I wanted to write a follow up post to My Hair, if only to say thank everyone who has been in touch with me since it went live. The joy of hearing from friends was balanced by the sadness that so many women have experienced infertility issues at some point.
Many of my girlfriends who got in touch expressed relief that the dialogue had finally been started by someone they knew, and thanked me for being so frank and honest. What I only intended to be a therapeutic experience of brain dumping my frustrations into a blog, turned into a rally cry for my friends across the world, who were equally frustrated and exhausted by the un-sexy science of artificial insemination, negative pregnancy tests, and hormone therapy. We are angry that we cannot conceive or carry to term. We are fed up of the blood tests and ultrasounds, and how the intimacy has been zapped from our love lives now that sex has become a controlled necessity rather than an expression of our love. We hate that basal temperature readings and ovulation tests are dictating our moods, and that any minute change in our skin, or appetite or sleep pattern becomes an object of curiosity and ultimately the bad news that no, we’re not pregnant this month either. I am angry at evolution (or God) that the signs of coming on are the exact same signs we’re taught to be the early signs of pregnancy. I am upset with myself for believing that I must be pregnant when I am even a day late.  
But I am grateful that friends replied and confided in me, that many sent messages of support and encouragement. Some even sent messages peppered with angry outbursts of “fuck science” and “infertility really is such a bunch of shit” and we wept as we realised that though not close friends before, we’re now sisters through this suffering. Some have offered prayers and good vibes, some told me well meaning stories of how their friend went through the “exact same thing” and now they have a rugby team of children. The latter frustrates me when it really should give me hope. Even simple replies of bright red cartoon hearts on Instagram posts helped me feel less alone.
My appointment this week have me a bit of good news, but as a good friend once told me- “if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.” I had an entire pregnancy planned out in my head based on my doctor giving me a particular piece of news. But alas, I did not get it. So my plan is on hold until my body has fully adjusted to my thyroid medicine, and God has stopped laughing.


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