Not Alone

(via In Everything)

My current line of work as a bridal stylist has me meeting and connecting with women of varying backgrounds and experiences every day. And often, we bond in the most surprising of ways. (She’s in her skivvies, I’m measuring her bust and her booty… Suffice it to say, we get close fast and intimacy just can’t help but develop!) Wedding talk sometimes turns to real life talk and that’s exactly what happened a few nights ago.

Heidi was actually a walk-in appointment that we managed to squeeze in at the end of my shift when another bride didn’t show. An older bride (41, I later learned), she came by herself and was seemingly shy and soft-spoken for most of our hour together. Then, at the end of the appointment, when I went to get her waist and hip measurements, she noticed a big blue bruise on her belly.

“Oh no,” she said, grabbing at her stomach. “We must have hit a blood vessel.”

“Right now?” I asked quizzically.

“No, no,” she replied. “It’s from my injections.”

I caught my reflection in the mirror — my mouth gaped open in shock. I instantly knew what she meant. And yet, there was more to the story.

She went on to tell me that she was diagnosed with breast cancer; that she underwent a lumpectomy, and was then faced with deciding whether or not to undergo a mastectomy or radiation. Heidi decided on radiation but, somewhat against her doctor’s wishes, opted to retrieve some of her eggs first. That’s what the injections were for, in preparation for her egg retrieval.

As she shared her story, it took everything in me not to let the tears welling up in my eyes fall down my cheeks. Here was this woman, literally standing in a fitting room in her bra and underwear, confiding in a perfect stranger. One who is also struggling with infertility and yet, her situation is even more trying than mine. I kept thinking, she is so strong.

“Well, you know, my husband and I are actually starting IVF next month,” I offered.

My words opened up the conversation even further, and we traded more information: 

She only has one ovary and, despite how “young and healthy” I look (to Heidi, anyway), I actually don’t have “tons” of good eggs either. I told her I was a nervous about the injections and she advised that my husband treat the needle more like a dart — fast with a flick of the wrist. Inserting the needle slowly hurts more. (Heidi bought her fiancé clementines to practice.) The hormones make you gain weight, she also informed me; I laughed and said I’d heard that fun tidbit of information before and wasn’t looking forward to it. Heidi asked if my clinic is also RSC (the Reproductive Science Center of the San Francisco Bay Area) and I replied that, why yes, as a matter of fact, it is. 

The whole exchange left me stunned and, strangely enough, exhilarated. I couldn’t believe the connection I’d just made in 15 minutes in a dressing room. It felt a bit like kismet. We hugged goodbye and wished each other luck on our respective TTC journeys, and I spent the rest of the night marveling at the unexpected turn of events.

Moments like these remind me how important community and connecting is, especially when going through a trial, of any kind. Knowing that there are others who understand and are walking a similar path can give you the strength to continue on — not to mention valuable perspective. 

You are not alone. We are not alone.