The Biological Clock at the First Station

I turned thirty-one last Sunday. I am no longer a newbie on the thirty train, I just passed the first station and while some people got off, other people got on. I was supposed to be thirty-six weeks along if my first pregnancy had not been lost and we would have our baby about a month from now. Back in March and April, I remember how I thought about my next birthday and how I would have a belly that was so big, it would look like a balloon that was about to burst. I imagined myself awkwardly walking along, grabbing my back and huffing and puffing, yelling obscenities to everyone to make them slow down. I vividly imagined myself as an almost due character in The Sims. But I would feel so proud. And I could not get my mind off celebrating Christmas while nursing our baby. Sitting next to the decorated tree and marvel at the beautiful being we had created. But he/she will not be there.

We celebrated my birthday on the 20th. We met my close family–grand mum, dad, mum, sister and partner–went to shop and had a nice dinner together. I even got my own name and sparklers on the chocolate cake my husband organized. I love sparklers. It was a great time, but I had this strong feeling of sadness. I did not want my family to see me cry, so I cannot count the times I had to fight back the tears that afternoon and evening. I walked around and shopped as if I was just a spectator, watching myself go into all the shops, feeling like the arm that stretched out to have a closer look at a dress was not mine… I was noticing pregnant women and maternity clothes everywhere. I was seeing young mums push around prams that had tiny hands and feet sticking out. I felt like nothing could get worse, if it already was this bad. Except when I tried to fit myself into some clothes. I would look at myself in the mirror and feel disgusted. I would see my stomach and my tummy and feel super-sized. I would stare at my pimple-ridden face and wonder why in Dickens’ name that acne kept popping up. I would notice the blue veins on my breasts that have been there since August and lose all hope for the validity of any future pregnancy symptoms. I would look deep into my own eyes and think: ‘What a waste!’ And I felt sorry for myself.

I stumbled upon a post written by Sunny from Cease and Decyst and agreed totally. The worst advice you can give someone with infertility problems is ‘try and not to think about it.’ I know my grand mum, my mum and my sister, who all dealt with miscarriage themselves, are just trying to help and be nice about it—The one month I did not think about it at all, is the month I fell pregnant—but in all honesty, it makes things worse for me. How can I not think about it, when it is the one thing I really want? When I put it over career opportunities? When, when people ask me what I would like for my birthday, the only thing that comes to mind is a sticky bean? And when I would not care if they would take everything I own away from me if I could just have a healthy baby. When it is haunting my every being? Every moment of the day. Every single second.

The problem with me, I think, is that the people close to me do not see it as an infertility problem. I fall pregnant every single try, so how can it be infertility related? The other day, I got very upset with my dad, who is a male nurse, when we were instant messaging and he wrote: ‘I think you should just continue to try to conceive for about a year. If you are not pregnant by then, you could get help.’ And later on he added: ‘Maybe they might find something. APS or a blood clotting disorder. Or maybe you are just ‘too fertile.” Too fertile? My body does not make a difference between low- and high-quality embryos and is very good at letting everything implant? Well, that is some consolation!

I am too fertile? Really?

4 thoughts on “The Biological Clock at the First Station

  1. Hugs sweetie! Trying to conceive and dealing with infertility is the worst pain I ever went through. You’re not alone and people who haven’t dealt with IF will never understand the pain you’re feeling. You have every reason to feel the way you do, don’t allow others to discount your feelings. Take care of yourself the best you can. Seek out medical help and I found talking to a counselor really helped me with the mental aspect of TTC. Remember you’re not alone, there are people that understand.

  2. Thank you, Paula! It’s great to hear from you. We’re seeking medical help this cycle, both my husband and I. Will keep you posted, I should have feedback very soon.

  3. Thinking of you hun xoxo I’ve been stalking you on TWW :)
    It is all SO hard. You are definitely not alone. I used to think of my miscarriages alllll the time – due dates, BFP dates, etc. They haunted me, too. It took years before I was able to think of them less and feel less pain. It does get better in time, but the pain and feeling of loss is still there.
    You’ve been through so much, in such a short period of time. You’re such a strong woman, and I really admire you. I’m praying your take home baby is in the very near future xoxo I know it will happen for you – I believe it.

    • Thanks Lisa. It is all very hard. Before we started thinking about TTC, I never thought it would be this difficult and painful. It all seems to go so well for other people around me. I know one thing though and it is sad, but I will never feel at ease and in the safe zone until we hold our baby and I will be very cautious all the time.

      I am stalking/thinking about you too and I really hope you get your take home baby really soon!

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