Before I begin this post, I need to issue a trigger warning: This post is about infertility struggles (but not miscarriage or loss). Proceed with caution.
Well, if the trigger warning didn’t give today’s topic away, I don’t know what will.
After much deliberation, I’ve decided to come clean publicly about
my our current struggles with infertility. It’s been close to a year now, and we recently started going to Nashville Fertility Center (NFC).
But until now, I’ve only told a select handful of people. Not out of embarrassment, or even a sense of privacy, really. I honestly don’t know why I’ve mostly kept it to myself until now.
I’ve wanted so desperately to have comfort from others, and especially to know I’m not alone in this struggle. I mean, logically of course I know I’m not alone. Places like NFC wouldn’t exist in every major city if I were alone in this. Heck, I am well aware of at least a handful of acquaintances on Facebook who have been open with their struggles.
So, I technically know I’m not alone, but I feel oh so alone. Weird, huh?
That’s basically why I’m coming out with this publicly now. Because I know there have got to be way more people out there just like me who want to feel less alone. And by telling my story as it unfolds, if I can help even one other person feel less alone, I’ll in turn help myself feel less alone.
We did our first cycle of medicated IUI (intra-uterine insemination) this past month. This is also why you guys haven’t seen me around these parts much lately (remember my super vague life update last week? yeah, this is the explanation). Fertility meds (which for me include chemo) are serious business, as are the side effects. Not to mention the whole emotional roller coaster of it all.
I found out today (well, yesterday by the time this post goes live) that this first cycle was not successful.
To say that I am gutted is an understatement.
You all know that I am a statistician, so you’d think that I’d be able to make the numbers prevail and give me hope, right? Our personal situation is generally considered the “best” type of infertility to have, so logically I know that the chances are good that IUI will eventually work.
Yet all the statistics in the world fly out the window when it comes to my emotions over this journey. My PTSD from losing my mom reaches out from the past and warps my outlook. My depression manifests itself in an unrelenting pessimism that my poor husband cannot understand (bless him and his optimism! I need it!!).
And obviously none of that pessimism is healthy, at all.
This is the part of the post where I’m supposed to shift the tone to be cheery and optimistic and tell you all that, in spite of struggling, I’m keeping my chin up.
When the truth is, sometimes I keep my chin up, but a lot of the time I just feel scared and alone and honestly kinda mad at my body and at the universe. And that’s the honest truth.
For anyone who I know in real life reading this, please don’t be scared to talk to me about it. I’m happy to be an open book about what’s going on in treatments.
For anyone reading this with whom it resonates, if you ever want to chat about it, I want to as well! You can DM me on Twitter (@mosaicca_blog) or email me at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Now that I’ve “come out,” I plan to post updates every now and again, if for no other reason than my own catharsis. I also plan on going into greater details on diagnoses and treatments eventually. But I wanted this first post just to be an introduction to coming out with infertility.
In closing, please send your prayers and positive vibes our way. I really appreciate it.
Until next time,
P.S. For the life of me I couldn’t think of an appropriate featured image for this blog post, so I decided just to use a photo from our most recent Disney trip a couple of weeks ago, because it makes me happy, and I could really use a smile right now.