“On paper, you should be able to have a baby.” I will never forget those words uttered by our reproductive endocrinologist when he shared our unexplained infertility diagnosis. While it was relieving to hear that there wasn’t anything prohibiting us from conceiving on our own, this was the start of a long confusing journey for my husband and me.
One year after getting married, we were eager to grow our family. We spent one year unsuccessfully trying on our own to conceive so turned to a specialist to help. We were nervous about what was to come next, but hopeful, despite what our prognosis would be as we knew there were many different options to build our family both biological and non-biological. Despite the emotions we felt going into that first meeting with our RE, I would be lying if I said that I was thrilled that this was the family-building experience I had hoped for.
We did not plan to be infertile.
After spending many years preventing what we so deeply wanted to happen naturally, we found ourselves suddenly thrust into this new world, where baby-making began to feel less exciting and intimate and now clinical.
We were not prepared for what we were going to endure physically, mentally, and emotionally.
Up until this point in my life, I felt like things had been pretty black and white for me. I set goals, worked towards them, and achieved them. This experience mentally was uncharted territory for me; how can 1 + 1 suddenly not equal 2?
While our endocrinologist’s words that day of our diagnosis were supposed to reassure us and provide us with the hope that the treatment plan we select put us at “high odds of success”. It did not diminish the feeling that I feel like I had failed in some way. I had always dreamed of being a mother. Creating and having the memories and experiences I had hoped for my future family seemed to be a continued daydream versus an achievable reality.
We took some time to reflect and think about what we wanted our next step to be. Our diagnostic care was covered by insurance thanks to state insurance mandates, however, any treatment would be out of pocket.
We moved forward with our treatment, IUIs then IVF.
The existence of infertility treatments is amazing and has helped so many around the WORLD resolve their infertility and build their family. After our 3 failed IUIs, I questioned whether these treatments were going to work and if we had “unexplained infertility”.
At this point, mentally I began to spiral. I knew deep down I was not ready to go through the experience that is IVF, even knowing that we had a high likely hood of success. At this moment in our journey, very few people knew what we were experiencing. At the time, I felt like there was a stigma around infertility, shame being a big one. It was hard to explain to people that yes, it is possible to have unprotected sex, use assisted reproductive technology, and still not get pregnant. Truly, we were still having a hard time rationalizing it.
When I look back now, I wish we had reached out for professional help or had joined a support group. While we did have support from friends and family members we had shared with. We needed support from people who had experienced the same thing we were and understood the mental and emotional impact of infertility.
We were considering moving forward with a 4th IUI instead of progressing to IVF, purely based on the stark difference in the cost of treatment. While seeing the help of a RE and tracking and charting each month on my own, I was also actively seeing an acupuncturist that specialized in treating infertility. The thing with infertility treatment is it’s all based on where you are in each phase of the month, on this specific day, there was a change in the timing of ovulation and there was a specific treatment my acupuncturist wanted to do before then.
Thinking I missed our chance, I snapped.
I was shaking. Panicked. Overcome with the unfairness of it all.
While I had shown emotion throughout our journey, it was the shallow end of it. A tidal wave came crashing in and I got swept away.
I distinctly remember telling my husband, if this is what it takes to be a mom, then maybe I don’t want it. Our experience had morphed me into a version of myself that I didn’t even recognize anymore and was not OK with becoming. It is not what I had hoped building a family would look like for us.
The expenses, anxiety, anger, jealousy, and resentment.
I had lost all hope in being a mother right now.
It was in that wave, we decided that we needed to take a break. We were broken mentally and emotionally from everything we had experienced in the prior 18 months. We just had to press pause for now.
I felt shame in sharing our infertility experience with others because of a lack of understanding, now I felt shame in accepting the fact that we needed a break. I felt ashamed that I couldn’t beat infertility at that moment. I felt ashamed for saying it was hard and became too much to endure. I felt shame for not wanting to move forward with the other options we said we would do if the treatment didn’t work out.
What I realized is, there is no “easier” way to resolve infertility. IVF isn’t easier, adoption isn’t easier, surrogacy isn’t easier, and choosing to be child-free isn’t easier. Each option has its challenges and ultimately, we weren’t ready for the next challenge.
We spent the next two years focusing on repairing relationships, re-igniting intimacy in our marriage, and building a life we would love with or without children.
After some time, we decided our hearts and minds were ready to attempt to grow our family again. This time we were surprised that we conceived! The first time we had EVER seen a positive pregnancy test. However, we ended up losing that pregnancy 3 weeks later, having a miscarriage at 7 weeks. Two months later, we were pregnant again, this time with guarded hearts, and held our breath until our first OB appointment.
That time it stuck and in 2020, we welcomed our rainbow baby, despite all of our unsuccessful attempts to conceive naturally 4 years prior.
Despite resolving our infertility, pregnancy after infertility and miscarriage was not an easy feat. It did not provide the relief I feel so many assume we would feel. Pregnancy after infertility felt like we were holding our breath for 38 weeks, constantly feeling like this was “too good to be true,” that we were living a dream that at any moment I was going to wake up from or be met with the tragedy of a loss.
While we have been able to add many happy memories with welcoming our son, the memory of our experience isn’t too far below the surface, the emotional impact of infertility is lifelong.
Yorumlar