Infertility Flashback

This week I finally found a doctor for myself in Milwaukee. It's been on my to-do list ever since we moved here. But UGH I hate going to the doctor. Either all is well and I could just stay home, or something is wrong and maybe I'd prefer not to know.

Meeting a new doctor involved reviewing my entire life history in two minutes. We covered a lot. Some of the answers I gave suggested a possibility that I could be pregnant. (I am not.) The nurse asked if they should do a pregnancy test.

That was weird.

Before Sam arrived, I used to imagine that when I am old people would still say, "Oh, that poor woman was never able to have children. That must be so sad." These days I almost never think of infertility. It seems irrelevant when I'm dressing/feeding/tickling/hollering at three kids closer in age than many very fertile couples have.

For the rest of the day I kept returning to the now-strange idea of me pregnant. I remembered the misery of wishing I were and feeling like my body was making fun of me every month. That sadness is pretty well packed away now. It tumbles out of the suitcase every time I meet or hear of someone who is walking the same long, dark path. We have been so blessed with the happy ending of our three boys.