Dear "Expecting" Prankster

Hello Friend,

I'm calling you friend because I think we would be friends. You seem like a person who enjoys fun. I like a good prank. You like pranks. Which also means you probably like to laugh, and I LOVE to laugh. Loud. Unstopping. Belly aching laughs are my jam. We'd be friends. And laugh together a lot.

So, friend, I'm gonna get real. Because that's what friends do.

And this is something that must finally be said. Not meant to be mean or angry, just simple truth that must be spoken.

Those "I'm expecting" joke status updates? The truth is they aren't pranks. They aren't funny. They hurt, very deeply.

And let me tell you why...
 

My husband and I have been struggling with infertility. Struggling is such a weird word to describe our journey. Struggling  seems to imply we've gotten the upper hand once or twice. We haven't. It's a fight, a battle with wounds and bruises and losses, a deep dark lonely valley. We have been flat out defeated by infertility.

I have once walked on clouds through the aisles of baby clothes and car seats and bottles -- imagining all the beautiful possibilities, the names, the days of my future in motherhood. I now walk those same aisles with a heavy heart -- shopping for someone else's baby. The dreams I once had for our future, our children, our lives together are just…dreams. I don’t hear the pitter patter of little chubby feet, or the cries in the middle of the night that only my body can soothe. I may never use those cute onesies I bought with a joyful, expectant heart so long ago. All the things. So many things. They are merely wishes.

Today life is very different than I thought or even imagined in my wildest dreams.

I've spent my twenties waiting, trying, fighting without success. Zero. Not one.

I've been cut open. I've had pieces of myself cut out with the goal of getting pregnant. And although I have, for the most part, made peace with the unmet expectations -- disappointment and dashed hopes are things I live with daily.

This is my life. Two weeks ago I made my usual TTC (trying to conceive) Target run. I bought a pack of OPKs (Ovulation Predictor Kits), Pre-seed (sperm safe lubricant), pregnancy tests (which will most likely make me feel like I've wasted $10), green tea, pineapple, tampons (because if all this doesn't work, why make a second trip), and lots of chocolate. No one imagines the road to parenthood to include asking the male clerk at the pharmacy about sperm-safe lubricant and painful procedures. We picture romantic evenings and rose petals and excitement.

I started using my OPKs sticks two times a day a week ago and finally, disappointment after disappointment, got the smiley face I longed for -- possible ovulation was coming soon. So my husband, the patient wonderful man, and I scheduled intercourse. Yes, scheduled. The myth of TTC life is lots of great sex. After the hopes are defeated sex can be a chore.  Or you feel broken. Or sex just makes you feel inadequate -- you can't do the most natural thing right. Sex is a means to an end, and the end is never realized. And you think, "Why bother?"

We scheduled sex…even if we weren't in the mood, even if we were fighting, even if we had somewhere else to be. Because…this might be THE month and we can't bear the possibility of missing our only shot. Because we are friends, I will tell you this. Our sex life is great. Just different. It takes more work that is used to. We take breaks from trying to make sure we still connect to each other rather than the outcome. It wasn't always this way, but despite all the charts and timing and OPKs and scheduling, we are okay. It isn't always this way for everyone. And that breaks my heart too. 

Some women chart their BBT (basal body temperature) religiously every morning. Some women stick themselves with hundreds of needles and take meds that make them feel like their going crazy or gain weight. And then there are the endless doctor's appointments and procedures, rarely covered by insurance.

Infertility is   w a i t i n g. Waiting for the BFP (Big Fat Positive) and the baby, of course. But waiting for our cycle to start, waiting to ovulate - testing, testing, testing until it's time, and the dreaded TWW (two week wait) between ovulation and expected period. Endless waiting. I'm secretly terrified that when I am old and gray, beyond my childbearing years I will still be in a state of waiting.

Month after month we soar with excitement and hope that maybe this is it. The dreams come flooding back for a few fleeting moments. Praying, willing, the TWO lines to appear. Wishing and hoping to make that amazing miracle ANNOUNCEMENT that our prayers have been answered, that I have dreamed about for the last decade.

And month after month we are crushed, defeated, devastated … sobbing in some bathroom knowing it’s the first day of our cycle or crying with a disappointing pregnancy test. Personally, this is my 114th month of defeat.

