One of those days….

Well, yet another lost opportunity. Yet another egg that didn’t want to do what we hoped for. I think this part of the month is the worst and over the years it has become better… and worse.
I have stopped counting the days. I don’t do that any more, since I realized that it only makes med stress out. My cycle is rather regular so I only count to ovulation, nothing after that.

I figure that if it goes our way, we somehow will figure it out, if it doesn’t the signs are obvious.
It took a lot of soul searching to come to that conclusion, but it has definitely improved my moods.
Somehow I feel that after we have done our best, it is out of our hands.
Nothing is getting better if I worry or wait with anxiety. If something, the anxiety is making it worse and the chances will decrease.

When I know that this also was a lost month, then I can’t help thinking of my own identity. How much is infertility a part of that? Has it become not only a medical problem, but a part of me?
When I know that this month hasn’t worked either, well some small part of me are relieved. Not because I don’t want a child, but because a child would mean that I have to change the whole perception of my self.

Infertility has become such a strong part of my identity that I don’t know who I would be as a mother. Who am I if this huge part of my life would go away?
All the treatments, all the medications, all the involvement and the discussions, whether we like it or not; over the years it has become an obsession and finally a part of my identity.

Am I afraid of getting pregnant? I don’t know any more. I dream, I hope, I long for it, but somehow deep inside of me there is a little ambivalent voice that says; I don’t know who I am if I’m not infertile.