When I ceremoniously threw out the empty pill pack for the last time and gave Mr. X a knowing wink that we were about to embark on an adventure, I did not expect or anticipate just the kind of adventure we would get. I had the normal and customary goal: get knocked up – quickly, please – and have the kid. Pretty simple.
Three and a half years on, with no kid (and certainly no longer in a hurry), I have had to revise my goal – and by extension, my definition of success in this endeavour. I still want a baby, preferably one that is homegrown with our own impeccable unique genes. But, I know now that this is a shit load easier to say than it is to do. For me, it seems that just about anything is easier to do. Climbing Mt. Everest would be easier (although perhaps, more expensive).
After trying for this long, I have come to realize that I can’t fixate on a goal that may be unattainable or may be so far in the future it’s not even a speck on the horizon. So, I’ve found a new goal. It’s quite simple:
Be happy now, in spite of it all.
That’s right. Be happy, even though I’m infertile, have been trying to have a child for upwards of three years and had two miscarriages (after heartbeats, both of them). Be happy even though there is uncertainty. Be happy even though it is a struggle. Be happy even though that is the last thing that I want to be sometimes.
I don’t want to look back on my early 30s – regardless of what happens in the future – and feel like I wasted it waiting for something that may or may not come. Yes, I am waiting to get pregnant, but I am not waiting to live either. I want to be able to point to concrete things that I accomplished and did in these years and not view them as solely being The Infertile Period. I’ll remember that when I’m tempted to chuck this plan where the sun don’t shine.
If living well can be said to be the best revenge, then for me, being happy inspite of being infertile and a recurrent miscarrier is the best success.