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For National Infertility Awareness Week, I would like to share a small part of my story... I was 18 when I went to a specialist to find out about pains that I was having during intercourse. It took me quite a while to get my doctor to take my concerns seriously.
So I go, I have the surgery to see what is going on inside. My doctor calls me to go over the results and says, and I quote “I thought we were looking for endometriosis, not infertility”
I stop, and say “excuse me?” He repeats himself, like this is something I should know...
I stop, and say “excuse me?” He repeats himself, like this is something I should know...
Something I should have told him, not the other way around.
So we hang up, and I sit there, in my bed crying for who knows how long. We make a plan to remove some scar tissue and hope it helps with the pain.
So we hang up, and I sit there, in my bed crying for who knows how long. We make a plan to remove some scar tissue and hope it helps with the pain.
I’ve always been very open about my situation with people in my life. But I CAN NOT express enough how awkward it is for OTHER people when they ask “No kids? How come?” And I say “Oh I can’t get pregnant, I’ve known for ‘insert number of years here’”
And I also can’t emphasize enough, how many times my own mother has said “are you pregnant yet?” even after almost 20 years of knowing that my chances of getting pregnant are less than .01%. I’m sure she means well, she’s like me and tries to make light of dark situations.
One part of knowing that you’re infertile that others may not think about, is the conversation that you are forced to have with every partner. Telling the person you’re with that you will most likely never give them children (if the relationship gets to that conversation)
unless they are willing to pay $10-$20000 is not a conversation that anyone enjoys. But okay, I’m an adult, I’ve been dealing with this for years, it’s all good. Three surgeries, hundreds of dollars spent on pregnancy tests.
Then all of your friends have kids, and all of the women in your family have kids, and they all say “oh I hope you get pregnant so our kids can grow up together” ... meanwhile everyone you tell your story to says things like “I bet if you stop trying it’ll happen” and
“I know so and so, they were told they would never have kids and they did” or “why don’t you try this!” Like I haven’t been trying. Eventually you tell yourself “you know what, maybe I’ll be the fun aunty, live a free life without children” and you tell yourself you’re happy.
Fast forward 18 years later, and I’ve finally met someone who I know I’m ready to take this journey with, someone who I’ve never imagined I would meet, the person who worships the ground I walk on. I couldn’t imagine raising new human beings with anyone else. He deserves this.
So he says he’ll do whatever he can. He is here to support you no matter what you need. So you try, and try, and try again.
3 miscarriages, dreading bathroom breaks every month hoping to not see blood. Telling your family that no you’re still not pregnant. These things eventually wear on a person... but with him the days are better. They’re less painful, because you have someone to share the pain with
Then we finally get to the point in our lives that we can try IVF. I’m finally here, I’ve been trying naturally for almost 20 years. We’re excited, we’re in love, we’re healthy. The doctors tell us we’re the perfect candidates.
But then I don’t respond to the meds like expected. So we cancel that cycle and try again. Round 2 is better, we have success. We’re getting there! Transfer 1 fails, and we are told we can try again next month. Then many other disappointing things happen, and we have to wait.
Transfer 2 finally happens, and the nurses and doctors and all of your friends tell you “this is the time! It’ll work for sure”. And it does, you get a positive. But then, all the tests come back and things aren’t progressing like they should.
Just like the last 3 times, you don’t make it to the 6 week ultrasound without bleeding. They tell you once again that there is nothing there, and you have to pass it. They’re so sorry, and you smile and say that it’s okay, since you have gone through this before.
You’re good at dealing with pain and loss and disappointment. Let’s be honest, you’ve been dealing with it for 18 years now. But when does it stop? At what point do you just stop. Friends say “oh I would donate my eggs to you” And “oh I would carry your baby”
But think about those words. Think about how that feels to someone who has wanted nothing more than to see that line on that test for the last 18 years. No one has the same story, and no one understands what another person goes through. But unless we talk about it,
unless we share our stories, we continue to suffer alone. We continue to cry every month, and secretly say “maybe next time”. And every breast tinge, every craving, every mood swing gives us hope.
So please, share your stories. More couples go through this than we realize. More people need someone to listen, just to understand. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and there is nothing to hide from besides society’s ridiculous expectations of us.
