Two Poems from Marottek

by Stephanie Marottek

We alienate ourselves
when we are infertile
glaring at every pregnant belly
judging every stressed out mother
obsessing about our bodies
never letting anyone forget how painful this is.
We put ourselves in a room
with only other infertile women
to commiserate with,
wallowing in our common ailments,
analyzing every treatment, every twinge, every symptom.
Hoping beyond hope
that THIS will be THE MONTH.
The month that we are no longer infertile,
but blessed with pregnancy.
We wait and wait
we cry and talk and vent and console.
Then IT happens.
The home pregnancy test is positive.
We are glorious with happiness,
yet filled with fear that something bad will happen.
Elated that FINALLY it worked,
but sick to my stomach that this baby will die too.
Suddenly we are not infertile anymore,
we have joined the ranks of pregnant bellies.
But somehow, I do not fit there,
for I still remember
the pain of trying and waiting
and the numerous negatives that shattered me.
But I don't fit in the Infertile world anymore,
because I am now the enemy.
They, my friends last week,
now glare at my belly, jealous of my womb.
But I have done it too.
I said, "Oh congratulations, I am so happy for you!"
When, really, inside, I was dying.
I wanted it for ME!!!!!!
But now, here I am, pregnant.
And causing pain to those friends who
just days ago,
I totally related to. I am, moving on, all by myself.
Where do I fit?
I am scared to death, but afraid to tell them,
for I don't want to hurt them,
to have them lash out at ME!
Emotionally, I have never been more vulnerable.
And at the time that I need friends the most,
all seem to have abandoned me.
I cry out in my despair,
and all I get is reprimanded.
How is it, that I, once one of them,
am now the enemy?


The knowing does not help
by Stephanie Marottek

Knowing that I should be feeling ripping labor pains
does not make it any easier to handle
the terrible truth that you are gone.

Knowing I should be holding you close this month
does not ease the wreched pain
that your aching absence brings.

Knowing that I lost you before I felt you move
and that I never even saw you
does not bring me any sweet comfort.

For you were real, and you were loved
and you were so wanted.
You were our baby.

But knowing that I should be holding you now,
maybe that's the hardest part of all,
when I have nothing to hold, not even a memory.

Knowing that you are in heaven
does not ease this ache in my hurting heart,
it does not fill my empty arms.

Knowing all this
seems to just make it all so much worse,
and I just ache for you.

for Baby Bean who was miscarried 12/21/03 at 7 weeks gestation
and due to be born on August 3rd, 2004

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