This year, it will be my fifth Eid with a husband, and I am kinda relieved about the physical distancing policy because that means I don't have to attend any big family meeting, that usually always lead the elders to ask me this question: "Are you pregnant yet?"
I went through four Eid celebrations hearing that question, I should be prepared by now, but the thought of it nonetheless brings tears to my eyes.
Because I can't tell them the result of my check-up, it'll be uncomfortable telling them what I went through with my husband to get our own miracle; they won't understand the mental and physical pain that punctured me on the inside. Instead, I can only smile and ask them to pray for me—yes, all that BS just to cover the pain I'm hiding.
If it's all about God's plan, then i do really hope for the fact that He really prepared something for me, but if not, I wish He'd give me enough strength to put up a straight face and embrace what I've been lacking as a woman this far.
A year ago, the father of my best friend past away. The man was like a father to me, and it's not just a figure of speech. I have known my best friend since we were 5 years old. We went to the same school from kindergarten until high school; we each took turn to be ridden home by our parents, spent the nights in each other's place, and even got scolded by each other's parents. Her father wouldn't mind scolding me when I was wrong, yet at the same time, he was also the kind of man that would drive me home after midnight no matter how annoyed he was by me and my friend's agenda—just like my own dad. This man was also the witness that officiated my marriage almost six years ago... so to hear the bad news was devastating, and i didn't think my day yesterday could get any worse. But I was wrong.
At the funeral, I met with my other best friends, the gangs I grew up with; girls that know me, know my struggle and they are the people that I feel most comfortable with. One thing I love about reuniting with people my age is the fact that they don't ask that question—unlike the elders—yet somehow the mellow side of me still crawled to find a hiding place when two of them started sharing their married life jokingly.
"I want a second child already, but my husband just shamed me in front of our ob/gyn by telling him that he hasn't thought of having one!" Said my friend.
"Use my tactics then; take out your IUD without him knowing!" Joked my other friend who got her second child that way.
"I'm considering it!" My first friend laughed. "I'm not young anymore, and soon I will have more problems if I have late pregnancy. The clock's ticking, and I really need to talk with my husband about it."
Nothing's wrong with that kind of conversation, right? They have fun sharing, they mind their own business, they're not hurting me nor asking me how my prospect with a child will be, and I think it's normal for my friends to be worried about the year gap between her firstborn and the chances of having healthy pregnancy while she's young.
I laughed with them, but I cried inside. Cried because of the realization that I got.
For some women, getting pregnant is as easy as taking their IUD out whilst I'm here having unprotected sex since my wedding night, planning all fertile days in the calendar, doctor visits, medicines, surgery... and nothing. Nothing has happened yet. Some women did it on their wedding night, and a few weeks later, they got pregnant, just like my newlywed cousin. Some women can literally get a baby according to what she's been planning with their husbands in time and don't have to be worried about taking treatments to get a baby inside her. And some women are like me, struggling to get pregnant and sent to cry in the bathroom as the period cramp comes each month. I know each person faces their own fight, and God made this mine, but sometimes I just need a rest, sometimes I just wanna hear good news; at least I want to hear comforting news that it's possible, that it all will be worth it in the end.
I don't know why I'm sharing something very personal here, but I feel better if I let it out of my chest. I felt better after writing about this hidden struggle in one of my novels. Sometimes people just need to get it out of their system, and this is me trying to put it out there and free myself from my own dark thought.
I'm not fine, but I know i'll be okay, and I'll rebound from this. This is not something I can talk about freely without getting myself in tears that's why I chose to write it here, just to be written (and read by people that don't have to tell me to "be patient"). I hope by doing this, I won't have a breakdown at my family reunion in the future.
I know I'm infertile, and I should not think it's a taboo thing to admit; the only way I can learn to love myself is to learn to accept one of my flaws—I have many flaws, but this is the one that I struggle the most on a daily basis. Please don't tell me to be patient, pray, or have stronger faith in God, or whatever BS is out there. For once, I'm allowed to feel what I feel without the need to be told what I already know. After all, I just needed to get it out of my chest and not get a pep talk I didn't want.
Lucky for me, I got my husband. It's as hard for him as it is for me, and I'm grateful for the fact that he's still around to hold my hand for every treatment I've gone through so far.
This is my most personal post so far, I hope it inspires you to be grateful if you're one of the lucky ones I mentioned above, and I hope it can also be a reminder not to ask the silly question to anyone... because we never know the struggle people went through and how a simple silly question could trigger the emotional plug they've put on for so long.
One day I'll share the journey I mentioned above here, but this is it for now. Till next time, see you when I see you.
edit:
I've completed my infertility story and compiled them all into "inconvenient truth" titles. Click on these pictures for easier access to read them all.
