The Monthly Reminder of My Failure

I think any woman who has dealt with, or is dealing with, infertility can agree that the day your period comes is one of the hardest days of the month.  Not because of the bloating, the cramps, or the crabbiness; but because of what it symbolizes--another month gone by without the prospect of a baby.  For me, it also serves as a reminder of my failure.  And, while I know that my ability to get pregnant isn't in my control, I still feel as though I have somehow failed.  

Even now, when we are no longer receiving infertility treatments, and we are moving towards adoption, I still feel a bit crushed when my "monthly visitor" arrives.  It's like somehow there's a part of me that's still holding out hope--believing that maybe my body will decide to begin working properly and "Aunt Flo" won't come for a visit again.  Logically, I know how unrealistic this is--I know you can't get pregnant when you don't ovulate--but still, once a month, I am crushed.

Some months are worse then others.  The all time low came about a year and a half ago.  I had begun seeing a new doctor who swore that our infertility woes would be solved by simply giving me a higher dosage of Clomid (a drug to induce ovulation).  She felt that my previous doctor hadn't given me a high enough dose and that, by increasing my dosage, I would become pregnant.  She was so confident that she repeatedly told me that she "had a good feeling about this" and "this was gonna be the month".  Her nurse jumped on board too, assuring us that we would be back in a month to verify our positive pregnancy test.  Against my better judgement, I allowed myself to get swallowed up in the anticipation and I got my hopes up--way up.  So, the day my period arrived that month I hit rock bottom.  I cried for days.  It seemed to symbolize not only my failure, but also the fact that we would never have a baby.  I lost all hope.

Obviously, I was eventually able to crawl out of the depths of that dark place, but I must admit that each month, I still catch a glimpse of that darkness.  "Aunt Flo" came to visit me this past week and I found myself sitting in the bathroom crying once again.  I struggle to fully grasp the reason for my tears--knowing that we are in the midst of an adoption, I feel confident that we will, one day, have a baby.  I hope that when that time comes,  I will no longer find myself sprawled on bathroom floor each month.  But, who knows.  I suppose I may always feel this deep sense of loss and each month I will be forced to grieve that loss.  As with any loss, the grief gets easier to cope with and the pain does dissipate.  Nowadays, instead of lasting for days, my sadness generally only last a few hours after "Aunt Flo" arrives.  I am able to remind myself of all of the blessings in my life and to move on with my day.  Granted, the pain doesn't ever completely go away, but the debilitating sadness seems to have diminished.