I am disappointed… with myself.
I wanted to write something for NIAW this year. My first year participating in NIAW was Bust a Myth and my miscarriage piece was probably the best post I’ve ever written; it certainly touched more people and has gotten more comments than any other post. Last year I dropped the ball and didn’t get anything out so this year I was determined to make it happen–to write something. I just needed to figure out what to say.
So I waited. And I thought about it. And I waited some more. I waited for inspiration. I thought about different angles I could take. I read other people’s NIAW posts. I waited some more.
And nothing came. Tomorrow is Saturday, the last day of NIAW and I still haven’t written a post about joining the movement, about my participation in the ALI community. The truth is, I don’t really have anything to say.
Well that’s not completely true. I guess the truth is I don’t know what to say. I don’t know where I fit. I don’t know where I fit in this community, in the definition of secondary infertility, I don’t even know where I fit in my own diagnosis. When you don’t know how you fit into a movement it’s really hard to call others to join it–or to simply recognize it–or to talk about how you’ve joined it yourself.
I put my up my cover on Facebook. I commented on other people’s posts. (Not enough though, I need to step up my commenting big time.) I was inspired by what other people wrote. Unfortunately none of it helped me fashion my own message. I really wanted to write something on my public blog and send it out there, to all the people that I know who aren’t a part of this community. Writing something about NIAW here is like preaching to the choir. You all know. You all get it. For awareness week I feel like I should be shouting about this to the people who never hear, who wouldn’t know if I didn’t tell them.
I wrote a piece (that link will be up through the weekend) on my public blog not long ago about secondary infertility. I’m so glad I put it out there. I’m so glad I had a chance to do some educating (or at least make an attempt at educating) before my pregnancy muted my voice, before my experience was negated it in the eyes of those on the outside. I hope that post did something to chip away at the ignorance of those who have never experience infertility or secondary infertility, for those who didn’t even know that secondary infertility was an affliction. I hope I helped people better understand how those of us who have or are currently suffering from secondary infertility feel. It may not have made any difference, but at least I tried. I put myself out there and I wish I were inspired to do so again.
I honestly just don’t know what to say about secondary infertility while I’m sitting here pregnant, when my journey to my second child was so short, relatively speaking (and I know he’s not here yet but I’m choosing to believe he will arrive, until I have reason to believe otherwise). Sure I was diagnosed with diminished ovarian reserve and my partner was diagnosed with MFI. Sure we were told IVF was likely our only chance and probably wouldn’t work–even if we could afford it–which we couldn’t. Sure we faced, for two short months, the very real possibility of never having another biological child. Sure we began researching donor embryos. Sure I had drafted a letter to my much younger sister, asking her to consider donating her eggs to our cause. Sure I was researching fostering-to-adopt. Sure I was trying to make peace with the idea of a family of three. But that period of hopeless and despair was so short. We never really had to consider any of those seriously because before we did, I ended up pregnant.
My experience is a strange one. I’m not sure where it fits in the continuum of infertility. Most of the time that doesn’t bother me anymore. I no longer worry about where I fit in this community, though I definitely consider it–intellectually–from time to time. But when it comes to NIAW and advocacy, I’m just not sure where I stand, what I have the right to say.
And so I guess I won’t say anything. And for that, I’m supremely disappointed.