Sometimes I look at this blog and I don’t believe I wrote it. I’m me – who struggles, cries, and can get more down than the downest person out there. So when I read this, sometimes I’m like “hey, really?” In case you were wondering the same, this post is for you. It’s about as human as it gets. And that’s because today was tough as anything. Complications from the transfer, lots of bleeding, calls to the clinic, and a visit to the bodekes – my favourite. In case you haven’t picked up on the sarcasm, let it be known: I. Hate. Bodekes(es). With a serious passion. I’ve also had enough of being pushed and prodded, going through this roller coaster of yes-no-maybe, and putting myself on the line when we thought we’d finally have a 2 week break. (Funny way to view the 2ww, I know…) I am done. done. done.
After staunchly stating the entire afternoon that there was no way in the world I was going (to my husband, the Rav, and whoever else dared to ask), naturally, I went. The waiting room was full of women, mostly kimpeturins, and did I say babies? Yup. Deep breath. It hurt like anything. And while I hardly ever (never?) feel this way, just this once, the contrast was too painful to bare. As if on cue the baby across from me began howling when I so much as glanced at her. Her mother cootchy-cooed, and I busied myself with my phone, sucking in my breath and blinking back the tears.
I dashed out of there as fast as I could, physically and emotionally in deep pain.
Somehow I made it through the next hour at a class reunion. (Perfect timing, I know) Being the longest one married there… I don’t need to elaborate. Suprisingly enough, I enjoyed myself, and then took the longest route home. As I walked, I thought over the events of the afternoon. The feelings came back with a force, and from the corner of my eye, I realized how the world had changed in the past few hours. Looking at the billboards, all I noticed was an ad for Bonei Olam. The father smoking over his toddler in the carriage. The mother pushing her stroller through a red light. The injustice of it all, and I hated myself for it.
I never, ever, want to be the type who can’t “fargen.” I know that mothers and fathers are busy, preoccupied, and so very human. I know my friends’ babies were not meant to be mine. I know the sweet little neshamale by the bodekes did nothing to hurt me. And yet… could it be I’m human? Or is it the Ovidrel? The Progesterone? Possibly. Perhaps it’s the adrenaline of the past few weeks wearing off. And while that might certainly be the case, chances are these feelings stem not from my hormones, but my heart. I’m human, and that’s ok. It’s ok provided I realize where I’m holding, can pick myself up, and get back in the game. Today might have been long and intolerable, but once the tears have been shed, and after a shower and good nights sleep, I’ll know that tomorrow will be another day. When that comes, it’ll be an opportunity I won’t want to miss.