Hellobee

This is part two of a three part series co-written by me and Mrs. Jump Rope. Part 1 is Infertility: Financial and Part 3 is Infertility: Physical.

Infertility has its way of opening your eyes to things you never thought you’d do or feel. When you’re juggling your want for a baby, the cost, and the medications you’re taking, the emotional pain and exhaustion might be the hardest part of the whole thing.

J U M P  R O P E :

My journey toward parenthood began long before I even knew that I wanted to be a mother. Without going into drastic detail, I got my first period at a very young age and it was excruciatingly painful. I was on the birth control pill by the time I was 14 in order to control the pain and to help regulate my wildly irregular cycles.  My pain was so severe, and not always associated with a period. I missed a lot of school and saw a lot of doctors.  I was tested for PID (it was negative) and had many ultrasounds that always proved inconclusive.  I did a three month cycle of Lupron injections when I was 19, chickened out and canceled a laproscopic surgery for endometriosis when I was 20, and decided that medical treatment was a better option.  I was started on a mono-cyclic pill and told to skip my period, and only allow myself to have a period every 4 months.

I met my husband in spring of 2006, shortly after we had both graduated from college.  We were engaged in spring 2007 and married in the summer of 2008.  We knew we wanted to have kids right away, so the plan was for me to go off of my birth control pills and see what happened.  I discussed this with my gynecologist, who told me that if we had trouble conceiving that he’d refer me to a fertility specialist.  I learned through our insurance company that we had to TTC for one year without success and have this unsuccessful year documented with my doctor.

I quit taking BCP shortly before we were married, and didn’t get a period for more than six months.  My period continued to be irregular, and I pretended that I didn’t have a problem until winter 2009 when I went to see my gynocologist about my missing period.  That’s how in denial I was, and maybe a glimpse into how stubborn I am, too.  We had been trying to conceive since 2008, but couldn’t be referred to an RE until we met the criteria for the insurance company.  We weren’t referred to the reproductive endocrinologist until 2010.  It was a huge sense of relief.

P O L I S H :

I knew from age 12 that I had PCOS. I saw an endocrinologist and had lots of blood work done. The main reason for seeing the doctor was to control my periods. I remember hearing that I was lucky the doctor caught it then, and not further down the road because it could cause me to have problems having children. I want to put a sarcastic remark here, but I’ll refrain. I bounced around from pill to pill until I finally got on one that didn’t make me act like a 12 year old pregnant person. My emotions were horrible, but once I settled into the pill that worked, I stayed on it until I was 24.

I met my husband in elementary school, and we started dating when we were 17. Children were only thought of as something we didn’t want to talk about then. Later, when we’re old maybe. We got married at 23, decided to conceive at 24, and then I would deliver around my 25th birthday. I went off the pill, but had low expectations of getting pregnant right away. My OB/GYN advised that it may take six months because of my coming off the pill and my PCOS. So I sat back and waited to see what happened.

I started going to my OB/GYN regularly when my periods didn’t return after going off the pill. I went through two years of brush offs and not being taken seriously before we were referred to our RE. When I was diagnosed with infertility I was shocked. I definitely shouldn’t have been, but I felt like sometimes it takes longer than other people, and maybe the timing was off, and maybe this, and maybe that. I cried and cried about seeing the RE. It meant we had a problem.

J U M P  R O P E :

I really like having plans, and seeing the RE meant that we were in the beginning stages of our journey toward parenthood.  I was confident that she’d be able to help us, and I tried to be upbeat and pleasant, but most of the time I simply felt depressed and run down.  It seemed like everyone around me was getting pregnant, and every other day there was a new announcement on Facebook that someone else was expecting. I tried to feel excited for them, but I selfishly admit that a tiny part of me was jealous and wishing it were me. Jealousy is one of the ugliest emotions, yet I felt it all the time. I did my best to try to be strong, but hearing “Did you know that so-and-so is pregnant?” over and over again was a painful reminder that we were alone. That we didn’t have kids. That we might not have kids. That I was broken.

P O L I S H :

I met my threshold for Facebook announcements around the one year mark. At that point, I started to struggle to be happy for people who got pregnant by just thinking about it. I started to get bitter. And I hated myself for it. I’m a mostly upbeat and happy person. I pride myself on my positive attitude, but infertility gave me a glimpse of who I might be, if I let it consume me. This was all before I took any medicine that further messed with my hormones. I became a jealous and unpleasant person on the inside. I struggled with being genuinely happy for friends’ pregnancies and genuinely unhappy at the same time. We decided that the RE was the next step and we might as well take it.

