It hurts when everyone’s making announcements that they’re pregnant and you aren’t. You want to be happy for them but you’re also pissed off, frustrated, and resentful that you’re on the outside. And while social media platforms can be awesome, when it comes to infertility they’re just another five different ways to get a knife in the heart. #ouch
“What just happened there?” My psychiatrist said, watching the vast array of emotion flit across my face after she suggested I go back on Prozac during my pregnancy.
“So many women experience anxiety, depression, and PTSD during pregnancy . . . You’re not alone.”
I was back in familiar territory at Women’s College Hospital. I’d been part of their Reproductive Life Stages Program before, but this time, sitting in front of the psychiatrist, I felt twice as vulnerable.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder has managed to carve some pretty intricate logic-loopholes as it’s etched its path through my life. A leftover relic from fertility issues, miscarriages and separation, it’s cut me deeply. Now that I’m finally pregnant and safely into my second trimester I want to feel unbridled joy, but sometimes I feel terror and paralytic trepidation instead.
“So, I’m going to need you to go ahead and give me a semen sample.”
Ok. No. That’s not right.
What about—
“So the thing is, if I’m going to go and get my reproductive situation assessed for the future… then… maybe we should talk about the future… and when that might start.”
Not bad. A little Jerry McGuire-ish, but still down to earth. Was it maybe a little too clinical?
I’m shuffling my feet and chewing on my lower lip like it’s a piece of Hubba Bubba.
My heart is pounding.
I’ve just called my OB for an appointment so I can learn about my childbearing options. I’m separated, I have a beautiful daughter and a dynamic business, but I’m just… not done yet.
Yesterday was Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day and it took all my strength to be vocal about it on Facebook.
I sat there glibly, scrolling through feeds, eyes darting around, the familiar anxious gurgle of heart burn bubbling away in my chest.
“You should totally post it. You want to. You need to.”
Tick tock.
I miss clocks. I miss the gentle ticking reminder that a task is waiting. The elegant sound of gentle pressure, and a reminder that we are in a moment. And then another.
You’re going for a regular ultrasound check up in your first or second trimester, and you find out that your baby has stopped growing.
Your world shatters in less than a moment. Your life slams on the brakes. Your heart will never be the same. And it’s just the beginning.
Not only have you just found out that you have lost your child, but you also have to figure out the most upsetting thing in the world: how you’re going to get it out of you.
Everyone seems to gloss over that, and I’m not sure why.
Looking for books to help you through your fertility funk? Here are a few that I used to bring me back when I was teetering on the edge of baby-crazy. You know what I’m talking about. ‘Crazy Baby-Making Lady’ is pretty much like the ‘Crazy Cat Lady’ equivalent. Except we can smell our own HcG spikes and talk to our uterine linings instead of to Fluffy the calico. But I digress..
I remember feeling totally jipped by Mother’s Day while I was trying for Baby Girl.
I knew I wasn’t a mom yet but come on. No wine, no soft cheeses, no caffeine, no sushi..and I had to sit there as my family toasted every freaking mother on the planet adding sweetly-intentioned supportive comments like ‘..and soon, God willing, Kat will be a mother too..”
The applause and clinks of glasses softly blurred the sound of my head hitting the table repeatedly. Kill. Me. Now.
