The beginning…
Geek was my first doll as a little girl, I must have been 3 when I got her. I don’t remember where she came from or who gifted her to me, but I took care of her as any little mommy would. Who knows where I came up with her name, children are silly like that. I only know I loved and nurtured that little yellow doll with all of my little 3-year-old heart. One of my earliest memories was throwing a tantrum in a store where I found a baby version of Geek and just had to have it. I can remember crying in my mother’s arms as she frantically paid the cashier wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible. I never did get that doll, but boy did I put up a fight. The same fight I continue to battle today.
Anyone and everyone that knows me, knows it is my heart’s desire to have a baby. It always has been. I dreamed of that moment for as long as I can remember. Even from a young age, I just longed for the day when I would create my own baby to nurture and love. I pictured every little moment we would someday share together. There is not much in life I was sure of, but being a mother, I felt it my soul’s purpose.
When I got together with Casey, I was even more excited than before. I have known him most of my life and I can save our love story for another time, but we were absolutely brought together by fate. There is no doubt in my mind about that. We talked countless times of having children and how we would raise them and how joyful it would be to take them on all of our adventures—what fun parents we would be! I dreamed of our wedding day not only to marry the love of my life, but also to start a family with him. My dreams began coming true even better than I ever imagined.
That first year of trying began like any normal couple I suppose—though at this point, I have no idea what normal feels like. But I remember beaming and being so excited as we tried month after month after month… after year…after year. Talking with my girlfriends, I realized something might be wrong here. I was petrified—could my biggest nightmare be coming true? I planned my life around having kids and being a mommy—putting career on hold and solely focusing and waiting for that momentous day. Why was there a huge roadblock right in front of my biggest dream?!
WHY!?
I just had a horrible feeling in my gut.
Why ME?!!
We continued to try each month as we sought out a fertility specialist and went through countless labs and painful tests and surgeries. I will never ever forget the day we got the news that we would not be able to conceive naturally. Our chances were maybe 1%. It felt like the doctor ripped my heart out and threw it on the ground and stomped on it—with spikes on his shoes. I don’t remember a word he said after that—my mind went blank. I was in complete shock. Numb. Pain like I never felt before.
I came home and became my 3-year-old self again. I just fell to the ground and screamed and cried that life was so unfair! Why do others who don’t even want children get pregnant so easily, and I, who want it more than anyone, can’t make it happen? Crackheads get pregnant for God’s sake!! Does God hate me? Are we being punished for something? What did we do wrong? We are not bad people!!! Does this mean I am not meant to be a mom? Maybe I am not fit to be. Maybe I am just doomed to suffer—to never fulfill my life’s purpose. I am so angry! So hurt! Maybe I am never going to know the answer to any of this.
The agony was so great it hurt to breath.
My heart was broken, but not for the last time.
IVF Experts…
Our only option was IVF, a procedure I had only ‘heard’ of and knew little about. Each try would be around $15-$20k with a small chance of success. Guess it’s better than the 1%. I had to pick myself up and fight for this. It was my only option. I was so angry and hurt but I knew I had to get over it quickly. Not only because it was unhealthy to harbor those feelings, but also because Casey would not move forward until I had gained ‘acceptance’. How the hell do you ‘accept’ being denied a right every woman should have?!!
We shared this news with only a few close friends and family. The feeling of infertility is very private and very shameful to start. Our bodies were not functioning the way nature intended. It’s a huge let down and really makes you feel like shit. Incomplete.
I suffered through countless social events of people prying about when we would ‘start trying’. If they only knew the pain we hid. If they only knew, we had been trying for years. I would do my best to avoid the question while crying on the inside until in solitude where I was safe to let it all out. We watched so many of our friends get pregnant and form their families. The joy we so longed for. We attended too many birthday parties and kid-centered events that just left us feeling awful. Empty. I suffered through girl’s nights of sitting in silence and dying inside as all of the moms talked about pregnancy and parenting and their children. I had nothing to contribute. I wondered if I ever would. Each event…a constant painful reminder. As those moms went home to hug their babies, I went home and cried with my husband…longing for our dream.
We hid our pain for a long time in the hopes that we would just get pregnant on the first IVF cycle and not have to ever share this shameful feeling. Little did we know that the pain was going to multiply. We would soon learn more than we ever cared to know about the world of infertility. We would become IVF experts.
