Anonymous

I’ll always remember the days I prayed for the things I have now.

. . .

The phrase “trying for a baby” always made me uncomfortable. I felt like the couple was welcoming everyone into their bedroom as well as their personal lives. I had no idea that perhaps it was their way of reaching out for emotional support during a time of excitement mixed with fear.

I’m a planner. Long before my husband and I knew we’d start “trying for a baby,” I had read numerous books, charted my cycle and BBT, cut back on drinking and more. So when the first negative test came back, I was pretty bummed. When they kept coming month after month, I knew something was up. I called the nurse at my medical center and was told to “stop thinking about it and have a glass of wine.” (Surprise - I never went back to that medical center).

Throughout all of this, I only spoke with my husband. He was incredibly kind and supportive, but keeping all of it bottled up was taking a toll on me. We got another negative result just before a vacation with our families. My husband emailed them to ask for a break from well-intentioned baby questions, as we were trying with no success. They responded with heartfelt support and respected our wishes, allowing us to enjoy our time with family at the beach.

As luck would have it, during that vacation I was targeted on Instagram by a new fertility company, Kindbody, that was doing a pop-up testing truck. They were focusing on women who might want to freeze their eggs, but they were also offering heavily discounted blood tests that my primary care provider wouldn’t even consider until we had been trying for a year. I eagerly signed up, and was able to slip in a quick blood draw on a workday, not wanting work to know where or why I was going.

When the results came back that my AMH was in the gutter, my lack of surprise did not soften my devastation. The time between getting those results and my appointment at a fertility clinic stretched on forever. I kept myself up at night reading websites, blog articles and social media posts and just crying. Though we had opened up to family, I was hesitant to pull other people into our pain. I have always been an incredibly optimistic person, but it felt like that part of me was being smothered. After speaking with the fertility specialist, realizing not all was lost and developing a plan, I started to regain a little bit of my optimistic side.

My husband and I agreed that opening up to people may help me feel less isolated. I started slow, giving my high school friends the scoop over WhatsApp. One friend reached out immediately, sharing her story of using clomid to conceive both of her children. I then mentioned it at a dinner with my local girlfriends. Their compassion made me tear up and wonder why I had waited so long. One of my girl friends was going through a similar situation and had kept it bottled up.  We were able to support each other without suffocation and it felt great.

After a couple of IUIs with support from acupuncture, I was able to get and stay pregnant. Once we started sharing the happy news with others, I found myself compelled to mention it had been hard to get pregnant and that we turned to fertility treatments. My honesty and openness was welcomed by so many who had gone through it, knew someone who had, or had concerns about their own future. It also made me realize how fortunate we were. Though we tried for a year, being able to get pregnant after just two IUIs was truly a gift. So many other people have much more difficult situations. 

Going through this journey and learning the importance of connecting with others has allowed me to support so many people going through their own journey. As I move from the “trying for a baby” phase, to the trying to “raise a baby” phase, I am grateful knowing that I can turn to my people for support, no matter what challenges, or joys, lay ahead.