GUESS WHO'S BACK

<Walks hesitantly onto stage. Taps microphone. Clears throat. "Hello? Is this thing on?" Looks out at empty auditorium. Takes a deep breath ...>

Sooooo, I'm back. As un-pregnant as ever, but not quite so angry. I've spent the last, hmm, let's see, seven months feeling pretty guilty about virtually yelling "Fuck everything and everyone!" and then dropping the microphone and disappearing off the face of the Internet. It's how I was feeling at the time, and honesty is good, but I could have said it all a little more nicely. For example, "Hi, kind people who actually spend their precious free time reading my ramblings, I think I need a little break from this."

So, I'm sorry. I apologize. I don't blame you if I'm talking to no one now, as you probably gave up checking to see if I've updated long ago.

For some reason I've been feeling the urge to write again. They say time heals all wounds, which isn't exactly true, but it does allow space for some reflection and distance from the injury. My thoughts have started to well up inside my brain once again, and I'm beginning to crave an outlet.

I was just so mad when that last IUI didn't work. Like just furious. It hurt so much more than any other disappointment we had faced thus far. I don't know why. And I just had to be done for awhile. I wanted to focus on my new position at work. I wanted to have a normal, festive holiday season -- not a miserable one dwelling on my childlessness. For the next several months, I didn't want to be heartbroken, sad-sack, infertile Erika; I wanted to recapture some of my pre-infertility carefree spirit and be thriving, enviable Erika -- great husband, great job, great cats, great house, weekend warrior, jet setter.

And I did, for the most part. The sadness of infertility was still there, in the background, but dull. Philip and I ran and boot-camped. We spent a weekend in New York City. I spoke at a wedding symposium in Saint Lucia. We bought a new car. We got invited to visit friends in Cartagena, Colombia, and on a whim booked tickets the day before Thanksgiving to fly out the day after. We spent Christmas with my whole family in Illinois, and we spent MLK Day in a tent in the Florida Everglades. It was a whirlwind, it was intense, it was gloriously distracting. All the while my eggs got older, but I was (mostly) too busy to think about it.

I said we'd revisit fertility treatment again in 2014, and we are. We are laying the groundwork for IVF, slowly checking off our clinic's prerequisites. We attended the seminar; I got tested for rubella immunity. Philip scheduled his labs, and I scheduled a hysteroscopy. We also switched doctors, a decision I feel good about.

I never wanted to need IVF. I claimed as an ignorant 29-year-old that I would never do it, that I'd "just adopt" if I ever found myself unable to get pregnant. I still don't want to need IVF. I'm giving acupuncture another go and pounding a crazy cocktail of vitamins, supplements and Chinese herbs in the hopes that I'll be one of those magical people you hear about who was "just about to start IVF" when they conceived out of the blue. Unlikely, but it can't hurt, right?

But now that I've (mostly) got my head around the idea and gotten the ball rolling, it's exasperating how slowly the process is going so far. More diagnostic surgery, more RE appointments, three weeks of birth control ... it's starting to look like it'll be summer before we really get this show on the road, and I'm impatient as hell.

And what about my infertility demons? My silent suffering? My perpetual state of resolution-less limbo? It's back in full effect, proportional in large part to how hard we're trying. The more treatments we undergo, the more money and effort we throw at this, the more failure hurts.

My friend Vicky says everyone has their crosses to bear, and she's allowed to say that to me because she had her second son only with the help of IVF. And it's true: Everyone suffers, one way or the other. I like to think my suffering is the worst kind, but it's not. Why am I so precious about infertility? Sure, it's a unique kind of pain, but isn't all pain unique?

I heard the stories of two friends (who already each have a child) who went through miscarriages -- a loss I've never had to bear, a loss that takes a toll not only on the emotions but also on the body in a very brutal, physical way. And while I cried for them, I also felt like something had been taken from me. No longer could I wear my pain badge like I'm the only survivor, the only strong one, the most afflicted. It's a horrible, shameful thing to admit, but it's the honest truth.

So have I become any wiser during my absence from this blog? I think yes, a little, but only because the passing months just allow more time for life to happen -- more babies were conceived and born (much to my great envy), but also: Other babies were lost, new friends came out as infertile, and on a broader scale, jobs were lost, marriages ended, houses were broken into, grandparents passed away. Everybody muddles through this life thing, and I've realized we need to celebrate when we can.

Then again, you're catching me on a good day, when I haven't cried or screamed or moped about infertility. :)