Stop the ride!
We began our first IVF cycle. So naive. So innocent. So hopeful. Surely, this was going to ‘fix’ our problem and we would be parents in nine months. We would plan the dates around hiking trips and events we knew we couldn’t miss. We still felt somewhat in control though we were slowly losing our grasp.
IVF.
Completely draining in every area imaginable.
Emotionally. Mentally. Physically. Financially. It’s the biggest roller coaster we’ve ever been on. The kind where you scream and cry to ‘stop the ride’! Only the ride-operator is yourself and stopping the ride means never getting to fulfill your purpose. To me, it felt like a death sentence. I don’t want to go through this, but I don’t want to live without what this could possibly help me achieve.
I tried to convince myself countless times—well, maybe living child free wouldn’t be so bad. We can travel the world and have a wonderful marriage and life. We can sleep in and go on adult adventures. Think of all of the backpacking trips we could do. All the more love to give each other too.
Parents would remind me about being able to sleep in and have time for myself and not be woken up in the night. They would tell horror stories.
I long to be sleep deprived if it meant waking up to my screaming baby. I would cherish those little lungs.
No IVF cycle is typical. The protocol switches each time with each person. You become a pin cushioned guinea pig and you pay the doctors a shit ton of money to experiment on you. You swallow too many pills, wear patches and inject yourself several times a day with different hormones to grow your follicles. You gain weight and get horrible acne. Your stomach swells as if you are 5 months pregnant and is sore and bruised from the shots. You get incredible hot flashes that give you sympathy for anyone going through menopause. You cannot workout much or drink alcohol—every outlet taken from you. You lose complete control over your emotions and your moods. You have most pregnancy symptoms, only not the joy of the actual baby.
Cycle 1. The First Shot.
This is the moment the reality really set in. Someone who won’t really even take ibuprofen having to shoot myself with drugs? Drugs that might even cause me some deadly disease down the road? This was not for me! But I was determined. I was tough. As I mixed the meds and read and re-read the directions multiple times, I sat down at my kitchen table sweating bullets. Literally wiping sweat off of my body. Casey was not home. I was alone in the truest sense that one feels along this journey.
I focused on breathing—in and out, in and out—and then just like that, I did it.
Shaking. Sweating. Dizzy. Very light-headed.
And…I’m out. I fainted.
First shot over. The first of well over a hundred to date.
—–
Retrieval.
I have to go to doctor appointments every other day for blood work and ultrasounds to monitor what the drugs are making my body do. When things look good and you’re ready to go they put you under and go in and retrieve all of the eggs that just grew. I feel awesome coming out of anesthesia. So awesome, in fact, that I am mad that I have to wake up and be back in existence. Because this is when reality really sets in and all of the sacrifices and suffering you go through has results. Good and bad.
The days following surgery are the most physically painful days. It hurts to walk, to sit, to lay. Just too sore to be. I would take any physical over emotional pain any second of any day.
They fertilize the eggs with sperm.
Next the daily calls begin. The updates on how our little babies are growing…or not growing. I cautiously anticipate the call each day…my heart races each time my phone rings. What news will each day bring? Did we just go through those completely draining months for nothing? And people really get to just have sex to make this happen?!!
The embryologists watch them grow. We have two barely hanging on that we transfer, the others have arrested (stopped growing). There is very little time to mourn the death of those—though it never really leaves your mind, let alone, your heart. I have to be in top shape to welcome the little ones that come back to me, so that gets as pushed aside as it can for the moment. Being a very feeling based person, that is rather difficult to do.
My babies are transferred back into my uterus where they should thrive and grow for the next nine months. Only a few weeks later, we find out we lost them, the cycle failed.
I cannot even begin to put into words what a failed IVF cycle feels like. I guess like most things in life, you need to go through it to truly get it. I can tell you that it is the most unbearable pain I have ever felt—and each time, it gets worse.
You spend months going through this process, pouring blood, sweat and tears into trying. You live in hell and experience emotions and pain you never fathomed.
Life literally stops. We are paralyzed.
We take time to mourn, because after all, we just lost a grip of babies—little beings that were part of us, even if only merely embryos. Each of them, our hopes and dreams, dying one by one—a piece of us gone forever.
Cycle 2. Here we go again.
