Hurt and battered

From time to time I reminded that I am not ok with being infertile. I am not sure I will ever be ok with being infertile. I know this is a normal reaction to being infertile. But the pain is any less, sometimes it does ease off and just tucks away going along unnoticed by myself and the world.

Last night it found it's way to the surface again. It has cut me to the core. For a few weeks it had been bubbling away on the surface. The 12 weeks to Christmas joke reminded me that indeed I should be 22 weeks along (when it was originally posted). I teared a little but posted the Facebook joke with mild laughter.

This week it was revieled that some of my Facebook friends and family had thought it was a real pregnancy announcement. It then became a series of Chinese whispers back to my inlaws taking a whole two weeks. The laughter became serious hysterical laughter. To the point where I truely was thinking I had lost the plot. Again I reflected that I should have a glowing belly of 24 weeks, a name picked out and be bliss full in this happy trimester of pregnancy where movement is good from both bub and mum.

After 48 hours of letting my life get back to normal and my mental health become calm again, I get another harsh slap across the face this time with sting so sharp it may take a while to heal. I have realised a person who I once thought of as a friend does not have the same thought and care about myself.

Social media, has it's amazing advantages, but then it's cruel stings. This week it is stinging harder than a bee.