Where do you go when you go beyond hopelessness? Where do you end up when you pass by the dashed hopes, the unknown fears, the hope against hope moments and all the stages of grief, only to realize that grief still resides in every single fiber of your being? What’s the place you find yourself when you’re no longer a novice and when all the mystery of the situation has been stripped away? Where is this place that seems to only have you at its single citizen? This place which is barren, fruitless, infertile and a huge bundle of constant and unchanging loss and sadness?
What do you call the place you reach when you’ve reached the end of your rope? Where you’re surrounded by little humans who are thriving and growing and continuously reminding you of your missed opportunities, lost pregnancies, and failed fertility cycles? Where they serve as markers of how old your children would have been had they become children? How do you name a place past purgatory, past hell and past anything that has already been labeled-this place you’ve called home for so long that everything else has faded away and been forgotten?
Where is this place?
I don’t know. I don’t know how to describe it here where I am imprisoned. I don’t know what to call my normal-a state that will never feel normal or acceptable to me. I don’t know how to describe a person who’s gotten past alarm, hurt, fear, anger, resentment and outrage, while still feeling every single one of these feelings constantly and vividly. Words, names and labels seem so insufficient right now.
I am past my initial shock of being called infertile, and yet shocked beyond belief that I’m still here. I am past my innocent ignorance of the past, but just as baffled as I was four long years ago at the beginning of this agonizing journey. I am past anger, and yet stewing in anger and pain. I am past denial, and yet I find denial to reside in every cell of my infertile body. I am past resentment- resentment of the cruelty of life, of other women and their babies, and of my own uncooperative body- and yet resentment has not left my side for a single minute of any of my recent years. I am past confusion, but f@&k if I’ve gained a single clue as to how to deal with the weight, depth and vastness of this misery. I am past anger, and yet I seem to have made a best friend out of anger and we visit each and every day. I am past being lost, but lost is the perfect way to describe me.
So, where is this place? What’s it called? Is it fit for habitation? If so, where the hell are all the other people who’ve been through years of grief and loss and multiple medical interventions without a baby or any hope that one will be on its way soon? Am I here alone? It feels like it. It feels like I reside on Mars. That’s how alien and alone this place feels.
And all I want to know right now is what the hell in this place called?
F@&k if I know…