A darling friend of mine is dealing with infertility.
While I have bitched and complained about my life lately, I really have no reason to be so depressed. Sure, my work life is less than perfect, but really, no one my age is wholly satisfied with their professional lives. And given the other gigantic problems in the world, I should shut my mouth, be grateful I’m educated, employed, and not broke, and just deal. I’m trying.
And I’m getting lessons in dealing from my friend. She is facing the huge, daunting issue of infertility with more grace, patience, and dignity than I have ever shown in my entire life.
I wish I could just make this work for her, that I could bitch and moan and get the right person on the phone and harangue them into make her a mother, but none of the skills in my arsenal (skills like sweet-talking, ass-chewing, a big vocabulary, and the ability to get shit done) are going to do her any good.
Making matters worse, her profession is one that allows her to see bad parents all the time; she sees parents that are so terrible they get their parental rights revoked, parents that never wanted children and never should have had them. She has to hear about this, see it, and deal with it nearly every day.
And instead of wailing about the injustice and pounding her heels on the floor like a toddler having a tantrum in the toy aisle at Target, which is how I would be behaving, she is standing calmly with her chin up, facing each new test, each new medication, each new doctor with complete self-possession.
I cannot tell you how much I admire my friend, how much I wish I could be like her; how I wish I had a fraction of her strength, patience, and fortitude. She’s amazing.