Thursday, September 4, 2008
I sometimes feel guilty, selfish, for my husband staying with me through this. I feel selfish for ruining his dreams with my infertility. I'm broken, he's not. I felt that way again tonight. "He deserves better than me," I reason in my mind. "He shouldn't have to give up on his dreams too." I haven't felt this way since my diagnosis.
But who's giving up? Not him. When I want to give up, he lends me his strength and optimism. All I give him is a dirty house, my league of animals, my genetically inherited depression, and my medical bills. I really don't see why he stays, but he does. He tells me, "It's okay. We keep trying." And I cry and sob out, "It's never going to work." He replies, "It will, and if it doesn't, we adopt. It's going to be okay."
Sometimes I fantasize about just getting in the car and driving away. Driving far away from all these obligations, these failed dreams, lost hopes, away from myself. I dream about leaving and going somewhere to live a long lonely life where I won't ruin anyone else's life ever again. I will be alone, and whole, and I will cry, but be happy. I fantasize that he will be sad, but then move on. He'll find some fertile woman, have those two darling girls that he had wanted, that we had wanted together. I fantasize that I will be happy for him, from far away, where my sadness can't reach him anymore. And then I snap my eyes up, and awake from the fantasy.
Even when we were both just dating I remember talking to him about what we wanted in the future. A family of our own, that was each of our answers. We both wanted 2 children, hopefully girls, and we wanted to be happy and complete in this. Everything we've ever done has been for that one day family. I went to college, he quit college and got a good paying IT job. We've been working towards owning a home, getting ahead. All of this was for our future children, everything. And then it all came crashing down in November.
My dream, crashing down. And his too.
I know I am not being selfish, this is a partnership after all.
At our wedding the ceremony was a Cherokee Blanket ceremony, and in the ceremony it said we were agreeing to no longer walk this earth as two separate souls, but as one. Bound in the eyes of the Great Spirit.
When we found out I was infertile I begged and pleaded with him for weeks to leave me. He wouldn't. He said he loved me, he needed me. I didn't want to hear that, I didn't want to ruin his future to. It's not fair of me to ask him to stay, and so I don't. I'm glad he stayed, but I still feel guilty. And sometimes I am not so glad he stayed, because I think he's be better off without me. It's very weighty, knowing that someone else other than you might have to give up their dreams because of you. It's not fair, and sometimes I feel like because of it I am carrying around this major burden. It's my job to make both of our dreams come true. It's up to me. It's my fault if we don't, my fault if he regrets it.
It really is a heavy burden sometimes I think. Or maybe it only is because of how I am looking at it. My perspective has often enough been a little skewed.