This is infertility

When I first went off birth control I was hopeful and naive. I assumed we would get pregnant immediately. I counted out nine months and started wondering how I would tell Andy the news, and then how we would surprise different members of our family. I am a sucker for both planning and surprises.

When we didn’t get pregnant the first month, I figured we would the second, then the third. I kept this up for eight months before I started to wonder if maybe something could be wrong. I had a friend who was in the midst of infertility and I thought it couldn’t hurt to see a doctor.

The Doctor didn’t seem too concerned about my questions and said we hadn’t been trying long enough to worry. She told me it was perfectly normal for someone in their late twenties to take 6-9 months to get pregnant. I mentioned I had recently bought a book on charting to get a better idea of my cycle, ovulation, etc. She encouraged me to use it for a while and start our 6-9 month clock over, now that we were what she called, “actively trying.”

One year later I had 12 pages detailing my daily basal body temperature, date of ovulation, how many days after ovulation my body temp was raised and when it dropped back to normal again to indicate no pregnancy. 

In that year I became all consumed with controlling every aspect I could, in an effort to increase our chances for pregnancy. And I was becoming torn up from the inside out. I lived my life in two week cycles. We were either trying to get pregnant, or waiting to see if we were pregnant. I wasn’t carefree and optimistic anymore. I was a control freak.

Add to that the fact that we had been married for a few years and everyone and their brother was asking us when we were going to have kids. We finally landed on an answer that was honest but not too vulnerable, “We’d like to, we’ll see!”

When I finally went back to the doctor we were diagnosed with infertility because we had been trying for more than a year without a pregnancy. I hated that word. I felt branded. I pictured a big scarlet letter on my chest, but it was an I for infertility. I didn’t want anyone to see it.

Each new pregnancy announcement I heard felt like a personal blow. It didn’t matter if the pregnancy was announced from a co-worker, friend, family member or celebrity. In fact, even pregnant strangers on the street stood out like sore thumbs of what I wasn’t able to get my body to do.

I was becoming bitter and angry and I didn’t know how to stop it. I added jealous and resentful too, for good measure. Each month that my period came I would sob in the bathroom. I felt like a failure. Women had been getting pregnant and delivering babies for thousands of years and I couldn’t figure out the secret. I felt alone.

Fast forward 7 plus years and we’re still not pregnant and never have been (as far as I know). We’ve done several unsuccessful rounds of IUI. I’ve taken various meds, shots, ultrasounds and tests. Our chances of getting pregnant without medical assistance are significantly lower than the average “normal” couple.

And with all that, I still have this stubborn faith that knows God could start a little life in my womb, any day of the week if He so desired. Somehow I’ve moved past the anger and bitterness. Time has helped with that. The first four years of infertility were hands down the hardest. But the good news is, it didn’t stay that way. Day to day life got better. I’m not all dark and twisty over the infertility anymore. It’s a part of my story, even if I didn’t want it. But I’m learning to live with it.

The things that used to be so soul crushing in the beginning, I barely flinch at anymore. When my period comes, I don’t shed a tear over it. It’s just annoying.

When I hear that someone is pregnant now, there’s usually a brief blip of a “really!?!” moment between me and God. But it is short lived, honestly a minute to have that quick feeling expressed and then life moves forward. I don’t dwell or mope about it like I did in the first days of infertility.

One thing I’ve learned in all of this, is delivering a baby is really hard to do! There are so many things that could go wrong, even in just the getting to the “pregnancy” part, let alone having a baby grow in the womb and come out on the other side alive.

I have a deeper happiness and genuine excitement now when people in my world have babies. And that feeling grows exponentially for the ones who have had seasons of infertility and loss first. I’m over the moon for them. I usually cry tears of relief when their babies are born. It’s nothing short of a miracle.

I still love kids and yes, I’d be thrilled if one landed in our laps one day. And there is this other side that’s growing in me too. It’s a little sprig of contentment with our life, as is.

This is infertility.

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11 thoughts on “This is infertility

  1. Beautiful. Thanks for writing this. We struggled with our fertility a bit as well, so I have a taste of how it can feel and definitely related to a lot of your sentiments. You’re a wonderful person! God is sovereign!

    Can’t wait to read more of your writing.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thank you for sharing this, Missi. You have expressed something that is so very hard to put into words beautifully. I admire your vulnerability and strength. My husband and I went through 3 years of infertility treatments and just when we were about to give up, round #4 of IVF worked and we now have a 4 year old. I feel a lot of compassion towards people who are going through infertility, and am surprised to find past feelings from my own experience come to the surface even though we were so very lucky to get our little miracle. Hang in there…and keep writing, hoping, and living.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I’m so glad it worked for you to have a baby, Elizabeth! And thank you for sharing that these feelings can continue even after a baby is born. Infertility is such a tricky/messy thing! Thanks for reading and offering encouraging words- I appreciate it!

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  3. Missi, I loved this blog. I can’t relate on the infertility part because for me, I seemed to get pregnant whenever a guy just looked at me. That was maddening, because for me, I didn’t want to be pregnant. I never wanted kids. I had no maternal instincts whatsoever.
    And when I found out I was pregnant, I cried in the doctor’s office. “No! It’s impossible! This can’t be!” The doctor looked at me with alarm and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, is this bad news?” I screamed, “Yes! This is very bad news!!!”
    Years later, and one son later, I think I understand more what you are feeling. I would not trade one minute of having that “unexpected child” for anything in the world. I learned I really did have maternal instincts and they were strong.
    Still, I had plenty more grief to endure. The miracle of birth was wonderful, but then to learn that he was blind, and then a few more years later to learn he was autistic sent me into a grief spiral that lasted more than six years.
    Having a child, with all the inherent risks and scares is both wonderful and terrifying. And, at any moment, you could lose them (as I know how excruciatingly familiar you are with this, having lost your brother.)
    I guess, what I am doing is relating to you in your suffering. There really is suffering in not being able to bear a child, and there is real suffering in bearing a child who is born with significant disabilities, and then there is real suffering in losing a child, as your parents well know.
    Hang on to the promise that Jesus gave us: “I will never leave you, nor forsake you.” No matter what happens to you in this life, you have real promise, real future, and real influence in both this life and the next. What you are blogging about is helping others SO much.
    I love you kiddo. I’ve known you since you were a red-headed, freckle-faced toddler. You are BRAVE.
    Love, “Auntie” Sheryl

    Liked by 1 person

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