I am the member of a club I didn’t ask to join. It’s an
elite group, consisting of only about eight percent of women. The common
thread? Infertility.
It has been a year of trying for a second baby with little
but worry, a lot of ovulation kits, and a few doctor appointments to show for it. Over the course of twelve months I’ve gone from being excited about growing our little
family to getting anxious every month to dreading going out in public or
venturing out into social media world, where everyone is announcing pregnancies
or complaining about their symptoms or showing squishy little newborn pictures.
And I just can’t deal with it.
In one year’s time, approximately 92% of women who are actively trying to conceive (meaning having a little fun in the sheets—or wherever—during ovulation) will do so. The rest of us? We’re labeled as infertile. For many, it’s Unexplained Infertility, that is to say there’s no real diagnosable reason for it. Some of us are lucky enough to have Secondary Infertility, a state no one really talks about but is actually more common than Primary Infertility, according to my RE.
Oh, that’s another thing. In the public health world we joke about the acronyms used all the time. Every field is like that, I suppose. But you want acronyms? The fertility world has them. It starts with checking our bbt daily in addition to using opks on cd10-? To track o. You then bd eod or every day and then begin poas 7dpo or later, hoping for a bfp that leads to a hb and not a cp or mmc. And lots of baby dust! And sticky vibes. And all that ridiculous lingo that somehow begins to feel all too familiar.
Here’s what I’ve learned in the last year:
1. I am not nearly as strong as I like to think I am.
This whole year has made me anxious, worried, and terribly afraid that I’ll leave my child a lonely, only child. It has affected my business and my ability to concentrate on my daily work.
2. People are insensitive.
Okay, this I knew already. But here’s the thing. PLEASE stop asking people when they’re going to have a baby. Just like it's rude to ask a person about his or her's weight, it’s impolite to ask about this topic too. And, for heaven’s sake, a person having one baby does NOT give you permission to ask about when they’re having a second one. For one, they may not want another. Secondly? In case you’re missing the point of my post, Secondary Infertililty happens, y’all. Speaking of which, on to the next one.
3. You shouldn’t ask about people’s sex life.
Unless you’re the type of friends whom you share this type of relationship with (and we all need at least one friend we can talk to about this), don’t ask any of the following questions:
Are you doing it right?
Are you ovulating?
What positions do you use?
Are you staying elevated after?
Do you use a sperm-friendly lubricant?
Don’t you think you need to gain weight?
How are your husband’s swimmers? He’s a cyclist. Aren’t they getting squished?
Y’all. I can assure you we know what we’re doing. I have had a year to educate myself on working through things. Your two cents probably isn’t going to help much. I’ve thought it, bought it, tried it, worried about it…you name it, I’ve probably done it.
3. People are still insensitive.
This needs to be emphasized, only now I’ll address the comments phase. Here are some of the things I’ve heard.
“You just need to gain weight.”
“Rolf needs to quit riding a bike!”
“You need to stop worrying. Just relax and it’ll happen!”
“It’ll happen when it’s supposed to happen.”
“It’s all part of God’s plan.”
“Oh, you want another? Here, you can have one of mine.”
“Gee, I got pregnant right away.”
You all, those last few statements are particularly insulting and hurtful. Number one, who the fuck decided that stress causes infertility? Actually, stress is a by-product of infertility, not a cause of. So let’s get that straight. Also, the notion of things happening when they’re supposed to and it all being part of God’s plan insinuates that either my life isn’t together or God wants me to suffer. I just can’t reconcile either of those thoughts.
As for the offer for one of your children or you sharing that you got pregnant right away, well those are just big shakes of salt grinding into our wounds. Your child is lovely, I’m sure. However, it doesn’t share any of my DNa. And yes, adoption is a wonderful thing and has been on my heart since high school, but I am obviously trying to conceive on my own for certain reasons. Your flippant, totally in jest statement is belittling to the sadness that is heavy on my heart in this season of life. As for your getting pregnant right away or by accident? Good for you. Go ahead and wear that gold star today.
