Karma can be a feckless, half-wit c*** sometimes.
Not the righteous entity that scrapes the car of the arsehole who stole your parking space, nor the bringer of good fortune to those who have given selflessly, time and time again.
Sometimes it’s just a jerk in a bar, calling you an ugly slut for ignoring his drunken advances. Harsh. Cruel. Unfair. Enraging. Deflating.
I wish you didn’t have to feel those things, my brave and beautiful friends.
And yet you probably feel them a thousand times over, day after day, as you weather a storm of unfathomable shittiness.
One that is so undeserved, so unjust. One that you’re battling head-on with such grace and courage, so many months after you embarked on your journey to become a parent (for the first time, or again).
I want you to know I admire your strength.
I admire it even though you probably feel like crumbling with each and every smarmy Facebook pregnancy announcement; with every invasive procedure; with every disappointing result.
I remember the aching hole my miscarriage left in my body and soul. I remember the crushing desperation to be pregnant again. And yet I can’t pretend to know how it feels to put your heart and body on the line month, after month, after month.
So please know this:
If you need to crumble, I’m here. I’ll cheers your manky dirt water or smuggle you a well-earned wine (whichever you need more). We can talk about clomid, sperm motility, your HSG and specialist appointments, or we can talk about nothing and eat chocolate.
I promise I won’t tell you to relax, or put on weight, or go on a holiday, or stand on your head to have sex. If you want to try it, I’ll support you (double high-fives if you get the standing-on-your-head-sex down pat) but I won’t pretend to have the answers. I don’t.
Just don’t forget to cut yourself some slack, ok? Be angry. Feel outraged. No, it’s not fair the stupid crack whore on Dr Phil is eight months pregnant and thinks it’s ok to snort cocaine. WHAT. IN. THE. EVER-LOVING. FUCK. And how about those pregnant whingers? Shut up about your cankles and heart burn, you bloated fools! You’ve been given the gift of life, so love it or choke on a quick-ease!
You can be bitter, resentful, and jealous and that’s fine. I’ll still love you anyway. And when things come up trumps, I’ll be there cheering you on.
I can’t tell you what will happen or how long it will take, or if the your journeys will have the ending you so desperately desire. All I know is that you’re a brilliant bunch of mums and mums-to-be, and I know it will happen for you one way or another.
Karma can’t be a douchebag forever. (Until then, I’ll supply the sneaky wines).
If you want to share your experience of miscarriage or infertility, we would love to hear your story. What are the best ways for friends to support people struggling with infertility or loss? Do you have any advice? Please share it with us below.