We are everywhere.

The weird thing about the pain of infertility is that it's so private.  For whatever reason, society decided that it's not one of those things we can talk about openly in casual conversation.  Being in law school, I feel like that's especially true for me because the vast majority of my peers aren't anywhere close to the stage of life that I'm in.

In fact, most still think it's crazy that I'm married.  My first year, while I was still getting to know everyone, there would come a point in each developing friendship when I would say something like "my husband" or "my mother-in-law" or "I promise you that when I say no, it is not an invitation to try harder; please look at the rock on my finger and then walk away", and the other person would realize that I was married.  Not once did anyone react with a casual, "Oh, that's cool."  Nope.  Shock and awe and horror, generally, and then I would have to sit through a several minute monologue about how crazy it is for them that I'm married because they don't feel AT ALL mature enough for that kind of lifelong commitment (not that they're saying I'm not mature enough or anything.  Seriously, they're SUPER happy for me and totally sure that it will work out).

Suffice it to say, I feel pretty confident that sharing with said peers that I want to procreate would be met with the same (or greater) amounts of shock and monologue, and it gets pretty exhausting, so I will pass.  Besides, infertility makes it a non-issue for now.

So, because of this, I have a secret pain and a secret life that I don't share with any of the people I see day to day, which is nice because it allows me to have somewhat of a break while I'm at school, but it sucks when people ask me how I am and I have to be careful how I answer.  Sometimes I wonder whether there are any others in the classroom struggling just below the general awareness.

Well, yesterday I met one.  In casual conversation before my clinic seminar started, people were talking about how weird allergies are and the clinic aide said that when she was pregnant she spontaneously developed a peanut allergy that went away when she wasn't pregnant anymore.  I had known that she was married, but not that she had children, so I said, "Oh, how many kids do you have?"

"None."

"But you just said you were pregnant..."

And then she gave me that tight smile that I know so well.  The smile that says, "Please figure it out because I don't want to say it.  To be honest, it still hurts."

I immediately apologized and said I was sorry to hear that to save her from having to explain and then the professor came in and started class so I couldn't say anything further.  I wish I could tell her that I know what she's going through, but I don't know how appropriate that would be or how much she would want to talk about it with a student of the law school she works at.  That might be weird.  But, somehow, it's nice to know she'd get it even if we never talk about it.  It's nice to know she's there.  And I'm sure there are others are out there, too... hurting just beneath the surface.

Hey, Internet.

I'm going to introduce myself to you and it's going to be in a way that may not make sense:

I'm 24, I'm in law school and I want a baby.  Like, now.

To save time, I have anticipated your response to such an outlandish combination of facts, and I will respond to it so that you don't have to post it in the comments.

"A baby!?  But why!?  You're so busy now!  Focus on your schoolwork!  You've got so much time!"

Yeah, I've got lots of time to not be pregnant, unfortunately.  I have PCOS, meaning it may be difficult for me to EVER get pregnant, despite the fact that being a mother is the only thing I have consistently wanted my entire life.  I've only wanted to be a lawyer for, like, half a decade.  Tops.

"Hm.  Maybe this is God and/or the Universe telling you that now's just not the right time for you."

Oh, really?  Not the right time for me?  Listen.  There are teens getting unintentionally pregnant all over the place.  Drunks.  Drug addicts.  People who do not even want a child and react to the news with horror.  I know I'm in law school, but is it REALLY a worse time for my husband and I to have a child than it is for Hypothetical Holly who had sex with her dealer between doing some meth and attending a Justin Bieber concert?

"You sound really judgey."

YOU sound really judgey.

"Just relax and have fun!  It will happen when it happens.  Focus on all the good things in your life!"

Unfortunately, I find it very difficult to pause my feelings.  I'm in mourning.  I thought my life would be a certain way and I thought trying to have a child would be easy since I'm young and healthy and willing to do an astronomical amount of research on anything even remotely connected to conception.  But after several months of trying, when I started having pregnancy symptoms and didn't get my period for two months and was absolutely sure that I was carrying a life inside of me (so sure that I started bonding with it, came up with nicknames for it, and felt like I loved it), I got the news that those symptoms were indications of what's wrong with me and not a pregnancy at all.  I had been bonding with and loving a figment of my imagination.  Now I cry every day and every period feels like a failure, and that's just the way my life is.

But, no, you're right.  I should probably just relax.

"Well, hang in there.  I fully believe that you will be a mother one day."

I don't know if you know this, but you believing it will happen doesn't actually have any effect whatsoever on whether it does.  So.  Thanks, I guess.  But I don't feel better unless you have an actual way of fixing my stupid cyst-y uterus (in which case GIMME).

Basically, I started this blog as an outlet because I'm beginning to realize that almost no one understands what I'm going through and even the people in my life who love me and want to support me are starting to get a little sick of hearing about how I'm still struggling with the fact that I'm still infertile due to the fact that I still have PCOS.  Yes, even though that was my answer to "how are you" last week, it's my answer this week, too.  And I don't want to be that girl.  I don't want people to get sick of me.

If the internet gets sick of me, it's not really a big deal.

So... welcome to my life.  Nice to meet you.