Late last year, I saw my OB who gave us the go-ahead to start having babies again. She wanted to see me before we started TTC again to make sure that I was completely healed from my c-section. I am, and she gave us the go-ahead to make babies, and she even gave us a little glimmer of hope. She told me that just because I had to use fertility treatments to get pregnant the first time around didn’t mean I’d have to use them this time, too. And we believed her. We left thinking we’d give this a fair shot for six months and see what happens before we put ourselves through something as gut wrenching as fertility treatments.
Last fall, we were eligible for open enrollment and explored several different insurance options for our family. We learned the ins and ours of our now-insurance coverage, and what it would mean for us if we would have to repeat fertility treatments. I learned my OB’s office does not specialize in infertility so if we have to head back down that road, I’d need to see my reproductive endocrinologist again. I learned, from speaking to my RE’s office, that I’d most likely have to have some repeat testing done and that it could take weeks, if not months, to set up an appointment. I learned that it most likely meant having to start all over again, even though I’d already gone through the whole process once before. I learned that just because I already had one baby, it didn’t mean I was going to have another.
The holidays were stressful. I had two rounds of antibiotics for me to treat bronchitis that just didn’t want to go away. A teething baby. Three months went by, and suddenly we remembered: I hadn’t had a period in months. A midnight trip for a pregnancy test that read negative. This all felt way too familiar for us.
I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hard the first time around. It was a long, tiring journey for us filled with ups and downs and tears and pain and whys and more tears. I know we got our happy ending, but what if we didn’t this time around?
In the last two weeks, I’ve seen seven pregnancy announcements on Facebook from mamas who had children around the time I had Chloe. I’m thrilled for these mamas and papas, but a teeny tiny part of me is jealous. Part of me is angry. Part of me hates myself. It’s a mix of horrible emotions and I don’t like the person I turn into when I feel this way. So I smile and I say congratulations and then I crawl back into my hole and cry.
I’m definitely not pregnant and we’re back to the drawing board. We’re going back to the reproductive endocrinologist, and god help me, I’m having a baby. Hell, maybe I’ll have 2.
Did you have to repeat fertility treatments for baby #2?