Hidden.

A blog post that Greg started after Maelee died was titled "the hidden hurts of miscarriage and infertility." The post never got published when Greg wrote in on May 2, 2010 because I didn't let him post it. Apparently I wasn't a fan of something about it ... yet I still remember the title quite vividly. The post discussed how it was almost "easier" to have a stillbirth in the sense that we could not hide our loss. It was obvious. That isn't the case with early loss. And it's not the case with infertility, either.

Obviously since I've been pregnant three times, this is not a post about my personal experiences with infertility. This is more a post about being aware of and being compassionate to those dealing with infertility. It's a nasty thing.

A friend of a friend that battled infertility for many years once said that in the midst of it all, she wished she could have a miscarriage. What?! I thought that was so bizarre. But she said that if she had a miscarriage, that means she actually got to be pregnant. That her body would allow her to be pregnant ... and that was what she wanted so, so badly.

And somehow I understood a little bit more.

There are many women that would wish more than anything to be pregnant. Month after month they are disappointed/crushed/devastated. And they go on facebook or just out their front door and they are bombarded with pregnant bellies or sweet kiddo photos (see my many posts below) or complete families and their happiness. The wanting what you do not have, wondering if you will ever, perhaps knowing you will not ... so many emotions, questions and unknowns. Hidden.

And it has to be so hard. Really hard. I want to be aware of that. For the people I know of that are living life with infertility and even for the people I don't know, I want to acknowledge their struggle and stand with them in their pain and loss and whatever plan they may or may not have.

For me, I want always to be grateful for the chances I've had to be pregnant. Even the losses, as hard as it is to say.

Of course I want to fix it for my friends dealing with infertility or secondary infertility. I wish I could fix it. I can't. I can weep sorrowful tears with them. To pray for a miracle with them. I want to remind myself that because I have children, I cannot fully enter into this with them. I can have sympathy but not empathy. I will not fully get it but I will try.

Perhaps I just want to say, as someone who has been so loud in her grieving, I'm sorry if you have had to grieve in hiding.

-Heather


I'll go ahead and post what Greg had written over two years ago in case you care to read it. He understood, much sooner than I, about how openly we were forced to grieve compared to those dealing with these more secret baby woes:
 

I've been thinking a lot about problems in child bearing. For Heather and I, our hurt is not masked cowering in a corner. We're pretty much wearing our emotions on our sleeves. We're not putting on some happy-go-lucky face all the time.

All our friends, family, neighbors and acquaintances know about Maelee. There's no hiding the fact that Heather once had a big belly, and now she doesn't. And people don't see us walking around with an overflowing diaper bag and car seat. Everybody knows.

But there's this whole other group of people who have to hide their hurt. People who live with infertility and miscarriages.

People who've had numerous miscarriages ... they don't tell anyone they're pregnant for the fifth time because it takes so much emotional energy to explain the failures every time. They may have done it the first time and then just gave up after that. Every time it happens, they feel like giving up on life. But they still go back to work on Monday. They still hang out with people like normal. And only a handful of people really know what's going on.

People who've been trying to have kids for years and years ... maybe they've given up. Maybe they're still trying years later. Every month stings. They probably live with a twinge of sorrow every time they see kids in restaurants, wondering if it will ever happen.

I'm not trying to compare pains. Who cares who has more hurt. I guess I'm just comparing the fact that ours is visible, and theirs is hidden. Maybe we have it easier because we don't have to put a happy face on when we hang out with people. Maybe we have it harder because everyone looks at us differently now, and every relationship takes much more effort than before.

I don't know what I'm trying to accomplish with this post. Just thinking out loud I guess.

- Greg