Picture this: You are a cashier at Hallmark. You have asked the woman wandering around for almost 45 minutes trying to choose a few cards if she needs any help. She politely states she doesn’t need any help and continues to wander around looking a bit lost. Finally this woman makes it to the check-out counter and so far, all is well. Until it isn’t. Until she starts hysterically crying because you don’t sell stamps. Tears. Big ones that came out of nowhere.
Now Picture this: You are the cashier at 7-Eleven. A woman with swollen, red & puffy eyes walks in and immediately approaches the front counter. She asks you for a book of stamps. You don’t sell stamps. She rolls her eyes at you and tells you how the employee at Hallmark next door said you DID sell stamps. You tell her that you don’t, again. She begins to cry and storms out bickering words only she can hear clearly.
Now this: You are driving home, beyond irritated and tears streaming down your cheeks. Because you still have no stamps and the world is unfair. Why in the world wouldn’t Hallmark sell stamps? And why would that lady even dare tell you that 7-Eleven does when they clearly don’t? Why would she lie like that? Someone should go tell her that they don’t! But you don’t go tell her. Instead you drive home angry, tearful, speeding, sweating and stamp-less.
That is me on fertility drugs. It’s like teenage PMS mixed with menopause times four thousand.
It’s been a while since I’ve experienced this and to be honest, it takes me so out of character that it becomes pretty comical. I am giggling at myself for losing my mind over stamps. In the next moment I think, “it’s just like being pregnant.” Only I’m not pregnant and I don’t know that pregnancy “stuff” will ever be funny again. I hope it will. I really, really do. I hope that the mood swings, random cravings, interesting body changes and wacky dreams bring some laughter like they did when I was pregnant before all innocence was lost. I guess I won’t know until I get there but in the meantime I will be prayerful that I will be able to embrace the comedies of fluctuating hormones when that time comes.
It’s emotional-this ride after loss. Trying to conceive is already an excruciating journey when dealing with infertility. Add in three miscarriages and the birth of my sleeping son and now, it’s on a whole different level. But I am so grateful that I still have the chance to even be on this ride. Not all women get this chance and would trade places with me in an instant to have the opportunity to try again. So this week, through the hot flashes, temper tantrums, inappropriate tears and eye rolling-I will be grateful and choose to laugh at myself-in honor of the women who wish they could also.
The next time you witness an emotional outburst at the store keep in mind that she might just be on fertility medications (and trust me, if you are smart-you DON’T want to mess with her!)