Over and over, I am amazed at how absofuckinglutely lucky I am that S married me. And part of me feels like a traitor to the IF world. I’m sure it all comes down to that whole “Who’s more infertile” thing that Larissa talked about a few entries ago. Y’know…how we feel like maybe we have less street cred if we’ve “only” done clomid, or if we got pregnant on the first IVF without first trying IUI? Except in this case, while infertility touches so many other aspects of my life the one thing it hasn’t affected negatively is my marriage.
Y’see, this infertility thing? It’s all me. I mean, S had one analysis with a slightly reduced count, but he stopped putting his laptop directly on his lap and since then, he’s had great numbers. He’s also “proven.” He has a son. I’m the one with the funky system that’s permanently stuck on pause. I’m the reason we’re going through this. And never, not once, has S said, “Honey, that’s enough. We need to stop/consider other alternatives.”
There’s never been a raised voice out of stress. We’ve never had an argument over what we could be doing with the money, and BELIEVE ME, I’ve poked and prodded at that particular wound plenty.
Complaints when I’m too headachy and tired from whatever drugs I’m currently taking to fix dinner, even though its my turn (yes, we take turns cooking dinner. I take more turns, but I like to cook)? Nada.
Pissiness when I feel too bloated, too sore, too tired, and/or too cranky to um…be a wife? Well, disappointed definitely but pissy, no.
Instead, this guy gives me my shots when I can’t make myself do it. He brings me ice cream when I’m more miserable than I’ve ever been and holds me until I can breathe again. He goes to appointments when I can’t face it alone even though he’s never more uncomfortable than when a near complete stranger (because while I know Dr. N really well he’s only met her twice) who has seen his wife in rather compromising positions starts talking about his sperm. He leaves me alone when I need it.
So many of my friends have felt their marriages come under attack, collateral damage in this struggle to have a child. It’s one more unfairness in a whole mountain of unfairness. And I feel guilty because, somehow, I missed that. I go home and hug S as tightly as I can. I tell him I love him so many times, I worry that the words don’t mean anything anymore. I’ve lost so many other life lotteries, but in this one, I hit the jackpot. I got the guy who isn’t phased by the stress and who not only rolls with the punches, but steps between me and as many of them as he possibly can.