We cycle again. Either this process makes you crazy or your longing is just that strong. But you torture yourself for that chance. You realize how strong you become when all you have is strength to go on.
This time my protocol changes. New hormones = new shots. Yay! Whatever gives me hope that THIS time, it will be different. I religiously attend acupuncture sessions, meditations, yoga, energy healing, therapy, swallowing 20+ pills/day from my naturopath…anything that I feel I could do or control. My once super positive husband has been completely jaded and no longer has hope. It is depressing as all hell, but the pain is real and there is not much we can do to fix it. We just try each day to do what we can. One foot in front of the next, one day at a time, one hour at a time, but mostly, we need to take it one minute at a time. To say it is exhausting is a complete understatement.
This can be a full time job, and it is for me. Hours upon hours are spent at doctor appointments, driving to doctor appointments, labs, giving blood, ultrasounds, visiting Bob the pharmacist (we’re BFF at this point), phone calls to the insurance companies and billing departments trying to even get just $100 covered. Every little bit helps—but nothing is covered. We are going broke. All of this money that should be spent on our baby, has to go toward creating our baby. There’s a black market on fertility drugs. I stalk message boards. I drive around the county, with thousands of dollars of cash, meeting people at random rest stops that are selling their leftover drugs at a discounted rate. And people get to just have sex?!! REALLY?!
We isolate from the world when the pain becomes too heavy. I guess it’s a coping mechanism of sorts. Most of our friends and family understand the best they know how. People surprise us in good ways and bad. Those you thought really wouldn’t relate, step up and prove you wrong and give support you barely knew you needed until it was provided. While others you thought were your loyal ones, show their selfish sides, and that in itself is yet another mourning process. We’ve had to change our expectations and adjust relationships. I guess you really find people’s true colors when in the midst your own devastation. Because that’s what this is to us. Infertility is a disease. A disease not many people speak of and I wish more would.
Our second cycle fails. Same ending as the first, only this time, we conceived, it just decided to not stick around after a while—a chemical miscarriage they call it. I guess it didn’t like being in my body and after getting those results, neither did I. I wanted to die. I fell into a deep depression. Each failed cycle feels like death. It was after all, the death of what should have been my baby and the death of our dream…AGAIN!
You find each second hard to get through while grieving.
With each failed cycle, you build more jade—until you become, completely jaded.
Having no end in sight makes it difficult to be able to move forward—so instead, you do it again.
You realize the power of your own strength each time you pick back up to go into it again. You also realize that you’re absolutely insane. Crazy to bring all of the suffering into your life, but at the chance of such a dream, how can you not go on? When do you say, enough is enough? Who makes that decision? It feels to me similar to the decision to stop life support.
Cycle 3. Third time’s a charm, that’s what they told me.
Third time’s a charm.
The doctor should have us all figured out by now. THIS time, it will work. It HAS to because I really cannot keep putting myself through this. Most people going through IVF get to have frozen embryos so that they just get to have the easier procedure of a frozen embryo transfer (FET), but we are not so lucky and no one understands why!
They run more tests, good news and bad news—back on that roller coaster. We dive in headfirst, only to come up with our heads down—another fucking failure! At this point, either we have the strength of God, or we are just numb with pain. I think it’s the later because we become like zombies. Infertility zombies—just going through the notions—becoming experts in a topic we never had much interest in. Our doctor has commented that we should get into the field.
We know so much.
We know too much.
My favorite sympathy card I received after a failed cycle.
Handmade by my girlfriend—she gets it.
No card has ever been more perfect.
Cycle 4. Tie a knot and hang on.
It’s time to move on—to move forward with our lives. Which of course means, yet another cycle. Cycle #4.
We just can’t give up. Not yet. 
At this point, I have gained acceptance that this is what I have to go through. That doesn’t mean I am ok with it. I am far from ok. I still get sad when I see how easily others can get pregnant while we struggle so much yet still have empty arms. It often separates me from that world. I get sad when people not in this give unsolicited advice. They just have no idea. I get sad that we are facing this. Life seems so unfair to us right now.
There are moments when we think we are ok and moments when we fall apart. We cannot predict when either will come but when it happens at the same time, I am grateful for good friends that step up and support us without having to even say much.
