The Waiting Place

You can get so confused
that you'll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.

The Waiting Place.

...for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.

Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

-Dr. Seuss, 'Oh the Places You'll Go'

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This week was National Infertility Awareness Week. Before I begin this unnecessarily lengthy blog post, I'd like to say that I don't know exactly what my purpose is in writing this, but the purpose is NOT to shame you, or make you feel bad for not being aware, informed, or sensitive human beings to this specific issue. I would like to avoid the phrase "infertility awareness" and "infertility sensitivity" because I mean, how many other things are there in the world to be aware and sensitive of? Probably thousands. There is literally no way that any person could be completely aware of all the emotions, difficulty, heartache, and physical burdens that come along with infertility as well as to be sensitive enough to know exactly what to and what not to say in any given situation, let alone all of the other challenges that people face in this world (I think of... cancer, death of a loved one, depression, miscarriage and the list is endless...). Except for Jesus Christ, because he experienced it all himself. And that is something that gives me hope. 

I do not expect anyone reading this post to understand what it is like. I do not want anyone to feel shame or embarrassment for not being the epitome of sensitivity to those experiencing infertility. Should people be kind and sensitive? Absolutely. Are people generally well-intentioned when they ask questions that could be considered insensitive? I like to believe so. I think the world we live in today is easily offended, and what I have found is that being offended does not make you happy. It actually- literally- makes you miserable. Sometimes people do say insensitive things to me. It always hurts. But it helps to keep that perspective that, no, they were not trying to hurt my feelings, and no, this does not change anything about what I already know about myself. So the point of this blog is to not urge you to feel guilty about all the people experiencing infertility or to admonish you to avoid phrases x, y, and z when speaking to them. It is not to educate you about the life of someone experiencing infertility, because everyone has a different experience- it affects everyone so differently that you should not assume my experiences mirror anyone else's. It is especially not for pity, for I neither want nor need it. So maybe my point is... to share my personal experiences. How it has affected me. What I have learned. Only if you're interested in knowing. 

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I don't pretend to be an expert on this topic, because I'm really not. We've been in this waiting place for some time now.... And I know many who have been there for much longer, 3, 4, 5 times as long as we have. Despite how awful and despairing it is to be in the waiting place, I feel guilty feeling that way because I know my struggles do not even come close to that of others. In a way, it is helpful for me to have that perspective- to force myself to be positive because someone probably (definitely) has it worse than I. But it is also hard to feel okay about being sad- because it is incredibly hard no matter how long you've been in the waiting place. I think there is some repression of emotion, which I do not think is always healthy. I've had a hard time balancing that. 

I think I've been in denial about being in the waiting place. I sometimes think, "I am not in the waiting place. This is just a fluke... it'll happen next month and everything will be fine." But when you think "next month it will definitely happen" for months and months... you can't ignore it. The "when's" start to fade, the doubt sets in, and the "if's" take their place. And I think that is what one of the hardest things is- the realization and acknowledgement that you are, in fact, experiencing infertility.

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I have PCOS. I found out in month 9. Poly-Cystic-Ovary-Syndrome. I have two sisters, a cousin, and an aunt that all have it. I thought I was in the clear, because my sisters both developed it early in their teenage years. I showed zero signs or symptoms until I went off birth control in month 1. Things got a little crazy. PCOS in plainest terms, is when an excess of testosterone in the body prevents ovulation. Obviously, if you don't ovulate, you can't get pregnant. It is the leading cause of female infertility. There are other yucky side effects of PCOS, but this is the main one of concern. Normally, a woman will have a menstrual cycle every 28 (give or take a couple) days. Since we entered the waiting place, I have had menstrual cycles last between 26 and 107 days. And everywhere in between. Nothing is normal. Nothing is consistent. I do not know when I ovulate, because I have no idea when my cycle will end. Every time my period is late(r than 28 days), I think I am pregnant. Most of my cycles have been longer than 35 days, so I pretty much always think I'm pregnant. Whenever I pee on those stupid, expensive sticks, I always know that it will be positive. And it never is. 

I have been told that I am lucky I have PCOS, because at least it is known WHY I am experiencing infertility. If they know WHY you can't get pregnant, they can at least do something about it, as opposed to women who don't have anything wrong- they just can't get pregnant. I can't really say that I feel lucky that I have PCOS, because it is the worst, but I am grateful for modern medicine and for options. We've tried lots of things. Nothing has worked so far. But there are many things TO try, and I am grateful for that.

PCOS can be- I can't say "managed" because nothing will really make it go away- but maybe, improved is the right word?-through lifestyle choices. This was something that was really hard for me- and still in a way is. That the choices I've made could be to blame for us not being able to get pregnant. Matthew always tells me that I'm being dramatic when I say this- and maybe I am- but I really have felt intense guilt over this before! What if I'm not eating enough healthy foods, what if I'm not exercising enough? Both of those things can lessen the effects of PCOS. I've worked so hard to change that. I exercise. I eat healthy. I eat less. I lost 20 pounds. I get a lot of sleep. I won't say it was all for nothing because it didn't result in a pregnancy, but it has been hard understanding why it didn't help.

