Frumpty Dumpty & the Rotten Eggs

Have you ever heard the saying, "God doesn't give you more than you can handle"?  Ya know, I gotta say, I don't think that's true.  I think we are sometimes given more than we can handle.  At least a little more.  Or maybe a lot more.  Or like a whole stinkin' buttload more.  However... the process of persevering, learning, reaching, and growing is what builds character and strength and blah blah blah "we become better people in spite of real crappy situations" and yada yada yada!  It might sound like I'm being negative, but the problem is:  I positively agree with all of that stuff I just said!  It's all part of the healing process, y'all.  The catch is that sometimes it takes a lot of talking out loud (or via blog for that matter...) to let that healing process begin.  You don't leave the band-aid on when the cut has healed, right?  No!  You tear it off (even when it hurts!) and you show the world your scars...


::DEEP BREATH:: ... And GO!

If only they were as delicious as they look...

About a year ago, I put my bandaid on.  And Friends, it was a deep, deep cut.  So deep, in fact, for a while I thought about never taking that band-aid off.  Instead, I chose to pose a question that has proven to be impossible to answer:  Why?  And it wasn't just that question, I also asked a few of "Why's" best friends like:  "Why do I have to suffer?"  "Why did this happen?"  And, of course, "Why me?"


You see... I have a secret. One that very few people know about, yet it's one that many women I have met share.  My secret is that I, Frumpty Dumpty, am "fertility challenged".  Boom.  Band-Aid ripped.

Yep... Pretty much...

My hubby and I have been trying hard to "start a family" for several years now, but we've had no luck.  This surprised me since I thought I started a family when I got married, but as society tells me, "You're wrong... you're wrong and you're stupid." And, in a way, I have been stupid.  See, I've been pretty silent about our situation.  Actually, this is probably the most public I've been about it at all.  After the initial overwhelming sadness and utter futility that beat me into the ground, I rose from the ashes to a brand new emotion!  The bright, shining, inescapable feeling of... Shame!  Just what I needed, right?  It was weird, guys....  I didn't get it at first, but I felt ashamed that I didn't work like "normal women".  I mean, I guess it makes sense.  At our most basic animalistic level we are made to procreate.  Reproduce.  Continue on the species.  Basic animalistic need, folks.  That's the norm and the norm is normal.   Grow up, Screw up, Shape up, Have a career (Have two in my case...), Have a wedding, Have some fun, and then... Have some kids.  That's what happens, right?  Well... not exactly.

Don't worry, I'm not going to go into all of the details about my fertility challenges at the moment, but it was time for me to show my scars to the world.  I've wanted to share my story for a while, but to what end, I didn't know.  After all, the last thing the world needs is another sob story being told by another sobber, right?  But then, a couple of Sundays ago, something kind of interesting happened.  The Sunday in question: Mother's Day.  It's tough when a hard day for you is an amazing day of celebration for so many.  Don't worry, I still sent the cards and posted the posts to my 'Mazing Mama and my Matriarchal Mates.  After all, you moms deserve a special day, and I'm not advocating the end of holidays due to personal plights, but... Why lie?  That one's a major bummer.  Yet somehow, through the bummer-ness, I found a silver lining.  After a simple, benign Facebook comment gently poked the fertility challenged bear, a girl friend I hadn't talked to in years confided in me that she too has dealt with fertility challenges as well. 

Good plan!  Let me know how it works out!

My need to speak openly about these issues doesn't come from a longing for fame or attention.  No.  It comes from the fact that there are too many fertility challenged women and men (otherwise known as people) struggling silently.  For some inane, inexplicable reason, it's a kind of a taboo, sensitive topic that most don't even know how to approach let alone talk about.  And, oddly, all I needed during my dark days was someone to talk real to.  Someone who understood my personal pain and someone who I didn't have to qualify my hurt to.

That's why I say "fertility challenged".  I am not infertile.  Not because I'm not able to have kids naturally right now and not cause we haven't tried other options, but because I won't be defined by that one shameful word anymore.  "Infertility" is something I deal with, NOT something I am.  It's just another part of life now.  Just another problem.  And if the first step to solving a problem is admitting you have one:  You're screwed, Infertility.