I understand that our recent posts have been a bit heavy, but all is well in Stillwater.
After a very long wait, our stork finally got the memo and we are due to join the new parents club right around Halloween. Trick or treat! Adam and I are over the moon excited.
Our path has not been easy, and we have not always been so patient. It should come as little surprise to those that know us that we have struggled for some time now with infertility. Over the years, I have had so many conversations in my head about how to best describe the pain and hopelessness of trying to achieve what comes so naturally to others, but it is absolutely inconceivable (literally) unless you have walked those lonely roads yourself. You have only one chance a month, only twelve chances per year, and before you know it, almost five years have passed you by. You visit the doctor, you take some pills, you undergo some very embarrassing tests. You visit another doctor, you take some different pills, you undergo ever more intimate tests. You take a break. You go on vacation. You "relax". You pray. You visit the acupuncturist, you take odd little Chinese herbs, you switch to green tea, you avoid energetically cold foods, and you work on achieving balance with your Qi. You take another break. Prayers don't seem to be working. You go to weddings, baby showers, first birthdays, third birthdays. You quit Facebook because you will absolutely die if you have to see one more ultrasound photo. (I may rejoin at some point.) You try to keep your spirits up at holidays; this is seldom achieved. You plant the garden every Mother's Day, because it's the next best thing you can grow. You get a third opinion, a fourth. You get a referral. You see your future options laid before you, all the time involved, all the stress, the medications, the worry, and the cost. You see your dreams of a European vacation fading into the distance. You see your hopes of a sensible used sedan vanishing before your eyes. But then you remember your real hopes and dreams, and vacations and cars don't really seem to matter that much anymore.
You turn to your other options. You attend adoption orientations. You talk to adoption counselors. You talk to lawyers. You learn a new set of lingo. You talk to people that have successfully adopted. You talk to people that were not successful. You hear very good things, but you see the very bad and very sad things, too. You learn that there is no such thing as "just adopt". You attend infertility conferences. You read everything you can get your hands on. You are well-versed in all the infertility acronyms. You join support groups, both online and in-person. You realize you are not alone. Finally.
Eventually, you come to a decision. Life moves on, with or without you, and you have to decide when to join the party. For ourselves, after years of heartache and failed treatments and with no hope of a quick and easy path through adoption, we turned to IVF. This was not a decision we came to lightly, but we worked our way through the madness of infertility long enough to know that we could do it. In fact, in the end, it was the easiest decision we had made. We were surrounded by a great care team who knew us and our history and who genuinely cared about us, not just as patients, but as an actual couple longing for a family, the same as anyone else. We had been through enough preliminary testing and treatment to know that we faced no major hurdles. (Ironically, we have unexplained infertility, in that nothing was ever found - hormonal, chemical, structural, biological, etc. - that would indicate the source of our infertility.) We had a good response to previous treatment and we suffered no serious side effects at any point. Just a few heavy tears every now and again.
We were the lucky ones. It worked for us on the very first try. The whole experience was so positive, even throughout the daily ultrasounds, the extensive blood work, the multiple pills and injections, and the retrieval and transfer events. Our medical team was top-notch, and my support system at home was unbeatable. You'll never find better comfort buddies than Pickles and TJ when you just need to lie on the couch, wrap yourself in blankets, and have a good cry. And I don't even know where to start with Adam. What a rock. He easily carried over half the burden and relieved all my distress. With him, I knew why we were doing everything we could do to have our family.
http://www.999reasonstolaugh.com/2013/01/589-i-hear-hes-an-ivf-baby/
I - we - hated feeling like you can't talk about infertility, at least not in pleasant company, so we're not trying to hide our struggles. Some people, though generally well-meaning, can be unhelpful at best, although it was our fortunate experience that most everyone we encountered was kind, supportive, and generously shared their own stories (either of their own struggles or personal experiences with close friends or family) when they learned of ours. We are always available to talk or listen if anyone wants to know more about our journey. No one should go through this alone.
I am 17 weeks pregnant. I feel great. I am happy and excited and ready for the future. For those that appreciate belly photos, here you go. I've basically gained all my weight this week, so it's time to let folks know we're expecting. For those that like your fruit, the baby is the size of an onion, or a turnip. (Boring! It's also the approximate size and weight of an iPhone, because that is way more interesting.) I'm wearing maternity pants today, just for the hell of it. (Thanks Emily!)
The best description I ever heard for infertility was that it could be called "a temporary crisis". You feel like you're drowning while you're in the midst of it, but someday you will work your way out and put it behind you. I thought we were alone in this, but we have been absolutely blown away by the tremendous support of our friends and family. We have received so many offers of maternity clothes, baby gear, toys and furniture, and the cutest, softest little blankets, jumpers, and stuffed animals that I've ever come across. All this time we thought our prayers were going unanswered, but they were just piling up until one day our basket overflowed. Thanks to all that helped us along our journey. We're looking forward to the next stage now.