But honestly, I was hanging out with some friends when one said to me, fresh squish in hands, “It’ll happen when it’s meant to be.” I just about lost it. I wasn’t looking for advice and, if I was, I wouldn’t be searching for it from someone who still has a fresh new mama glow.
4. Listen to your bodies.
I started going to my doctor about this after 6 months. She told me to redecorate a room and enjoy the trips we had planned coming up and that I’d be pregnant by the summer. She also told me to stop tracking my ovulation. Here’s the thing. If your doctor discourages you from better knowing your body or dismisses your concerns, find another one.
In one year’s time, approximately 92% of women who are actively trying to conceive (meaning having a little fun in the sheets—or wherever—during ovulation) will do so. The rest of us? We’re labeled as infertile. For many, it’s Unexplained Infertility, that is to say there’s no real diagnosable reason for it. Some of us are lucky enough to have Secondary Infertility, a state no one really talks about but is actually more common than Primary Infertility, according to my RE.
Oh, that’s another thing. In the public health world we joke about the acronyms used all the time. Every field is like that, I suppose. But you want acronyms? The fertility world has them. It starts with checking our bbt daily in addition to using opks on cd10-? To track o. You then bd eod or every day and then begin poas 7dpo or later, hoping for a bfp that leads to a hb and not a cp or mmc. And lots of baby dust! And sticky vibes. And all that ridiculous lingo that somehow begins to feel all too familiar.
Here’s what I’ve learned in the last year:
1. I am not nearly as strong as I like to think I am.
This whole year has made me anxious, worried, and terribly afraid that I’ll leave my child a lonely, only child. It has affected my business and my ability to concentrate on my daily work.
2. People are insensitive.
Okay, this I knew already. But here’s the thing. PLEASE stop asking people when they’re going to have a baby. Just like it's rude to ask a person about his or her's weight, it’s impolite to ask about this topic too. And, for heaven’s sake, a person having one baby does NOT give you permission to ask about when they’re having a second one. For one, they may not want another. Secondly? In case you’re missing the point of my post, Secondary Infertililty happens, y’all. Speaking of which, on to the next one.
3. You shouldn’t ask about people’s sex life.
Unless you’re the type of friends whom you share this type of relationship with (and we all need at least one friend we can talk to about this), don’t ask any of the following questions:
Are you doing it right?
Are you ovulating?
What positions do you use?
Are you staying elevated after?
Do you use a sperm-friendly lubricant?
Don’t you think you need to gain weight?
How are your husband’s swimmers? He’s a cyclist. Aren’t they getting squished?
Y’all. I can assure you we know what we’re doing. I have had a year to educate myself on working through things. Your two cents probably isn’t going to help much. I’ve thought it, bought it, tried it, worried about it…you name it, I’ve probably done it.
3. People are still insensitive.
This needs to be emphasized, only now I’ll address the comments phase. Here are some of the things I’ve heard.
“You just need to gain weight.”
“Rolf needs to quit riding a bike!”
“You need to stop worrying. Just relax and it’ll happen!”
“It’ll happen when it’s supposed to happen.”
“It’s all part of God’s plan.”
“Oh, you want another? Here, you can have one of mine.”
“Gee, I got pregnant right away.”
You all, those last few statements are particularly insulting and hurtful. Number one, who the fuck decided that stress causes infertility? Actually, stress is a by-product of infertility, not a cause of. So let’s get that straight. Also, the notion of things happening when they’re supposed to and it all being part of God’s plan insinuates that either my life isn’t together or God wants me to suffer. I just can’t reconcile either of those thoughts.
As for the offer for one of your children or you sharing that you got pregnant right away, well those are just big shakes of salt grinding into our wounds. Your child is lovely, I’m sure. However, it doesn’t share any of my DNa. And yes, adoption is a wonderful thing and has been on my heart since high school, but I am obviously trying to conceive on my own for certain reasons. Your flippant, totally in jest statement is belittling to the sadness that is heavy on my heart in this season of life. As for your getting pregnant right away or by accident? Good for you. Go ahead and wear that gold star today.
