"Okay, fine, but I didn't dump my purse out on the couch and invite everyone into my problems."
You know that line? It's in The Breakfast Club. Emilio Estevez says it to Ally Sheedy during their first 'getting to know you' teen-angst fuelled conversation. And it's how I feel right now.
We're about to share way too much information. And no, I'm not trying to come on strong, or be shocking or noteworthy. It's just that inevitably you're going to hear about my period. Or my uterus. Possibly my sex life. Definitely my inner workings. You should be feeling very lucky that ultrasound technology doesn't have social media integration, because I would probably be tweeting that out too.
Here's the deal.
I have a beautiful daughter who's 2 years old. It took 18 months of trying, but after our second round of IUI we got the good news. She's the joy of our lives.
Somehow I guess we thought that would be the only hurdle to growing our dream family but we've been trying for number 2 for a year. I've also had two miscarriages with complications in that time. Basically, I've spent 9 of the last 12 months pregnant with 2 different babies. I'm still physically dealing with miscarriage number 2, and I haven't remotely begun to address the emotional ramifications of miscarriage number 1, but on the bright side my OCD is progressing really nicely.
See what I mean about TMI?
I know I'll freak you out at times with my bizarre humour but I don't really know of any other way to go through things in the moment, other than with a liberal dash of humour and a soupçon of irony. It's just how I am.
I decided to work through this rough patch openly for the same reason. I just don't know any other way.
Maybe I'm sharing so that women or couples can relate to something other than a medical website, or an urban fertility legend. You know what I'm talking about "..there's this woman who was on her last egg, and her husband only had 1 testicle, no wait.. he didn't even *have* testicles..and he'd been struck by lightening.. but they had 3 kids..naturally!"
When you're trying to have kids, whether it's your first or your twentieth, you feel like you're either a statistic or an anomaly. Especially if you're that guy who was struck by lightening.
"1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage."
"Oh, but there's an outside chance that the heart rate may normalize.."
"If you're over 35 you're immediately considered sub-fertile.'
"If you take evening primrose oil, practice yoga, and do acupuncture you could conceive tomorrow, deliver early, and have a 3 hour pain-free labour."
"Just relax, and it'll happen."
Aside from all the facts, unsolicited advice, and weighted instructions to be 'carefully optimistic' no one tells you what's actually normal to feel along the way - I still don't know and I doubt anyone really does either. No one talks honestly about the surges of rebellion and anger. They seem to skip over the guilt of finding silver linings during the worst loss, the impatience of grieving, and the moments of sheer elation you can experience from retail therapy.
All I know is that we need to witness our pain and the reality of our experiences so we can heal, and find joy in everyday life; or at least laugh along the way. The truth is, this is not so much a journey of pain and hardship, as it is one of uncensored reality. I'm not sure what's more scary - the prospect of going through more loss, or speaking openly about it, but I'm in.
By the way.
Wallet, soother, diaper, raisins, wipes, ear buds, smartphone, hair brush, Home Depot receipt, plastic fork, assorted pens, ladybug stickers, diaper cream, and keys.
Let the purse dumping begin.