If the definition of insanity is said to be doing the same thing over and over expecting different results…we're all insane. It's not an easy road for us who walk it. Trying is not fun. It can be monotonous, torturous, tiring, and defeating. Trying without success is exhausting. Just relax? We haven't been relaxed in years, how could we?

Some women are in shock and awe as those wonderful two lines tell of the new life within. And some women lose those babies. Baby after precious baby lost. Celebrated as a miracle and gone too soon. Maybe even before an announcement of their new life could be made, for fear of news made public too early. Worst fears realized through chemical pregnancies, miscarriage, and still birth.

We are spectators to the thing we wish for most. With every countless announcement we are reminded of how much time has passed, how much we have lost and grieved, we continue to mourn. With every announcement we feel the familiar pang in our chest, the air knocked out of our lungs, the tears stinging. We hope we can share our own but eventually we mourn what seems like loss…we come to terms. It feels like everyone but us. We feel alone. Infertility is isolating. We aren't in the club. We realize just how stuck we are. It seems so unfair. 

It IS unfair.

And we celebrate. Friend, please know this. We are happy, overjoyed for our friends and their news. As a community of infertiles, we who have tried again and again, for months and years even, we know how precious life is. We know this miracle well. And we know that no matter what we can't make the world stop turning. Life will go on. We will survive. We move forward. So we celebrate wholeheartedly. We might not always keep our emotions in check, because there is a lot going on…especially with those dang fertility meds! But we do our best. Even in the moments of brokenness, sorrow, pain, and fear we celebrate new life. Because we know exactly what perfect miracle must happen to make this amazing little person.

So, friend, I tell you ALL this because you need to know. This world of infertility and loss maybe foreign land to you, we may speak a different language. We have crazy…customs, (like sock sisters.) These types of struggles and battles and defeat may never have touched you before. You need to know. They are real and heartbreaking and unbearable. I'm not telling you for pity or comfort. But simply because it is real. And it is hard. And you need to know.

I tell you all this because you need to know that prank has hurt us, those who are walking the heartbreaking journey of infertility. Whether it's "expecting" snow or Santa or an April Fool's Day prank, it has crushed us. Woman to woman, you have hit us right where it hurts, in our weakest moment. Our deepest desire to announce a pregnancy has been your joke.

Maybe in all honesty you really, truly meant no harm. Maybe you had no idea what hurt you might inflict to those who read your prankster status. Maybe you have no inkling of the dips and valleys, sorrows and pain of our world. Maybe you had no idea you were essentially belittling our very real and fierce battle -- our fight to get pregnant, the loss of our babies too soon. And, friend, I am sure all these things are true. You meant no harm. You did not know.

But now you know.

And now you know the pain of our unanswered prayer. You know the hurt and the struggle and the battle and all the things we never thought we would have to do, we wish we never had to do. You know the fight and the disappointment. You know our longing and the desire and the utter defeat.  The struggle is real. We try and are defeated. We cry out to God for a miracle and are left waiting. We lose babies and our arms remain empty.

You know struggle too. You know what it is to want something you cannot have, something good and not evil, something normal and not extravagant. You know. For you it might have been a house, a job, a spouse, a promotion. Something you have prayed for and waited for and cried over. You know.

Can we, as women, come together and offer support? Can we, though we do not share the same struggles and fear, respect each others' journey? We are sisters in this life and I hope we can, rather than make jokes and fun, encourage and partner. Life is hard enough. With the roles of daughter, wife or girlfriend, sister, friend, mother, coworker and boss, with the boobs and the hormones, the doing all the things at home and everywhere else…life is hard enough. Please say we can stick together as a sisterhood in all womanly things and struggles.

In all this, there is something you can do.

Hold your babies. You can breathe in their sweet baby smell, you can bask in the bliss of their giggles. Look at them, hug them, kiss them…and remember that beautiful moment when the two lines magically appeared, whether they were well planned or a surprise. 

And think of us. In those quiet moments rocking your babies, remember those women who suffer in silence with empty arms and barren wombs, those of us agonizing over temps and OPKs and scheduling sex, those of us weeping in the bathrooms over wasted tests and lost babies. When you think that moment of announcing you are expecting is trivial, remember our battle. Know you have won when you so easily could have been waiting, longing, battling along with us. 

And when you see us making our TTC Target run with a basket filled with pregnancy tests, OPKs, Pre-seed, tampons, and loads of chocolate -- smile boldly and say a silent prayer for us, for we are going to war.