Too Impatient
When trying to conceive for so long you find yourself analysing every little change in your body, I have found myself constantly seeing pregnancy symptoms whenever I feel slightly different from the ‘norm’. If my breasts hurt outside if the week before my period, it must be a symptom, if I feel nauseous, it must be morning sickness, if I feel more tired for a few days, it must be pregnancy. I sometimes think I’m going slightly crazy. Thinking it through I know it stems from my attempts to deny that I can’t possibly be not getting pregnant.
I consistently research via google and pregnancy forums about the different symptoms of pregnancy hoping that I can see some resemblance to the ones I’m experiencing hoping and hoping that just this once they are real and I am pregnant finally. This past week I have been more tired than usual, feeling slightly sick at night, of course I almost convinced myself that this was it, this month I have conceived. I am one day away from the day my period was due to start, I tried to make myself wait to take another pregnancy test, leave it for another few weeks. But I couldn’t wait, so I took one this morning….Negative.
Another negative. I know I should have waited to see if I missed my period, but as they have been very irregular these past months I just couldn’t wait. And like an idiot I feel I set myself up for disappointment, why would this month be any different from all the others?
I have always been a patient person, I have always been proud of that fact. But trying to conceive has turned me into a very impatient individual. I am impatient for my cycle to start again, I’m impatient to see whether my period will start on the days it’s supposed to, all so I can see if that month I have conceived. It very much takes the enjoyment of everything that happens between. I have found the struggle to conceive has made everything I enjoy slightly less satisfying, because I’m too busy waiting for the day my period may or may not arrive.
I love reading, I love baking, I love meeting my friends and family for lunch, I love being with my fiancé and watching TV, but all if these hobbies and experiences are marred by the mental calendar in my head, the mental timer ticking down to the first day my next period is due. Everything I have done this past week has all been a blur, enjoyment has taken a backseat to counting down the days to tomorrow. My impatience was too much. I took a test when I promised myself I wouldn’t.
I even wait for my other half to go to work before I took the test. When I do a test it’s like a shameful secret, I can’t take a test in the house with him in here too. I think I feel ashamed of my impatience, I know that hardly makes sense, am I ashamed of my desperation to get pregnant? Or am I ashamed that there’s a chance I can’t get pregnant, and it manifests itself in my secret testing, away from prying eyes to witness my failed attempts to get pregnant again.
That’s what it boils down to in the end doesn’t it, shame. I feel shame that I can’t get pregnant, that I have somehow failed to do the one thing all women are meant to be able to do. No one actively tries to shame me though, it’s not like someone is stood pointing at me and announcing it to the world. But when pregnancy it essentially surrounds you in life, on TV, pregnant women in the street, in magazines you can’t help but compare yourself to them, and feel lacking in comparison. Like somehow you are less than them.
April is one year since I started trying to have a baby, my new doctor has said that if I am not pregnant by then he will refer me to a fertility clinic for tests. I’m obviously impatient for April, impatient to see whether I am lacking and it is a problem with me. And so the mental countdown begins.