I was changing for the day this morning and I noticed that many of my scars have faded. I was a tomboy when I was a kid ( and a teen as well- still am in some ways ) and so I have quite a few. I realize that for every scar I remember the story behind it.
There is one on my knee. It used to be big and ugly but now it is fading. I got it playing softball. I remember what school we were playing and even the chick who ripped the top layer ( and a bit more) of skin off my knee with her rubber cleat. She cleated me and didn’t even have the ball in her hand! Every time I see it I think “ ERRR… Amanda D_____ “. What was incredible to me was that at the time I didn’t even realize that I was bleeding. Our pants were black and our socks royal blue. It took another couple of innings and a few stolen bases before I started to feel the throb. When I went into the dug out and pulled up my pant leg ( soaked by the way ) I was shocked to see how ugly it was. We had a team nurse (thanks to the fact that she was one of the moms) and she slapped one of those thin plastic bandages so I could keep playing ( if there was an obvious injury that the ump noticed the the player wouldn’t be allowed to continue playing ). My injury was admired by the guys baseball team ( we had traveled with them since we were both playing the same school- though their game was before ours ). I remember the next day in school one of the guys pullin up my skirt to show the guys coach my knee. It was really very funny the way they went on about it. Anyway, I digress and have forgotten my point.
There is also a scar on my face from senior year ( again with softball ). We were doing outfield exercises and we girls were standing off to the side of left field near the foul line waiting as Coach adjusted the pitching machine. It was ok that we were foolin around at this point. Something happened that the machine got bumped and shot up a ball- right at me. Though my back was turned so I didnt’ see it… I remember my friend Erin ( we switched out playing right and center and I could play any of the three ) calling my name.. so I turned and threw up my glove… and I almost caught the ball..but it hit off the tip and SMACK….broken cheek bone with a heck of a lot of swelling.
I was on the injured list as short a time as possible. When I could actually see out of my eye I batted with a plastic cover attached to my helmet ( it really screwed with my ability to hit the ball so I was reduced to bunting and slap bunting from the left ). I was determined to get in my playing time. It took a long time to heal. The incident happened in January of 2000 ( just before my ski trip which I had to back out of because my face wouldn’t do well with the air pressure change of flying- that was the only time cried the whole time- I really wanted to ski! ) and when I graduated you could still see the stitches from the ball on my face. I could cover it with make up but seeing as I don’t particularly enjoy make up- I am reminded whenever I look at my picture. ( If I can find it I’ll scan and post it here at some point ).
What does this have to do with infertility?
Most of you will understand how it relates: either when you read the title to this post or soon after reading my stories. Others are new to this blog. Maybe you found me on google ( sidenote: I get some rather interesting search phrases that lead here ) or through Wellsphere where I answered your question. Maybe you are looking for help in supporting a friend dealing with infertility.
One of the difficult things about infertility is that the wounds ( and resulting scars ) aren’t seen. Scars on our hearts and on our mind. Every cycle that fails, every treatment that provided hope, every miscarriage, every stillbirth wounds us. The scars are thick because there is rarely a break between each failure. We ignore the pain for a while so that we can move on to the next treament or the next plan. The heartbreak is unique than other hurts.
I have been thinking about my own scars from IF. The recent busted cycle that was the first time on clomid. Before that our failed adoption with Asiana ( it still really hurts when I think of how happy both my husband and I were for the 8 hours that we were her parents. That one certainly hasn’t healed yet ). Before that the 30+ cycles that failed. The one time I got a line the test was faulty.
Each one is painful. None are healed. I tried to resolve my issues with IF and while it didn’t quite bandage I did realize where the pain was coming from ( which was really good for me ).
I don’t know when they will heal but I do know the scars will last a lifetime. They may fade but I won’t forget the story behind them- just as I remember the stories of my various physical scars.
I’ve read within the IF community some things from those “graduates” that are in an odd place. A place where they are worried about their pregnancy but also feel guilt because there are so many women left in the trenches- fighting to become parents. I can’t say I know how it feels but I can imagine a portion of it.
How does that pertain to me? Well, while I am one of the ones still fighting for just the chance to become a parent I still feel badly that our graduates cannot fully enjoy their pregnancy. Ignorance is bliss really. A woman dealing with IF will know so much about what could go wrong. I wish there was a way for all of us to resolve our guilt but I don’t see how it will happen.
Now I am starting to babble. My thoughts have fragmented at this point with thinking about all of the wounds so I will have to end this here. If I can get my thoughts back in line then I’ll probably make another post about it.
I feel like there is more for me to say but I cannot put into words this feeling in my chest.