Groundhog Day with Bill Murray is a) incredibly re-watchable, b) entirely underrated, and c) definitely one of my favorite movies. I mean, fine, it’s no 8 1/2 by Fellini, but that doesn’t mean its not a damn good flick.
But I digress. My point here is that I’ve been thinking about that movie lately when it comes to infertility because my life has very much come to feel like Groundhog Day. Another day, another doctor’s visit, another round of meds, another astronomical bill paid on my credit card. And repeat. Again, and again, and again. I’ve felt stuck in this loop for so long that it’s hard to imagine that there’s actually an end in sight, or a way out that doesn’t involve just giving up.
There’s the general sense of defeat.
There’s the stuffing your face with junk food, because who cares.
There’s the fuck everything I’m just gonna drink alcohol/consume caffeine/abandon full-fat dairy/exercise all out (such a rebel in this infertility world!) because fuck them they can’t control me.
And then there’s giving people the real answer when they ask how you’re doing.
Yep. Pretty much my life at the moment.