It’s been a rough couple of months. Well actually, it’s been a rough (almost) 2 years. I (Kelly) have been on a constant emotional roller coaster at work ever since I moved into a new position. I’ve been jerked, pulled, and loopy-looped in so many directions that when I finally thought I reached the calm in the storm, I found myself officially burned out and disenchanted with what I do. This was supposed to be role that set me up — set me up for the solid career path, ongoing success, and, most importantly, the work-life balance I needed as a mom.
Well, it’s been over a year and a half, and I’m still not a mom. For those of you out there experiencing the same constant ups and downs that come with trying to conceive, and eventually an infertility diagnosis, I know you join with me in my conclusion: infertility’s a bitch.
With every Facebook update or Instagram picture of someone’s sonogram, growing belly, or precious newborn, a bit of myself falls even further into despair. But Billy and I are not giving up—acknowledging that many others have suffered longer than we have, and maintaining our faith that this miracle will eventually happen—but it doesn’t change the whirlwind we experience with every passing, failed month. Not only do I find myself losing confidence, but each negative test leaves me with less hope.
We started fertility treatments last January (2015), just after we’d both turned 28. The fact that we’re not even 30 yet makes this even harder since every fertility specialist I see says some version of, “Don’t worry, you’re still young!” Like anyone else who’s heard that, I hate that we have to go through with this. And, after nearly a year of tests and procedures, unfortunately for us, we still have no answers and no more direction than we did 8 months ago. But I’m just not emotionally ready to think about other ways to have a family.
The worst part about not having answers from a doctor is having to invent conclusions about what’s wrong by yourself. Billy thinks my years of living in a misophonia survival-mode have just made me too stressed. Maybe he’s right. We spend days and night searching the internet for diet tricks, fertile health tips, and wondering if we’re even doing this thing people were created to do correctly.
Every day we’re not pregnant is another day that someone I know could be (or is). One of the reasons we left the city was to get away from the constant parading of newborns around our block. It’s unfair, to anyone who is pregnant, for me to feel this way, but for as happy as they feel, I guarantee I feel 10 times more distressed. And this makes talking to friends and family about our infertility even harder. Why should I be the one to bring everyone down especially if someone is basking in the joy of being pregnant or being a parent for the first time?
One of Billy’s work friends went through the same thing a decade ago, and he says the hardest part for him was losing tons of close friends because it became too hard to be around them and their new families. I’ve never been good a keeping relationships, but it’s circumstances like misophonia and infertility that can make me wonder if I was ever meant to have them in the first place. Of course, it’s always a risk to let someone in, but in the end we all need support from others to get through our daily lives.
Infertility is a bitch. It’s unfair and completely uncaring. For those of you who have been through infertility, Billy and I would love your advice on how to cope and even come out stronger on the other end, because right now, it feels quite hopeless.