My guest bathroom has been overtaken by some unwelcome visitors…

Basal Body Thermometer.

Fertility Calendar.

Prenatal Vitamins.

Baby Aspirin.

Progesterone Suppositories.

Clomid.

Ovulation Tests.

Pregnancy Tests. 

 

The guest bathroom isn’t the only thing they’ve taken over. Recently I’ve realized they’ve also taken over my life. My infertility is consuming me. Every morning I’m either bleeding, bleeding and taking Clomid, taking an ovulation test, inserting a progesterone suppository, and/or taking a pregnancy test. Don’t forget the daily prenatal vitamin and baby aspirin as well as some occasional blood draws at word. The morning temps will resume once I’m off nights. Beyond these “tasks” that are ruling my life I’ve also got the physical symptoms. Hot flashes, hormones/emotions, bruises (thank you baby aspirin and Jake), and vaginal discharge you don’t want to know about (For those of you who may need to take vaginal progesterone in the future—send me a message if you’d like to know about this—I would have liked a heads up). And even if all of the aforementioned didn’t exist I still wouldn’t be able to get pregnancy/infertility/babies off my mind. 1) I’m a Labor and Delivery nurse. My job is bringing babies into this world. It’s a pretty great job, but when all you want is a baby it can be mentally taxing to help other people meet their babies every day. 2) Every time I look at Facebook someone else is announcing their pregnancy or the birth of their baby. 3) I want a baby. I really REALLY want a baby.

When we first started testing to see why we were having miscarriages I prayed that nothing would be wrong. I wanted everything to come back negative. I didn’t want any answers because that would mean everything was normal. By the time we got to the SIS and HSG I was hoping I’d have a septum. I wanted to find a problem and I wanted the problem to have an easy fix. Find a problem. Fix it. Get Pregnant. Have a baby. We didn’t get any answers and we probably never will.

Lately my Facebook newsfeed has been inundated with pregnancy and birth announcements and baby photos. I love seeing them and am genuinely excited for the soon-to-be/new parents, but I am now all too aware of the sting that seeing those posts can bring. I know that when I get stay pregnant I’ll be counting down the days until I can make the big announcement on Facebook. I’m already thinking up cute ways to tell the world we’re expecting. 90% of me wants to do that big announcement. The other 10 percent? The other 10 percent can’t stop thinking about the heartbreak that others may feel when they see my announcement.

Most of the time most people only show the world their best days. You’d think everyone’s world is perfect after a quick scroll through Facebook and Instagram. We see the perfectly cleaned homes, the perfectly cooked meal, the perfectly behaved children. The fun weekend trips and vacations. Birthdays, engagements, weddings, anniversaries, babies. All the good stuff. Can’t complain about that right? It’s not at all bad that this is the majority of what is posted. Actually, it’s pretty darn good. My Facebook feed is full of happy, blessed, optimistic people.

We see all of the pregnancy announcements, but we don’t always know of the journey someone took to get there. I’m not there yet, but I’m definitely on the journey.

The worst part about infertility? I try not to be a crazy person and every month I tell myself I’m not going to be crazy but I just can’t help it. Every month I tell myself I’m not going to take a pregnancy test until I miss my period. I’m not going to take a pregnancy test when I KNOW it’s physically impossible for it to be positive…even if I am pregnant. Every month I tell myself I’m not going to let it consume me, but every month it does. I mourn with every period. Not only are they physically more painful following a miscarriage, but the emotional toll a period brings following a miscarriage and with infertility is overwhelming. And then the agonizing time between ovulation and waiting for the next period and hoping it doesn’t come.

Infertility is hard to explain and hard to understand. The roller coaster of emotions. I know it will happen. It will. I know I need to be patient and try to enjoy the journey. But it’s hard. It is so incredibly hard.