Our Journey With Infertility
Our Journey With Infertility
4 years, 2 surgeries, 1 miscarriage, and a fertility treatment later… and we’re still not pregnant. I know, that’s pretty sad and a big bummer, right? Maybe even hard to read or imagine. Looking back and thinking of all my husband, Nate, and I have been through thus far in the journey of TTC (trying to conceive), it almost feels… unfathomable? ludicrous? frustrating? stupid? annoying? A huge pain in the ass is what I’ve settled on lately. Today marked the day I got to take The Pregnancy Test after our first round of IUI (intrauterine insemination). Unfortunately, it was negative. And how fitting that our most recent “still not pregnant” moment comes during National Infertility Awareness Week.
One of their initiatives is to, naturally, “Share Your Story”. And lots of times when I feel lost or confused or just generally in a what-the-fuck-did-I-do-to-deserve-this kind of mood, writing has always helped to channel my feelings and find some purpose behind said feelings and the madness of it all. Especially the madness that is Infertility. It’s literally an endless cycle of hope to devastation to hope to being pessimistically optimistic, the term my husband and I settled on this time, to devastation again, on a loop, for what feels like all time (4 solid years in our case). And some days, it honestly and truly feels like madness, like I’m going insane doing and trying the same thing over and over and over again, and getting the same fucking result.
Infertility is hard. For so many reasons. And it’s not nearly talked about enough or even taught. I certainly wasn’t prepared in the slightest when we first started trying to conceive for the hardships we’d inevitability endure. That’s one thing National Infertility Awareness Week is all about — obviously — bringing awareness to what so many of us go through in the hopes of one day becoming a mom, dad, parent, and hopefully, potentially (but not willing that on anyone) preparing someone else for what they didn’t expect to go through (like me). This year, NIAW is specifically advocating to create “Your #WeCanAll Story” challenging those cringe-worthy phrases of "you should just..." into something empowering. While I appreciate that sentiment, I have a bit of a different challenge based on my own experiences. But, first, I wanted to share my journey with infertility so far (and I hate saying just “my” — it’s also my husband’s journey). While I hope this is something you never have to go through, I also write it for those who are and who feel so isolatingly alone. Please remember you aren’t. I see you.
Here’s my (our) journey (so far) with infertility.
Our Journey
2018 — I just turned 30, yippie, and me and Nate, my husband, are finally on the same page to start trying for a baby! Yippie indeed. I was wholeheartedly convinced back then that we’d not have any issues. I’d always had a cycle and it was always regular. No issues to speak of. Went to the doctor regularly for a pap smear and all that — and there was never anything amiss. Nada. Zilch. So, naturally, I was convinced. Not long into it, I became even more convinced that something was indeed wrong. We kept at it a few more months, but I finally went in for a fertility consult with my then-doctor and she referred me to someone internally who scheduled me for bloodwork and a transvaginal (internal, ladies — yes be prepared for that) ultrasound. Even then I wasn’t really expecting to hear “bad news”. I’m not sure what I was expecting exactly, but certainly not what followed. I remember the sonographer telling me she could tell I’d just ovulated — yippie, more good news — and me responding with something like, “oh yeah thought so — I’d been twinging a lot on my right side.” She then proceeds to tell me something like, “yes, I think that’s because something’s going on on that side”. Oh. Well, that doesn’t sound good. Turns out, I had a cyst the size of a tangerine <insert bug-eyed face here> that was also, it turned out, weighing down my fallopian tube on that side, likely causing it to be blocked (which I found out much later). The doctor who I was referred to at that time sees the results and basically… gives me no options. She (yes, a SHE) pretty much acts like a tangerine sized cyst inside of my body on my reproductive organ IS NOT A BIG DEAL. She ultimately tells me we can hold out and wait and see if it goes away on it’s own. And oh, and in the meantime, you could try clomid during your next cycle. Like… WTF. Even Nate was like, “ummmm, what?” I totally called bullshit on that doctor and so did Nate. We were both convinced I needed a second opinion and that’s what we did. Because, obviously, I wanted to get this foreign object out the fuck of my body ASAP.
