You know what feels even worse than being pregnant after infertility and loss? Knowing that your dysfunction is causing your wonderful (and fertile) husband distress.
Last night was such a glum night in Chateau Chelan. I half-heartedly played with the cats while the Professor made dinner (vegan red beans and quinoa). We quietly ate and remarked on how shockingly good the Trader Joe’s hot sauce is. I was extra still as the Professor gave me yet another painful injection in the ass and quietly wiped big alligator tears from my cheeks. (Some days these injections feel so futile). We faked laughter at two episodes of 30 Rock (sometimes stupid TV is the perfect distraction). We quietly crawled into bed and proceeded to neither speak nor sleep.
It kills me to see that my infertility is profoundly affecting my husband. I know and trust that he will never leave me for fertile ground but still can’t help to think that he deserves better. That he could have better. That maybe, if this Chicken died, I should just let him go free.
But I know I’m too insecure to do that. And he is to kind and loyal to leave. And so we continue to go through the motions and pretend everything is ok, night after uncomfortable night.