I see you. I see you hurting. I see you trying to hold yourself together. I see you trying to hold me together. I see you sitting there at appointments looking at your feet. I see you trying to make jokes to try to get me to smile. I see you trying to be strong for the both of us. I see you staying composed as doctors tell you, you would never have a biological child. I see you.
This was not how it was supposed to be. Making a baby was supposed to be fun and exciting. It wasn’t supposed to be so clinical, full of so much pain and heartache, full of tests, appointments and horrible outcomes. It wasn’t supposed to be this way – male factor infertility – we didn’t even know what this was a year ago. I see you Googling trying to figure out this diagnosis. I see you looking for treatment and realizing there wasn’t anything. I see your fear. I see you.
I see you making sacrifices for me and for our future family. I see you being so open to ‘alternative methods’ so we can get our happily ever after. I see you being open to anything and letting me decide what we should do with my body. I see you willing to make changes to our path in life. I see you.
I see you focusing on the road while you take me to appointments. I see you running to pay for parking while it’s taking everything out of me just to walk to the car. I see you speeding to get me home. I see you running out for chocolate knowing it will make me smile. I see you.
I see you quietly answering your phone when I call, knowing all too well I am going to be crying. I see you so patiently saying ‘it’s okay, maybe next month’ all while knowing you are just as upset. I see you fighting back the sadness to not make me feel worse. I see you blaming yourself for my pain.
I see you, pretending to sleep the night before appointments while I am lying there wide awake. I see you trying to think of anything to make this a little easier. I see you watching the clock and constantly asking me if I’ve taken my medication. I see you bringing me my pills every night. I see you ready and willing to give me injections. I see you just wanting to be involved.
This hasn’t been easy, and so often your emotions are lost or pushed down in order to make me feel better. I see your pain. I see that look in your eye when someone else asks you how we’re doing, completely unaware and naive to the fact that you are hurting too. I see your pain when my arms are bruised from the clinic. I see you standing strong and answering questions so I don’t have to. I see you.
So much of this journey has been made about me. From doctors, to friends, it’s always about me. But me? I see you.”