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I have learned so much about myself, grown in my relationship with my Heavenly Father and with my spouse. But it has been hard. There have been so many hard things. And yet, there have been many things that are not-so-hard.

It is hard to think about my body. I have been taught all my life that women were created to be mothers. That our bodies had that incredible God-like ability to create life. I feel like my body was not given that creative ability- or at least it would not be able to create life without medical intervention. Why was my body not created to do something that is so ingrained in my divine nature? I don't doubt that I was meant to be, and will be a mother. But why am I not able to do something that is one of my purposes in life? 

It is hard to be on social media. I really try not to be a scrooge on Facebook. I want, one day, to be able to post a cheesy picture of a onesie or an ultrasound and have everyone be so excited for me- so I do feel the need to be excited for everyone else when they do so. I feel like its only fair. Jealousy never made anyone happy. Obviously, easier said than done.  It is hard when you feel like you're the only one who's not a parent. It is hard watching my friends' babies grow older, and watching them learn to crawl, and talk, and walk, and seeing a tiny human grow up and how they look like their mom and dad, and how they have this relationship with their parents. I envy the experience. Don't get me wrong- posting baby announcements, pictures, statuses, and blog posts is not insensitive to those who struggle. People should do those things- it is the sweetest part of their lives. It is what I want for myself. For now, its just hard. 

It is hard to have your six year old sister give you a stuffed animal for Christmas "for your baby!", totally lose it in front of your family and watch her stare at you, wondering why you are sobbing on Christmas morning. 

It is hard to be disappointed. I remember meeting a few times with an investigator family with the missionaries. We had a ward Halloween party coming up and I offered to give their son a ride, because I knew the mom would be working. They said it would be fine, and I prepared to take him to the party. I went out and got him something to put all his candy in when we went trunk-or-treating. I got a bunch of stuff that he could help us decorate our trunk with. I got really, strangely, excited at the idea of going to this ward party where everyone always has kids, and we never have- and having someone to be responsible for! I'd take him trunk-or-treating, help him get dinner, introduce him to some primary kids. On our way to get him, I went ahead and called to let him know we were on our way, and his mom said he wouldn't be able to make it. I cried the whole way to the church. I felt so incredibly stupid. Why did I get so excited over something as un-extraordinary a thing as this?

It is hard to be in a restaurant where a baby starts looking at you, and you try not to look at him, because it is generally socially unacceptable to stare at some stranger's kid. But you start making faces and sticking out your tongue anyway, and the baby smiles, and giggles and laughs. And you keep doing it, because you are having more fun than the kid probably is. Then the parents see you, and give you a disapproving look and turn their baby's attention away from you. And then you feel like a creep.

It is hard to bring it up. Most of the time, I don't dislike/feel uncomfortable talking about it, but I feel like when I bring it up, it makes other people feel uncomfortable. And the last thing I want/need is more awkward in my life.

It is hard to not be self-centered sometimes. A friend who has been going through this much longer and I have the opportunity to talk often about what is hard for us, and it is comforting to hear that some of my thoughts and feelings are normal. I was incredibly blessed when she moved in my ward, and I value her friendship more than she probably knows! During one of our visits, she mentioned how it was difficult lately for her husband. I had a moment of panic in my heart where I searched through my memory the last time I had asked Matthew how he was feeling about all this. And my search came up empty. I could not remember a single time I had asked Matthew how HE felt. He had expressed his frustration and sadness, but I never went out of my way to ask him how he was feeling. We had talked about me and my feelings so many times. He's held me while I've cried, and has reassured me it would be okay. He is so sensitive to the slightest change in my mood, and somehow knows exactly what I'm feeling and thinking- and knows what to say about it. I failed to look past my own struggles and  contemplate how much it had been affecting Matthew, and it broke my heart. We've had so many good conversations since then. We've grown so much together. We are united in our challenges and we can share the burden. 

It is NOT hard to feel loved. Most of my friends are in grad school or married to grad students, with young families. There are SO many kids. So many pregnancies. And it is honestly hard sometimes to be in that environment, always being reminded of what you don't have. I try so hard not to think that way. But the amount of love and support that I have received from the women around me is so overwhelming that I can feel our Savior's love through the way they act and through their examples. I feel truly blessed, and encircled with love.

It is hard to learn how to not be offended. But it is possible, and it is important. I've seen a lot of articles floating around (mostly via Facebook, a place I have grown to really hate) basically with the gist of "Don't you dare ask me why I don't have kids yet" (assumingly because of infertility, miscarriage, or infant loss). As one who is experiencing infertility, I have read lots of these and agree with a lot of the things they say. I think people's business is their own. I believe that there is a line between being curious and being nosy, and I think there is an even clearer line between being nosy/curious and general concern. However, I do believe that the vast majority of people who ask have absolutely no intention of hurting feelings. They just don't know better. And they don't know what's going on with you. At the end of the day, the only person who can control my happiness is me.

