Sticking It to IF

Are they natural?

Did you use fertility treatment?

If I had a dollar for every time I’ve been asked that question, I’d have myself a Mary Poppins to help me care for my three precious caterwaulers, I mean babies. Rather than respond to these questions as I’d like to—What’s an unnatural baby? I thought they were reserved for science fiction. and I’ll tell you if we used fertility treatment if you tell me what position you conceived your child in.—I’ve always said, “We’ve just been very blessed.” While 100% true, this response is not entirely accurate. Yes, CH and I are part of the 1 in 8 couples affected by infertility, and we turned to fertility treatment for help starting (and completing!) our family. We chose not to tell anyone because we quite honestly felt it was no one’s business. And while we knew that we’d have plenty of sympathetic family and friends who’d support us, they wouldn’t be able to provide us the true support we needed—empathy. Infertility (IF) is a long and isolating road, and unless you’ve walked it yourself, you can only imagine what it’s like.

So why break my silence now? This week is National Infertility Awareness Week, and because 12% of womenare affected by infertility, I know at least a handful of women who are walking the road I spent 29 months slogging through and am willing to bet that I have friends who know someone who’s limping along that same road. I want these women to know that, while they might feel so very alone, they are not.

This is for the women who …

… are incredibly excited when they decide to start their family earlier than planned.

… feel their excitement wane as one month passes, then three months, then six, then nine.

… watch as their best friends, coworkers, coworkers’ kids, church friends, relatives, social media friends, celebrities—EVERYONE BUT THEM—get pregnant and have kids.

… throw and/or attend multiple baby showers with a smile on their face and an ache in their heart.

… take their temperature before their feet hit the floor in the mornings, know the consistency of their cervical mucus like the back of their hand, and conduct mini chemistry labs in their bathrooms with ovulation prediction kits (OPKs).

… feel like the world’s worst friend when they cry on the way home from a get-together in which a friend announces her pregnancy.

… intentionally don’t keep in touch with good friends as well as they should because it’s too hard hearing about their kids.

… block friends on social media because they just can’t take another pregnancy or baby picture post.

… endure repeated comments and questions about when they’ll have kids with a smile and flippant remark while masking the ache in their heart and a desire to punch the Nosy Nellies in the face.

… call their gynecologist at the 12-month mark with trembling hands and a pit of dread in their stomach.

… undergo testing that shows no reason for their infertility.

… meet with a reproductive endocrinologist (RE), whose plan of treatment they hear in what feels like an out-of-body experience.

… enter into a world that speaks in acronyms like ART, BFN, BFP, CD, DH, DPDT, ER, ET, FET, IUI, IVF, and TWW.

… become accustomed to their private parts being not so private.

… spend their lunch breaks with an ultrasound wand up their lady parts measuring uterine lining and thickness, follicle number, and follicle size.

… lose sight of sex being for more than making babies.

… have when to/when not to have sex dictated to them.

… tell three different managers about the need for a flexible schedule at certain times of the month and cry every time they do so.

… have a love-hate relationship with their phones on hCG test days.

… endure the “I’m sorry, my dear …” phone call multiple times.

… listen with a sinking stomach as their RE uses the three-letter word that will forever change their lives: IVF.

… enter into a world of stim phases and cycle days and betas.

… join an online support group so they can talk with women who “get it.”

… set up a medicine table in their bathroom to hold all their cycle meds and equipment.

… spend 15 minutes on their first stim night practicing deep breathing as they work up the courage to inject the first needle.

… reward their courage with a large bowl of ice cream and then cry themselves to sleep.

… ride the fertility drug roller coaster that makes them want to cry hysterically one minute and kill the person who looks funny at them the next.

… give up working out for a few weeks or months because they aren’t allowed to partake in strenuous exercise after a certain point in their stim phase.

… adopt an attire of leggings and baggy shirts their entire stim phase to hide the fertility drug bloat.

… look at the four needles on their bathroom vanity, turn to their bloated and bruised stomach, and think, Where the @#%$ am I supposed to inject those?

… stand outside work for 30 minutes after receiving the we’re-canceling-this-cycle call so their red face and puffy eyes won’t be so noticeable.

… have to go through IVF to learn why they’re infertile.

… endure multiple ERs.

… go to work the day after an ER feeling like their ovaries are on fire.

… experience the high of a fertilization report, followed by the low of embryo grading.

… agonize over how many embryos to transfer.

… schedule their ET with nervousness and anticipation.

… cry over the embryo that dies in a cold petri dish rather than inside their warm womb listening to their loving heartbeat.

… spend 48 hours lying very still in bed, praying that just one embryo will stick.

… follow a diet of only warm foods and lots of pineapple for two weeks.

… try everything they can think of to distract themselves during their TWW.

… cry themselves to sleep the night before their first beta because they’ve convinced themselves that they aren’t pregnant.

… ask “Are you positive?” three times when the nurse calls with their BFP.

… endure another TWW between their third beta and their first ultrasound.

… crap their pants when they learn that someone upstairs heard prayers for three instead of one.

… are afraid to complain of pregnancy symptoms for fear that doing so will make them seem ungrateful for their three tiny miracles.

… live every day of their pregnancy terrified that everything will go horribly wrong.

…  look at their perfect babies—tiny, but perfect—through the NICU isolette portholes and think, Poor embryos my @$$.

This is for the women whose road to starting or completing their family looks everything and nothing like mine. You are not alone.