Finally coming clean about our infertility struggles was comparable to taking a sip of ice cold water on a scorching hot day. It was so refreshing. On October 30, 2018 I came clean. I posted to Facebook, a piece that I had written in my Iphone notes, articulated every word, re-read a couple dozen times, and asked Robbie, my Mom and sisters a million times, “should I post it?”
That morning, I made a cup of coffee, re-read it one last time, and hit update status. I put my phone away and decided I would not check it for at least 45 minutes. By then, it would be too late to delete. No turning back now. The response I got from that single post was far greater than I had imagined. I had friends private messaging me saying they shared my post with a friend who was going through infertility. Friends in the midst of the realm of infertility giving their support and thanks for putting into words what they too had wished to say. I even had a few people message me saying they struggled with infertility, have a family now of their own, and never told anyone close to them the struggles they endured.
That really hit me hard emotionally, knowing how suppressed I felt not sharing my story. As powerful (for me anyways) as that Facebook status was (I’ll include it below), it still left so many questions unanswered and a whole jumbled pile of misconceptions. So many responses of “can’t you just do IVF?” or “you can just have my eggs” as if we are hens that can simply lay an egg and pass if off to whomever wants it most. So much confusion about infertility, the diagnosing, our diagnosis, the what-next phase, and the our-body-can-do-what curiosity that brings many questions forth from innocent bystanders. It’s far more complicated than egg meets sperm, and VOILA! a baby is born 9 months later. All of those questions, thoughts, new information learned, and more have been running through my mind and that is how I arrived here. To creating this blog. To sharing our story. To help you understand how miraculous our bodies are – when they are working at full speed and even how beautiful they are when they are perfectly imperfect.
The post below is sort of in the middle of my infertility journey, so in the upcoming posts I’ll take you back to the beginning. Where it all began. I’m hoping that I can provide enough incite into the testings, the ultrasounds, the finances, the heart-ache of this messy life, to help you understand every aspect we endure in the TTC (trying to conceive) world.
And below is the Facebook post I mentioned:
“For quite some time I have contemplated on whether I should post this or not. But after a talk a few weeks back with a friend going through the same thing, I thought more than ever I need to post this now. Infertility. Something that has been so close to our hearts and a big part of our story the past few years. Over two years ago, Robbie and I started our fertility journey. After reading that 98% of healthy couples our age conceive within the first year of trying, we kept it a secret in hopes of surprising our family with the news of a little Melanson on the way. Never did I anticipate that infertility would be a part of our life. After a year of trying, we got a referral to our fertility clinic. This past April, I was finally diagnosed with Low Ovarian Reserve and was told I would probably never conceive naturally. Essentially, I have a low egg count and the few eggs I have, are no where near mature enough for ovulation. It’s taken a while but it’s something I’m trying to come to terms with, that this Diagnosis is not a result of something I’ve done, but rather something I was more than likely born with.The last two years, particularly the last year, has left me feeling broken. Isolated. Incomplete. It left me feeling that my body failed me. That I was failing my husband. If I can’t provide my husband a child, what kind of woman am I? That maybe I am not worthy of being a Mama.I’m writing this because I have friends struggling, feeling the same sorrows that I am. Hiding in silence. But infertility needs to be talked about, it needs to be understood. So those struggling have a stronger, more supportive community and those who have friends with fertility issues, can learn to come alongside us better. I’m a perfect example of someone hiding in the dark because I was embarrassed, not emotionally strong enough to face the truth, but also, I didn’t constantly want to be asked “why don’t you have kids yet” or “what’s wrong with you?”For those of you who have friends going through infertility, please don’t offer suggestions. We know you mean well but your advice of “don’t stress and it’ll happen,” “if you just stop trying, it’ll happen,” or “if it’s meant to be, it’ll happen” is discouraging and leaves us feeling alone, and unworthy. For us, our problems go far beyond poor timing. More than anything we want to be a Mama (or Dad) to a sweet little baby, that’s all we can think about. Instead of advice, come alongside us. Listen. Support us. Just be there.For those going through infertility, you are so strong. A wise friend wrote to me “you are perfect, whole and complete EXACTLY as you are. The troubles you are having getting pregnant is not a reflection of you or your feminity or your magic.” You may feel broken, weak, and ashamed but I promise you, you are brave and strong, resilient and persistent.For my loving husband, thank you for always picking up the broken pieces, holding me when I cry, and for never making me feel like I’m the problem or that I’m alone in this. Thank you for keeping our dream alive and reminding me every sorrow brings us one step closer to being a good parent. For constantly making me laugh throughout this process and making our bad days, a little bit brighter.Infertility is challenging. I don’t know what else to say other than it friggin sucks. Buts it’s my journey and I’m learning from it.For the struggling parents at heart, you are worthy. You are loved. But most importantly, you aren’t going through this alone.”
I’m writing this blog for me, so that I can heal. But I am writing this for you, the one silently struggling in secrecy. For the ones who are slowly and courageous finding their voice. But mostly, I am writing this for you, the one who hasn’t even started trying but sadly will face infertility. If you are going through infertility yourself, I hope this is a beckon of hope and a reminder that you are not alone. That you can find a little more pep in your step as you walk through those doors of your infertility clinic.
I’m documenting our journey, so that you may follow along, and learn to love your body in all its glory. So here is my TTC story, some tips, tricks, and things I have learned along the way.