2019 — By early 2019 I finally get in for a second opinion with a doctor that came referred very highly to us and I loved her from the get-go. She was no-nonsense, we-need-to-get-this-removed-from-your-body-ASAP to ensure maximum fertility. Awesome, doc, I’m (we’re) with you, let’s do this. 3 months later, in July 2019 (basically July 4th weekend to be expect), I have a laparoscopy and explorative surgery to remove the cyst and check for any other adhesions that may be causing problems. Because, you see — I apparently have mild Endometriosis <insert big, long sigh and some tears here>. They remove the tangerine cyst along with another much smaller cyst on my left ovary and some minor adhesions throughout my abdomen — all benign, thankfully, too. They also performed a dye test when all was said and done to make sure both tubes were open (yay they were and yay for being asleep for that!). I cannot tell you the joy and optimism I had after that surgery. It felt like a world-sized weight had been lifted off my shoulders. It felt like the light at the end of the tunnel.
October 2019 — WE’RE PREGNANT!
December 2019 — Our first ultrasound shows a perfectly formed gestational sac with nothing inside it. Unfortunately, our pregnancy stopped so early on that nothing could be seen on the ultrasound. AND. My body also hadn’t registered that yet, so I also had what is called a missed miscarriage. I cannot nearly convey the shock and confusion I had that day. Of course, this is what would happen. It had already been such a long road already. Now this. I avoided this result for as long as possible, getting through the holidays, still not miscarrying on my own, convinced (and actually very scared) that they might have missed something on the ultrasound.
2020 — Finally, the midwife who saw me — because we chose not to go through a DNE immediately, hoping to avoid another hospital visit so soon — told me we needed to get the process moving because now it could be life-threatening to me. So, I go through what they called a medically managed miscarriage. Which, let me tell you, still to this day, I worry that I accidently aborted a viable pregnancy. But, I didn’t. What happened to me is called a blighted ovum and it’s apparently very common in first pregnancy cases. And it is not a viable pregnancy. So, I go through all that all the while still going to work everyday trying to function like a normal person. My work was very flexible with me and all the appointments once I looped in my boss with what was happening. I was even provided bereavement leave — upon request — because I couldn’t hold it together. Side Note: while I wasn’t surprised miscarriage wasn’t naturally included in bereavement leave, I was also kind of shocked that it wasn’t. I couldn’t have been the first woman to go through a miscarriage and have a hard time with it. We had such a wonderful HR Manager who didn’t even blink when I asked about it. She even allowed me to submit it as a formal improvement to the company when I ended up leaving about a year and a half later. So after I go through the medically managed part of this whole thing — this miscarriage — which also included 171 additional and internal ultrasounds — not that many, but it felt that way — there was still this teeny tiny piece of lining and pregnancy stuff that hadn’t left my womb yet. So. I had to go in for a DNE anyways. Yippie.
Then basically the apocalypse of 2020 happens 2 months later.
2021 — After the debacle that was the first year of COVID, we’re both finally feeling more comfortable with getting back on the pregnancy train. By the latter half of 2020, we had started trying again without any hint of luck. So, I go back to the doctor that was referred to us in 2019 who performed my laparoscopy and DNE. She does a physical and starts asking about how things are going. I let her know we’d started trying again and that it had maybe been on and off for the last 6 - 9 months, maybe, with nothing. At this point, she tells me it’s probably time to go to a fertility clinic… and, what felt like to me, basically starting this process all over again. I was pretty bummed about all that honestly. I was not ready to go back to the doctor to start all this over again. And seriously, fuck internal ultrasounds, HA. BUT. I, of course, came to terms with all of that. And by the end of 2021, I was actually feeling content with our situation. I could think about what we’d been through and hear about our friends getting pregnant naturally without breaking down and going through the miscarriage all over again. By this point, I’d left my corporate, 9-5 job, and was fully immersed in the blogging world and my Bookstagram platform. At the time of our miscarriage, I knew that books and stories were going to need to be in my life again and in a way bigger way than ever before if I was going to figure out how the hell to get through all of this. So, anyways, I was reading one day and one of my books had a character who had Diminished Ovarian Reserve. And of course my brain went haywire thinking I could totally have this, too, so I looked it up and came across a blog by a fertility doctor in Raleigh that was discussing the possible linkage of Endometriosis and DOR. So. I email this doctor telling her our situation, asking for advice, and if they have a sister clinic around the Charlotte area, and she just emails back and says we can see you here.
