What I Wish I Could Tell My Family About Our Infertility Journey (But Can't)

Infertile.

It's an awful word, a frightful label.  Unable to conceive.  Barren.  Broken. Pitiful.  Cursed.

I've known since I was a teenager that I might one day have to wear this scarlet letter.  That diagnosis, that prediction, changed me in ways that were profound.  Could you imagine being told at 18 years old that you may never have children and no one can tell you why that happens to some women?  The nurse who dropped that anvil on my heart said it with the same dismissive tone she might have used to tell someone with a headache to take an aspirin and they would be fine.  And yet, I've never been the same.

At 18, I wasn't trying to have a baby.  In fact, I was still waiting for the man who would be my husband.  Can you imagine carrying that information into a relationship where children are an expected outcome?  It's brutal to have to tell the person you love more than anything in the world that you may never be able to bear his children.  I've been wearing this noose since 1997, feeling its grip tighten with each passing childless year.

I've always wanted to be a mom.  I love kids.  I have nieces and nephews that I absolutely adore.  I even have some "nieces" and "nephews" who aren't related to me biologically.  God placed this desire for motherhood in my heart since birth.  But, I have yet to see the fulfillment of that desire.  Waiting is an arduous task.  Waiting without knowing what you're waiting for is even harder.  There's no guarantees that my arms will ever be full.  I may never know what it's like to carry a child in my womb, or look down and recognize my husband's features in our child's face.  This is a deep loss.

For the last 2 1/2 years, we have been trying to become pregnant.  We started out hoping that God would grant us a miracle, but quickly realized we would need some help.  Our first step was with a local OB, but after a few failed attempts, she referred us to a specialist.  We've been seeing an amazing Reproductive Endocrinologist and specialist in PCOS (Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome) for nearly a year.  He and his staff have been amazing, but we still haven't seen a positive pregnancy test.

For those who don't know, PCOS is a disorder of the endocrine system related to a woman's cycle and hormones.  It has only been recognized in the last few decades to be a syndrome rather than isolated symptoms.  This disease can present in a number of ways for women, and it's likely that no two women experience it in quite the same way.  Some women don't even know they have an issue until they have trouble trying to conceive.  Others, like me, have been living with a list of symptoms from the time puberty strikes.  I have a pretty advanced case that affects not only my cycle but also my ability to control my weight.  It also affects hair growth - sometimes giving me cause to wax - other times being grateful I have a full head of hair even as it falls out in large clumps.  The medication that helps relieve the symptoms leaves me sick and nauseous all day.  As you can imagine, this can be brutal on a woman's self-esteem and identity.  And, it also leaves a lot of areas for people to judge, be condescending or downright hurtful.  This has been a long, exhausting journey for me.

Our immediate family members, closest friends and church family know we are on this journey, but we've tried to keep the circle small.  We need the support and the prayers, but it's such a sensitive topic and EVERYONE has something to say about it.  So, in order to protect our hearts as best we can, we've tried to stay pretty private.  But, staying quiet about something like this is a two-edged sword.  If no one knows you're in pain, they don't realize they may be making it worse.

I'm actually afraid to make this journey public to some people, or open it for public consumption via my regular blog or social media.  I have heard so many unkind judgments about myself and about others.  In this most sacred of things, I don't think I could bear some of the judgments that might be hurled my direction.  I couldn't bear to hear people say, "Well, if she would lose weight...", "Maybe this is a result of past decisions...", or "This is what they get for choosing (insert thing I've done of which they do not approve)...".  I couldn't bear thinking of the people who I feel would be a little happy to know that we are in this place of struggle.  This journey is hard enough without being eviscerated by people's judgments.  So, we've stayed fairly quiet in order to protect our hearts.

We've learned some things through this journey that we never thought we'd need to know.  I definitely know much more about human reproduction than I ever thought I'd need to learn.  And, we know that this journey is long, difficult, and exhausting in more ways than we can describe.

I wish I could explain to people how tired we are and how much our hearts hurt without hearing a solution to the problem.  We've sifted through mountains of research, talked to countless people with experience, and weighed all of our options.  We know advice and solutions and stories of how everyone else managed to beat this are meant to comfort and help, but so often they don't.  Far too often it feels like the person thinks we haven't tried hard enough, researched enough, been thorough or faithful with our actions, or that we haven't weighed all of the options.  We give bonus points and extra credit for the fact you love us and you mean well.  We know it's hard to understand where we are.  We know it's hard to find the words - we don't even have the words.

