Infertility affects us all differently with the exception of one thing: the pain.
This is her story:
FULL DISCLOSURE: I am not a Mommy Blogger. That is because I am not a Mommy. I would like to be a Mommy mind you, but alas, I am not.
Apparently, my female parts don’t get along with sperm as well as they should and they reject those little buggers every time my husband busts a nut. And yes, trust me, we’ve tried everything from WD-40 to Grandma’s old tyme Hold Yer Legs Up Over Your Head technique. My husband actually refers to this as “Mauding it” a term he coined after watching The Big Lebowski one too many times. For those of you who haven’t watched the film 70+ times, that’s Maude Lebowski’s (Julianne Moore) technique of rolling around on her back to let the semen deposit brew.
So anyway, it’s been two years of nut-busting and Mauding it and quite frankly, I’m starting to get a little bit depressed. Sure, we joke about it and try to make light of the issue, but the last time I got my period, my husband cried. As you can imagine, in my hormone-enhanced state, it turned into a dueling cryfest. It was worse than when we watched Sophie’s Choice last winter.
I should probably also mention that aside from our down-home techniques, we have gone through all the proper medical tests. According to my doctor and all the lab technicians we’ve met along the way, everything is working properly on both sides. My doctor eventually pronounced our situation as “unexplained infertility.” I sort of stared at her when she delivered that prognosis until I was finally able to locate my smart assedness and retorted “so is that like the proper medical way of saying you don’t have a clue?” My OB-GYN doesn’t have an ounce of humor in her and she said “it’s what we call it.” Thanks. She sent me back out into the streets knowing less than I did before I came to see her.
While we’re technically not in any rush, we are both 34, and well, time is a-ticking. I swear that all the comments my mom and in-laws make don’t bother me, but I would sort of like to get pregnant so I can just tell them to shut the hell up. My mom, especially. She totally blames me. Everybody does. Even my husband.
Carrying this burden is annoying and unfair. While I realize that there are people out there with problems far worse, it doesn’t change the fact that getting pregnant is theoretically a fairly simple thing to do. I frankly just don’t understand. I see crack whores in Hell’s Kitchen who are able to reproduce. Repeatedly. I only smoke crack when I drink. It’s just not fair. (note the sarcasm)
Seriously though, I take pre-natal vitamins and do yoga and do acupuncture for fertility. I eat healthy, I exercise. I’ve even given up lots of stuff like running and drinking wine and eating sugar. I guess I haven’t given up on hope though. But you know what, it’s a daily battle.
don’t tell me i don’t have cancer anymore or that i “just have chemo now.”
don’t tell me to go outside and get some fresh air when i can’t be in the sun.
don’t tell me that taking a shower will make me feel better when my skin hurts too much to touch.
don’t tell me that i have the “good kind of cancer” unless you’ve had it and know how “good” it is.
don’t tell me how nicely shaped my bald head is.
don’t tell me how tired you are.
don’t tell me you’ll be there for me and then not follow through.
don’t tell me your medical opinion unless you’re my oncologist.
don’t tell me how to be me, because you aren’t.
It’s that deep, dark place I visit after spending days or weeks traveling into. The place where I’ve found myself dejected, sad, rejected, angry, jealous.
Angry at the world for not giving me what others have received.
Tears falling as I realize I’m in the place where I don’t deserve to be. I have no reason for being here. Nothing concrete has put me here.
Only in my mind have I traveled here.
The dark hallows of my mind have brought me to this place where I don’t belong.
Even in my depths, I’m outcasted.
Other people belong here. Other people who have suffered, who have been brought here not by their own mind, but by outside forces beyond their control.
Death. Disease. Sickness. Suffering.
Those people, affected by depressing situations, belong here if they happen to arrive.
I have no reason for being here.
Yet here I am.
Sad. Jealous. Angry. Crying.
As with everything, and with every time, it will pass.
And it will not look to be this bad from the other side.
Yesterday I wrote to the Band “One Year Ago” about the simple kiss that destroyed my life. Today, I get the news: the man who kissed me just got engaged to his partner over the weekend. The timing, or irony, is not lost on me.
I don’t know why God is punishing me this way. I can barely breathe or see straight from the heartbreak.
I now realize I’ve been lying to myself and everyone. He’s not just a friend. I love him so deeply with all my heart. I am crushed beyond words. I would indeed have left my husband for him. My marriage is already on the rocks because of that kiss, and my husband has no idea why I’m so distant.
Christopher, I truly and honestly love you. Please, please, please don’t marry her. She blames you for the death of the cat, and for so many, many things. She will never forgive you, and marrying her won’t make up for it. I haven’t been able to tell you because you refuse to believe me. My heart is simply bleeding. I am the only person who truly stood by you this past year. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you believe me?
So, I’ve just realized that I’ve been in an emotional, physical, and verbally abusive relationship for five years. I am in the process of healing.
You would think that healing comes easily. It doesn’t. Every day seems like a struggle. Sometimes I hate myself for the person that I have become: fragile, weak, heartbroken, depressed. I thought that I loved this man. He told me that he loved me, and I told him that I loved him, but everything changed so fast. The gentle, sweet talking man that I thought I knew turned out to be an angry, jealous, bitter abuser. I can’t help but think about the chances that I had to walk away.
