Know more about what? There are so many things to choose from.
- Resolve to know more about when to see an infertility specialist
- Resolve to know more about family building options
- Resolve to know more about what REALLY happens during an IVF cycle
- Resolve to know more about treatments and medications available to assist with infertility treatments
- Resolve to know more about how to talk to friends and family who are infertile
... and the list goes on and on. In an effort to make this personal, here is what I have come up with:
Resolve to know more about how infertility continues to affect people, long after the treatments are done.
What happens AFTER infertility? There is no after infertility for me. At least, not yet, and maybe not ever. But Heather, you're six months pregnant with your second child and you have a wonderful little boy already at home! You're done! Infertility = conquered. Problem solved. Solution granted.
How I wish that were so.
Let's take a trip down memory lane, shall we?
Jonathan and I first started trying to build our family almost five years ago, right after I finished my Master's degree. We spent over a year trying on our own. After a few months, me being me, started to read up on how to be successful getting pregnant (let's be honest, I hate not being successful!). I started taking my basal body temperature every morning before getting out of bed. I bought ovulation tests and tried to pinpoint the exact right time of the month to try to conceive. We were careful to make sure we got our timing right every month and yet we would come up empty handed.
After just over a year of that, we sought out the help of my OB, and after a few tests, she sent us on to meet with the wonderful physicians at IVF New Jersey. Nine months and five failed IUIs later, we turned to IVF. That story turned out great, right? We managed to get pregnant on our first try - I did everything I could to ensure the success of that cycle - ate the right foods, went to acupuncture several times a week, took care of myself in all the best ways. We had achieved pregnancy! This was fantastic and we were elated. 40 weeks and 3 days later, Nathaniel entered the world and it is no exaggeration to say that we have truly loved every moment of the last two years with him. Even the challenging moments are a joy and a blessing. Sounds, cheesy, but it is true. For that, I do have to thank our struggle with infertility.
After Nate was born, I found I was able to put infertility aside for a while. Every once in a while (Mother's Day, for instance), the "ghosts of infertility past" would pay me a visit, but I was able to mostly just enjoy being a mother. Jonathan and I knew that due to some of the information test results had revealed prior to IVF with Nate, that my clock was ticking a bit faster than that of your normal thirty-year-old, and that we would need to get on with our family building fairly quickly if we wanted the chance of another biological child.
We started to try on our own again shortly after Nate turned one. Again with the basal body temperature and trying to perfectly time things so that we might have success. While we were "trying", I knew in my heart that it was a losing battle and that we would need to revisit our friends at IVF New Jersey. Once school let out, we had an appointment with our RE to make a plan. We knew that going through a full course of treatment during marching band season would be torture and pretty much logistically impossible, so we agreed to come back in late October/ early November, just as marching band would be wrapping up, to get in before their holiday shutdown to start our second IVF cycle.
In the meantime, we "tried". Halfheartedly, but we "tried". As the months went on, even though we had a plan in place, I grew bitter. How come I had to schedule this? How come I had to wait until I got a break from my job to make this work for me? How come I had to have all of the blood draws and the needles and the hormones and the surgery AGAIN? The demons of infertility weren't just visiting, they were back in full force. Compounding this was the fact that I felt horribly guilty every time I was upset or stressed about our IVF cycle. I already HAVE a wonderful son! I don't deserve success again. The statistics were against me and I truly believed that I had no business even attempting to get pregnant again. How selfish can one woman be? Despite these feelings, we had a plan in place, and I am not one to go back on a plan, so off we went into the thick of IVF 2.0.
This cycle was nothing like the first one. I won't say that everything that could go wrong did, because that would be overdramatic. I'll put it this way, however. Everything that ended up being "best case scenario" or even just "ideal" last time, ended up nowhere near that this time. Less follicles, more drugs, a death in the family, infinitely more stress, and no time to properly care for myself. I prayed we would have success, but in all honesty, I knew that we were looking failure right in the eye. So many tears were shed through that cycle. We had our embryo transfer (2 three day embryos, a far cry from our 2 five day blasts from Nate's cycle), and I entered the two week wait making plans for our next cycle in January.
With Nate, the first pregnancy test that I took gave me a positive result. This time, I had negative after negative, after negative. When I finally got a second line, it was so light I could barely see it. I had a darker line later that day, but by the next morning, it seemed as though it had vanished. I spent the morning of Thanksgiving devastated that what I had thought to be true the day before was not to be at all. I tested again in the afternoon on Thanksgiving, before leaving for family dinner, and saw my second line again. The next morning was my blood test that brought me the result that yes, I was pregnant, but my numbers were very low and the second test would tell the tale as to whether or not this pregnancy seemed viable. The weekend stretched out for what seemed like forever, and I held my breath until I heard from the nurse on Monday that my numbers had increased exponentially. I finally allowed myself to have a little hope that this had worked.
My numbers on Wednesday were even higher, but accompanied by some spotting, most likely the result of the progesterone treatments that I had to deal with. I waited impatiently for the first ultrasound a week later. We saw a gestational sac and fetal pole, but something in our REs demeanor made me nervous. It wasn't until I got our charts weeks later that I saw his note "small fetal pole". He was just as nervous as we were that this pregnancy wasn't viable. A week later, we saw our baby again, this time, the growth was actually a day or two ahead. There was a heartbeat present and everything finally looked good. One more trip to the RE on New Year's Eve and we were done.
I'd love to say that that is where the infertility part of our story ends, but it's not.
