Four years ago yesterday, my niece was born. A day that marked the end of avoiding my pregnant SIL (due two months ahead of me, had I not miscarried).
A day that signalled new beginnings.
Ne’er a truer word spoken. The next day I was hit with a possible (later confirmed) infertility diagnosis.
So, as of today, I’ve been living with infertility for four years. And I can tell you, there is no “beating” this shit, only accepting it.
Today also marks injection number 108. DH has injected me 85 times since last October; I’ve injected myself 23 times this year. And still no baby.
Fraulein Maria says in The Sound of Music, “When God closes a door, sometimes he opens a window.” Guess what? There is no fucking window. Only a series of medical bills, invasive procedures, and 108 injections and counting…
I think about how lucky I am to have my girl. I think about all the people I know who’ve been battling infertility for four years or more, and who still don’t have a take-home baby. (And, I have to be honest, I am in utter, jaw-dropping awe.)
But I also think about how the first time around, I was hit with a series of diagnoses and then had immediate success. In some ways, it was harder back then. Harder, because I didn’t know have a child. And in some ways it was easier, because I just let myself be carried aloft.
This time, though, there are no diagnoses and there has been no immediate success. I have a child, but in some ways it’s harder than the first time around. Harder, because I berate myself for not being satisfied with the one incredible child I have. Harder, because each time I transfer an embryo, I have a sense of the potential life. Harder, because it’s been way more of a struggle this time around. Harder, because I’m a stubborn bitch who won’t take no for an answer!
(Side note: I’m doing both the ReceptivaDx—formerly eTegrity—and ERA tests this cycle: Tuesday we do ReceptivaDx and ERA Day 5 biopsies; Thursday will be ERA Day 7 biopsy. Yes, I am going to be oh-so-sore…)
And through it all, a tiny voice whispers, Maybe I’m not supposed to get and stay pregnant again, because if I did then I will die. When you already came pretty damn close to dying the first time around, such thoughts are hard to shake off. When you lose 66% of your total blood volume during a planned caesarean and were told “had you gone into spontaneous labour or delivered at a more rural hospital you would have died,” it’s hard not to imagine how things could have turned out.
If only I knew the outcome, maybe things would be easier to accept. But I’m a dogged reproductive warrior with four embryos left, so I keep taking my uterus out for a spin.
A warrior who happens to deal with quite a bit of grief and anxiety these days.
There are chapters I need to fill in, but not tonight.
I wonder how this story will end.
It’s been a very long road for you . If only there were at least a clue of what to expect and when . How long do you keep going ? When you’re in the midst of something so important it’s hard to know ” what is meant to be.” My one friend was going through infertility treatments ( a few years ago) – a major plus for them was her then husband’s incredible insurance which covered practically everything . She’d gotten pregnant then miscarried unfortunately . Then another round ( not sure how long they did this). But the drugs were hard on her body so at some point she took a break from the treatments . Then she got pregnant ( without being on anything ) and the daughter is now 8 years old , beautiful – healthy – thriving. My friend also had some other medical issues going on too. Had she not gotten pregnant, I don’t know how much longer they would have continued . my friend happens to be an only child so , in this case , she and her then husband were fine with just having their daughter. Every family is different , every woman certainly has her own feelings on building her family . Wish I had some sage advice for you . Warm hugs . Mwah
I think whatever their beliefs and spirituality, everybody expects the universe to just freaking give them a break sometimes. And it’s hard when that expectation isn’t met. Maybe the hardest part is not knowing how things end. Yikes, that is a lot of injections. Hoping the best for you as you work through the procedures and all the stress.
You’ve hit the nail on the head. I think all of this would be easier (for me, for anyone) if we could know hos this ends. At what point do we cease treatment? At what point do we put our resources towards the one amazing child we have, instead of towards willing a second child into being? My list of reproductive trauma is long; I definitely feel like I’ve paid my dues…