infertility, Uncategorized

I’m back and I’m pissed….

I have a medical condition, and I am pissed. I am pissed that the universe randomly selected me to be born with this condition. I am pissed that even of all of the infertility diagnosis out there mine seems to be one of the most rare and least understood, which means there is basically not a damn thing the medical profession can do for me. But what makes me those most angry is that my medical condition – my disease – is something that isn’t recognized by mainstream society. It’s like my kind doesn’t really exists. And if we do, we are probably just too stressed out, or overweight, or something else that is supposed to be within our control that we should just fix it and then “poof” we will get pregnant. Because it can’t possibly be a REAL medical issue. It can’t possibly be something that we should treat with the care and respect (and financial coverage) that is given to the plethora of other medical issues that exist.

The message I received from the beginning of my infertility journey is that my experience, my pain, my condition doesn’t matter. It doesn’t count. Well you know what fertile world? Fuck you!

I realize swearing is considered to be the lazy way out of properly articulating what you really feel, but sorry. Fuck you perfectly encapsulates my feelings on this matter. I am tired of worrying about what to say and how to say it when it comes to infertility. I am tired of spending countless hours deliberating on how to frame up my experience in a way that can even begin to convey to the fertile masses the physical and mental toll of infertility. To describe the loss and trauma in a way that sparks even a shred of empathy and compassion from the other side. To not feel totally alone.

And to my amazement, there have been a few fertile folks that have reached out and given me the support and understanding I crave. I am extremely grateful whenever those wonderful people cross my path. But those people are far and few between. For the most part, I feel the need to put on my battle armour anytime I leave the house because I know the fertile world is not a safe place for someone like me. We live in a world where fertility is assumed, and the mere fact that I am a 30 something woman authorizes those around me to inquire about why I have not yet exercised my right/duty to get a party started in my uterus. That perhaps it is not of their business does not occur to them. Nor does it cross their mind that not everyone’s journey ends with a trip to Baby’s R Us. That infertility exists. That it is a medical condition that cannot simply be fixed by taking a vacation or giving it a go doggy style, and that for those going through it, it will invariably be one of – if not THE most – traumatic thing they ever experience. It is just not part of society’s narrative. The ability to procreate is a given.

So, yeah, I feel the need to swear. And I will continue to do so until infertility is recognized by main stream society as the medical condition that it is. Until I can go to a party and not fear being asked “So, do you have kids?” Until I hear “I am so sorry for all the losses you have suffered” instead of “What’s the big deal? Just adopt.” Until infertiles no longer have to mortgage their financial futures to afford treatment because it is finally covered like other diseases. The swearing will continue.

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