Poker Face: A Story of Coping With Infertility

This week, RESOLVE New England member and blogger, Her Royal Fabulousness, shares with us her infertility journey so far and how she manages to cope during the tough days while still being true to her journey.

In my dreams, this turned out differently. When I wake, I still have a few moments of forgetting that this cycle was a complete failure.

At work, I manage to keep busy. While I teach a lesson on long division, my sterile eggs aren’t the first thing on my mind. But, then the kids go to recess and I sit at my desk for a minute or two. At those times, I get waves of pain and sadness, feeling my eyes well up with tears. Luckily, it is never long before I hear someone coming down the hall, and I pull myself together, putting on my poker face.

Playing Cards

However, my poker face isn’t that great. Co-workers have noticed that something is off. I have been asked several times this week, “Are you okay?” I usually brush off the question with one excuse or another (I actually do have some sinus issues this week), but it gets exhausting.

Driving is also prime time for falling apart. Being the sap that I am, if the wrong song comes on the radio, I’m doomed. Hell, Rhianna sent me over the edge this morning. What must other drivers think of me when they see me sobbing behind the wheel?

It just feels so surreal. I keep expecting the phone to ring and have the nurse on the other end of the line, scheduling my transfer. I keep trying to grasp what happened and it isn’t working. Instead I just feel lost, floating through my days.

The thing is, this was supposed to work. IVF was supposed to be the answer. At the beginning of our TTC journey, IVF seemed like the ultimate safety net. If all else failed, that was our solution. But, when the one thing that was supposed to work doesn’t, it brings up feelings that I haven’t felt since my miscarriage.

I know, I know. It isn’t the same thing. And really, I’m not saying it is. But, the feelings of injustice, betrayal, disappointment, and hopelessness are the same. Until August of 2010, I had never felt that kind of pain. It was a quick and excruciating kind of education. At least this time, I am more prepared.

I learned some key things then that I am trying to remind myself of now:

  1. Although tempting to stay in bed and re-live the horror over and over again, it is better to make the difficult decision to shower, get dressed, and leave my apartment.
  2. Better to cry and get it out then to suppress the feelings, only to explode all over an unwitting target.
  3. Put on my own oxygen mask first, before trying to help others. These are the times when I need to let people support me without worrying that I am somehow taking advantage of them.
  4. Don’t forget that His Royal Fabulousness is feeling all of these emotions too, even if he isn’t as obvious about it. This can’t be emphasized enough. Although KG has been a total rock star this week, I know that this has deeply hurt him, and he is going through his own grief too.

As we gather questions to bring to the RE next week, one main question outshines the others:
What will make next time any different?

About the Author

Her Royal Fabulousness is a 30-something moulder of young minds, living in the Boston area. She maintains her sanity by blogging about her struggles with infertility at Waiting for Little Feet.

Comments

  1. Sarah Nugent says:

    Want to get in touch with her royal fab. For support and friendship.

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