February 2022 — By this past February, I’m in their Raleigh office going again through a dye test, but this time awake (OOF, not fun) and the doctor notices what she thinks is a polyp in my uterus. Thank you reproductive system. I really wanted one of those <insert deadpan face here>. And here we are again back to square one or really zero, possibly even in the negatives, I don’t even know at this point. It’s like one step forward and 77 steps back. So they fit me in for another internal ultrasound — kill me now — to confirm the presence of this polyp and of course, removing that first before anything else is necessary. So another hospital visit here I come! This one was even easier — no cutting and I was back on my feet the next day, but still. MY GOD. And also, what the hell God. We need to have a chat. Anyways. So, then, finally… FINALLY… we can go through our first fertility treatment. IUI (intrauterine insemination) was the next logical step based on all our history and current circumstances, blah, blah blah. And that brings us to today.
April 27, 2022 — Two weeks after the official IUI treatment. I was equal parts agonized and hopeful over the TWW (two week wait — also WHO INVENTED THAT ANYWAYS). The first week I was very hopeful. By the second, my hope was starting to wane and reality was setting in. I forced myself to assume already that I was not pregnant. Trying to alleviate any heartbreak that would/could inevitably come. The angst over this stupid test, let me tell you. My body decides to wake up before it’s light out and my heart starts racing. I avoid, avoid, avoid until the sun is up and I go pee in a damn cup. I cannot tell you the ball of nervous this process is. It is not exciting for me. It is terrifying, manifesting in my uncontrollably shaky hands and fluttering heart rate and swooping stomach that seems to jolt into my chest every 30 seconds. It’s the longest 3 minutes of my life waiting for the test to process. By 7:07 AM, my suspicions and forced pessimism are confirmed — I once again am certifiably NOT pregnant. Yippie <please read with sarcasm>.
So, here we are. It’s 11:45 AM right now. By 7:30 AM I was up, after some cuddle time with Nate, just wanting to start the day. He got up with me. We did our normal routine — make coffee, take care of the dogs, exercises + start work (Nate), grab a huge mug of coffee + start reading (Me). Just with less enthusiasm, I’d say. But what else can you do? The world keeps turning and you gotta find a way to keep moving.
By 9:30AM I had a good cry, looked some things up trying to find some hope, and actually found two resources that fueled my madness into purpose this morning — Romper's Trying Project and National Infertility Awareness Week (which just happens to be this week). I first read the article on Romper’s site — Everything You Need To Know About National Infertility Awareness Week — and then headed over to the NIAW site for all the details. Initially, I was thinking how being a part of a project like Romper’s would actually put some purpose behind my (our) pain and I was trying to see if it was still a thing or somehow something I could get involved with. After stumbling on the other resources, I just ended up here, sharing our story with you.
And before you say, “WAIT! Maybe it’s too early to test” (it’s not) or “it might be a false negative” (it isn’t), just don’t. I get that. I’ve already thought these things. I’ve already looked it up. I already know these things. My brain is already on that course of wanting to find that shred of hope for this cycle. But I am certainly NOT banking on it. And it will fix none of this. So, please refrain. We take it one step at a time here, especially at this point in our journey. My next step is to wait out the start of my next cycle and go from there. Would it be wonderful if in a week or two I still don’t have a period and might possibly, actually be pregnant? Sure. Of course. But that’s likely not our story and that’s okay. [Update: my cycle started the evening after I wrote this, so we’re onto another treatment cycle already. Fingers crossed and prayers please.]
