National Infertility Awareness Week: Trust Me, We're All Aware (Wednesday)

So what were talking about? Oh right. I was telling you how even though I have this blog and a book about going through IVF and I have a huge mouth, somehow, I’ve been in the infertility closet all along. I forever teeter on that fine line between: “I’m ashamed to admit it” and “It’s none of your business, just like you coming back to work two dress sizes smaller and a cup and a half size larger after taking a week off to get your ‘tonsils’ out is none of my business… (Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to make thirty or so phone calls and hit “send” on an email with many addressees…and buy some postcards.”)

Truth be told, I do occasionally venture out of the closet. If someone asks me if I've done IVF, I grill them like a cheese sandwich to find out why they want to know. If it appears they have a friend or relative going through it, I'll spill my guts.  If, however, I feel they just want to entertain themselves with my misfortune, I kick them out of my closet. “Back up, turn off the lights, and close the door. You’re sucking up my air.”

Many times, even if their concerns seem legit, I still question their stories. Sometimes I’m sure people create spur of the moment infertile cousins to cover up the fact that they're shocked by my gory details. (Don't ask if you don't want to know. That's my motto.) I suppose it is politer for them to say: “Oh, I know. I have a cousin going through that” than: “Ew, you stick needles in your stomach and your butt? You poor pathetic freak!” and then run home and bathe.

But here we were, celebrating, commemorating, trying to forget…“National Infertility Awareness Week”. Frankly I was terrified of what the week might entail. It’s one thing to “out” yourself. It’s quite another thing to be “outed” by a Hallmark holiday.

Would I have to march down Fifth Avenue carrying a sign? “Free IVF!” “Free IVF!” Should I stop to correct tourists who think IVF is a political prisoner being held in Bosnia?

Would my husband and I not be considered legally married in most states?

Could I ride on a float with my sorority, The Alpha Gamma Gametes? Would there be a crowned parade queen? Can I be the Baroness of Barrenness?

Or would my husband and I be required to walk hand in hand chanting with the crowd?  “What do we want?” “A baby!” “When do we want it?” “NOW!” 

I never felt such kinship with gay people before. At least not since the “Project Runway” season ended.

Listen, I gotta go. My hand cramped up ten minutes ago and I’ve been typing with my toe. Now that’s starting to go and I’m scared of my options. I’ll talk with you tomorrow.