Well, it’s no secret that we have now struggled with infertility for three years but this past year has been the absolute worst. It takes the cake. Our faith has been tested, our hope has faded, but one thing is for sure – our love has grown stronger. But when is enough, enough? I can’t continue to pump hormones into my body. I can’t continue to be miserable from the side effects. I can’t continue to feel the pain from egg retrievals or other IVF procedures. I can’t continue to live my life at a fertility clinic. I can’t continue to live my life around appointments, injections or IVF cycles. I’ve been doing it for too long now. And I simply can’t continue to put my husband through this anymore either. I know he’d think differently though. He wants a child just as bad as I do, but at what cost? He wants nothing more than me to be happy. But he sees what infertility has done to me. It’s broken my spirits and stripped me of a lifelong dream.
We’ve now done four attempts at IVF this year (spending thousands of dollars) each with no success and each with transferring two embryos. We miscarried in December and March. In September, we did a secret cycle and the embryos didn’t take. Most recently (October 2015), we did a transfer WITH PGS (genetic testing) knowing that we had 2 “normal” embryos; giving us an 80% chance of a live birth. But, sadly, we just found out that it ended in a chemical pregnancy. I had + pregnancy tests all week but the line darkness wasn’t progressing. Today, my worst fear came true. At 8dp5dt, my pregnancy test was a stark white. No sign of a 2nd line at all. We had so much hope for these babies. SO MUCH. Maybe too much. Because we did PGS, our clinic knows the sex of the babies; I just don’t think I’m ready to know yet. 😦 You pay thousands for the genetic testing, wait in suspense for the results, given a high success rate…and it fails. Almost as if it never existed. It’s been devastating to say the least. If you do the math, we have lost 8 babies this year. Whether they implanted in me and we miscarried, had a chemical pregnancy or they didn’t survive at all; it doesn’t matter. I held each of those eight babies and they’re all gone. It’s so unfair. If there’s a silver lining to any of this, I know they’re all in heaven with my dad.
Not only does my heart break because we can’t seem to conceive, but it also breaks because I would love nothing more than to be able to give my mother her first grandchild & my siblings their first niece or nephew. It kills me.
The dream of motherhood has begun to fade. The countless pins on Pinterest for nursery ideas, baby announcements, baby shower ideas, gender reveals…are all things I dream of. I feel like such a fool for actually believing someday I could do them. But you need a child first & clearly that isn’t happening.
I’ve sat back while countless friends and family members have gotten pregnant, had their baby (some having multiple babies in the time we have tried to have one), leaving me to feel like the black sheep. The one person out of all of them that can’t get pregnant. I’m consumed with jealousy towards all women who get pregnant; I feel it’s only natural. But all infertile women are jealous of you. I see the connection, love you have for your children, the joy they bring you and wonder if it’s something I’ll ever have. One infertility blogger said it best when she said “we would give up everything for it, spend our last dime to get it, and die to know what it’s like.” …and I may never know what motherhood is like…
However, what kills me (and all other infertile women) is when you complain about your children. I get it, motherhood isn’t easy, but you’re immensely blessed. One of the many reasons I got off Facebook is because I can’t stand seeing posts of mom’s or pregnant women complaining & taking their miracles for granted. I would gladly take your worst day with children for my best day without them. REMEMBER THAT.
I want to say a big thank you to our biggest supporters; you know who you are. You’ve stayed in touch with us throughout our journey (the majority of you daily), prayed for us, cheered us on, picked us up when we’ve been down, sent cards & been there for us — we don’t know what we would do without you. Nor could we have made it this far in our journey without you. So for that, I want to say thank you.
Our infertility journey has been full of faith, hope & strength (hell, so much strength I didn’t even know it existed); full of tears; and full of one disappointment after the other. It’s stripped me of my dreams of motherhood and taken the joy out of life. It’s made me miss family functions, baby showers, etc because just the sight of seeing someone else pregnant is too much torture right now. It’s showed me who truly cares about us. It’s blessed me with friendships with other women who truly get it and a community that I’m thankful to be part of.
All I can ask for at this point is your continued prayers. We need them more than ever right now.