I often wonder about the other women in the RE's office. Why they are there, what diagnosis they are dealing with, how old they are, how long they have been struggling with infertility. Do they have regrets about what they've chosen to do with treatments or waiting too long to start a family. Are their husbands supportive or do they even have husbands. And on and on my mind goes, wondering, always questions, never answers.
On the blogosphere, we can all be so supportive; however, in real life, it's a different story. It is so awkward sitting there because no one, least of all me, wants to make eye contact. For reasons I don't quite understand, the shame pervades that lovely decorated room with the upscale dark cherry wood furniture and makes one stare out the windows at the picturesque fountain. Although our eyes are downcast, the fear and the pain and the tiredness is etched on each face.
Today was like every other time I have been in the office and some other woman was waiting. We looked at everything but each other. Today, she looked young, younger than me; and our eyes didn't meet, but I wondered about her. And then the patient coordinator came out and handed her an information booklet. A booklet about the donor eggs program. And I wondered does she need donor eggs or is she considering being a donor as a way to finance her ivf? Did it hurt her to have me see that booklet? I can't even imagine having to make the decisions that come with either of those options. How truly terrifying to be in her position.
There is something deep inside me that wants to reach out to these women. I want to know their stories. I want us all to be able to look at each and somehow recognize we are NOT freaks. I want to lend support to these others who know at least some of my pain. But I am afraid. And I am not sure why.
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You described my feelings exactly! I had the same experience in my RE's lab waiting room today. I wondered what would happen if I started a conversation, but I could never make myself do it. It's a little sad, isn't it?
I understand what you mean. But in my case, I'm the girl who DOES try to say something to ease the tension or smile directly at people. But sometimes it makes me feel stupid b/c people don't want that. I'm like an overzealous puppy with my misplaced kindness sometimes. But many times, the women/men chat back with me or smile back. Beautiful writing.
I have felt that way a few times...well, more than a few times. Its just encouraging to know you understand what these other women are going through, no matter if its just an eye glance or a smile=)
When I'm in the waiting room, I try to look around at the others. I am an observer. I don't like to make eye contact so much but just to read their expressions. I can feel their pain - and then I can sense happiness or anxiety about those who are there for betas or u/s.
I've yet to start a conversation but it would surely break the monotony and tension. I'm just too chicken.
I'm such a weird social experiment kind of person and I've actually made eye contact with some of the women in the waiting room and they all just look away as fast as possible. I'm not ashamed. At least not any more. But I think you are right that the vast majority of women are!
While I'm not ashamed of what's going on in my life and will happily talk to anyone about my journey you're right that the doctors waiting room seems to be a different environment. I had a woman approach me once to talk about why she was there and while I didn't mind talking to her I was a bit unnerved by discussing her sex life with her and I a hard time not commenting on the cultural issues that possibly led her to that point (Her husband had told her to basically abort a pregnancy with some sort of "medication" and she hadn't been able to get pregnant since).
I'm here via the creme...
I used to wonder about the women in the fertility clinic, too (we aren't in treatment right now, hence the past tense). I used to wonder MORE what THEY wondered about ME, though.
Cause I'm the young woman that people might wonder about. We started treatment when I was 21 and hubby was 22, and were doing IVF by 22 and 23. Crazy, no? Nothing is/was ever found to be wrong. I always wondered if people looked at me and wondered what a couple of kids were DOING there. Or if they were maybe jealous that we had so much time to work with.
Or maybe they didn't wonder at all...but I always thought maybe they did, and your post reminded me of all that.
Hope you have a happy New Year!
This describes my RE's waiting room very well. We all get scanned in the morning - first come, first serve and there can be 30 people in a smallish waiting area and you can hear a pin drop.
I tried to make conversation and was often successful. Look for the other lady or ladies who also look up every once in awhile. I found once a conversation was started, often others joined in.
Then I was back for my 4th ivf after 3 failures and I suddenly found I was too embarrassed or ashamed or just plain scared that I would feel worse if I talked to someone there for an FET after a successful IVF and I stopped talking.
I agree with you on those feelings. I remember sitting in my doctor's office waiting to have my miscarriage confirmed. I remember wondering what everyone else was there for and what they thought I was there for.
I also came via Creme de la creme. I'll bet you described most RE's waiting rooms correctly. Certainly the two I've been to are just like that. It doesn't seem to matter is it's two women or 20. Like you I often do wonder about the others there. But I have to admit, after so many failures and disappointments in those offices, I'm very relieved when there aren't many people there when I arrive.
I feel the same way when I am sitting in my doctor's office. I don't understand why we can be supportive online and not talk to each other IRL. We are sisters in pain, but we are strangers in life.
I didn't comment when you first posted this but was moved by it just the same.
Im glad you chose this one for the Creme list--it brings a silent contemplation of the plight of others IRL...
It was the same way for me at my clinic. I never made eye contact with anyone in the waiting room. We all read our magazines/books with an interest that seemed unnatural! I did have more success talking to people once we got to the phlebotomy room. I always talked to someone either just before or just after giving blood. I guess I had never thought of that before.
Also here via the Creme. This was a very eloquent post. My clinic is similar. The waiting room is the saddest little place. I don't think there's any way to change it.
Came here because of Creme. That is so insightful. I like to know, not in a nebby way but out of caring what is happening with other people. I think it is out of care and concern that you think about the others. As much as you wonder about them, hopefully they wonder about you too.
Like Kathy, I came here from C de la C.
I often wondered about the people in the waiting room and about their stories, their lives and their support or lack thereof. Most times, I averted my eyes and wanted to be invisible, but the wonder was there.
I found this post through Creme de la Creme.
I haven't ever been to an RE's office, but I have spent a lot of time in an OB's office. Before my miscarriage, it never occured to me that women might be there for something other than pregnancy or an annual exam. Now, whenever I see a couple, and the woman is not obviously pregnant, I wonder if they are there because they lost a baby too.
I came to this post via the C of C also. Also loved the "Free Babies" post.
Here is where i think the desire to reach out and the fear comes from. If we all sit there silently, not talking to each other, yet anonymously blogging, then the tragedy and problems of IF/RPL stay hidden under the carpet. Nothing changes. Health insurance coverage doesn't change. Treatment doesn't change. The isolation remains the same. The stigma remains the same. Like a lot of women's issues, it will remain something 'we don't talk about'.
Because of this post - next time I am in the waiting room, I am going to turn to the person next to me and say, hi, I'm Andie.
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