I am practicing finding peace. Asking for guidance. Seeking and using my support. I trust that there is a greater reason we are living this right now, though I might never know that reason. I am becoming more and more ok with that as time goes on and cycles progress. I have no choice. Perhaps this is surrender.
There is a lot of growth happening within us as individuals and this has brought us closer than we ever thought possible. We have touched the fires of hell, and while we are still there, I am stretching to catch a glimpse of heaven that I know has got to exist. It just has to.
Thanks, but no thanks.
Trust me, we have tried it all. We have tried more ways to get pregnant than most people can ever fathom. On behalf of my infertile sisters, and I am turning up the volume here—do not, under any circumstance, give unsolicited advice to someone struggling with infertility. No one is exempt from the rule. No matter how it is phrased, it will come across as hurtful and insulting and just usually not what is going to make us feel better even if it makes you feel better to say it.
Here is a list of very common topics not to push. Feel free to share this with family and friends that might need some guidance.
Have you tried (fill in the blank)? So and so did this and got pregnant. I know you may have just heard about so-and-so’s remedy and it’s new to you, but trust me, we have exhausted the research on this topic for a long time. We have tried it all—more than once. We have read and researched and discussed with the experts every last option. Also remember, everyone’s diagnosis is different. What works for one couple, might not work for another, so please, we know you like to play doctor, but reserve it for another topic.
Just relax and then it will happen. Walk a day in our shoes and you will retract that statement and smack yourself for being so naive. You can only relax so much in this process. But then again crackheads have babies. You don’t think their bodies are stressed?! In all seriousness, we have a condition much more severe than not relaxing. We know it helps to keep it low, and we do our best, but stress is not what’s keeping us from getting pregnant.
Do not bring up adoption in any form at any time. It is not a solution to infertility—it is a solution to parenting. Just as IVF isn’t guaranteed, neither is adoption. Saying ‘just adopt’ is ignorant and often suggested by those that have no idea what adoption entails. You wouldn’t tell a girl who hasn’t found a partner yet to just become a nun. You wouldn’t ask someone who just buried a child if they contacted their local adoption office for a replacement child. Loss is loss whether or not it is tangible.
Don’t complain about your pregnancy or parenting. We understand it is difficult at times, but please understand that ‘the very thing you take for granted, someone else is praying for’. We are going through some of the same difficult times—and often far worse. We have the same hormonal symptoms—without the joy of the baby. Our life is completely on hold. We are spending our life’s savings. We don’t sleep at night from the mental anguish this causes. Please understand your complaints are like a slap in the face to us—reserve them for your mom friends for now.
Don’t play God. Don’t say statements such as “in God’s time” or “have faith” or “God has another plan for you”. We have been through hell and if we didn’t have faith, we wouldn’t be back for more. Hearing those words of ‘encouragement’ are just depressing because in reality, neither of us know if it will ever happen “in God’s time”. And if God phoned you to tell you his plan for us, well then, you have bigger issues and should seriously consider seeking psychiatric help.
Don’t take it personal. Our infertility is not about you and it is not about our relationship. Constantly repeating our latest updates is draining. If we don’t feel up to talking, don’t take it personal. I assume you’ve been depressed at some point and didn’t feel like chatting with others—multiply that times 100.
Don’t gossip about our situation. Obviously, this is very personal for each couple and some might choose to share more while others keep it secret. It is our choice and it is our business to tell if we choose to. Don’t take that away from us. Any discussion about someone’s personal business without them around—good or bad—is considered gossip. That goes for anything. We’re all guilty of it at times, but when it comes to something this heavy, please refrain.
Please respect that we might not want to discuss details. Would you broadcast trying to get pregnant and discuss your monthly cycles and sex positions? Probably not. Please understand that our reproductive systems are already on watch and that in itself is denaturing. Allow us a little bit of privacy and do not inquire—we will open up to you if we need or feel up to it.
Don’t feel like you need to be our hero. We know you care about us and want to fix this, but it cannot be fixed by any of us. It is out of our control. We have accepted that, and we need you to accept it also. Don’t worry about giving the best advice or telling us the latest news of what you heard on Dr. Oz. We know you love us and just don’t know what to do or say sometimes, but please, we would rather you say nothing at all than say something that hurts. A simple hug, empathetic touch or even an ‘I just don’t know what to say’ will suffice. I promise.
So what IS the right thing to do?