But honestly, I was hanging out with some friends when one said to me, fresh squish in hands, “It’ll happen when it’s meant to be.” I just about lost it. I wasn’t looking for advice and, if I was, I wouldn’t be searching for it from someone who still has a fresh new mama glow.
4. Listen to your bodies.
I started going to my doctor about this after 6 months. She told me to redecorate a room and enjoy the trips we had planned coming up and that I’d be pregnant by the summer. She also told me to stop tracking my ovulation. Here’s the thing. If your doctor discourages you from better knowing your body or dismisses your concerns, find another one.
….
Let that sink in.
It took me a couple of months, but I went to another doctor.
Sweet and more supportive than the last, she too said it would happen soon.
Nearly 6 months later, it hasn’t. So what did I do? I scheduled an appointment
with a reproductive endocrinologist, better known as an RE in fertility world.
As someone once said, ob-gyns are great at keeping you pregnant, but it’s the Res
that are good at getting you
pregnant. So with that said, I’m now on a course of action so that we can
expedite the process. Because who wants to wait an entire year of actively
trying before seeking out professional help?
5. Infertility is a lonely world, especially when it comes
in secondary form.
In my daughter’s daycare class, there is almost always a pregnant belly or a new sibling. In the land of social media there are pregnancy announcements left and right, and we’re talking the ones at pinterest-level effort. There’s no “Hey, I’m pregnant!” anymore. No, no. It’s got to be announced with a random celebrity’s assistance or a perfectly designed photo shoot or poem or some other ridiculously concocted plan.
It is a terribly lonely and isolating place to have one child and long for another. There are people who will say, “You should be grateful that you even have one. Some don’t get that!” Don’t be one of those people. If you say that to me, I can’t promise what reaction you’ll get. Because no matter how many children you have, if you expect to be able to have more and then suddenly find yourself unable, it is truly devastating.
I’m not wrapping up this post in a beautiful package and telling you that I am now in a better place about it or that I’ve found myself unexpectedly pregnant. I’ve never been one to sugarcoat a current status and have always found it frustrating when people post after they’ve seen the rainbow after a storm. I’m still in the middle of the downpour.
Here’s my ask from you: be sensitive to those around you. That’s it. Use common sense. Don’t ask insulting questions. Don’t let a thoughtless pearl of wisdom roll off your tongue. It’s not nearly as eloquent as you hope it to be. Instead, just be real. Ask how they’re doing. Drop the subject if they don’t seem as if they want to talk about it. Listen if they do. Don’t give advice. If they want it, they’ll ask for it.
Until next time….
In my daughter’s daycare class, there is almost always a pregnant belly or a new sibling. In the land of social media there are pregnancy announcements left and right, and we’re talking the ones at pinterest-level effort. There’s no “Hey, I’m pregnant!” anymore. No, no. It’s got to be announced with a random celebrity’s assistance or a perfectly designed photo shoot or poem or some other ridiculously concocted plan.
It is a terribly lonely and isolating place to have one child and long for another. There are people who will say, “You should be grateful that you even have one. Some don’t get that!” Don’t be one of those people. If you say that to me, I can’t promise what reaction you’ll get. Because no matter how many children you have, if you expect to be able to have more and then suddenly find yourself unable, it is truly devastating.
I’m not wrapping up this post in a beautiful package and telling you that I am now in a better place about it or that I’ve found myself unexpectedly pregnant. I’ve never been one to sugarcoat a current status and have always found it frustrating when people post after they’ve seen the rainbow after a storm. I’m still in the middle of the downpour.
Here’s my ask from you: be sensitive to those around you. That’s it. Use common sense. Don’t ask insulting questions. Don’t let a thoughtless pearl of wisdom roll off your tongue. It’s not nearly as eloquent as you hope it to be. Instead, just be real. Ask how they’re doing. Drop the subject if they don’t seem as if they want to talk about it. Listen if they do. Don’t give advice. If they want it, they’ll ask for it.
Until next time….
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