.