exposed

Without wanting to offend anyone, I have been having a hard time working out why so many women want to keep their infertility experiences a secret. Why they are prepared to sit through so many painful but innocent questions, fume silently as other women tell long, loud stories about their pregnancies.

For me, it has seemed so much easier to tell people. As many as possible, actually.

Why?

I never mind when they ask about it, for one. I could personally tell the same story about sixty times and not have the damn thing off my chest: and then we went to the specialist, and he said...

Secondly, if they are the type to not ask - if it makes them feel uncomfortable - I find it gratifying, in a sadistic way, to force them to listen. Fuck, we are the ones who have to go through this shit. It's hardly going to hurt them to have to merely hear about it.

And third of all: Why should we perpetuate the taboo surrounding infertility and IVF? Isn't the best way to make people get it to take away all the shame and secrecy?

So this is what I had been thinking.

But then, I went for dinner at my parents tonight. First thing my mum said when I came in:

Tell me, Meg. Who were the special people who showed up on Saturday? Sorry, I read your blog.

Well.

At this, I just cut sick right off the bat, as we say in Australia.

Look, it wasn't so much that she mentioned the blog In Real Life. She's done that before. And to be honest, it is my own silly fault for telling her about it. But ultimately, I made that decision. I can deal with that. I'm happy to answer her questions. Whatever.

But not in front of three other people.

Three.

Three people who didn't know about the blog. And who I would never have told myself, because it would have made (ie. will make, does make) me feel exposed and invaded and completely helpless. Because I need to have control over something as intimate as this.

Kinda like the women who don't want other people to know about their IVF cycles, I guess.

Yeah. Kinda.