"You Are Not Alone." That is the theme of this year's National Infertility Awareness Week. Those words...those four little words. They are SO very important. You. Are. Not. Alone. For a long while now, I've been toying with the idea of writing this post. Infertility...it's such a lonely, difficult road to travel. Sadly, most people don't discuss their experiences, so those who live through it typically feel like they are battling it alone. How do I know this? I was there. And, it's time for me to share my story in the hopes that other people who are going through this painful journey feel a little less alone.
I'm not going to run through every detail of my journey. There's no need to rip off those scabs or to open old wounds. But, I will tell you the short version...it took three years. Three long years. Three long, painful years. When my husband and I started trying, I expected to get pregnant quickly. When I still wasn't pregnant after 6 months, I started to worry. When I still wasn't pregnant after a year, I started to get downright crazy. When I went to a fertility doctor, who told me that he didn't know why my husband and I couldn't conceive (and, by the way, we still don't know), I was frustrated, angry, and very sad. When, month after month, I had failed IUIs, I questioned myself...I questioned my body. I hated my body--it was betraying me. I wondered why I was "broken" and what was wrong with me. I expected that IVF would be our solution--and I expected it to work on the first shot. So, when my first IVF failed, I was an absolute mess.
I'm one of the lucky ones. There was a light at the end of my story, a happy ending for me. I remember being in the doctor's office for my second IVF transfer. My amazing doctor looked at me and said, "I give this a 100% chance of working." I asked him for that in writing (with a smile on my face, of course), and he playfully refused. But, I held onto that hope. As I felt my body changing in the first two weeks after the transfer, I attributed it to the shots I was giving myself. I refused to give into the possibility that it worked this time because I was shielding myself from the pain I knew could, very realistically, be coming my way. I remember the day that I was getting my results. I refused to check my phone all day. When the end of the school day came, I locked my classroom door and checked my messages. I heard these four magical words: "Congratulations! You are pregnant." I didn't even listen to the rest of the message. I literally collapsed to the floor in tears. I called my husband and told him that we were having a baby, and he cried as well. I am not a cryer--at least not at things like this. I still tear up when I remember that moment, and yes, I do still have that message saved on my phone.
I will tell you this. If you let it, infertility will destroy you. As I was going through this pain, I had friend after friend around me get pregnant. At first, as each of these friends announced their news, I would pull away from them and start to distance myself. Then, one of my closest friends at work announced her pregnancy. I felt myself pulling away. But, I knew that I loved her, and that I didn't want to ruin our friendship. So, I sucked up my pain, pushed it aside, and made every effort to be happy for her and be her friend. (I'm happy to tell you that she and I are still very close friends.) As I was going through the first year of infertility, I was outright mean to my husband. I mean, MEAN. I was snappy, nasty, and always on the edge. One day I made a conscious decision--I could either live my life and enjoy it, or I could wallow in misery and let it destroy me. I chose to live, and enjoy life. That didn't mean that I didn't feel the pain. It just meant that I would feel it, acknowledge it, cry if I needed to, and let it go.
Another word of advice...avoid social media when you can. It's heartbreaking to see people posting their pregnancies on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. I can still vividly remember the day when five of my "friends," in one day, announced their pregnancies via Facebook. I walked into my husband's home office and melted into a puddle of tears. I still tear up when I think about it. In fact, it affected me so much that I never announced my pregnancy on social media. I never wanted to be that person who hurt someone else going through their own infertility journey.
I'll tell you, this is a pain that never goes away. Despite having successfully made it to the other end of this very rocky road, my heart still breaks every time I hear someone announce they are pregnant. It still stings when people talk about how they "just got pregnant by accident," or "we weren't even trying!" It kills me when I see people who are so unfit for parenthood popping out child after child, only to abuse, neglect, or otherwise harm that child. People who criticize IVF or other scientific methods for reaching parenthood still bring tears to my eyes. When I heard about the comments Dolce & Gabbana made about IVF babies being "synthetic babies," it took all of my willpower not to weep all over myself on my drive to work. How could anyone call my two beautiful, spunky, funny, smart, curious, loving little miracles "synthetic?" Shame on them. Shame on anyone who would make someone battling their own fertility--their own body--feel less than complete.
I look back, and, as crazy as this sounds, in some ways, I'm glad for this journey. For one thing, it forced me to draw on reserves of strength that I had no idea even existed. For another, it gave my husband and me a few years to travel the world before we had kids. Lastly, my husband and I have gone through hell and back together...there's nothing that can tear a marriage apart, or in our case, make it strong as steel as infertility can. For these things I am thankful. For my beautiful babies, I am thankful. And, I am thankful that I lived this, because now I am able to share my story, and, hopefully, bring some comfort to future moms-and-dads-to-be taking their first lonely, scary steps on this road.
If you want to talk, or just need someone to listen, reach out to me at theaccessorizedlife@gmail.com. I'll get back to you, personally, as soon as I possibly can. If you have a friend or family member who is facing infertility, this helpful list gives you some great ways to offer your support.
