angry moments

I’m having an angry moment.  Or a few.

I’m angry that the past two years have literally been for nothing. All that money.  All that effort.  The time away from BabyHope.  The toll on my body.  The toll on my soul.  For nothing.

I’m angry about the woman at music class this morning.  Who found it “unacceptable” and “shocking” that she was in a class that wasn’t infants only.  I was shocked and found it unacceptable that she disengaged from her child because of her displeasure.

I’m angry that every first is a last.  I’m angry that I so carefully stored all that baby stuff, thinking for sure I’d use it again.  I’m angry that Mr. Hope doesn’t want me to sell it.  I’m angry that infertility is supposed to be “easier” the second time around.  I’m angry that I will never be one of those infertility patients that suddenly gets pregnant on my own.  I’m angry that the options in front of me to expand our family are out of the realm of financial possibility.  I’m angry that I can’t get the pictures out of my head from February of this past year.  I’m angry that I did everything asked of me, everything I was supposed to do, and everything I could…for nothing.

I’m just angry.


~ by Larisa on November 29, 2010.

10 Responses to “angry moments”

  1. If you ever need I’d be up for a run. We can run really fast and scream bad words about infertility. I did it in the pool today and it was strangely satisfying.

    If we run fast enough no one will be able to tell who we are.

    Seriously, you deserve to be angry. You have every right to be in my book.

  2. Hugs, sweetie.

    And I’m with Holly. Wish I lived closer so we could go for a run. I know it’s a hollow, pale comparison to the want. But still, it might help a little.


  3. Me too.

  4. I hear you on this. You have every right to be angry. Medical science failed you repeatedly despite your every effort–the fact that you needed treatment to have what so many get again, and again, and then again….it’s too much for the human heart to take sometimes.

    As far as that run, I’m liking that idea. I think I could come up with a few choice phrases to scream–imagine us running along Town Lake, we’d make quite a pair.

    Or maybe a trip to Gourdough’s?

    I know it’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got.

  5. Sigh. I wish I had the words for you. I wish I could take away your pain, or at least make that nothing a something.

    You have a right to be angry. You did do everything you could.

    I’m sorry. 😦 Hugs. Hang in there.

  6. Angry, indeed. Incredibly unfair, too. How did you manage this long without saying so?

    I hope you let the angry moments come without judgement. They are as valid as angry moments could possibly be. Let them come, then let them go when you can.

    I’m hardly the person to be giving you preachy quotes of wisdom, so I apologize in advance, but something that strikes me as appropriate is something Elizabeth Gilbert wrote: “Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation.” She had hardly the ruin you did in my opinion, but I hope someday, this past two years of nothing, as you determined it, will be the foundation for a road that has a happy ending. For as much as I can’t believe that these past two years were meant to be, as some say, I have just as difficult a time believing all your efforts, expended love, white knuckled hope and hard fought battles of the past two years were for flat out nothing.

  7. You have every right to be angry. I don’t think I can say it better than Lindsey just did. You did fight hard and I can’t imagine not being rewarded for it.

  8. Angry – me too!

    I’m angry at all the moms at pre-school who’s major concern right now is whether they’ll be able to enroll sibling #2 or #3 in the same school. ARGHHHHH!

    I keep deciding against selling everything. But I wonder how much longer I can put it off.

  9. Be angry. We’ve all earned it.

  10. “How frustrating” seems like an understatement. And then I read your earlier posts where you wonder if you did enough or not. I feel like you deserve to have something you feel is a clear “win” about the past years, but instead you’re stuck with a pile of “too much for nothing” and “not enough perhaps”, and nothing to tell you what would have been “just right”. This really doesn’t speak anything new to you; just want you to know I’m listening.

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