(Start with “Monday” if you happen to have an extra five minutes laying around doing nothin'. And if you have an extra thirty seconds more, please consider subscribing to this blog for a weekly newsletter.) So what were we talking about? Oh right. “National Infertility Awareness Week” is almost upon us and I'm not at all sure I'm comfortable with that.
I’ll be honest: From the time I even suspected I might not be able to conceive naturally to a year later when I began treatments, to about an hour ago, I was in the infertility closet.
I know that sounds weird because I wrote a book about going through IVF, and I’ve got this blog, and I use my real name, and I scribble my website address on public bathroom walls...
And I plaster my picture everywhere, and I announce my posts on Facebook where everyone I’ve never met in elementary school, people who married people I used to date, mothers I used to whine to because their sons wanted nothing to do with me...
And former employers with whom I burned bridges so profoundly a decade ago, you can still smell the smoldering wood when there’s a northeasterly breeze...
Are all reading intimate details of my life simultaneously.
Yet mentally and emotionally, that’s where I still lived: In that infertility closet. Back there, in the dark; behind my third grade Marcia Brady Halloween costume, and bridal gifts given by people who thought they would be innovative and deviate from my registry.
I guess, like a lot of people hiding from something or other, I felt comfortable divulging on the computer. If people judged me in cyberspace, unlike in person, I didn’t have to listen to it. You know how people always say: “If you have something to say, say it to my face.” I just as soon they don’t. Seriously.
Let me grant my permission right here. Calling all people who know me well, are total strangers or haven’t seen me since I’ve reached my full height (although I think I’m starting back down the other way):
If you have any gossipy or negative remarks about my infertility situation or the treatments I’ve chosen, feel free to text each other behind my back.
And if somebody says something awful about me and you want to be the “Good Samaritan” who runs to tell me: That’s okay. I appreciate that you want to include me in your exercise routine, but I’m good.
Listen, I gotta go. I signed in at the DMV last Thursday and it’s probably almost my turn.
I’ll talk with ya again tomorrow.