It’s been 6 years since we moved in to our house, 6 years of trying for a baby and I’m still here, 6 years later, with no baby in hand, but at least I now have a story.
Phew! It has taken every ounce of my courage to bare all to you, the world, which comprises of friends and family … and acquaintances. We all have a story; our life story. For some, days go by and life goes by as planned. For others, life doesn’t turn out the way you always imagined it to be. And these are the stories that are most interesting because, well, everyone loves to gossip about the person who is in woe or who is going through a ‘difficult’ patch, right? So, I thought long and hard, and before anyone makes my story the headline of their storytelling, I thought I’d better take the lead role.
I got married when I was young – just shy of 25 years. Life had always been good, and I’d already been dating my husband for 7 years prior to marriage. We were in no rush to start a family, both building a career and both happy together. After 4 years in to marriage, we decided we were ‘ready’ for kids. (I know some of you mums out there might snigger and say, ‘Can you ever be ready for kids? You don’t know what you are getting yourself in to!’ Well, it’s a life choice and yes, some like me, make a conscious decision of it.) Simultaneously, we started searching for the perfect house to be our forever home. We’ve always led our lives by planning, managing and living within our means. It’s what being reasonable and responsible is all about, right? We found the perfect house. Like many a folk, buying a large, family house signals one thing in particular to the rest of the world; they’re planning for a family. It’s funny how everyone has preconceptions about everything.
So, whilst we settled in to our new home, the trials and tribulations of making a baby started. 1 year, 2 years, 3 years, 4 years, 5 years and now, 6 years all went by. (I note each year because I wish to stress the enormity of it all.) 6 whole years … and counting. 6 years of trying for a baby. That’s 72 months of disappointment each time. That’s 72 times of pulling myself through in the hope that the next month will be a positive. That’s 312 weeks of planning my life around thinking, ‘When I have a baby…’ That’s about 2200 days of always having the thought of a baby at the back of my mind. Oh, and throw in three rounds of gruelling IVF and we’re still with a no show of baby. If only you could ‘think’ a baby in to existence. (I challenge anyone in to thinking that they can ‘will’ the universe in to producing what they want. Ever read ‘The Secret’? Well, it doesn’t work.)
We are struggling to conceive the one thing we desire most and to top it all, we can’t even travel half the world because it’s been taken over by a deadly superpower, Zika! You’d think the TTC (that’s ‘trying to conceive’ for all you fertiles) couples have enough on their plates already than to worry about where they can go on holiday to unload their stress!
The good news is that my marriage is stronger than I would ever had imagined it to be. Plus, I no longer fret about body image since I’ve had more than two dozen individuals prod and look through my lady parts. Also, I’ve learnt a whole new language and abbreviations that only the infertiles have the privilege of learning, such as TTC. (That’s the most basic abbreviation btw; like learning the alphabet. I’m dispensing knowledge to you slow and steady, so don’t worry of getting bogged down with the new lingo). And finally, I’m no longer hiding the fact of what I’ve been through. It’s a burden I need to shed; a form of therapy if you like.
So, buckle your seats and follow me whilst I share my journey, and let’s see what it brings out. Raw, short stories, anecdotes, anger, my own true feelings … I’ve included it all. I don’t know what I hope to achieve, but as I said, I have a story to tell.