This pregnancy has been very challenging for me emotionally. I feel as though I am constantly afraid that the other shoe will drop. We are so incredibly blessed to have gone two for two with IVF cycles. That kind of success is the exception, not the rule. Our incredible doctors at IVF New Jersey deserve so much credit for guiding us through this with success twice! Not only are we pregnant, but we are having a girl, something I had hoped for so much. A son and daughter to raise, just what I had always wanted from when I was just a young girl myself. I had always dreamt of having a son first, and then a daughter, and here I am with my dream coming to pass. And yet... I'm terrified. Every week further along in the pregnancy, I start to feel more secure, until I inevitably read about the horrible thing that happened to someone I know, or a friend of a friend, or the hairdresser of a friend of a friend (you get the idea) at that exact spot in pregnancy. I've purchased very little for Baby Girl, and I think much of that stems from my fear that something terrible could happen... and I chalk that up to the scars that infertility has left all over me.
So here it comes:
So here it comes:
I can't go through IVF again. This cycle was too hard. It was too damaging. Too emotional. Too draining. Jonathan and I only agreed that we would try to grow our family using fertility treatments if it didn't interrupt Nate's life. Even though he was only 19 months old when IVF 2.0 occurred, he noticed. He knew Mommy wasn't lifting him up and carrying him around (I was given lifting restrictions). He could tell that Mommy was nervous about something. There were several mornings that I didn't see him before leaving for work because I had to be out the door so early to do bloodwork. It was so much harder than the first time - perhaps because now that I am a parent I knew what there was to lose? I'm not sure. I just know that I came out of it telling Jonathan that I can't do it again. I can't do it to myself, I can't do it to Jonathan, and I can't do it to Nate. Even if something catastrophic were to happen to this pregnancy, I honestly don't believe I could go through IVF for a third time.
I always felt guilty when talking about my first IVF cycle because it truly wasn't that bad. I had a good experience with a perfect outcome, and when people would talk about how horrible infertility is, I sympathized of course, it's terrible, but I would secretly think, "well, it wasn't soooo bad for me", or "maybe I was just one of the lucky ones". Now that I've done it a second time, I KNOW I was one of the lucky ones the first time around.
But shouldn't I be "over it" by now? Shouldn't I just move on? I'm getting my happy ending so I should just shut up with this infertility talk and be happy that everything worked out.
Please don't get me wrong. I am happy. I am elated that we are pregnant again. I am grateful to know just how blessed we are. I cannot wait to meet our daughter this summer, but I recognize the toll that infertility has taken on me. I often wonder, when will it end? Will there be a time that it doesn't feel like infertility defines a certain part of me? I don't think there will be. It comes in subtle ways, and I imagine it always will.
So what happens after the treatments are over? Does that mean that your infertility is cured? Does it mean that it's "all better"? No. The scars start to fade, but the damage is done. Infertility is hard. It hurts and so far, it hasn't gone away.
One in eight couples will be diagnosed with infertility. Think about that - one in eight of the friends whose lives you scroll through daily on Facebook could be diagnosed with infertility. Some may choose to talk about their struggles, others may not. Some may adopt, some may go through fertility treatments, and others may choose to remain childless. Some may have no trouble conceiving their first, but may deal with secondary infertility. Know that regardless of the path they choose, infertility is not something to be taken lightly, and even after a "success story" is shared, the scars are still there. The pain is still real, and there really is no "after infertility". I will always be infertile, despite my status as a mother of two.
So friends, this year, I ask you to resolve to know more about what comes next... what happens after the treatments are over. It's not easy, and even when it seems like things are "cured" or are behind the infertile couple, understanding and compassion can go a long way. Just because a resolution has been reached doesn't mean that the scars aren't there and that there isn't some underlying hurt.
To help you to learn more, here are some helpful links you may choose to check out:
I always felt guilty when talking about my first IVF cycle because it truly wasn't that bad. I had a good experience with a perfect outcome, and when people would talk about how horrible infertility is, I sympathized of course, it's terrible, but I would secretly think, "well, it wasn't soooo bad for me", or "maybe I was just one of the lucky ones". Now that I've done it a second time, I KNOW I was one of the lucky ones the first time around.
But shouldn't I be "over it" by now? Shouldn't I just move on? I'm getting my happy ending so I should just shut up with this infertility talk and be happy that everything worked out.
Please don't get me wrong. I am happy. I am elated that we are pregnant again. I am grateful to know just how blessed we are. I cannot wait to meet our daughter this summer, but I recognize the toll that infertility has taken on me. I often wonder, when will it end? Will there be a time that it doesn't feel like infertility defines a certain part of me? I don't think there will be. It comes in subtle ways, and I imagine it always will.
So what happens after the treatments are over? Does that mean that your infertility is cured? Does it mean that it's "all better"? No. The scars start to fade, but the damage is done. Infertility is hard. It hurts and so far, it hasn't gone away.
One in eight couples will be diagnosed with infertility. Think about that - one in eight of the friends whose lives you scroll through daily on Facebook could be diagnosed with infertility. Some may choose to talk about their struggles, others may not. Some may adopt, some may go through fertility treatments, and others may choose to remain childless. Some may have no trouble conceiving their first, but may deal with secondary infertility. Know that regardless of the path they choose, infertility is not something to be taken lightly, and even after a "success story" is shared, the scars are still there. The pain is still real, and there really is no "after infertility". I will always be infertile, despite my status as a mother of two.
So friends, this year, I ask you to resolve to know more about what comes next... what happens after the treatments are over. It's not easy, and even when it seems like things are "cured" or are behind the infertile couple, understanding and compassion can go a long way. Just because a resolution has been reached doesn't mean that the scars aren't there and that there isn't some underlying hurt.
To help you to learn more, here are some helpful links you may choose to check out:
Thanks for reading. I know this is heavy stuff and isn't always easy to digest. Jonathan and I have been shown nothing but support through the years, and we cannot thank you enough for being a part of that support system.
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