The Elephants in the Room

Sometimes I feel like a social pariah.

I am that person that makes you feel awkward with my honesty.

I don't hide my secrets to make you feel more comfortable.  I don't mind that you know I am possibly a little insane.

I think it's mainly other people's issue that I have so many elephants in the room.  Their discomfort with real life and its occasional downright shittiness is not my problem.

Lately, I have told several people in my life that I am close to and not that close to varying degrees of information about our infertility struggle.  Typically, the not that close to people get a shorter version because they are saying something moronic and I would like to save them the embarrassment of taking their foot out of their mouth.

While I know infertility can be an awkward topic- you know it involves your uterus and his testicles and sex... gasp, it is such a big part of my life right now that it doesn't feel awkward for me.  Love, marriage, baby carriage- seems like pretty run of the mill stuff.  I just haven't figure out yet how to make other people feel more at ease.  I will make a comment or relate something that challenged my attempt at a positive outlook and its crickets.  I know people don't know what to say but they really don't have to say anything at all- just listen openly, avoid making me feel like a freak, and understand that it sucks.

For the past 3 years I have felt one elephant or another staring at me from across the room refusing to leave and take with it the heaviness in the air.  First my brother and now this.  My friend told me the other night that she has just recently felt like she was getting me back after my brother's death.  I think she is right in a way.  He passed away March 25, 2010 and at that time my life was fucking great.  That week was actually one of the best weeks of my life until the walls came crashing in. 

March 25th was a Thursday.  The Thursday prior I had found out my husband (boyfriend at the time) matched in his first choice program for residency which meant he would be in the same city that I would be in for the next 5 years (very relieving since I had matched 2 months earlier and we couldn't couples match).* On Tuesday we found our house and that night he proposed.  On Wednesday we made the offer on our house, it was accepted, and buying it was in the works.  On Thursday while cooking dinner we got the call that my brother was missing and while driving to my parents house got the second call that he was dead.

I honestly thought life could not get any better and then was bitch slapped by reality for being so damn naïve.

Since then I have struggled with how/when to tell people about my brother and answers to simple questions like "How many siblings do you have?" I will always say 2, "I have 2 brothers," because I do but now I don't.  It's hard when you are just getting to know someone and they ask you that question and you answer and follow it up with "But one of my brother's passed away a month ago, a year ago, not too long ago" ect. and you can feel this tension rise between you.  I am not telling you my brother died for sympathy.  I do not want your sorrow.  I am just answering your question.  3 years ago, today, 30 years from now I will always have 2 brothers.

Obviously everyone handles death and grief in a different way but for me I want people to know him.  I want people to know that mental illness is common and awful and treatable and breaks your heart.  There are times I wish he died of cancer because when someone's follow-up question in the above conversation is "What happened? or How did he die?" I answer he committed suicide and that thickness in the air becomes stifling.  There is such fear and misunderstanding and judgment riding on that word.  When you say cancer there is just sadness, sadness and injustice. 

I do not mean to imply that losing a loved one to cancer or to any other cause is somehow easier than suicide.  It is not.  It is just different.

Just as I was starting to feel I had butted that old elephant out of the room.  Or at least started to learn how to ease the tension.


Infertility is the new elephant in the room.










*For those unfamiliar- being a doctor is a lot more challenging on your personal life than many people realize. Between med school and residency you pretty much give up your 20s (for me this will span age 22-31).  In your last year of medical school you must decide on your medical specialty and then go through an arduous application and interview process culminating in a match- meaning you rank programs and they rank you and a magical computer system matches you up and tells you where you will spend the next 3-7 years of your life.  That's right-you do not decide, not directly at least.  If you happen to choose a few particular programs that are in a different match system you are not able to do a couples match.  For a couples match you can submit your own and your significant other's rank lists together with the goal to match you in the same city even if it means one of you will end up at a program you ranked lower in order to be together.