It's officially been a year of hormonal treatments. Let me just say that it has felt like much longer, but that's due to the 6 month waiting period to even get us to that step. Plus this year has creeped by because of all that has happened. There are times when I can give verbal updates to all my friends and then there are moments where I wish they wouldn't ask; highs and lows abound.
I wanted to give kind of a one year write-up to this, it has truly been a big part of our lives. Here's a snippet from my journal entry back at the beginning of the year: "I just feel down about the whole situation. It is so much easier for people to urge you on, tell you to relax and how it’ll be worth it when the end isn’t visibly in sight. I’ve said it before and I will say it again: infertility is the loneliest journey!"
When our first month cycle failed it was so overwhelming. I knew not to be too hopeful, but the sheer wonder of it all had me all wrapped up; I followed my doctor's advice and went up to the office for monitoring, shots and pep talks. We did everything the right way. I found out on a Sunday morning with the accompaniment of ghastly cramps. It really was rotten luck as I had to leave for Church 15 minutes afterward, still caught up in my emotions of disappointment and self-pity. I was in tears the entire drive, I was alone as Graham had early meetings. I tried to compose myself and reign it all in. After all, it was the first time! Only 30% of couples are lucky enough for that. So I went on as normal as I could be- mentally chastising myself for being foolish enough to be so naive.
My favorite people in the ward had either just given birth or were about to in a few weeks. Sometimes they would line up to hoist babies or grab bellies, they were all so pretty and happy, and I would snap a pic. I so badly wanted to join the group, to stand in on the group maternity shots, to give up my role as photographer to someone else so I could join in. Beyond one friend back home, no one knew that we were starting to live at Doctor's office because of all the different protocol. At some point during sacrament I was able to hold one of the new babies. I could not hold back the steady flow of tears as I looked into the tiny, sweet little face and left so empty myself. I'd known for years that my health issues would probably lead to a spout of infertility but I never knew it would feel like this. It was like I grieving a death, it just felt crushing. A confusing bulk of problems all thrown at me at once and I needed my own time to sort them out. I came back home and sobbed on my couch the rest of the evening.
It's not like that for me anymore. And that's something I never wish to see again. Last time it didn't work out I was relatively composed, whenever I called Graham I did get a little choked up but after a few minutes I was fine. Instead I joke about my body's inability to do it's normal functions. I roll my eyes at Huggies commercials and due date calculators. I'll hold other people's kids and try to shut every single thought that tries to flood through. I try to do anything but let it all affect me.
I've felt more bitter over this than anything else. Partly because of the horrible timing, partly because I've led a very easy life thus far (knock on wood). It's created a resentment in me towards other women who effortlessly get pregnant. I've despised getting on social media to read about pity parties regarding tough days with children and pregnancy or "I love my perfect life and it's all I've ever wanted" posts. As happy as I am for my newly pregnant friends who want to share it just so we can celebrate, it'snearly impossible for me to do so. I'm too bitter, even now. The icing on the cake is that we threw away five thousand dollars without anything to show for it.
There is no nice way to put it- I have struggled immensely with this in 2015. I'm sad that it was as hard as it turned out to be. But it's only been a year and so many go through it for such longer periods. (If you're one of those women, know that you never leave my prayers and I am sending you good vibes of peace and strength.)
You know, there were times where I went to the Lord in sincere anger. Those were times when I just asked Him why can people who don't want them or aren't yet ready for them or, worse yet, hurt them can be given them. Then so many decent people are steadily denied. I regret that. It is hard to even admit, because I want to seem completely and utterly unshakable. I think that just proves to myself how depressed I really was. But as I read recently in the Book of Mormon, "...faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith." (Ether 12:6, emphasis added)
This year has felt like hell, but dang, I came out alright after all. It's not the way I wanted it, but it has taught me a few lessons: It has helped me be more appreciative of the things that are going right. It's let me flex my knowledge to comprehend and educate. It has given me a chance to understand other women and men who endure this. It's allowed me to rely on other people when I can't do it for myself. It's made me realize how much harder I will work when I am a Mama. It has turned made me cling to my faith with optimism (once all the doubts wash away).
I've fought to make myself be positive; it's still a daily issue for me in this regard. I have to trade my thoughts for good ones sometimes, to remember to be happy. And why do I do that? Because I know good stuff is coming. There's a baby or two out there just for me! Hopefully a lot more than that. And I'm trying my best to bring them into our family. Now whether we have them naturally, use an expert's help or adopt them is to be determined. But whatever it is I'll do it.
But next year has to be better. I will see it happen, this is me right now willing it into existence. I can't wait to eliminate this aspect of my life in 2016. I am determined to "fix" it. Alright, I think that's about it for this tough bit. Signing off as my last year, fingers crossed, as a unpregnant woman!
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