A long time ago--and by that I mean about a decade or so--when the blogosphere was young, someone coined the term Infertility Island. Don't know who did, but the term was apt. Infertility Island is where you stopped until you had your positive pregnancy test, adoption referral, or decided that it was enough.
I have Lotus. She got me off the island.
This past week, I met up with a friend who I met on the Island. We clicked in that way people do when you are in the same situation. We actually clicked more. I get her. She gets me.
Our log-in dates were close to each other and we thought that we would be if not traveling together, then we would have our children close together. For reasons that are not mine to tell, she had to drop out of the China Adoption program. I cried when I heard that. I cried for our dreams coming to a halt.
Then I got Lotus and all of my priorities shifted. I left Infertility Island for the parenting continent. Instead of shots and peeing on sticks I was talking my child to playgrounds. Instead of crying myself to sleep because I didn't have a child, I would listen to her sleep and fight becoming a helicopter parent.
I can't say I've never looked back to the Island. I have too many friends there who took the path that led off of it without children. I ache for them. My sister left Infertility Island for life without parenting. Other friends chose different paths.
Sometimes I see people look at Lotus and I see the hunger. I get it. I grok it. I fear it. I worry that something will happen to Lotus. I wish I could wave a magic wand and let my friends and sister be the wonderful parents they were meant to be. I can't though so I brush my sadness for them off and hold my daughter's hand. I'm fine when she reaches her other hand to them because then my Lotus has someone else to love her.
Sometimes I see people look at Lotus and I see the hunger. I get it. I grok it. I fear it. I worry that something will happen to Lotus. I wish I could wave a magic wand and let my friends and sister be the wonderful parents they were meant to be. I can't though so I brush my sadness for them off and hold my daughter's hand. I'm fine when she reaches her other hand to them because then my Lotus has someone else to love her.
It feels like some people move really far inland so they can't see infertility island anymore, and some people stay near the shore. You've set up camp near the shore. Nothing wrong with living near water.
ReplyDeleteFor some reason, I never heard of infertility island. Thanks for explaining it so nicely here. I really like Mel's comment above. Some people run like hell from the island. Some feel it's their duty to forever hold out their hand to those still there. I think the latter is important. Who else is there to tell them it's not going to last forever and they'll be okay? Nobody else (no friend or medical professional) can say it and be believed nearly as much as someone who's been there.... and survived. Thanks again!
ReplyDeleteHmmm. I guess I don't like the idea of the parenting continent. Because as you say so beautifully in your last sentence, those who left Infertility Island without becoming parents can still be part of your life, and those of your daughter. And it's a gift for everyone - for you, for your daughter, and for them.
ReplyDeleteYet sometimes, with the pity and judgement emanating from Parenting Continent, we do feel as if there is an immigration barrier on arrival!