Here’s the thing. I have no idea how long we have been trying. I mean, I know how long we’ve been trying, but I don’t know how to score it.

I went off birth control and started charting in August 2012, but we kept using condoms until March 2013 (foolish foolish grasshoppers that we were, thinking we needed to protect against pregnancies).

We started trying in March 2013, but I didn’t ovulate again until October, and because I was charting, I knew I wasn’t ovulating. So even though we occasionally force-rallied in bed to respond to some particularly good mucous, in the end I knew that we didn’t have any targets to aim at in that time.

So it is August now, and that marks an almost-anniversary for me. It’s been two years since I started taking my temperature every morning. Two years since I started seriously thinking of what life with a child might look like. Two years since I let infertility into my life.

I had a very bad boyfriend for two years when I was in my mid-twenties, in a city in which I only lived for two years. The relationship was a roller-coaster: the highs were highs (I was with him for a reason), the lows were acrimonious and ugly. All of my memories of that city are washed with a pastel coating of this relationship.

I moved to Hilly Quirky City in April 2012. I had four months before infertility became a bedfellow and a brain worm, and they were four of the busiest and most stressful months of my life. I’m saddened that my experience of this marvelous city and this golden opportunity has a cast over it as well, and I know from experience it will stick around, hovering on the edge of memories.

That I am drawing parables between the most emotionally damaging relationship in my life and this infertility journey is telling: I generally do not actually feel like this process is beating me up too badly, nor that I am succumbing to too much panicked hope or despair. Then I take progesterone supplements and become the Gloom Queen of Northern California.

One thing I will say is that Walgreen’s generic basal body thermometer has a pretty good battery: rock solid after two years.


3 thoughts on “anniversaries?

  1. Turia

    It is hard. I get an anxiety rush every time I have to get off at the subway stop where my clinic is. I know that several years of my life in this city have been coloured, irrevocably, by infertility, and that I have been changed as well. Sometimes I think infertility changed me more than becoming a parent did.

    Two years is a long time to be in the trenches, especially when you haven’t had anywhere close to 24 chances.

  2. Haisla

    It is tough and two years is a long time. Rock on, Walgreen’s basal body thermometer batteries, though! Really, really hope that you won’t need the above mentioned gadget for much longer, but can replace it with all sorts of baby paraphernalia instead!!xx

  3. thecommonostrich

    I feel this- So much of how we experience life is marked by a sense of place. When it’s dragged on for so long, it’s hard to separate it out. “Oh, there’s the park bench I cried on.” Or “I remember staring at that bathroom door, completely gobsmacked by my negative pregnancy test.” (Yup, I’ve done both…)

    I console myself with the belief that this place will also be backdrop to some of my greatest joys too.

    Stay strong.


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