I met him on a Christian blog. I discovered my spiritual side wanted to learn more about the Christian faith. He sent me a friend request, and I accepted it. I invited this man into my life because I thought that he was a fellow Christian with good intentions. Being 19 at the time, with many problems in my personal life, I realize that I was also naive. I did not think about the repercussions of pouring out my heart to a complete stranger.
Not long after we had met, he started to tell me that he loved me. Soon after, I gave him my phone number. I thought that I could trust him, and I gave him my address. Over time, he would send me gifts: candy, clothes, money, and other things. He told me that I was the only one, different from the other girls that he met. He made me feel loved, in his eyes I was perfect.
The more we got to know each other, the more serious we got. Since the relationship was long distance, we kept in touch with each as much as possible, maybe a little bit too much. We would literally stay on the phone with each other for hours. What I thought was a sign of care was nothing more than his way of control. If I did not return his phone calls, he would text me constantly. When ever we got into an argument, and I would ignore him, he would threaten to commit suicide.
Months into the relationship, I noticed that things were beginning to take a turn for the worse, but since I was going through a tough time in my life, and I needed someone to turn to, I chose to ignore the signs. A began to notice his jealousy, especially after I would tell him about my male friends. He punished for my honesty when I was only trying to establish trust. He started degrading me and calling me names. I thought that this was normal and forgave him after. He then started to send me pictures of himself, some sexual in nature. I was uncomfortable with this, but I did not tell him. I thought that sex would bring us closer since we were so far apart.
After seven months of communicating by phone, email, and text, I took a bus to meet him in Mississippi. I was scared, but felt that this would show how much I really wanted this relationship to turn out. When I saw him for the first time, I felt numb. I didn’t feel attracted to him, but did my best to make him feel loved. When I got to his house, I was nervous. His mom didn’t know I was there and I didn’t know anyone. We ended up having sex that first night. I didn’t enjoy it, but I felt like this would make everything official.
After two weeks, I returned home. I moved out of my parents house and stayed with my grandparents. We continued to stay in touch and we told each other how we wish that we could be together. One day, after an argument with his mother, he decided that he wanted to leave home. He wanted to come live with me even after I told him that I was not ready. He left anyway. I was scared at the fact that this man would come to my home even after I said no. I was worried about what my family would think.
When he got to South Carolina, I met him at the hotel to help him settle. I began to feel responsible for his homelessness and I stayed at the hotel with him. When he ran out of money, he asked if he could stay with me. As worried as I was, I let him.
Since that day, my life has never been the same. I live with a predator. He’s a completely different man from the man that I thought I knew. He accuses me of sleeping around. He’s looked through my phones, and even broken them. He destroys things that have value to me.
I’ve been sexually abused by this man. He touches me inappropriately without my permission. I’ve been physically abused: punched, kicked, slapped, bruised. I’ve called the police on him three times. He’s been arrested once.
I became pregnant by this man. The abuse did not stop after I got pregnant. After my baby was born, he started to isolate himself from me even more.
I wanted to share this story because I wanted to let any one who has been abused know that you can heal. I had to get on my knees and pray for healing. I accepted Jesus Christ into my life so that I could be saved. I know that Jesus loves me, and you, no matter what anyone else says. When we know that we are loved, we begin to love ourselves: then we can heal.
One year ago, September 8, you kissed me. You think it was so innocent. Just a momentary lapse of judgement. I wish I could tell you this. You have no idea the damage you caused.
I was content in my marriage, content with my life. I love my husband (I guess), but we never had any sexual chemistry between us and we haven’t had sex in years. He said it was because I was frigid, and I thought I was because I never felt any attraction to him. Over the years he has lost all desire for me, but still, he is a good man and we have built a comfortable life. He’s a reclusive intellectual and a bit depressed, like I am, so we spend a lot of time in silence. he silence, like the sexless marriage, has become unbearable.
Then YOU came along… you are fun, energetic, full of life and we talk and joke constantly when we have lunch or a drink. You remind me of everything I gave up when I got married, including spontaneity, humor, fun, and passion. I am not frigid; that one kiss proved it. The arousal and feeling of pure joy in that one kiss are indescribable and it still haunts me every day. I was not expecting this, not looking for this, yet it happened.
When I see you with your partner I get so jealous. Her laughter is a knife in my soul. I don’t laugh with my husband, we don’t have fun. I laugh with you though, and whenever we part, I go into a deep depression for days afterwards at the thought of not seeing you again for a while.
I feel you would never leave your partner for me – it’s far too much a miracle to expect from Life. And I’ve never, ever wanted to cheat on or leave my husband. So what am I to do? I feel like I’m dying a slow death from a neglect that I never realized was happening until you kissed me.
I have no valid reason for leaving my husband, he’s a good person and he tries. I feel like I’m the one who’s screwed everything up, that he should have married someone who could love and appreciate him better and was attracted to him. He says he loves me though and if I leave ever him he’ll be crushed. It’s cowardly of me, but I wish instead he would find someone better than me and leave me for her so I could try again in life. I would want to try with you, but as I said, it’s far too big a miracle to expect and probably more than I deserve.
My therapist hasn’t told me to stop seeing you, and for that I am grateful. He understands you are the only bright spot in my life, even though it depresses me so whenever we part. He acknowledges my feelings and agrees this is all so tragic, but so far we have no answers. This is all such a mess.
All because of one …little …kiss.