Six months ago, I joined the board of a professional marketing organization. Our bi-monthly meetings are an hour away, and I have been carpooling with another new board member in my area. She and I have spent about six hours alone in the car together, so we've been getting to know each other.
During our first trip, I made the huge foot-in-mouth mistake of asking her if she had children. She said no. Awkward pause. I've been beating myself up for that mistake ever since.
Yesterday, we were talking about houses, and she mentioned that when they moved into their current house, it was looking like the kid thing wasn't going to happen for them, which influenced their choices. I took a leap and asked whether the kid-less thing was by choice or not. That opened the floodgates, and we spent about 45 minutes talking about infertility treatments, doctors, etc. (She had gone through hell before finally giving up many years ago.) I revealed my past and present to her, and I think we both enjoyed comparing and contrasting experiences.
Except. I have a live child and she has just the memories of three miscarriages. While I wouldn't ordinarily talk about my current issues with somebody who has experienced much more heartbreak than me, the conversation just naturally went in that direction, and I expressed my frustration at having to deal with this new diagnosis. Later in the conversation, she said the inevitable to me: "Well, at least you do have a child."
And there it is. Of course she's right--I have no right to complain, especially not to her. I remember back before I had Tyler, and I came across the blog of a woman who was having difficulties conceiving her third child. I had no sympathy for her whatsoever, even when she wrote that she knew it sounded strange, but it grieved her knowing that her family was not complete.
I think that's the hard part for me right now. I feel frustrated while feeling guilty. Of course, I know that it's OK to want a second child, but my pain was so...defined....last time around. Now, it's much more complicated.
Even in the blogosphere, I considered visiting new blogs to find myself a new "community." I soon realized, however, that many of the people out there would have no sympathy for me whatsoever because I have a healthy toddler in my house.
I don't win in the Pain Olympics anymore. So do I just keep my mouth shut?
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4 comments:
No, not always. There will be people who get it, and people who don't. It's frustrating feeling like the person you're talking to is comparing and thinks you have nothing to complain about. But there will be some people who want to listen, whether their pain is "worse" than yours or not. For starters, look at who follows your blog (if you know). some of them will be dealing with secondary infertility, like you, others with primary, others not at all... and they all want to listen to you. I imagine it's the same in the real world, although it's harder to tell who is who.
I'm here with you. Secondary has its own set of issues to contend with. And, just because someone's path may seem like they "win" doesn't mean our pain is any less real. We shouldn't negate our pain just because they are going through something. I totally get this post. I have to remind myself all the time...
I tend to comment less of primary IF blogs now and focus on others who are trying for more. I'm afraid someone will check out my blog and get a punch in the gut when they see I have two kids. I want a third, but I try not to whinge about it, as what I have, two kids, and a girl and a boy to boot, seems to be "the ideal" most people want. But having a large family of 4-5 was "ideal" to us. I still feel like my table is missing someone.
Ditto with Mrs. Spock. I'm always afraid of commenting on primary IF blogs because they might follow back to mine and I will inadvertently cause them pain just because of the babies. And then I feel bad for not commenting. It's hard to find the right balance.
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