I’ve been quite sad over our lack of baby-making abilities—-the number of women with child/having a child seems unusually high, or else I’m just more aware of it—-and I’ve taken to soothing myself with sugar because that’s how I roll.
I’m glossing over the nitty gritty for self preservation’s sake. The short version: it’s been really fucking rough.
My health goals had been side-lined in favor of eating M & M’s for lunch, the consumption of which began a pretty immediate downward shame spiral from which I’m just starting to emerge. Logically I understood that a lunch of M & M’s would not make Jason’s sperm magically grow back, nor would it lift my general outlook and make me a less bitchtastic person, but in those moments I wasn’t thinking of the long-term; mostly I just wanted to numb whatever it was inside of myself that ached.
For a few weeks I kept my feelings to myself. I didn’t want Jason to feel like this was all his fault. He didn’t choose to get a cancer that would leave him probably infertile, but I try to be sensitive to the fact that he might feel guilty and I didn’t want to compound his negative feelings. (The permanence of his infertility is yet to be determined; it could correct itself in years or it could not. He’s had two semen analyses so far and they’ve both come back negatory on the sperm front.) A few nights ago we talked about it: the unfairness and the horrible feelings and the jealousy and anger and the loss. And it helped. Having an ally in these shit-filled trenches soothed my broken heart in a way that sugar never, ever did.
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