Maybe it's just me, but I feel like as every new month begins and each holiday in it approaches, all infertile people collectively suck in a deep breath, hold it and panic: "Oh no, it's another holiday. Will there be parties and gatherings I don't want to attend? Will I have to come up with yet another reason why I can't? Will I have to listen to endless stories about everybody's kids' milestones? Will I have to stand there for twenty minutes, waiting for some yutz to figure out how his SmartPhone works so he can show me pictures of them?"
So how did YOU do on St. Patrick's Day? When I lived in NYC, I went to the St Patrick's Day parade every year. It was always cold and dreary but I still loved all of it: The bagpipes, the kilts, the girls dancing with hair that, for some reason, I thought was their natural curls for the first 20 years of my life. Hundreds of NYC police officers proudly marched down Fifth Avenue. As a New Yorker, I had mixed feelings: I felt incredible pride seeing the scores of our amazing first responders while at the same time wondering who was left to respond if I got attacked on the way home and called 911.
When you're trying to get pregnant you live on egg shells from one holiday to the next. At least that's how it was for me. I always loved August. The one month of the year with no major holidays. Finally! A thirty-one day long break from ill-will towards others. Then both my mother and my mother-in-law had to go and die in August and louse that up for me. How could I not take that personally?
I understand that holidays probably don't affect regular people as negatively as they affect infertile people. I accept that most people don't have a strong reaction to the lesser ones like Ground Hog's Day or Arbor Day. That's because most of the rest of the world doesn't spend every day and night staring at the wall calendar.
And to make matters worse, suddenly every day is some kind of a holiday and when you’re obsessed with dates and time going by without you getting pregnant, and how you and your eggs are both aging— all roads lead back to us:
“National Pancake Day!” - “My right Fallopian tube is flat as a pancake.”
“National Lefty Day” - “My Reproductive Endocrinologist is a lefty. That figures.”
“National Grandparents Day” - “I’m 32 years old. I could be a grandparent by now (at least on the Maury show.) “.
And somehow some way St Patrick's Day must be all about us too. We're not sure how, but if we obsess on it long enough, there must be some very good, extremely logical reason why we dreaded St Patrick's Day this year. Maybe it's one of these:
1) St Patrick was the patron saint of fertility
2) St Patrick was the patron saint of insurance that covers nothing
3) St Patrick was the patron saint of slow sperm
4) St Patrick was the patron saint of blocked Fallopian tubes
5) St Patrick was the patron saint of relatives who don't mind their own business
6) St Patrick was the patron saint of paper examination gowns that fit like a big doily.
Or...maybe we just dread St Patrick's Day because we're taking medications and can't go to a pub and get stinkin' drunk on St Patrick's Day like all of our moronic fertile friends.
Thanks a lot for stopping by! I hope you feel even just a little bit better than you did when you got here. Please check out my homepage: You can subscribe to my not-overly-frequent newsletter & check out my books. (also on Amazon.) http://laughingisconceivable.com