The “i” word: our struggle

I can’t tell you how long this post was going to sit in my “drafts” folder until I published it.  If I let it, it would’ve stayed there forever. When it comes to anything personal, I’m very quiet- why share something that isn’t a freely spoken topic? I don’t want to be that person… But today, I am that person.

Many of you don’t know that I’ve been doing fertility treatments for eight months, and while it’s a very personal topic, I think it’s time to open up about what has been put on the back-burner for so long.

We – and I say “we” because Peter is just as much a part of this journey – have been prescribed a cocktail of Metformin and Clomid for the greater part of a year to try to get my body to ovulate; my body won’t do it on its own. The Clomid specifically jumpstarts ovulation, while the Metformin helps to decrease the rate of miscarriage. Last year, my diagnosis of Poly-Cystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) was upgraded to moderate, meaning that my chances of conceiving naturally is nearly impossible. Each month we’re hopeful with the medicines to get us to our point of being “ready” to add to our family, and each month we’re disappointed with the drugs’ lack of performance.

Another thing you might not know: I’ve had four miscarriages since October 2012.

Yes, four. They are four sweet babies that we never got to hold. One of those babies was Walter’s twin, and to this day I still have to look away when I see a double stroller. It wasn’t in His plan for us, and that’s something that I still struggle with from time to time. PCOS is known to increase the chances of miscarriage, and while we expected an uphill battle, we never expected that we would have four. There have always been these questions, “Why me, God? Why me? What have I done to not deserve another baby?” that swirls around my mind. I know, it isn’t healthy and it’s wrong to point the finger above or at myself for this, but I can’t help it. I have always been the person that needs answers, and in my weakest moments I’ve begged for them- and for a long time I heard nothing.

—

Exactly one week ago today I went to my OB to check if this month’s Clomid cycle worked, and if I would be ovulating. Before the (now) routine exam, I joked with him before checking for follicles that we had just purchased a new family-friendly car and that we would have enough seats in it for anything that we were blessed with (a quick side note: Clomid is known to increase the chances of a multiples pregnancy). And then the ultrasound started, and I remember thinking that we’d see several follicles on the screen because I felt so great with this round. I was confident, I was so sure that this was our month! But there was only silence in the room.

My doctor stated, “There is nothing this month. I’m sorry.“

There weren’t any follicles to measure, and there weren’t any answers for it. I drove the 40 miles back home feeling defeated. Another round done, another round with nothing. I called Peter on the way home, while driving the new family car, with the news and my doctor’s plan of action for the following month. That drive home was the worst, knowing that the Clomid side-effects, like severe mood swings, headaches, weight gain and anxiety, would come back in full force without anything to show for it. I was heartbroken.

The next morning I was making breakfast for myself in the kitchen, with Walter in the living room and hearing Mickey Mouse Clubhouse in the distance. I was holding a plate for a bagel that was about to come out of the toaster, and suddenly I let go of the plate. I just let it go. I dropped it and it hit the floor; it shattered. And in that moment I just wanted to hear the plate break. I wanted to feel it breaking into hundreds of small pieces, because that’s how I felt: broken.

Grabbing the broom and dustpan from the garage, I felt like I had hit rock-bottom. Tears were streaming down my face. What was I thinking? I have a horrible mess on my hands. But as I was sweeping up the many pieces, both big and small, my broken heart was mending. I realized,

it’s okay to be broken because He can fix it. He can mend, He can heal.

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Many friends are currently pregnant, and many of my clients are pregnant as well. I cannot express this enough, how happy I am that they are experiencing God’s amazing work! I don’t want to be excluded from sharing the excitement of a new little one just because it isn’t my season yet, and I choose to be present and celebrate the impending arrival of a friend’s baby. Is it tough being at a baby shower? Do my heartstrings tug during a newborn portrait session? Yes, and yes. I still fight back tears when Walter says, “Bayyy-beee! Miiiine?” when he sees a baby anywhere in public. It’s a difficult pill to swallow, knowing that I’m the reason why my child doesn’t have a sibling to play with on the floor.

There are times that I feel like my desire to have a second child is diluted, like it’s not that big of a deal. I have received nearly every comment and remark in the book when I mention that we are using fertility drugs to try to get pregnant. Would you like to know the one “encouraging” phrase that nearly brings me to my knees every.single.time?

“Well, at least you have one!”

That phrase, while true, feels like a slap in the face and a refusal to recognize our desire to have a second baby. It’s a cop out. And what makes this so hurtful is that this has come out of friends’ mouths. They don’t know any better because they aren’t here, in my situation. Can I blame them? No, I can’t. The statement is true: I do have one child, and I love him tremendously. He is my world. And after having four miscarriages, I am so incredibly thankful that he is mine, and that I am able to tuck him in bed each and every night.

Infertility is a touchy subject, and there aren’t many words of encouragement that don’t have a sting to them. But I can tell you this: if a friend is dealing with infertility, tell her that you are there for her. Tell her that if she wants to hear something break, you’ll be there with plates in hand and at the ready. It will mean more to her than you could imagine.