I’ve been writing this post in my head for months. To be honest I’ve really been struggling with whether or not to write it, and even as I’m typing I’m not sure I’m ever going to publish it. But regardless, it needs to be written. My thoughts are a thunderstorm, and I know from experience that until I get them down on paper they will just continue to occupy me. This is why I started my blog in the first place – to give myself a place to hand it all over. Some people pray, or meditate – I write. The difference being, when you blog your prayers, you make them public and sometimes that is cathartic - telling the world (or my 5 readers, whatever) about my struggles to love my body is something I am incredibly proud of – but I also believe in understanding the difference between a public life and a private life, so sometimes I struggle with how much personal information is too much.
So you’re probably wondering by now what it is that is that is so personal that the girl who seems to blog everything is struggling to put out there. Here goes nothing: my husband and I are struggling with fertility issues. We’ve been trying for about a year and half to get pregnant (12 months is considered normal). The day we decided we were ready to try was truly one of the happiest days of my life – it deepened my connection with my husband in a way I couldn’t have imagined. I was excited, life was grand, I was going to be a mom. 18 long months later the shine has worn off, and now my relationship with my husband is even deeper, but it’s deeper for having gone through something much harder than we expected.
Sometimes it feels like our whole lives revolve around this. At first it was just prenatal vitamins daily, and making a concerted effort not to drink every month around the time I was most likely to possibly be pregnant. About six months ago our family doctor referred us to a fertility specialist. Now it’s blood tests (I’ve had a lot), doctor’s appointments (my co-workers probably think I’m dying), daily temperature monitoring and charting. It’s moderately invasive medical procedures, that involve things like pumping water through your reproductive organs while taking x-rays to ensure there are no blockages – this one was so painful I could barely walk for almost a day and half afterward, and caused me to miss a big event for a friend.
Now that we’ve determined that my blood tests are a-okay, and I have not blockages, and the ultrasounds look good, it’s time for exploratory surgery. Wait, what? Surgery? Isn’t it a bit early for that? Isn’t that a bit extreme? Yeah, you read my mind. A month ago when my doctor told me that was our next step I was so shocked that I didn’t ask any questions. Why surgery? What are they looking for? Are there any other less invasive things we could do first? So when I got home and told my husband that this was the next step, he was rather surprised to find I had no answers.
We decided it would be best if he took some time off work to go to my most recent appointment with me, so we could make sure both he and I had a chance to ask questions. So why surgery? Turns out they are looking for endometriosis – which I found rather shocking. I don’t have painful periods, or regular abdominal pain, or any of the typical symptoms my friends with endometriosis have described. I’ve done some research since, and it seems that there are women who are virtually a-symptomatic but do have endometriosis and according to one web site it is one of the top three causes of female infertility. So many women have it, but never know until they try to get pregnant. My research has also confirmed that while there are alternative treatments for the pain caused by endometriosis, the only way to truly diagnose and treat it in a way that also aids with pregnancy, is surgery.
It still feels early in this whole process to be having surgery – but at the same time if I can do something now to help our chances of getting pregnant I can’t see a reason to wait. So tonight I’m going through a check list of things I have to do before I go in tomorrow. Remove all jewelry, check; remove all nail polish, check; fill T3 prescription, check; pack a robe and slippers, check. I feel remarkably calm right now – I’ve been anxious about tomorrow for a while now, but today I’m just glad the wait is finally over.
After that, depending how everything goes is when we start to talk about fertility drugs, which will give me hot flashes, and worsen my periods.
Are you tired yet? Do you feel overwhelmed yet? I certainly do.
Early on in this whole process we decided that we were going to keep it to ourselves that we were trying. We didn’t want everyone constantly checking in, and I didn’t want it to affect my chances for advancement at work. But it turns out that this is a pretty isolating approach. I’m sure I know women who have had similar experiences – but we don’t talk about them, so we effectively cut ourselves off from the support systems we might have. We don’t talk about the ugly bits of this whole process of becoming a parent. We don’t talk about how sad and overwhelming it can be. We don’t want to pour salt in each other’s wounds, or make others uncomfortable, so we pretend we don’t have the wounds in the first place. And the truth is that I am tired of living like that.
