My next door neighbor suffers from a bad case of verbal diarrhea. She has that special knack for asking and saying the absolute wrong things at the wrong times. Way back in February, when I was fresh from my first full IVF and in the two week wait, she decided to share with me that the neighbors down the street, were going to start ‘trying’ in March. Why she felt the need to tell me this, I don’t know. Even then, when I was fresh from a transfer with three beautiful blasts, it took the wind out of my sails. I remembered all over again when we decided to start trying and it was so exciting and it was only going to be a matter of time before we were planning for a new arrival. Um, no. Didn’t happen that way. And, I just knew somehow that they were not going to have any problems.
Fate has proven me right. Darned if she’s not about 5 months pregnant which would put them at the success on just the second month of trying. I had heard from her husband that she was pregnant, but I didn’t ask for any details. It wasn’t until this evening that I saw the extent of their success.
I can’t help but wonder since my neighbor felt no qualms about telling me – who does not know this woman from Eve – the impending plans for her uterus, if she has also shared our story with this woman. I have a feeling that she did in low conspiratorial whispery tones, after hearing that they were successful right out of the gate.
“Oh, I’m so glad that you guys got pregnant! My poor next door neighbor is just having an awful time and I would hate to see you have to go through all of what she’s gone through. I think they’ve been trying for years. And, she had a miscarriage, too. They even did IVF.” Quel horreur.
I’m not the Cautionary Whale. I’m the Cautionary Snail.
And, I bet she thanked her lucky stars that things worked the way they were supposed to, in the time allotted and she doesn’t have to deal with the ignomity of bitterness and jealousy that is infertility. I bet they’ve already found out the sex, picked out the name and had the nursery finished. All that is required now is to prepare the birth plan and pick just the right hospital for the blessed event that will bring the bundle who will be perfect in every way and fulfill all of her dreams. Or something like that.
They were out walking their dogs this evening and there she was in full pregnant glory with a white shirt straining over her belly, all the better to show the size. Part of me wanted to see a smug little smile on her face as she saw me, the Infertile Girl, so that I could be angry at her for being cruel.
I can choose not to be bitter. I can choose to accept that the universe is not punishing me nor is it rewarding her. I can choose not to be angry and sad. But, frankly, right now I don’t want to. I want to be bitter because it feels right. I want to be angry because I still think this sucks. And, most of all, I want her to know just how amazingly lucky she is because she is the exception, not the rule.