J U M P  R O P E :

Four years ago a “friend” was upset with me because we were trying to start a family, and she didn’t want a pregnant bridesmaid. In the middle of IF treatments, I found myself faced with another challenge: an excited family member frequently questioned when we would be pregnant. I’m sure the person meant well, but I can’t tell you how painful it was every time they asked me if we were pregnant yet. Or “do you know when you’ll be pregnant?” or “how far along do you think you’ll be in XX month?” I can’t predict these things, and if I could, I wouldn’t be undergoing fertility treatments. Did they not understand how insensitive it was to ask me these questions? That it killed me a little bit inside every time I was asked about starting a family? Or that it wasn’t not any of their business?

It was a very personal and difficult time for my husband and me.  Coupled with the monthly reminders of negative pregnancy tests, I simply couldn’t take it anymore.  I fell into a depression and wanted to be left alone.  I was hurt, constantly sarcastic and negative, and was so angry at my broken body.

Our first Clomid cycle did not work.  It was all around horrible timing.  To be brutally honest, I was miserable.  We were on a vacation with my in-laws that I didn’t want to be on, and my period (that had been MIA for the last three months) decided to show up ten days before our trip, I had every side effect under the sun from the Clomid, had to take OPK tests while on vacation, and if they were positive, I had to do the deed with my husband with my in-laws in the next room.  Not exactly ideal, right?  I. Was. Miserable.  My OPK tests were negative, so that just added to my misery.  My progesterone levels were tested when we got home, and showed that I did not ovulate.  I cried some more.

P O L I S H :

I had told very few people at this point about our infertility. I blogged about it, but not many people in real life knew about it. What was hardest for me about the treatment was that the people who did know were constantly asking “Did it work?” and “Are you pregnant?” Headache, stomachache, and extra tiredness were all cause for hopes to rise, no matter how many times I explained that the medicines I was taking included all of those side effects. I got to the point where I didn’t just feel like I was letting my husband down, but our families too. They wanted it so badly for us and I let that add up to a ton of pressure on me. I got to where I didn’t tell anyone except Mr. Polish when I had an appointment because I didn’t want to explain that it was a very mundane appointment.

I love my grandmother dearly. She and I have a lot in common, and I think it hurt the worst when she told me that all I needed to do was relax. We all know she isn’t the only one to share that tidbit of advice, and I’m sure it is as upsetting for you to hear as it was me. I was always so upset when someone would tell me the way to get pregnant was to adopt. The questions from people who didn’t know got harder and harder to take, until I just started telling people. They were making me uncomfortable, so I decided to just give it back to them. A guy I talk to often at the gym asked me one day “So, when are you going to have a baby?” and I responded with “Well, we’ve been trying for a long time and it just hasn’t happened yet. We’ve seen doctors and we’re trying to figure it out.” He didn’t want to talk much after that. I felt oddly vindicated though by telling him. Why should I suffer from holding that in?

J U M P  R O P E :

I am so blessed to have a beautiful daughter and a loving, caring husband.  We want more children, though, and I’m terrified thatI can’t.  I forgot how raw the pain is from seeing a negative pregnancy test.  We’ve been trying on our own (no Clomid treatments, yet), and I got another negative last weekend.  We can’t afford an IUI or IVF, and even though our RE is optimistic that Clomid will work for us, I’m almost too scared to try.  I forgot how much the negatives hurt, and I don’t want to let my husband down.  I feel like I’ve already let myself down, and I don’t know if I have any more tears left in me.  Chloe is almost two, and she’s almost old enough to understand emotions.  She saw me crying and got the BooBoo Bunny out of the freezer for me.  It pained me that she saw me cry, so I have to be more conscious of my emotions around her.

I feel guilty for feeling this way.  I already have a beautiful family, and should be happy for what I have, but want to give my husband another child and my daughter a brother or sister.

P O L I S H :

I was very surprised when my infertile feelings started to come back. Isaiah was about two months old when pregnancy announcements started to irk me again. Please don’t get me wrong, or any of the other infertility ladies; pregnancy is beautiful. It is everything we want. We have our eye on the prize and we’re focused. It is hard though because we feel like we’ve fought the good fight. We deserve it.You deserve it too, but that is our point of this whole post. It isn’t always about the pregnancy itself; it’s about the emotional turmoil we’re experiencing.

What I didn’t expect, was to feel that way as a mom. I’m not technically a secondary infertility mama, but I think I’ve experienced feelings along the same vein. I never understood why someone couldn’t just have their one miracle baby and be happy. But now I do. I love my child with a fierceness that I didn’t know I possessed, but I’m still mourning the loss of never experiencing pregnancy. I believe that even those of us who do get pregnant are forever changed by the emotional effects of infertility.

How has it changed you?