To learn more, please visit these links:
What is Infertilty?
National Infertility Awareness Week
Questions? Comments? Ideas? Email us at theaccessorizedlife@gmail.com
I'm not going to run through every detail of my journey. There's no need to rip off those scabs or to open old wounds. But, I will tell you the short version...it took three years. Three long years. Three long, painful years. When my husband and I started trying, I expected to get pregnant quickly. When I still wasn't pregnant after 6 months, I started to worry. When I still wasn't pregnant after a year, I started to get downright crazy. When I went to a fertility doctor, who told me that he didn't know why my husband and I couldn't conceive (and, by the way, we still don't know), I was frustrated, angry, and very sad. When, month after month, I had failed IUIs, I questioned myself...I questioned my body. I hated my body--it was betraying me. I wondered why I was "broken" and what was wrong with me. I expected that IVF would be our solution--and I expected it to work on the first shot. So, when my first IVF failed, I was an absolute mess.
I'm one of the lucky ones. There was a light at the end of my story, a happy ending for me. I remember being in the doctor's office for my second IVF transfer. My amazing doctor looked at me and said, "I give this a 100% chance of working." I asked him for that in writing (with a smile on my face, of course), and he playfully refused. But, I held onto that hope. As I felt my body changing in the first two weeks after the transfer, I attributed it to the shots I was giving myself. I refused to give into the possibility that it worked this time because I was shielding myself from the pain I knew could, very realistically, be coming my way. I remember the day that I was getting my results. I refused to check my phone all day. When the end of the school day came, I locked my classroom door and checked my messages. I heard these four magical words: "Congratulations! You are pregnant." I didn't even listen to the rest of the message. I literally collapsed to the floor in tears. I called my husband and told him that we were having a baby, and he cried as well. I am not a cryer--at least not at things like this. I still tear up when I remember that moment, and yes, I do still have that message saved on my phone.
I will tell you this. If you let it, infertility will destroy you. As I was going through this pain, I had friend after friend around me get pregnant. At first, as each of these friends announced their news, I would pull away from them and start to distance myself. Then, one of my closest friends at work announced her pregnancy. I felt myself pulling away. But, I knew that I loved her, and that I didn't want to ruin our friendship. So, I sucked up my pain, pushed it aside, and made every effort to be happy for her and be her friend. (I'm happy to tell you that she and I are still very close friends.) As I was going through the first year of infertility, I was outright mean to my husband. I mean, MEAN. I was snappy, nasty, and always on the edge. One day I made a conscious decision--I could either live my life and enjoy it, or I could wallow in misery and let it destroy me. I chose to live, and enjoy life. That didn't mean that I didn't feel the pain. It just meant that I would feel it, acknowledge it, cry if I needed to, and let it go.
Another word of advice...avoid social media when you can. It's heartbreaking to see people posting their pregnancies on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. I can still vividly remember the day when five of my "friends," in one day, announced their pregnancies via Facebook. I walked into my husband's home office and melted into a puddle of tears. I still tear up when I think about it. In fact, it affected me so much that I never announced my pregnancy on social media. I never wanted to be that person who hurt someone else going through their own infertility journey.
I'll tell you, this is a pain that never goes away. Despite having successfully made it to the other end of this very rocky road, my heart still breaks every time I hear someone announce they are pregnant. It still stings when people talk about how they "just got pregnant by accident," or "we weren't even trying!" It kills me when I see people who are so unfit for parenthood popping out child after child, only to abuse, neglect, or otherwise harm that child. People who criticize IVF or other scientific methods for reaching parenthood still bring tears to my eyes. When I heard about the comments Dolce & Gabbana made about IVF babies being "synthetic babies," it took all of my willpower not to weep all over myself on my drive to work. How could anyone call my two beautiful, spunky, funny, smart, curious, loving little miracles "synthetic?" Shame on them. Shame on anyone who would make someone battling their own fertility--their own body--feel less than complete.
I look back, and, as crazy as this sounds, in some ways, I'm glad for this journey. For one thing, it forced me to draw on reserves of strength that I had no idea even existed. For another, it gave my husband and me a few years to travel the world before we had kids. Lastly, my husband and I have gone through hell and back together...there's nothing that can tear a marriage apart, or in our case, make it strong as steel as infertility can. For these things I am thankful. For my beautiful babies, I am thankful. And, I am thankful that I lived this, because now I am able to share my story, and, hopefully, bring some comfort to future moms-and-dads-to-be taking their first lonely, scary steps on this road.
If you want to talk, or just need someone to listen, reach out to me at theaccessorizedlife@gmail.com. I'll get back to you, personally, as soon as I possibly can. If you have a friend or family member who is facing infertility, this helpful list gives you some great ways to offer your support.
To learn more, please visit these links:
What is Infertilty?
National Infertility Awareness Week
Questions? Comments? Ideas? Email us at theaccessorizedlife@gmail.com
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