I’ve been continually neglecting this blog, and last year I barely posted. This is due largely in part that it was a tough year. My husband and I have been trying to get pregnant for 3 years now. I’ve been through fertility treatments, which only resulted in a chemical pregnancy last April. I had enough and stopped the Clomid, Ovidrel, progesterone, IUI cycles, and—wouldn’t you know it?—got pregnant the next month (that would be August). We were elated. I started a to-do list for when the baby would arrive. We had names picked out. I started researching the best cloth diapers.
8 weeks later, I miscarried. To say I was devastated doesn’t even scratch the surface. I wanted to die. That sounds dramatic, I know. I felt so much pity for myself that I didn’t think I could function normally. It seemed like everyone around me was pregnant or just had a baby. This includes my beloved sister, who gave birth to my beautiful niece a couple of weeks after I lost my baby (yes, yes …. I know it was still just an embryo, but to me it was a baby). This is where the ugliest side of my human, self-pitying nature came out. Please understand that I love my sister, but I resented her terribly. This made me feel even worse and hate myself even more.
I managed to drown myself in work, coming into the office 7 days a week. Although working helped shift my focus elsewhere, it also made me question everything I’ve done up until this point. I had waited a long time to start a family. I acquired an advanced degree, which consumed my 20s and early 30s and finally got a job that paid above the poverty level. Finally, in my mid-30s, we could contemplate having a baby. I didn’t even consider the idea of infertility, but there it was.
I’m very open about my infertility. I’m sure I make some people uncomfortable, but my openness has also resulted in friends struggling with the same issue to open up to me. They may be less public about it than I am, but their struggles are just as crippling.
I thought that as I moved closer to 40 (I’m almost 38 now), I’d have a family and be much further along in my career than I am. I did the right things a woman who “wants it all” is supposed do. I’m slowly realizing that it’s time to start accepting my life as it is. And, more than accepting it, embracing and appreciating it. I do realize so many people have it much worse than I, and mine are first world problems. This is no small thing. I’m really, really lucky.