Jan 6, 2015
Yes, this is an infertility story.
I’m going to do it. I’m going to write about something that is hard for me to communicate. I’m going to put myself out there—not because I’m looking for recognition or understanding, but because I’m a writer and as a writer I need to free myself and not keep certain things bottled up inside. I need to understand what I’m going through from a different perspective. And the best way I know how to do that is through writing.
Why have I chosen to share this with you and not just write in my private journal? Maybe I’m tired of being so secretive about this. Maybe I am looking for support. Maybe I hope to find a kindred spirit. I don’t know.
What I do know is this:
I have a hard time believing that the things I go through matter to other people. No one has said this to me. In fact, friends and family have communicated the opposite. They want to know what is going on in my life. I just need to communicate better. I need to stop believing I don’t matter to them or that I’m not as important as other things.
I have had a hard time writing the last few years because I tend to bottle a lot of feelings and thoughts inside. I can’t do that as a writer. As Ernest Hemingway said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” When I write, and I have heard this from other writers as well, I let parts of me bleed into the paper—or computer. But when I keep so much bottled inside, unwilling to let anything escape, my writing and my desire to write suffer.
I want to practice writing more nonfiction. My best subject is myself. And the best challenges are the ones that are truly challenging. This will truly be a challenging experience.
So without further explanation, I begin. And I mean begin. That’s all it is today. Just the beginning. Maybe later I’ll write the middle and the end.
I remember asking my mom when I was little, “What if I can’t have babies when I grow up?”
My mom, supportive and hopeful for her child as most moms are, simply said, “Don’t worry. You will be able to have children.”
I continued on with my life, believing in those words. I still believe in those words, even when it is hard to believe.
Almost three years ago, I married my best friend. Chef Comte has been everything I dreamed about and more. Our marriage, like most, if not all, has been through it’s stressful times with money issues, moving, making life-changing decisions. And we’ve gotten through all of them, with the help of God, of course.
Almost two years ago, we piled on the stress without realizing we were doing it. We decided to try to have a baby. Months went by and every month I anticipated that maybe this time I would get the good news. But instead of leaping for joy and planning a baby’s future, I found myself bawling with disappointment. I’d get over it quickly as hope for the next month entered my mind and heart. It was a roller coaster ride of emotions. I would hope and then be met with disappointment. I would hope again and think I was really close this time. And then I would scoff at my body because I was pretty sure it was playing with me, teasing me. How rude! Especially with something so sensitive as wanting a baby.
Finally, after a year of no luck, we decided to see a fertility specialist.
Again, we had hope. Hopefully the doctor would find a quick solution to our problem. Hopefully we could get this all taken care of quickly and get back on the road to baby making. Hopefully the doctor wouldn’t find anything too serious. Hopefully we just needed a quick fix.
It took us a month to see the doctor because we were first-time patients. And then we had another long month to wait so we could both get the testing we needed. And then it took another month or so because the lab that took my tests did the wrong test on one of my blood samples. And no one told me this until later. They just said go see an endocrinologist, who told me I was fine.
By the time I got back to see my OBGYN, four months had passed since my initial phone call to set up my first appointment. Needless to say I was frustrated. I wanted a baby. Why was it taking so long? Why couldn’t the doctors find what was wrong with me?
The next step: A laparoscopy.
Because I have family history of endometriosis, my doctor felt it necessary to find out if I had it as well. So we scheduled a surgery, to take place almost a month later. 😦
The day came. I had never had surgery before. I was nervous. But my wonderful husband helped calm my nerves. I was really surprised how fast I fell asleep and then woke up. I remember the doctors coming to get me and giving me a drug that would make me fall asleep. They wheeled me in to the operation room and I was gone. I woke up a second later as the nurses were removing all the surgery accessories.
And then the news. “We did find endometriosis. We have removed it.”
…..
Now what?
Of course, that question would need to be answered by my doctor. It was late by the time the surgery was completed and my doctor had left by the time I was fully awake. I would just have to wait (so much waiting) until my follow-up visit.
Ugh!
I realize this post is pretty long. I apologize. But I’m not going to delete anything. Everything needs to be right where it is. The story, is much longer than what is written. And it continues. I did go to my follow-up appointment. Chef Comte and I are still trying options. We’re still on that roller coaster ride of expectations, disappointments, and emotions. But we carry on.
I will not leave the reader hanging. I will come back to this. There is a middle. Not an end yet. But we are hopeful.
Until next time.