102 times I have found out I am not pregnant. 102 months ago we began our "journey" towards starting our family.
Sometimes it is hard to put into words how it feels. A blog I follow - Lindsey - writes so well how I have felt. http://ilikepolaroids.blogspot.com/2012/01/be-gentle.html
Our infertility treatments spanned all of the options available. In the beginning, there were so many unknowns, but I didn't see why things wouldn't work. Everyone in my family can bear children. They tested Drew early on and he passed with flying colors. They couldn't ever figure out what exactly was wrong with me. Then time went on and on and on.
The waiting for something to happen was killer. In the beginning, we handled it fine. Gave us more time to do schooling, and we thought of all the positive sides. We looked for the silver lining. But, we did hesitate in making any big decisions because "What If...".
The time kept going on. More procedures. More medications that made me feel like I was living in a dark cave. Finding the positives became harder and harder. Drew and I started arguing a lot. We were both so frustrated and down about it all that we started taking it out on each other. I remember one night in particular were we had come home from a friends house and just sat in the truck talking things out for well over an hour. It was well after midnight and we both had things we needed to get out and we weren't getting out of the truck until we were okay. Things started back to how they should be after that.
More time passed. More procedures. More dr visits. More medications. More money down the drain. We started seeing a dr that was a little bit of a drive away and had to go at times every other day. Drew came to every appointment and we started growing closer and closer. As my medical records grew and grew (it's quite a packet now), I started understanding his perspective more on things since he did not share them often, he just got agitated easily when most frustrated. He started being more comforting to me and what I was going through - the pains physically and emotionally. I remember as we walked into our appt for the implantation of the embryo during the IVF process and Drew just held my hand so tightly.
My co-workers at the time were wonderful. Covering my duties as I had to leave for appts all the time. They cheered us on with every step, and lent a shoulder to cry on each time it didn't work. When we found out the IVF, what we had worked the hardest for, didn't work, Drew and I were on our way home from an appt when we got the call. We both went back to work about 20 min later, dreading the excitement our co-workers would have in waiting to hear the news. We didn't want to have to make even more people sad for us. They all were so good and helpful. I have an awesome group of friends (which I have blogged about on many occasions because they are so awesome!) were amazing. With my best friend/sister being a part of that same group of friends, she kept them up to date on things and they visited often. Cheered me on. Dropped off goodies. Listened while I whined at Girls Nights about having a Japanese tree root in my cervix, etc. (Yes, that is what they often use to slowly stretch it before IVF...).
Infertility takes its toll in so many ways.
My body still isn't the same. And that's not even talking about the visible scars from surgery. I remember one night laying in the middle of the hallway because that is the closest to the bed I could get until the pain was too much to handle and I had to just crash there and then panicked that I might lose an ovary. Even after laproscopic surgery to get rid of endometriosis, I still have insane cramps. Many of the infertility medications have a "may cause cancer" warning with them. After my dr found a lump and I had an ultrasound to verify I was okay, it's always been a fear of mine.
Financially it took it toll. To an amount we chose not to calculate because we just didn't want to know.
Emotionally it took it's toll. Every month that passed that again didn't work was heartbreaking. Sometimes I hesitated to tell Drew when I started my period because I didn't want him to be sad too. Parents and family members were greatly affected too. They saw what we were going through and couldn't do anything to help. But oh did they help in so many ways. More ways than any realize. A call here, a hug there, an offer there. It all helped to buoy us up. Emotionally I am a different person. More cynical than before. Though I am a generally happy person, it's not to the degree it was before. I guess the "life sometimes sucks" saying stuck a little too much and I haven't gotten rid of it fully. I try to forget the dark times we had going through such hard times, but at the same time, it's a challenge/adversity we came out of for the better. Drew and I are better parents now that we would have been nearing 9 years ago. I do believe that.
Socially it takes it toll. It feels as though we didn't fit in. We didn't fit in with the people our age/place in life as they were all pregnant or just had a baby. We didn't fit in with the older groups because we were seen as newlyweds. We didn't fit in with the newlyweds because our focuses were so different and it made it hard to leave the house some times. Church was always hard for me. Sitting around so many happy families, and feeling at the same time that even though I knew it wasn't true, I felt like God must not love/trust me enough to let me have children. I usually broke down in tears at one point or another 3 out of the 4 Sundays a month. That 4th Sunday I was able to make it home before I did. We would skip out early often.
What have I learned? Many things. One of which, is empathy for others dealing with infertility and pregnancy loss. I know what it is like. I know what to say and what not to say. Whenever I hear of someone dealing with infertility, my initial reaction to them is always: Date Night Is Your #1 Priority Now. I've often heard the phrase "if you can remodel a house together and still be married, you can withstand anything." Though I don't totally get why remodeling takes such a toll - I feel as though "if you can make it through infertility still in love/married, you can make it through anything." I've also learned patience for people in general. Sometimes I was anti social and avoiding people because I couldn't handle things. You never know why someone might be acting strange or not doing things as they should because they may be dealing with things that push them past their limits.
Is the pain of infertility gone? No. It is, however, something that has made me a stronger, more independent person. I'm not in a dark place about it at all. I'm content. I've accepted it and moved on. Though I think I'll always have those pangs when I hear someone excitedly announcing the gender of their baby. Seeing the ultrasound. Sharing copies of it. Hearing stories of the birth. Feeling a baby kick. Finding out they are pregnant initially. Being a part of those conversations instead of being on the outside just listening.
Awesome post I wish I had read during the thick of things:
http://www.therhouse.com/guest-blogger-kerstin-daynes/
NOTE: Adoption does not cure infertility. We knew that going into adoption and it was not a factor. Adoption was NOT a last option - it was just a different road we chose to take. I always wanted to adopt since I was a little girl. Maybe deep down I always knew we would deal with infertility.
