The Blizzard of Infertility

We're into day two of the blizzard. This morning I awoke at the usual time, expecting to be making my way into work. I was going to have HB, who is a teacher and was already informed last night that schools would be closed today, drive me to a bus stop and make my way in to the office using that less stressful method.

Not to be. Buses are not running. Plows have not yet graced us with an appearance. And miracle of miracles, there was a public notice that my office is closed until at least noon, at which time they will reassess the situation.

So, here we sit. Day Two. I haven't washed my hair since Saturday morning. The beds aren't made. The laundry is done, but still in the basement. HB is shovelling us out, and I'm too lazy to go help. I'm using the "we only have one shovel" excuse. And I'm surfing blogs. I'm over the "let's not think about infertility" moment of yesterday. I'm back, obsessively seeking new posts on my usual blog list, and adding new blogs to my check-out list. And I'm thinking.

When you read enough blogs in the infertility community, you notice the cycles. So similiar to the cycles of death or grief. We are all at different points in the continuum, and most days we go through different stages of the cycles. We're there to pull each other up; empathize; offer a shoulder or simply nod knowingly in almost full understanding.

We may not have experienced exactly the same situation. But we can relate to the emotions described, or the feeling of frustration. To the bargains we strike. The anger at God, at the world, at ourselves, our doctors, or at those who are filled with urban myths of how to conceive. The mixed up feeling of joy and jealousy when someone we know becomes pregnant, or even when we see a pregnant woman we don't know. The questioning we put ourselves through. Do we really want this? Is it worth it? Can I do this again? The feeling of confusion when we can't come to a clear answer. The disappointment at loss. The dipping down so low.

And then, the climb back up the mountain as we enter another month. A new cycle. Hope. Pep talks to ourselves and others. New information. Different medication. Another bargain with your husband/partner, God, the universe ...

And we begin again. Knowing that our sisters and brothers on the Journey of Infertility are there - silently fighting with us. Rooting us on. Cementing our bargains. And wishing us well.

We will all survive these blizzards. I feel it.