This week is National Infertility Awareness Week.
Last year, even after suffering a miscarriage, I was unaware of this week. I was unaware that I would be, was, am one of those 1 in 8.
I.Had.No.Idea.
Now I do.
I'm painfully, tearfully, frustratingly aware of what it means to be 1 in 8.
The catchphrase, if you will, of this week is, "You are not alone."
In some ways, that's true. 1 in every 8 people get it. They understand the frustration, the struggle, the tears, the fears, the unknowns of infertility. In fact, there's an entire community of people that you are not alone with.
In other ways though, maybe most ways, infertility has never made me more aware of my aloneness.
In other ways though, maybe most ways, infertility has never made me more aware of my aloneness.
Even if you are surrounded by people -- family, friends, coworkers -- most of them will at some point have kids. You won't. You can't. Your friends, the ones you once had so much in common with, don't seem to be as in touch as they used to. They start to make friends that have kids, and their bond goes deeper, goes to something you just can't understand because you haven't been there. You may never be there.
In a world where 1 in 8 understand, there are still 7 in 8 that don't.
When I'm in the midst of doing treatments, I'm acutely aware of how different I am from those around me. But it's times like now, times when I've stepped back, when the appointments stop, when the blood draws stop, when the medications aren't being taken, that I can pretend I'm of of the 7. How badly I wish I was. For a moment, I can pretend that I'm normal. That my life hasn't, doesn't, won't continually revolve around appointments and blood draws and medications.
But it has. It does. It will.
And with every month that passes, that fact is made known over, and over, and over again.
Despite that, I'm still thankful. I'm thankful for the struggles, the tears, the fears, the frustrations, the anger. There has been so much growth, and I am who I am today because of being 1 of the 8.
And in the end, I am not alone.
Except when I am.
When I'm in the midst of doing treatments, I'm acutely aware of how different I am from those around me. But it's times like now, times when I've stepped back, when the appointments stop, when the blood draws stop, when the medications aren't being taken, that I can pretend I'm of of the 7. How badly I wish I was. For a moment, I can pretend that I'm normal. That my life hasn't, doesn't, won't continually revolve around appointments and blood draws and medications.
But it has. It does. It will.
And with every month that passes, that fact is made known over, and over, and over again.
Despite that, I'm still thankful. I'm thankful for the struggles, the tears, the fears, the frustrations, the anger. There has been so much growth, and I am who I am today because of being 1 of the 8.
And in the end, I am not alone.
Except when I am.
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