This morning on the elevator, one of my directors asked me about our plans for the holidays.  I wasn’t in the best frame of mind when she asked me:  I’d just spent the morning identifying all of the things that need to be done before we leave to visit my husband’s family, and was feeling overwhelmed.  Plus I hadn’t had any tea or coffee yet.  And based on my general emotional state, I was getting the sinking feeling that I’m experiencing PMS, which would mean that this cycle didn’t work and I’ll be getting my period next week.  I say all this in an effort to somewhat excuse my failure to correct this person when she mentioned “the kids.”  Meaning my kids, which I should probably take a moment to note, since I haven’t blogged in over a year, do not exist yet: there are none.  But because my brain wasn’t working quickly enough to correct her, I simply ignored it.  “So will you be going to [theme park in my husband’s home town] with the kids?”  Not quite registering the “kids” part, I responded that we didn’t have plans to visit the park, but that we had some other things on the schedule that should be fun.  “Oh, but I’m sure that the kids are excited about visiting [state where my husband’s family lives]! That will be great.”  At this point the elevator doors were opening and we were both stepping out to go in opposite directions.  And although I now had registered that she was assuming that I had children (plural!) and was asking me about them, I still didn’t have the energy or the desire to correct her.  We parted talking about how the weather here has been unseasonably warm for December.  As I made my way to my office, I didn’t feel a sense of sadness that one might expect.  Instead I felt surprised.  I’m used to people asking if we have kids, but haven’t yet had the experience of someone presuming that we do and then proceeding to weave these nonexistent persons into our conversation. Inexplicably, I actually felt a small sense of pride.  She thinks I’m already a mom.  I look like I could be someone’s mom.  I can’t explain why this made me feel good, but it did.  Does the fact that someone believes something is true somehow make it more likely to actually be true?  When I walked into my office, and hung up my coat, I even thought, “maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m pregnant right now.  Maybe I’m pregnant with twins, which would explain the reference to more than one child.”  I realize that now I am sounding like a crazy person, but this is the thought that came into my head.  As if this work acquaintance had spoken some kind of prophecy over me in the elevator by referencing my “kids.”  These are the kinds of thoughts I have that make it clear I still have hope.  Or that I’m not totally in touch with reality, perhaps.

I owe an update since it’s been so long.  A year and eight months, somehow.  With the goal of writing more thoroughly at a later point, the quick update is this: a different doctor, another full IF workup, a different diagnosis (though still unexplained), another surgery, a treatment plan, medical bills.  Zero pregnancies.  Also, two birthdays, countless friends’ pregnancy announcements and births, and several additions to my growing list of Amazingly Awful Things People Say When Confronted With the Infertile.  Many good books, new recipes, a couple of half marathons, some new friends, chorus performances, and homemade pizza crust.  Wrestling with faith. Trying to fight off bitterness and cynicism, both of which have grown stronger in me throughout these years of infertility. Continuing to have hope, and at the same time resenting that hope. Thankful. And wishing for a peaceful close to 2011, for myself and for all of you that are walking along this unchosen path.  Of course, I’d welcome an exciting close to the year too.  If it turns out that those words on the elevator this morning turn out to be true…well, I don’t want to go there right now.  But you know.  That would be great.
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