A story about my journey with (in)fertility.
I had my permission slip signed for that special Sex Ed talk many, many moons ago. The condom goes on the banana and then you don’t have a baby. Easy, got it, and for almost 20 years I followed that rule. Until….6 months before my wedding on my 35th birthday. My husband and I knew that we wanted a family and my eggs, and I were not getting any younger. Think about I was having a geriatric pregnancy no matter what. We didn’t “try” for those 6 months, but if something happened, no big deal! Let’s just say that day of my wedding was joyous and full of booze! Okay, books say after 35 you should really try for at least 6 months before seeking some help. In 2017 the big conversation was the zika virus, so we planned our honeymoon to Las Vegas, no mosquitoes there. Check ✅, let’s get pregnant!
Tracking the deed.
I downloaded an ovulation tracker, started taking prenatal vitamins, and got to work. Yes, that’s right, work. That’s what it started to feel like pretty quickly. Timing everything and testing with nothing but failures. It can knock a girl down pretty quick. What happened to getting pregnant after just one time. Was something wrong with me?
Let the “fun” begin.
After 6 very hard months we walked into the fertility clinic. I was told that I was doing all the right things, and it was time to get some stats. Checking egg count, sperm count, flow and structure of my entire reproduction system. The results, everything looks great! Well, that was depressing; why was nothing wrong; why was there nothing to fix? IUI it is, but first I need a vacation somewhere tropical! But zika, I would have to wait 6 months after we got back before attempting to get pregnant to make sure I wasn’t infected. At this moment, it was worth the wait to me. My husband on the other hand had to wait 1 year! Solution, we freeze 6 vials of his boys before we leave and start trying when my 6 months is up.
6 months later…
We started our first in office attempt at insemination in September. It was going to be super easy.
- Track my cycle
- Take an ovulation test
- Get a smiley face on the test
- Go into the office the next morning and make a baby
Almost at the finish line, right!? Not even close. I was first put into a room with “the stirrups”. No problem, I’ve been doing this exam for the last 2 decades, or so I thought. This was no regular exam; this was a GIANT ultrasound probe that would feel like it was ripping my insides open as the technician tried to count mature follicles while my ovaries played hide and seek. Next, wait for an hour while they defrost my donor, sorry husband’s sperm. Back in a gown, here we go for round 2, this time in a sterile procedure room. This part wasn’t actually that bad, just a duck and weave around the cervix and in 2 weeks we should know if it worked. It did not. October would be different though; I was prescribed hormones (perfect for someone who has been chemically imbalanced her entire life) to help with follicle production and allow for more opportunities for baby making, maybe even multiples. Everything else is the same, except this time I leave with progesterone pills that I get to stick up my baby hole. Okay, no problem, I want this baby. 2 weeks later, negative, heartbroken once again. By now I am being very open about what is going on with me. I am a hormonal mess, not pregnant and feeling very, very alone in this process. This not for lack of my husband’s support, but it is all only happening to my body and he’s not processing loss every month the same way I am. November, I was ready. My husband had a meeting the morning I needed to go in. I tell him it’s okay, its round three I know what to expect, and I already have his baby popsicle, so he’s good. BIG MISTAKE! If I thought I felt alone before, it didn’t compare how I felt that morning, laying on the table, crying from the pain of that monster probe chasing my ovaries around once more. Needless to say, he was there for the procedure. I love to say after all that we were finally pregnant, but we were not. I needed a break. The holidays were upon us, and I needed to just enjoy them without the chance of “failure” once again. My birthday was in January, and I still wanted a break, promising my husband in February I would get my head straight and get ready to start again. We booked a trip to Disney World for the end of February, it would be my husband’s first time, and the light and hope we needed to start this journey back up. February came and….so did a positive pregnancy test! I was 8 weeks pregnant at Disney and even though my little girl was making me sicker than I had ever felt, I survived, it all just a memory now, and worth every single prick, probe and tear along the way.
