No. 142 - Finger Pointing

Mr. DD and I had a little brouhaha last night. It neither involved Brew and most certainly no Ha-Ha. It started when he made some snippy remark about how much time I spend blogging. I responded with “as much time you spend sitting on your ass watching TV” and it didn’t get better from there.

After X was put to bed and I had calmed down, I asked him if he understood why I blog and what exactly does he think it means to “blog”. He got the first part right, which was to get emotional support, but I had to explain that blogging is more than creating a post and publishing. It’s reading other blogs. It’s supporting others with comments. I explained that not all the blogs I read are infertility related. Blogging satisfies my guilty pleasure of just reading. I don’t have time to get absorbed in a novel.

I then elaborated on the support, which is a HUGE deal to me. Here’s the example I gave him: earlier this week I told Mr. DD that a co-worker announced her pregnancy. I relayed the news in a most matter-of-fact manner. He berated me for sounding “vanilla” about the news. I told him that if I had posted that on my blog, I would be consoled by my Blogtopia friends who would say, “That sucks,” “I’m so sorry, that must really be hard,” or “I’m sure it will be your time soon.” No one is going to tell me, “Gee, you sound so ‘vanilla’. Why can’t you be happy for that person?” but that’s what he did.

When a pregnancy is announced, whether it’s IRL or via a blog post, I AM happy for that person. What a miracle, whether it was hard-won or easily obtained. But…here’s the “But”: I am UNhappy for me. Admittedly, this is a selfish aspect, but let’s just be clear here: I’m not trying to get pregnant to please my boss, my neighbor, my SIL, my church, etc. I’m trying to get pregnant to please ME* and MY* needs and wants. I want 9 months to be selfish. I have years to be altruistic. And seriously, I haven’t gone through two IUIs and soon two IVFs; the related bloodletting and cootercams; and put over 4,400 RE-related miles on my car this winter because I’m trying to improve my state’s economy.

I then went on a tear-filled rant: how guilty I feel for losing the baby; how every night for that first year I thought of Baby May; why do we have to go through all this treatment shit when it was so easy with X; why I’m expected to be happy for everyone and not have a moment to feel sorry for myself; and finally I asked him doesn’t he ever feel guilty that we’re not pregnant.

“Why would I feel guilty?” he asks.

You could’ve knocked me over with the breeze from a blink.

“Because of your sperm,” I answered without trying to sound accusatory or hysterical.

“I haven’t seen any proof that it’s me.”

How could he say that when with each IUI, Dr. Samelastnameasme would tell me, “Oooh, DD, Mr. DD’s sample’s not looking so hot.” Oh, that’s right. She was just telling me. Relaying that little bit of conversation to Mr. DD did not qualify as a tentative diagnosis. Not even when we met with Dr. Blinksalot prior to our first IVF who explained that the sperm samples had been so poor that we would have to do ICSI. No open-swim in the Petri dish for his little guys. To him, that was just small talk.

I was beyond livid. “Do you think all of this has been because of ME?” I asked. No, that’s not it at all. He just feels that if we have done everything we could and the RE has done everything she could, and the end result is a pile of shit, then no one is to blame.

“Well I think…” *blink blink*

“That’s just…” *blink blink*

I was speechless, spent. Because he’s right. No one is to blame, so there is nothing to feel guilty about. It’s not like I missed a stim dose one night, or he missed the cup, or the RE was drunk. We ALL did what we thought was best at that time.

He then went on to tell me that I am not the only one hurting through all this. The other day he had to go into the attic and he said there were all these little reminders of what was…and what could be: plastic tubs full of baby clothes, the changing table, bassinet, diaper pail, etc. He aches each time he walks into the new house and has to go by that front bedroom, recalling our plans. He catches himself each time I seemingly casually mention the “baby’s room.” He’s hurting, too, but he says sometimes I’m just so wrapped up in being sad and – ultimately – angry, that he just tries to get through the day without a confrontation.

Lastly, he pointed something out that I’ve always known in the back of my head. For all of us who are trying for that pregnancy and rooting each other on, it’s statistically impossible that it will happen for every single blogger who’s trying…and WE could very well be the ones it just doesn’t happen for.

If so, I will have to try really hard to remember no one is to blame.

*ME and MY also means US or OUR.

Personal factoid: X was conceived March 21, 2001.