There's Always Something There to Remind Me

Around the time I started to realise that we were having fertility difficulties, my favourite radio station started airing ads for XYZ Fertility Centre. The commercial begins with a somewhat haunting version of "Lullaby and Good Night" and opens with comments from the doctors at XYZ Fertility Centre. "The best part of my job is seeing my patient pregnant" says one female, a bit nervously. Umm, you're a fertility specialist, that's not part of your job, that IS your job! Then an older sounding male chimes in, "The only thing better than seeing that heartbeat on an ultrasound is delivering a baby" Oh, I laughed so hard when I heard that line, as it makes it seem that REs are actually the ones getting up in the middle of the night to deliver babies!

I would come to accept that it wasn't just my dissection of semantics or sub-specialty resentment that caused me to find these ads so irritating. It was the fact that I felt that they were specifically talking to me "Jane, you know you're having trouble conceiving. Jane, this message is for you. Jane, you know you will need fertility treatments..." Overtime, I would acknowledge this reality and even endorse my infertile status in different ways, but it started to become instinctive that as soon as I would hear the creepy lullaby music, I would switch off the radio and flip to Green Day's American Idiot, which is the only CD I have in my car.

Until recently, when XYZ Fertility Centre changed their advertising structure and their message is now read by the on-air talent. While driving to work the other day I had Greg Gory asking me, "Are you having difficulty starting a family? When life needs a little encouragement, there's XYZ Fertility Centre. Now onto our traffic report..." Sigh. There was no warning and no time to escape. Yes, I know you're talking about me. Do I really need to be reminded?

It dawned on me that there will always be something to remind me. I carry the words of Amanda Griswold  (who inspired me to start blogging) who, after finally achieving a viable twin pregnancy after a failed IVF and FET, reflected "we all know that infertility never leaves you. It will always be a part of us and affect how we feel." I hope our infertility journey ends with our baby, but however it ends, I know I will never forget what I learned during the process. I vow that if I become a survivor, I will not be insensitive and aloof like my cousin. Will I still be annoyed by the radio commercials for XYZ Fertility Centre? Perhaps...