The road less travelled

On this infertility journey we are unique, a secret society of fellow travellers.  Each weighed down by their baggage and each trying, and trying again, to find a new depth of hope and faith to tackle the day ahead.

I find no shame on this road.  I am proud of who I am and of the person I have no choice but to become.  I have learned there is no shame to be had in crying.  There is no shame in my anger.  There is no shame to be found in my envy.

I see no shame in finding a new love for my wife as she carries her burden and pain with dignity and courage.  I see no shame in holding my wife as she grieves the loss of a child we may never know.

Ours is a road less travelled, upon which we have to struggle to find our way, but we do and we will.

Ours is a road less travelled where two people have been brought closer than I had imagined possible, where secrets are shared and treasured, made sacred by the struggle we share. 

Bonded together by hope, and too often alone, we have seen the narrow path we have to tread but have committed to journey on.  When it has felt too hard I have learned to accept my limitations and accept that energy saved today will help for the tomorrows still to come.

I have looked my future in the eye and calling on all my courage I am no longer bathed in fear. 

This is the road less travelled

Pushed Hard

Pushed hard, at full tilt as close to the wind as I am made to go.  This young vessels captain is younger still than it, out of depth but somehow still afloat.

Survival becomes the end, joy and inspiration cast overboard shed in order to endure.  Their absence makes our passage no less haunting as the merciless seasons push harder seeking out my doubt and waning courage.

 

But I must not falter or ease off there is too much here at stake and glancing to the stars at night I am reminded still not of joy, but promise.  A future promise which if this is to be survived will be all the more fitting a prize.

(Written on reading Psalm 118, Message Bible)

Struggling to move on after our miscarriage

Two years ago we were blessed to have naturally conceived.  Sadly after 7 weeks we lost this precious life.

At six weeks 6 days we had a scan as my DW had some early spotting which gave the Doctors some concern. 

During the scan we heard the heart beat and saw the tiny pixelated flicker of our baby's heart. 

The next day it was gone and our hearts were broken.

Two years on his poem recalls this event, my feelings of guilt and sadness that I had to move on...

Day

My heart stopped as yours first struggled to be made known. Proud and crisp I heard it beat, each rhythm stolen from mine, but I think you took more than you knew or ever meant.

You drew no breath but somehow gave life to my gasping dreams, but I think you promised too much, more than your little soul could bear.

You stole my heart and revealed the depth of night, but Daddy cannot reach you, pristine and beautiful, perfect and complete. Without a breath of your own.

Forgive me little one, Daddy must find his path and rediscover day.

An introduction...

I am 34. We, my wife and I, were married at 23 and 22 respectively and in spite of our diagnosis of “unexplained infertility” (a particularly frustrating, slippery thing if you ask me!)  have been trying to conceive for about 10 years.   In all this time we have had one miscarriage but no other breakthrough to speak of.

Infertility has a knack of disenfranchising you, quietly, and, in my case, slowly pushing you to the edges of your friendship groups, your interests and even the edge of yourself.  Personally speaking it has caused me both shock and numbness in painful juxtapose.  I suspect this has been compounded by my being a man and apparently unable to verbalise my sadness and anger at our unexplained loss.

Being a man, and furthermore the only one I know living through infertility, has left me rather isolated and often up in to the small hours with just a pen and paper to keep me company.  I don’t profess to be the next poet laureate but what I write has helped me. 

Writing for me has been the vent I have needed and wanted, with no other intended audience but myself and perhaps my other half providing her a way in to my “cave”.  Occasionally it has made me cry reading back my words on the page but I have always felt relieved and lighter.  The greater self-awareness writing has given me means I feel better equipped to tackle another day slightly less burdened than the day before.

Which leads me to this Blog... there must be other guys out there going through infertility? Or wives/girlfriends/women  intersted to know what your average Caveman thinks and feels about infertility?  Well if this is you read on and enjoy.  If this is not you read on, open minded and open hearted, the road "we" (people living through infertility) travel is a road less travelled and poorly understood.

It won't all be negative (promise!), to my surprise I have in fact found many gems along the way. Least of all the inner strength and beauty of my amazing wife.  We are fortunate infertility has brought us together and not driven us apart.

So why "infertilityexposed"?  In my case infertility has been hidden, endured silently and often alone.  It is often brutal and often an unsolvable problem.  It gets at you from the inside out.  This blog puts out there the thoughts and feelings I have sadly not had chance to share with friends.  This is infertilityexposed.