It could be the childless couple down the road. The ones whose house is always open for the neighbors' kids. The ones who would make the perfect mom and dad, but who never seem to get there.
It could be the single lady you see at church. Or, for that matter, the single guy.
Or the gay couple, male or female.
For all of that, it could even be the pregnant woman you encounter at the grocery store. Or the mother chasing her little boy.
It could have been me.
It was me.
It is me.
I am a daughter, a friend, a wife and a mother.
I also am an infertility patient. What an ironic term; infertility certainly forces patience.
My husband, son and I. We are the family on the street that disappears under the hidden guises of infertility. I'm sure that no one would assume our struggles upon first meeting us. My 2-year-old son, Bug? Below is his first picture. I suspect that anyone who has done IVF will recognize it immediately.
Progesterone, estrogen, clomid, follistim, menopur, bravelle, trigger, IVF, ICSI, HSG, laparoscopy, endometriosis, FSH, LH, uterine checks, hypothyroid, ultrasound, cryopreservation, TSH checks, HCG, embryo, blastocyst, downgrading, stimulating, FET, beta tests, bloodwork, reproductive endocrinologist.
A hodgepodge of words of little significance to fertile couples. Our family is unfortunately intimately associated with this terminology.
I don't claim to know what other women facing infertility have experienced. Only that it sucks. That I've felt the pain, and that while we all walk on this journey alone, we all walk together as well.
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