It wasn't till I got home that I realized that everything I bought is PINK. Pink sweater, pink tank top, pink underwear, even some fuzzy pink flipflops. I almost bought a pink purse, but I didn't really like the shape, thank heavens. I must have increased the number of pink items in my closet by 500% today. Note to self: no more shopping under the influence. At least it was all on serious sale.
I still haven't made an appointment with my RE, but I will, I promise. I wonder, if my ovaries are indeed little dried-up husks, will I be devastated? Or will I be slightly relieved that I won't ever undergo another fertility procedure? I'm honestly not sure. But I agree, it's time.
At any rate, all of your comments definitely helped make me feel 1. appreciative about all that I have and 2. less embarrassed about feeling jealous.
I've been thinking about one of the comments that Bihari wrote:
I have several friends who are trying hard for children right now, and I really want to be a good friend to them through this, even though I have Mother Of Two stamped across my forehead. Any suggestions? I usually have just been keeping in mind that we all have our own set of losses and disappointments, and even if they're different, the experience of living through loss and disappointment per se can be the same, so that gives us a lot of common ground. But I could be full of shit. What say you?Full of shit? Definitely not. In fact that's how I make myself feel better about someone else's fortuitous fertility: would I want her life? Everyone has some hard things to deal with. OK, this approach doesn't always work — there's one person in particular I know who has NEVER had ANYTHING go wrong in her entire life, in fact has had all sorts of wonderful things happen, and although she's a very nice person, I can't help it, I'm not a big enough person to be able to get past it. I know that people probably think that I've had it easy, too — I've got a great job and a TrophyHusband, we don't have to worry so much about money anymore, I've got a healthy baby. I even like my inlaws. Hell, I'm starting to irritate myself. But I have had some pretty crappy things happen to me in the past; I know what it's like to feel as if nothing will ever go right. And I think that loss and disappointment do indeed give you common ground.
As for specifics about talking to someone who's struggling with infertility when you yourself drop eggs like a hen and can get pregnant by shaking hands? Midwestern Deadbeat mentioned that she'd read Tertia's piece on how to be good friends with an infertile, and I think it is good advice. I myself was not/am not an especially touchy or bitter infertile (I think. Others may beg to differ). I've had worse things happen to me than infertility, and my experience was about a tenth as bad as some — it was only a few years of trying, I didn't have to do THAT many cycles of IVF, a lot of it was covered by insurance, and I didn't have any wrenching pregnancy losses, just one miscarriage of a "chemical" pregnancy — so I don't feel I'm able to speak for Infertiles in general. But I do have two pieces of counsel:
First, if someone is undergoing treatment, try not to take their bitchiness and/or craziness personally; it's not about you, and it will pass. Because those hormones make a person insane. I was never a PMS-er, and figured, how bad could ART be? Answer: really, REALLY bad. There were times when I would walk around in a white-hot rage for a week. I locked myself in a room during one vacation at my in-laws because I couldn't trust myself not to say something that would ruin my relationship with them forever. Seriously. TH had to bring me meals.
Second, there's a magic phrase that is always appropriate and that is guaranteed, if not to make an infertile person feel better, at least to not do harm: "You're handling this amazingly well." TH must have said that to me a thousand times, and while I sometimes doubted whether it was true, it always made me feel at least a tiny bit less psychotic. (Turns out it really wasn't true. Poor TH.)