That’s the exact number of times my body has failed us as of today, New Year’s Eve 2015. At least it’s a prime number.
6. The number of years I’ve - we’ve - been trying to conceive. That’s 72 months I have been struggling with infertility, though I didn’t realize it for at least 24 of those months. And now 73 - the number of times my dreams have been crossed out with an angry red slash. In truth, the number is not exact. I don’t have time to go back & count up every single time I’ve had my period in the past six years. It’s a monthly thing & I’m regular, more or less. So 72 unwanted periods - now 73 (it showed up a couple days early).
This journey we never wanted to take began on Christmas 2009, when my husband (actually, he was my boyfriend then) was convinced I was pregnant because my period was at least two weeks overdue. I was less certain, as I knew my body, & though unusual, a period that late was not unheard of…though definitely an anomaly. So, he ran to a drugstore early Christmas morning to fetch me some sticks to pee upon.
We had started to speculate a week previous. He wondered if it would be the worst thing in the world if I WAS indeed pregnant. At the time, I thought it would have been terrible. I was in the middle of getting my master’s, & our house was a retro disaster with gross carpets and nasty bathrooms & a barely functional kitchen. And, oh yeah, we weren’t married. He was 27, I was 34. What a horrifying idea, indeed! Besides, I was sure my period would show up any minute now.
A day passed, then two. Maybe it wasn’t such a terrible idea after all. We could redo the kitchen, update the bathroom, rip out the carpet. Three days, four. What color would the nursery be? Five days, six. A blue nursery. Yeah. Regardless of boy or girl. A blue nursery would suit me fine.
Christmas morning, 2009. Alone in the hall bathroom, my face flushed, my heart thumping, I considered what to do if the window of the white plastic stick revealed a soggy plus sign. Maybe we could somehow tie a string around it & hang it on my in-laws’ Christmas tree to see if anyone would notice the new ornament. Maybe we would wrap it up in a box as a gift for the whole family. This would be the first grandchild for both my in-laws and my parents, after all.
Needless to say, no plus sign, no new ornament, no mystery present, no Christmas surprise for us. Not this year, at least. I emerged from the bathroom & saw my boyfriend waiting, his eyes glowing with hope. His mother, too, standing nearby trying to pretend like she wasn’t excited. I shook my head, swallowed my disappointment, & pretended to have a nice Christmas despite the flow that showed up later that day.
At that point, we decided to just go for it. We would try to have a baby, married or not. That year I’d be turning 35. They say things about 35 year old women having babies, you know. We had another “scare” in March 2010, whereupon we decided to get married as quickly as possible. Even when the illusion of pregnancy came to an end shortly after our engagement, we were married in July 2010. Even though we had been actively trying for six months by the time we married, it would surely happen the next month.
Definitely by Christmas 2010…right?
Definitely by Christmas 2011…right?
Doctors intervened in 2012. We would certainly be blessed by Christmas 2012…right?
How about 2013? That would have to be our year, right? Wrong. In spite of trying several rounds of IVF, all of our embryos died inside me. I kept hoping for the cliche Christmas Miracle, though, which of course did not happen.Â
Different doctors tried doing different stuff to me in 2014, & we pretty much knew there would be no Christmas baby surprise for us that year. But by that time, one of my sister-in-laws was pregnant herself, which motivated us to switch gears to reconsider adoption in 2015 while giving IVF one last shot (pardon the pun).
So on this last day of 2015, I’m giving the tall-man salute to yet another Christmas that went by for us without a baby. One of our own, that is.
Perhaps it would be less bitter if my other sister-in-law (who I love dearly & for whom I’m incredibly excited) surprised the whole family with a pregnancy announcement on Christmas. It’s a fascinating parallel, isn’t it? I thought the Christmas surprise would have been ours six years ago, but someone else got there first six years (that’s 72 months, if you didn’t know) later. Someone else who happens to be fifteen years younger & who succeeded on her very first attempt.
But I’m happy! No really! I am! I don’t doth protest too much! Truly, I can’t wait to have another niece or nephew to spoil come August.
I’m just sad for us, & my parents, who are still waiting to be grandparents at 78 & 76. I’m sad for my in-laws who know just how hard this has been & have suffered too, even in the midst of their joy.
Which brings me to the existence of this web diary. This shall not be a web diary of despair…well, yes it will. Because that’s kind of my jam. Melancholy and despair are feelings with which I feel quite at home. It’s twisted, but I can find happiness in those depths. This web diary is a challenge to myself to find something positive each day starting on the last day of 2015. I’ll keep going until we finally bring home a tiny bundle of cuteness & stinks & cuddles all of our own - a cousin for Claire & “Hairy.”
janainaart
prguitarman
theartofmadeline
titsay
discoholicmusic