Have a heart. You’d be surprised at how many people don’t have access to that side of themselves. Check in on us. Ask us how we are feeling. If we say fine, but you read otherwise—leave it at that—we might not want to talk about anything. Don’t pity us—but do have compassion. Be sensitive to our feelings no matter how ridiculous they can seem at times. Be as supportive as you are capable of being. Sometimes we need someone to listen and sometimes we want to escape ourselves and listen to you. Do not rob us of being a friend to you because we are having a tough time. It is often helpful to escape our drama for a while. We just want to feel some sense of normalcy in our relationships.
We love you and appreciate you trying to understand and do the right thing by supporting us.
Every woman living this might tell you something different, but for me in particular, if I can ask only one thing…
I ask that you pray for us to have strength and guidance on this journey.
Please God, give me a sign.
I swear sometimes the universe is playing awful tricks on me. Pregnant people and newborns stalk me. I am NOT exaggerating either—you can ask Casey. And I do understand, that maybe I would notice it more because of what we are going through, but this is obnoxious.
A few examples…
I get to the gym, I am not even through my warm-up when a pregnant chick pops on the machine next to me. Within 5 minutes, another one on the other side of me. Here I am sandwiched between everything I want and can’t get to. Is this some kind of cruel joke?! I want to run away and cry, but instead I charge through the workout, hoping I can pickup on some of their pregnancy vibes and somehow become pregnant myself. It doesn’t work—my tummy is still flat 
I get dropped off at a coffee shoppe to get some work done and walk in to some sort of mom-meetup where women are openly breastfeeding and bonding over mom-things (this was a mountain town mind you, so this type of stuff is very accepted, which I do appreciate, but just not now!). I go over to my little corner and begin to try to work but all I can focus on is the talk of how wonderful pregnancy was and what joy they are getting out of their newborns, etc. I get nothing accomplished but another wound to my already damaged heart.
I go to the pool in our complex last weekend. I arrive thinking I will be the first one there. No such luck, and you guessed it, not one, but two pregnant women there with their cute little toddlers. UGH. So I go to the other side and lie down and try my best to ignore their pregnant conversations of name picking and breast-feeding techniques. Soon enough my hubby arrives—late as usual—but none-the-less, I will feel better having him at my side. But he just shuts down when I get sad because there is nothing he can do to fix this. There is nothing I can do either.
I go for a dip in the pool because it is ungodly hot here—a whopping 75 degrees but in my defense the sun is strong! And this joke is not over—in walks yet another mom, with a freaking newborn! Those are the ones that get me. I can handle the kids, especially when they are bratty, but the sweet little itty bitty newborns?! It rips my heart out every time. Will I ever have one of my own? I lose my breath just thinking that thought.
Here I am at one end of the pool with the automatic mom club at the other end. I feel like a little child left out on the playground. My heart is breaking and wanting so badly to be part of something I can’t be right now. I get out of the pool and sob on my towel while Casey tries to sooth the pain. A pain still so raw that I am crying all over my keyboard as I type this.
Those are only three examples of the torture that I deal with daily. Perhaps, I can get a restraining order for now. The world is so mom-central and kid-friendly that it is constantly in my face. I am definitely stronger than I was when this journey began—meaning, I can actually restrain my emotions in public, but that can all change tomorrow. These things I have no control over and the hormones make it worse.
I constantly pray for strength and guidance. I am not sure I have ever prayed so much in my life—and I went to Catholic school for several years. Recently, I started praying for clarity—I just need to know something—am I doing this all in vain?
Then one day, the strangest thing happened—God sent me a good sign.
I was alone. I was driving home and as I pulled into the driveway of our complex, blocking my way was the exact car that we looked at getting for me as our “family” car. I sit there for a spilt second and think about it before trying to move around when a boy runs out in front of me. It was the exact boy that I picture our son would look like—a mini Casey—he had the same walk and haircut and everything I imagine! My heart flutters wondering if this is a sign. Will we ever get there? I drive around the ben and there is a young man walking towards me and wearing a blue shirt that reads in large pink fluorescent letters—DON’T GIVE UP! I make eye-contact with him to make sure he is real because seriously, who wears a shirt like that?!
I couldn’t make that story up if I tried. It was as real as real gets. There is no way I could have interpreted that otherwise.
I got my sign. So with a pound of pain and an ounce of hope, I keep moving forward.
