I thought long and hard about writing (and publishing) this blog post, but in the end, it was hard to ignore the fact that I can’t be the only one feeling this way. SURELY there is someone else experiencing a similar spectrum of emotions, and so, if you’re out there, this one’s for you.
The journey to pregnancy has proven to be rocky, scary, fascinating (in a weird science kind of way), and mostly emotional.
There are days when I feel like a lab animal. Giving blood multiple times a week. Increasing my vitamin intake, waiting on blood test results, and wondering if I even believe in the fertility hocus pocus. Then I feel guilty for having doubt and I wonder more often than not what all of this is going to cost me. And yet, I return to the appointments and meet with financial counselors and get on the phone with the insurance company because there is a part of me that wants to believe that this is the path to pregnancy. I rest my honey bear socked feet in stirrups and wonder what’s going on downtown and if I’m the only woman who experiences this level of discomfort at an HSG test.
Also, did I just piss the table? No. Okay, good.
I stopped Googling. No good can ever come of that, anyway.
It’s hard to describe the emotions something like this can have on the psyche, and though friends and family have directed me to infertility boards and people who have gone through the process, I’m reluctant to join and I’m scared to phone them. I so wish I had a good friend who was experiencing this along with me (though I certainly don’t wish this on anyone), because honestly, I feel like a freak when I tell my stories of the doctor who said he was going to “clamp down on my cervix” and I resisted the urge to kick him in the throat.
Provided that all goes well with the results of the past few tests, I will start IUI treatments next month. I want to be excited, but my doctor explained the low success rate and told me that in truth, she’s not sure this will take. It was a hard pill to swallow. She told me that the best course of action for me would be IVF, a procedure that isn’t covered by my insurance and a complete gamble at nearly $40,000 and a 60% success rate. I don’t like to be swept up in numbers, and I’m certainly not a betting woman, but it’s a shitload of money and I don’t know if I want to go down that road. Yet.
Is it all worth it? I guess that’s yet to be determined.
In the meantime, I can’t help but feel terribly overwhelmed and alone. Of course, Bryan is my sounding board, but it’s not quite the same.
The other day as I gave blood, I sensed a woman in desperate need of someone to talk to.
“What are you in for?” she asked while I quietly giggled to myself.
We swapped stories—she’s a mom of two and wants a third (via IVF) to complete her family. I felt selfish for not wanting to continue the conversation because how could she possibly relate when she already has two kids at home?
“You’re so young,” she said, warmly and my façade began to crumble. As I left the office, she gently called after me. “Good luck,” her eyes twinkled. I smiled back.
It was exactly what I needed to hear.