It is hard to understand why talking about infertility publicly is taboo. At first I felt like if someone asked me something having to do with the fact that we don't have kids, I could not respond to them honestly. I'd say things like "Oh you know, when the time is right!" or "Someday!" Because, infertility is not something you are supposed to talk about. It's taboo. I don't know why our culture is that way. Even now, I am anxious at the thought of actually hitting the "publish" button on this post. And I've been writing it for about 6 months. Maybe that's why there is an infertility awareness week? So people can share and open up about their infertility? I'm not sure. I'm sure not everyone actually wants to talk about it. But I do believe that people should be feel okay talking about it if they want to. I know that talking about it with other people who are also dealing with infertility has been incredibly helpful and healing for me- but it is hard to know who those people are when it is less-socially acceptable to discuss such things publicly. 

It's not so hard to talk about. Maybe as time goes by it will become harder. Sometimes I will still give vague responses to questions, but lately, I've figured, if you are bold enough to ask someone that question, then I am bold enough to give you a straight answer. If it makes you feel uncomfortable, I'm very sorry, but you asked! :) Around month 8, someone asked me about it- for the first time since we had entered the waiting place. About having kids, about getting pregnant. Instead of the safe, comfortable response, I just flat-out told her. It was an on-the-spot decision. I wasn't irritated with her, I wasn't tired of holding it in, I was just curious as to how the conversation would go. I told her that I was struggling with infertility. At first she had this deer-in-the-headlights look, and she apologized for asking, and I said it was fine... but then we had this awesome conversation. This is not something that she had experienced, so she could have no empathy. She had genuine questions about it. About my condition, about what its like to struggle with that, about how I feel, about how she should go about interacting with other people she knew that also struggled. And it was so... relieving. To just talk, and have someone listen. I didn't even mind that she brought it up in the end, in fact I was grateful for a chance to talk to a good friend about something that was important in my life. It's probably not something I would have brought up on my own. 

It is not so hard to feel closer to my Savior. Like anyone who's ever had a trial (everyone and their mom), there is a crisis of faith. Why is this happening to me? When will it end? What am I doing wrong? My faith has roller coastered. And that's ok. There are moments of despair and anger at the plan Heavenly Father has for me, and moments of pure and ebullient peace at knowing how much my Savior loves me. The times that are the most emotionally and physically difficult for people are the times that they need God most. But sometimes those times are the most difficult to put his trust in him. That is the unfortunate paradox of the waiting place. Everyone will visit at some point, and there, the only way to be happy is to choose to be. There was one point on my roller coaster of faith that it had been a long time since I had been on the incline. I was stagnant and slow. In my mind I knew what I needed to do, but I was tired. I was frustrated. I was bitter. And I felt justified in feeling all of those things. All of those things kept me complacent where I was at. I was doing what I was supposed to be doing- going to Church, paying tithing, fasting, praying, reading scriptures. I did not doubt the church was true or lose faith in the gospel- but my heart wasn't in it. I was just going through the motions. Looking back now, I would like to say that there was an incident or a spark or something specific that jarred me from my stupor, but there wasn't. I just got tired of being sad, frustrated, and bitter. So I stopped. One day, I just woke up and chose to be ok. Everything I've ever been taught as a child about how to build and strengthen my testimony came to light and I did it. I am grateful I did. Am I happy all the time? Absolutely not. Ask Matt, and also notice the number of empty tissue boxes that are in our garbage can. Am I still sad, frustrated, and bitter? Sometimes. I try not to be. But regardless of whether I am happy or sad, there is so much peace. Peace in knowing that my Savior loves me, peace in knowing that he is mindful of me, peace in knowing that it will all be ok, even if it doesn't turn out the way we want it to. Peace in getting tiny glimpses into the eternal perspective of our lives. Peace in having a incredibly kind and gentle husband. Peace in knowing that there is one who knows- and has felt- what I feel. 

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We can get stuck in the "waiting place state of mind." It is a very easy thing to do. We can let experiences or trips or opportunities pass us by because we are too busy waiting for for that thing we desperately want. I have often found myself thinking things like, "Let's not go on the trip we had planned for this summer- if I'm pregnant, I'll be really sick, and I'd rather go when I can enjoy it." or "We can wait until we have kids to take family pictures- there's really no point right now." And it makes you miss out on a lot of things! Places you didn't go to while you were at home, just waiting. People you didn't befriend because they had kids, and you felt awkward- like you weren't in the same league as them. Jobs you didn't take because you'd be out of the waiting place so soon that it would be pointless to start something new. 

We can get stuck in the "waiting place state of mind." Or we can live. We don't have to give up on our hearts'  desires. We acknowledge that we will have to wait for it to come. But we can experience the things that Heavenly Father wants us to experience. When Heavenly Father says "wait," when there is something we want, it doesn't mean "stop everything and wait for it to happen." It means, go on with your lives. Be happy. Travel to Cambodia. Take family pictures. Love your spouse. Make new friends. Advance your career. Get your Master's. Get your black belt. Grow a garden. Decorate your house. Move across the country. Adopt a puppy. Don't forget what you're waiting for, but don't forget to live.