Thanks to Brene Brown, #vulnerability is all the rage. As a therapist, I have found there is still one topic that many women have a hard time opening up about and sharing with others…infertility. As a woman who faced this issue firsthand for six years, I feel I have some insight to share and I wanted to start the conversation and be as vulnerable as possible in hopes that my story will give you comfort and the courage to share your own story. I also hope this piece will help those dealing with infertility, but also their family members and close friends who feel unequipped to support them in the ways they need (or at the very least, not add to their anxiety and despair by saying insensitive things).
My journey with infertility began eight years ago. In retrospect, I went through all the stages of grief that Elizabeth Kubler Ross identified (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance). I was someone who always believed that each person has the power and ability to make their own happiness, identify their goals, and then work hard to achieve them. Up until this point in my life, I had successfully accomplished everything I set out to do… I had moved and settled in a city I loved, bought a home, had a great career, was excelling in a doctoral program, and had a wonderful husband, family, and friends. It never occurred to me that there are some things beyond our control and no matter how much we wish for them or try to accomplish them, they are beyond our grasp. To put it bluntly, I was a control freak. I didn’t even like to fly or be a passenger in a car because I hated the feeling of not having full control over situations.
However, discovering that I was unable to conceive was something that brought me to my knees and revealed this important life lesson (that many things are simply beyond our control and when we can’t change our situation, we have to change our perspective). My denial actually lasted about six years. I adopted this cavalier attitude that if it “happens, it was meant to be and if not, I still have a great life”. But, deep down, I knew I wanted to be a mother. It was the last goal on my list and I needed to experience it. I even told other people, mostly so they would stop asking me incessantly once I became a certain age, that I didn’t really know if I wanted children. I did know but I suffered in silence. In a way, the denial phase was both the easiest and most painful. I felt disingenuous but also protective of my self-vulnerability. I wanted so badly to believe the narrative I was telling other people.
After my long-fought battle with denial, I found myself becoming bitter and angry. Fortunately, this phase only lasted a few months and was intermittent (off and on). I swore that if I heard one more person tell me they “accidentally” got pregnant or that they got pregnant on their very first try, that I would scream in their face. Worse were stories others would share with me about young teens getting pregnant and having very difficult circumstances or mistreating their babies. I would think to myself, how could this be fair? We could give a child a nice life, and all the love they could ever want. Why was this happening? Perhaps what made me the angriest though were well-meaning comments from family members and friends. After my husband and I had been married for several years, we started getting the “why haven’t you had kids yet? You’re not getting any younger” rhetoric. I got to the point where I dreaded attending holiday parties and gatherings because I knew I would inevitably hear these kinds of statements. For an extreme extrovert, this was a significant shift. I would sometimes excuse myself from these conversations to go fight back tears in the ladies room.
I then entered the Bargaining/Guilt phase. I beat myself up for not being healthier and not making different decisions. I started to take vitamins, change my diet, ovulation kits, try all these holistic interventions (some were very strange) to see if I couldn’t just try harder. My control issues were cropping up again. I pleaded with God multiple times per day to give me the opportunity to be a mother. This lasted close to a year. When all these efforts failed, a deep depression and sadness washed over me.
Interestingly, I don’t remember allowing myself to feel sad for long. I went into action mode and researched a fertility specialist who could help me escalate my efforts. I was relieved to hear that I was still considered “young” but that I had some considerable obstacles ahead (Stage 4 Endometriosis and very large ovarian cysts). I immediately felt confident in my doctor (after researching her thoroughly) and she devised a plan…more waiting. Much of what happened next is a blur. I attempted two failed IUIs and laparoscopy surgery. Then, I waited again. When this didn’t work, we decided to proceed with IVF. We elected to purchase the Cadillac of packages, which included insurance on a failed attempt and genetic testing of the embryos.
IVF is an intensive process and it takes a toll on the body. My husband lovingly administered shots for 12 weeks and this process strangely brought us closer. I saw his compassion and willingness to do more when I felt bad. He did little things to boost my spirits, like getting my favorite desserts and insisting we watch the movies and shows I wanted.
We consider ourselves very fortunate. Our first attempt at IVF was successful. However, 5 weeks into my pregnancy, I began hemorrhaging. After all we had been through, I broke down and was sure that I had lost the baby. The following day, we visited my doctor. The ultrasound revealed the baby’s heartbeat was still there and it was a benign subchorionic hematoma (which later resolved itself during the pregnancy). I would be lying if I said I didn’t walk around on pins and needles for most of pregnancy. The anxiety I experienced every time I felt too much kicking or not enough, is something the average woman likely doesn’t consider. On May 1st, 2018, I gave birth to a beautiful and healthy daughter.
As I prepare for my second IVF FET (frozen embryo transfer) this month, I am feeling both nostalgic and anticipating what lies ahead. Here we go again…I will keep you all posted on what transpires.
So, now for the helpful part (I hope).
WHAT I LEARNED:
It helped me to talk about it, but only to people who I felt could empathize or listen really well. I talked with women who were at varying stages of the fertility treatment process. Sometimes they had great words of wisdom to share and sometimes, they just knew the right thing to say. We compared notes and attended support group meetings together. I felt needed and I needed them.
Speaking of people to talk to, find yourself a good therapist who can help you cope with the ups and downs of this process. Your hormones will be in flux and your anxiety levels will reach record highs. You need coping strategies and the support of a professional to navigate it all.
I finally came out to my closest family members about what we were facing. A few of them told the extended family (and the insensitive comments/questions ceased). They never asked me for updates but I know they anxiously awaited news and expressed appreciation for keeping them apprised of all the developments. My “inner circle” were there for all my important moments. I couldn’t have done it alone, it really did take a village.
Make no apologies for weeding out negative people and negative situations (jobs, commitments, etc.) that drain you. I made conceiving my greatest priority and didn’t feel guilty for one second when I backed away from people and things that did not enrich my life.
My faith and spirituality deepened during this dark time. I surrounded myself with prayer warriors and I firmly believe that these devout people had a hand in making this possible. My mother in particular prayed relentlessly and she was by my side through it all. It is true, sometimes you just need your mama (and no matter how old you are, this doesn’t change).
HOW TO SUPPORT
Regularly communicate that you are there to listen, go to doctor’s appointments, help around the house/run errands, or even administer medications. Actually, INSIST on doing these things. Ask them when their next appointment is and if you can go for moral support. If they decline though, respect their wishes.
When someone confides in you, ask them, “do you want me to offer any suggestions or do you just need me to listen right now?” Do not assume the person needs you to cheer them up or impart any special wisdom. They may just need to vent and release emotions. Be their sounding board. Never underestimate the power of this.
Do not tell someone struggling with fertility that your third cousin’s girlfriend tried acupuncture/the keto diet/standing on her head for 30 minutes after intercourse/adopting a child/licking wallpaper and boom…they got pregnant. This is not helpful. It can actually feel really insensitive and disheartening (especially if they have tried all of those things to no avail).
Be their comic relief and offer to do activities you know they love (concerts, new restaurants, movies, etc.). They will need things to do to divert their attention.
Do not probe them for information. Let them know you are willing to listen anytime they want to talk but you will never ask them to share details. They will take you up on this if and when they choose.
Is there anything I forgot? Drop a line and let me know.