Way back when we were too naïve to consider we could possibly be infertile, I started a box. A special box. My keepsake box.
In that box, I stored articles on how to get your baby to sleep through the night, on the most important things to look for in buying a crib, on how to throw the best birthday party ever for a four-year-old. And it’s not like I went looking for these articles; I just came upon them, because I’m at an age where I like reading things like Canadian Living. And in Canadian Living, there are these types of articles, looming, waiting for me to flip to them and get sucked in.
After about a year of trying, the box was no longer this wonderful little keepsake box. Instead, it laughed its ass off at me every timeI went near it, mocking me, taunting me. The act of storing such articles was no longer any fun. So I turned it into a different type of keepsake box.
It became my infertility keepsake box.
Oh, the joy of an infertility keepsake box. In this box, right alongside the articles on how to get your baby to sleep through thenight and how to buy a crib, I began storing every Clomid box, bottle, and packet that I had ever used. Every single receipt, handwritten doctor’s note, brochure, and piece of information we had been handed regarding our infertility treatment. The medical bracelets from the hospital visits. The IVF video I had been avoiding watching. A couple of greeting cards and notes of support from my best friends (both of whom are also infertile).
I don’t look forward to opening this box anymore. The box is so fullthat it no longer closes completely, and I worry the next thing I put in it will be the thing that makes it not close at all. It’s so full that I worry I might need another box soon. The truth is, I just don’t want another box. Well, not another infertility box.
I know I could stop this. I don’t have to keep up this box, or get another one. But I continue to put things in it, because I kind of need this box. While there are moments when it makes me sad, there are also moments when it kicks me in the ass in the good way, reminding me just how much we’ve gone through.
And remembering just how much we’ve gone through reminds me that if I can get through all that when I really didn’t think I could, maybe I can get through a little bit more.