Two nights ago, I picked a fight with my husband. Or maybe my hormones did? What I wanted to convey to him was that I needed more support. I wanted him to make this waiting easier. The fear of the pain became too much for me and I wanted someone to blame. Really, I needed someone to take it away. That fiery pain.
My fears and my suffering were met with his and I wouldn’t allow it. I could not be bothered to be with him in pain. Like a fish flapping around on the ground, desperately thrashing its body back and forth to find the comfort and safety of the water, I too was seeking safety. I know the ache that could be coming. The ache of loss. And my whole body wants to throw itself into a safer place. I don’t want to grieve anymore.
And so, we fought. In the end, my words did not make me proud. In the end, I learned that my husband’s heart is terrified just as much as my own. His fear paralyzes him. And I am fighting against my best friend…because there’s nobody else to be angry with. An empty kind of fight where the real perpetrator is infertility. Not my husband and my myriad of complaints. it is infertility, whom I despise. It is infertility who has changed me and brought me to my knees too many times.
And so, after the tears slowed down and apologies were made. We went to bed, woke up to a new day, and began again. All we can do is show up for a new day…to try, to hope…to forgive. Forgive each other. Forgive infertility.
*I am grateful to have my husband to fight with. And not the ’empty’ kind of fighting. The fight that we are in together. For our family and for each other. We are stronger together.