Both sides of infertility

 In the spirit of National Infertility Awareness Week, I thought I'd add my infertility story to the masses just in case there's someone out there who needs to read it.

Doug and I decided I'd stop taking the birth control pill after we had been married for a year.  We both had one year left of college, but we calculated if we got pregnant that September I wouldn't have the baby until we were graduated.  Perfect.

My periods got kinda weird after I stopped birth control.  By weird, I mean super long cycles.  At first it was like 40 something days.  Which was the biggest emotional roller coaster.  "My period is a week late, I must be pregnant."  But negative test after negative test told a different story.  I remember praying, "Please Heavenly Father if I'm not pregnant please just make my period start so I can stop hoping."  This went on for a few months and then my cycles got a little more regular, around 32-35 days.  Since we were still in school we decided to stop "trying" and just let it happen if it happened.  It didn't.

Over the next few years we had months of "trying" and months where we just left it up to chance.  It seemed like on the months where we timed it just right (I had books about fertility, ovulation, etc etc) my periods were late.  Cue emotional roller coaster again.  I don't know how many pregnancy tests I've taken in my life, boxes and boxes.  Only to have them all come up negative and my period start a few days later.  We'd take a few months off to get our heads back to a better place, go on vacations and focus on our marriage before starting to "try" again.

During this time it seemed like everyone and their dog was pregnant.  We moved a couple times, and in every new ward you get the same questions.  "How long have you been married? Do you have any kids?"  I know they're well-meaning, and they just want to get to know me.  But it still hurt.  And infertility isn't something you bring up when you first meet a stranger.  "No, I don't have kids.  We've been having sex very regularly especially around the time of ovulation, but it's just not working.  Please give me some advice."  (Can you just imagine the look on people's faces?!)  The very WORST was when they'd follow up with, "Well, do you plan on (do you want) kids?"  Now you're stepping into the realm of It's-None-Of-Your-Business and balancing on the cliff of Don't-Even-Go-There.  I started answering the kids question with, "I have 2 cats and they are my babies."  Usually people would stop right there with an, "Oh, that's nice dear."

Here is what I wish people would ask instead if they're trying to get to know someone new.  "Where did you move from?  What does your husband do?  What do you like to do for fun?  Is there anything you need help with?"  These are very safe questions, and if someone does have kids they can bring it up on their own.  "We love going to the zoo, our kids love seeing the elephants."  Or, "It's been so hard trying to unpack with my kids running around, do you know someone who likes to babysit?"  And if they don't bring it up, then DON'T ask.

Fast forward to 2013.  One of my friends from college opened up about her infertility and started a blog about it.  She mentioned how they were seeing a fertility specialist and it made me think that maybe it was time to get things checked out.  Luckily for us we had a killer health insurance plan that would offset the cost if we used a "preferred provider" (a clinic with a high pregnancy rate, but low multiples).  We did all the initial tests to find out what was causing the infertility.  All the tests came back normal.  "Unexplained infertility," meaning there's no medical reason we shouldn't be getting pregnant.  So we started with Clomid and IUI.  The first round didn't work, but on the second month we got pregnant!  It was the very first time I've ever seen a positive pregnancy test in person.  It was amazing.  (And yes, we immediately went and bought several different brands of tests just to make sure it wasn't a fluke).  Sadly, just 3 weeks after seeing a tiny heartbeat through an ultrasound, there wasn't a heartbeat anymore.  We lost the baby we had worked so hard and waited so long for.  You can read the full story here.  To recap really quick, I went in for my first prenatal appointment with my OB/GYN at 9 weeks, and she couldn't find a heartbeat.  We waited a week and went in again and the baby was the same size as before and still no heartbeat.  I went through hell to try and induce the miscarriage with medication since it wasn't happening on its own and waiting was the worst part.  I ended up having a D&C because the medication didn't really work.  The miscarriage broke me.  It was like all the months of disappointment and negative pregnancy tests combined into one colossal punch to the gut.  You can read my feelings on this post.

So after all that, we took a long break.  At some points I was done trying, why keep testing Fate?  Obviously we weren't meant to have children. But there was still that childless empty hole in my life, so May 2014 we decided to give it a go again on our own, without fertility treatments.  We hardly dared to hope it would work, but two weeks after a positive ovulation test we got another positive test.  I was apprehensive and scared to show it to my husband because it was a double-ended sword.  It meant we could truly finally have what we wanted, or send us back through the depths of despair with another miscarriage.  I'm happy to say that we welcomed our beautiful daughter into our family in February 2015.

Now the shoe is on the other foot, I'm finally a mother and it's everything I ever wanted plus more.  Being on this side of infertility there are a few things I wish I could go back and say to my infertile self.  Mainly, to cut pregnant girls and mothers some serious slack.  I did my best to not complain about my pregnancy (I always hated hearing ladies complain about how uncomfortable and sick they were.  Didn't they know some people are spending thousands of dollars for the opportunity to feel that way?).  But let's get real here, pregnancy and motherhood are not easy and it can bring out the worst in even the very nicest people.  I had a relatively easy pregnancy compared to some others, but there's nothing that could have prepared me for the hormonal monster inside me.  I consciously tried to be positive and happy, I wanted this, right?  But sleepless nights of heartburn and endless days of nausea will wear anyone down, and sometimes you just need to complain and hear some sympathy.  It's the same being a new mom.  I was once a rational and even-tempered adult woman, but now I find myself getting upset over my screaming baby because she's crying for no apparent reason, even though I know she's not doing it to purposely get on my nerves.  Hours and hours of crying.  It's enough to turn anyone crazy, and I'd be lying if I didn't say in those moments I think back to my infertile self and wish to be that person again, just for a split second.  But complaining doesn't necessarily mean you regret getting pregnant or having a baby, or that you're ungrateful, it just means that it is HARD, even if you hoped and prayed for years for it to happen, it is still HARD.  And those mothers who are trying to give you, the infertile one, comfort by saying things like, "You're lucky you can sleep, go on dates with your husband, travel," etc etc.  It's because there are parts of them that envy you and your freedom.  They don't understand that downplaying the joys of parenthood hurts as much as being overtly insensitive by saying things like, "Oh, being a mother is the best thing in life."  So even though you'd give anything to have kids and it hurts to hear others complain about it, you need to be sensitive to them because you don't know exactly what they're going through.  Just like they don't know the hurt and longing you feel to be a parent.

What I wish my infertile self understood the most was the need to find things to be happy about in that stage of life.  Some couples will wait 5, 8, 10 years to have a child, and some will never get that opportunity, but they're not doomed to a life of gloom.  The best we can do is to find things that can bring us joy and happiness now and stop playing the I'll-Finally-Be-Happy-When... game.  It's work to find things to be happy about, especially when infertility is so depressing and it feels like there's an empty black hole inside where your kids should be.  But the thing about black holes is that they will suck everything up into oblivion.  It's easy to get caught up in that, it's a lot harder to fight it and still find things that bring you real joy.  I'm not talking about finding fun things to distract you from the hurt, because that won't last long.  I mean real joy, if that's pursuing a career (or a different career), or volunteering, or developing new talents, whatever it is, find it.

So to those who are fighting the fight, keep your chin up.  I know your pain and disappointment, it hurts, it's unfair, it can be utter hell.  It's okay to feel sad, upset, and bitter, but it's also okay to let yourself be happy too.  You deserve to be happy.