Tuesday, 7 June 2016

The Question

It has been 5 years since a doctor told me about my infertility. It has been a lot longer since I knew myself about my infertility. I think God gave me the answer long before the doctors did to try and cushion the blow. Kind of like a "you can't hurt me with something that I already know." But it was hard to hear, and hard to have it confirmed, and even harder to live with it day after day after day.

There is not a day that goes by that I am not reminded of my infertility. That I am not reminded that my body is broken. There is not a day that passes that I do not wish that my ovaries could just release my eggs, shoot them down my fallopian tubes, and have them meet sperm, to be fertilized, to create a baby. But no, instead, if I ovulate, my egg just dies off because it can't make it through my blocked tubes.

So when someone asks me when I plan on having another baby, I want to cry. Because if it were my choice, I would be pregnant right now. I wouldn't walk around with pain in my heart every day. I have enough reminders on a daily basis to remind me that my body doesn't work like it should, I don't need the sting of what some may think is a seemingly innocent question. That seemingly innocent question stops me cold, makes my heart beat faster, and makes my mind instantly jump to "stay calm, you can do this, don't cry, just give a short reply and shut this conversation down."

This seemingly innocent question stays with me. Like when I try to have a relaxing bath at the end of the day but end up in a crying fit because of that one stupid question. It leaves me crying in Chris' arms while he tries his best to convince me that everything will be okay. It leaves me heartbroken because I would do anything to be able to get pregnant the old fashioned way.

I just don't want to be asked this question anymore.

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