Man this week has been tough. It’s been only six days since my colleague and close friend has announced she’s been “given” my pregnancy. Yep, transplanted directly from my womb into hers.
I say that. It’s not actually true but it might as well be. That’s how it feels.
Every minute of my work day is torture. She is a living breathing reminder of everything I have lost.
I sit next to her. This sucks.
I’m resentful. I’m hurt. I’m fed up. Why does someone who doesn’t even want a kid get one without even trying? Because that’s life’s cruel joke on me.
I say screw her and her giant coffee she’s drinking all blasé! When was the last time I could drink a coffee without being paranoid it would spontaneously eject the fetus inside me? Must be at least a million years ago.
Now I sit and await the joyous announcement to our office and my best mates. That announcement will condemn me as the token infertile, the failure, the miserable one, the elephant in the room.
But I have taken the first step towards fulfilling my promise to myself. My promise of self preservation. To be out of there as soon as possible. I am on the job hunt. My CV is in circulation. I’ve been in touch with two recruiters. I have extended my holiday so I don’t have to be there when she tells everyone.
Seems extreme I know. But it’s the least terrible solution I can come up with.
And suddenly the promise of a new and anonymous future looks bright. It’s a change a bit quicker than expected, yes. But a good change.
T minus 39 days.