My Challenge
The one thing I’d love to challenge people to do is to not make someone else’s infertility about them. It’s not about you. It’s something another human being is going through. What they need, what I need, what my husband needs is the people in our lives being there for us, supporting us — not trying to offer and find solutions for us, just supporting, checking in, saying hello, reaching out and offering love or just acting normal — and also, not feeling bad for us. Does my infertility make you uncomfortable or awkward? Are you feeling bad or pitying us, or maybe just wanting to avoid us? Well, I’m sorry (not really), but it’s not about you. We don’t need your pity, we don’t need your awkwardness, we need a good friend, we need the support of family, and the love from both of these entities. We already feel alone. Don’t isolate us further by thinking — assuming — we don’t want to be around your kids because we’re struggling to have our own. Or that we can’t handle hearing that you’re pregnant while we still aren’t. Or that we won’t want to do something that involves kids or your pregnant self just because we aren’t there yet and are struggling. We need you. We want you in our lives, still. But don’t make this already hard situation, more difficult by trying to avoid the topic with us altogether. By pushing us away or treating us as “other”. That only makes things worse.
I’ve unfortunately heard of (and have experienced myself) so many instances where this happens, and while I understand it, I also really don’t, so I challenge you to change your mindset about it.
#WeCanAll accept friends and family with infertility and thoroughly support them by first and foremost not making their infertility about us. Stop any of the following — apologizing, feeling bad for and avoiding them — because of your success in having a child and pitying them for the journey they’re on. Don’t treat them differently because you have kids and they don’t. Stop feeling awkward! This is already such an isolating experience to be on. Don’t isolate them further.
How Infertility Feels
I recently started People We Meet On Vacation by Emily Henry and I came across a quote this morning that resonated so deeply with how infertility feels to me. Here’s the quote: “It’s worse than the blah-ness of not wanting anything much from life. It’s wanting something I can’t convince myself is even a possibility. Not after two years of silence.” And really — how fitting that this book cover is orange. Orange is the color of the NIAW movement, especially today, because it’s #WearOrange day to help raise awareness. I decided to commemorate this by also putting together an orange bookstack.
Infertility Has Changed My Life By…
These were some of the storytelling prompts from the NIAW website that I thought would be important to articulate for our story as well today.
My infertility has had an impact on… my mental health, my faith, my hope in general, a lot of my friendships.
What you don’t know is… I simultaneously adore and abhor everything that has to do with getting pregnant and pregnancy in general now. But nothing to do with babies and little ones. There’s only always love there.
The truth about trying to conceive/building a family is… it’s hard. Nothing about it is easy. And no one actually tells you that. You don’t know how much I wish Hollywood/society hadn’t messed up my outlook on it. You can’t just have sex and magically get pregnant — I mean some people probably can — but there’s a whole lot that actually goes into it and really matters. And there’s a whole lot of fucking WAITING.
Have your relationships changed? Absolutely. Whether by my own making as I try to deal with all the feelings I have (happiness for them, extreme sadness + hopelessness for us) or theirs (feeling bad and avoiding us because it happened for them and still not for us) or a combination thereof… there can be a glaring difference between moms/soon-to-be moms and non-moms/TTC women, especially when everyone is trying to get pregnant all around the same time.
My hope is that this is something you never have to go through, but if you do/are, just remember, you are not alone.
Pin Me
More On The Blog
Disclaimer
Hey friend. I wanted you to know that this post may contain affiliate links. This means I may earn a commission should you chose to sign up for a program or make a purchase using my link. I don't want you to worry because I only recommend tools and products that I personally use and love and I always have my readers' best interest at heart. Thanks for hangin' with me!
Oh hey, friend!
I’m Leah. Cozy connoisseur and bountiful book buyer. I have a minor obsession with getting lost in the pages of a good book, guzzling coffee, and thriving at home. Leggings, wine, and essential oils are also my jam. I'm truly just a bookworm and homebody at heart with a knack for content creation & cozy shots. This is my creative space.
Happy New Year! I know I feel and say this every year now in my adult life — but 2022 FLEW by! I mean flew. I still can’t believe it’s a new year, but I’d have to say, this time around I’m glad for it. 2022 was simultanously a good and very, very hard year for us and I was ready for that clean slate feeling of a new year. Today, I’m reflecting on my 2022 mantra and looking back at how those words actually took affect in my life.