Beyond Help...

Today as I was writing another check to the fertility doctor's office for another ungodly amount and I found myself struggling with my pocketbook.  As I struggled, trying to get my wallet back into my bag I said aloud, "I hate this bag."  The check-out lady smiled at me, knowingly... who hasn't struggled with their pocketbook from time to time?
But then is occurred to me, if I really hate this bag, then why have I been carrying this bag for more than a year?  Maybe two years?  Could it have been that long?  I really do hate that bag... sometimes. 

Sure, it is pretty... Nice, metallic leather with plenty of storage space... but I swear this bag has taken years off my life.  I'm always loosing keys and money and lip balm in it's many compartments. I think at least once a day I find myself looking for something panicked that I've lost something important, only to find it hiding deep inside one of the many pockets.

But for years-- well, at least 12 months-- I've been toting this bag around, proudly.  Occasionally I'd catch a glimpse of myself carrying it and see its subtle metallic leather shimmer in the reflective surface of the automatic doors at the Target and then I'd forget how much trouble this bag really is.  It is a smart, sophisticated bag. 

But as I stood at the check-out at the fertility doctor's office, struggling with the bag, I blurted out, "You know I'm such a masochist... which is why I'm here all the time."

I think I might be beyond help.

Thinking back on it, I've always been one of those people that felt like something was working if it burned or stinged.  I'd go for chemical peels and complain to the facialist if it wasn't burning.  I wear my retainer at night, even though it hurts because the pain tells me that something is working!  What if I really am a masochist?

I'm gladly signing up for painful medical procedures and I'm barely complaining about it.  I have the Husband stab me with needles over and over... subject myself to early morning appointments and face rush hour traffic all with the end in mind.  Now we are in the big leagues of infertility and again, I'm facing it all with the end in mind... with a smile on my face.

Maybe I am a little bit of a masochist... but maybe all women are.  After all, most women subject themselves to motherhood at some point, most of which involves pregnancy and pregnancy results in misshapen bodies, weight gain, stretch marks, big bulging leg veins, and ultimately a painful birthing experience.

So maybe it's not just me... an even if I'm a masochist, I feel better knowing I'm never alone!