An Infertile In Vegas Pt3



Wrapping up breakfast on our last day, Julio and I discussed where we might travel to in the future, and what other types of places we might explore. And then the inevitable conversation came. “Can you picture this, I mean us doing this, like, forever??” I asked my husband. We agreed we were incredibly lucky to be able to consider such a thing. We agreed we were profoundly lucky to be together now, in that moment. We expressed an understanding and an appreciation that in many ways we’re in a good place. But. Oh, but but but but. The absolute we most agreed upon was that this in no way would ever make up for the children we’ve been denied. That this, although amazingly wonderful on a level, is not what we would be doing right now if we had the choice. “I’d love to be jetting off to Vegas with my husband chuckle snort chuckle….” I can hear the typical fertile world martyr comments in my head as I also reflect on how supportive and understanding the people in our close circle have been. They all know how much we needed this trip. “A lot of fertile people think THIS is the life,” I said to my husband as I gestured around the well-appointed Bistro in which we were sitting and then out to the ornate gardens that encircled the hotel Jacuzzis. “What I wish they would realize is that this is merely the consolation prize.”

They say living well is the best revenge. I’m not sure exactly who revenge is aimed at in this infertility saga, I’m not sure any of us are, but living well whenever and however I’m able is exactly what I intend to do. It’s a start. That you can never thoroughly get away signifies the depth of the loss, and is an aspect of all loss perhaps. It effects everything you do and the way you move through the world, whether it be at home or on a vacation in Vegas.  But I know this now. It is a dichotomy in my life that may always be there. The dichotomy of great loss coupled with the space and open road acquired from Shawshanking my way out of the world of reproductive medicine.

Upon boarding our plane home, I noticed a guy meandering into our terminal who looked particularly messed up. Not that any of us looked like models after a few days in Vegas, but this one stood out, so I proceeded to point him out to Julio. “Oh, eh, he was at my craps table,” Julio said. “He was playing very crazy and winning big money.” “Hmmm, that theme sounds familiar”, I muttered as we fumbled for our boarding passes. Infertility is like being forced into a game of craps by gun point. But after being forced to the table, the two games are a lot alike. You’ve got to bet enough where you might win. You don’t necessarily have to bet it all but some people do. Some bet more than others, but the main commonality between craps and baby making is this: How you play has no connection whatsoever to the outcome. People who play sloppily can win big. People who play smart can win nothing. You can stay in the game forever and loose more than you imagined possible. You can play for a half an hour and win everything. The only thing you really control, should you choose, is pulling out before you lose too much. In the game of baby making, Julio and I did just that. Barely. I hope.

Sitting at home over coffee the next morning I brought up the mother of all baby making questions. “Honey, did we bet too much?” “No”, he replied with a definite confidence. “But we definitely lost. We lost big.”

That evening, a Saturday, I decided to drag my jet lagged self out at 9:00 pm to re-stalk our frig, confident that at that hour I would avoid the fertile population that tends to dominate Whole Foods. My pause in the entryway to organize myself inadvertently opened the automatic doors to the store. Through the window I saw a woman smiling at me as if we were long lost friends to the point of alarming intensity. I was confused for a split second until I saw the hood of a baby stroller to her right as she started to march towards me out of the automatic doors (that people typically walk through to get IN to the store). Realizing this put me in the position of being stormed by a fertile woman with her stroller while jet lagged and clobbered from the 70 degree to 20 degree weather change, I put up my walls and prepared my castle for battle. I averted her insistent, slightly psychotic smile that was entrenched in the presumption that I would automatically be able to relate to her. I answered her inferred silent expectation that I would react to her baby with a big fat NOTHING. “Do you need to get in here?” I asked with neutral politeness, as I made room for her to move closer to the boxes of gourmet water I was standing next to while refusing to look at her baby. Just because I want to kick her smiley fertile head all of the way to Montauk doesn’t mean I have to be rude and inappropriate or anything. “Yes, I’m just so excited you opened those DOORS, it’s just so hard with HIM”, she emphasized as a dual directive for me to worship her likely unearned offspring while extending to her a large dose of empathy for her “troubles”.  I exercised all of the due diligence I could to again ignore her. Hard?? The fertile notion of hard actually may be more amusing than my whole trip to Vegas combined. Anyone who finds shopping at Whole Foods with an infant HARD clearly hasn’t suffered the debilitating side effects of every fertility drug in existence. Again and again and again. AND again. Anyone who finds shopping at Whole Foods with an infant HARD clearly has not had fourteen catheters rammed into their uterus. Has not given the last four years of their life to try and create life that never came. Has not wondered how on earth they are going to grieve the loss of twenty four embryos housed by their body for only days or perhaps mere moments before they turned into nothing. I could go on, my point is please DO NOT entertain me with your kindergartenesque notions of HARD, fertile world. Because I will fall down laughing so HARD in front of the item you want to grab that you will not be able to get to it for a long long time.

I make my way into the store, as she does shortly thereafter. One more inference to that darned baby of hers and I’m ready to give her an earful. Fortunately she’s not so dumb she can’t read my cues. Out of the corner of my eye I catch her looking at me, dumbfounded and confused I did not respond to the bait of her (supposed) greatness. So here I am again, in twenty degree weather that should be forty degree weather, alongside ecstatic fertile women at Whole Foods trying to make friends with my grieving infertile ass. I must be home……



Where Does My Heart Beat Now, Sung by Celine Dion

Written by Robert White Johnson and Taylor Rhodes


So much to believe in,

We were lost in time

Everything I needed,

I feel in your eyes

Always thought of keeping

Your heart next to mine

But now that seems so far away

Don’t know how love could leave without a trace

Where do silent hearts go?


Where does my heart beat now?

Where is the sound

That only echoes through the night?

Where does my heart beat now?

I can’t live without, without feeling it inside

Where do all the lonely hearts go?


Candle in the water drifting helplessly

Hiding from the thunder

Come and rescue me

Driven by the hunger

Of the endless dream


I’m searching for the hand that I can hold

I’m reaching for the arms to let me know

Where do all the silent hearts go?


Where does my heart beat now?

Where is the sound

That only echoes through the night?

Where does my heart beat now?

I can’t live without, without feeling it inside

Where do all the lonely hearts go?

Where do all the lonely hearts go?


One touch overcomes the silence

Love still survives

Two hearts needing one another

Give me wings to fly


I need someone to give my heart to

I feel it getting stronger and stronger and stronger

And I feel inside

Hearts are made to last

Til the end of time


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