I wish I could explain that asking us about whether we've considered adoption is hurtful and hard to hear.  We think adoption is amazing and beautiful.  There is nothing on earth that echoes Salvation like adoption does.  There are many children who need safe and godly homes - we know that.  But, we are in the middle of a really hard journey and we know that adoption will likely be just as hard.  Everyday we are still holding out the hope that we will get to hold a baby who has my eyes and my husband's chin.  We're not quite ready to give up on that dream yet, and the questions about adoption - and sometimes the lectures about adoption - make us feel like you just want us to shut up, realize this isn't going to happen, and move on.  In our hearts, we know that's not what you're saying - you're just trying to offer a solution - but, it's hurtful nonetheless.  Please, understand.

I wish I could communicate that, while we love other people's children dearly, sometimes it's hard for us to be at family functions where there are babies and talk of babies.  We'll be there because we love you and we love them.  But, we don't know how to explain that we aren't jealous or angry that you have children - it just reminds us, sometimes, that we don't yet.  And, that emotion catches us at any moment.  So, if we have to step away for a moment to catch our breath, please, don't judge us harshly or think that it's an indictment on you or your event.  Our hearts are mangled and sore in this area and sometimes that pain catches us unaware.

I wish I could explain how painful and discouraging it is that my body is not my friend.  My husband has been amazing at carrying this as "our issue".   But, the truth is, it is my body that is letting us down.  I'm the one who has to have countless blood tests, invasive ultrasounds, medication and shots for us to have a chance at this.  I'm the one who has to visit the doctor as regularly as I do my local Starbucks and be poked, prodded and examined.  I've had to deal with the physical side effects of hormones and steroids that make me swell and ache and cry for no reason.  It makes me feel crazy, discouraged and at fault.  So, I definitely don't need additional judgment through this process.  I promise you that I'm judging myself enough for both of us.

I wish I could explain how invasive and embarrassing it is to go to the doctor.  From the time I start my cycle, I'm having scheduled internal ultrasounds (that's about as fun as it sounds) and blood tests.  And, lucky me, I have a ovary that loves to hide, so then they also have to try to view it from on top - which means a different kind of ultrasound that has turned out to be painful several times.  We're told when we can and can not be intimate with each other.  And, when we do get to try to make a baby, it's not in the loving confines of our bedroom, it's in a sterile doctor's office with a nurse making the transfer.  It's uncomfortable, awkward and painful.  But, this is what it looks like for us to try to have a baby.

I also should mention that I'm trying to stay as under the radar as possible at work because I don't want my boss to preemptively replace me because I'm trying to have a baby.  Wouldn't it be lovely to lose my job and still not have a baby?  So, I go to these doctor appointments at 6:30 in the morning so I can still be on time to work (and act like everything in our world is normal).

I wish I could explain that sometimes we can't do something because the doctor says so.  We had to miss Thanksgiving with my husband's family this year because of the timing of my cycle.  Isn't that lovely?  It's super fun to explain to a group of people that you'll be ovulating on Thanksgiving Day so you have to stay in town so the doctor can help you to try and make a baby.  Never mind the $$ we already spent on airline tickets or the fact that EVERYONE will be together except the 2 of us, the cycle rules the day and ovulation won't wait.  So, you sit at home, just the 2 of you, waiting for the family to have time to check in.  We also had to cancel a Christmas cruise with my family because the Zika virus doesn't allow us to travel anywhere warm.  And, even if we could have gone, it turns out that, once again, we needed to be home for blood tests, ultrasounds and another try at baby-making.  We know it's disappointing for the family that we can't be there, but it's not something we can choose right now.  We aren't looking for an "out".  We'd rather be there with all of you, but this season we are in will not allow it.  Please, have grace for us.  Please, remember us when you're all together.  Please, don't make us feel worse than we already do.

I wish I could explain how I feel like a failure as wife and a woman.  This is my job - to make a baby - and I'm failing at it miserably.  When I talk to doctors, I feel like I'm about 100 years old.  There's a clock on this.  I only have a few more years where this is even an option.  I feel like I'm failing my husband.  He had already given up on this dream once, but he took it back out of the box for me.  Now, he's having to possibly file it away again.  And, he'd be an amazing dad.  Absolutely amazing.  I see him with our nieces and nephews and I'm blown away by him.  But, I may never be able to give him the one thing I so desperately want to give.  My heart aches. My body aches.  My very soul aches.  And, there's no remedy other than a miracle.

I wish I could explain how disheartening it is that the steroids I have to take to control my Progesterone levels caused me to swell in uncomfortable ways - how it causes weight gain, but the Dr. says you have to continue.  Or, how after taking a shot to stimulate follicle growth, I woke up in the middle of the night to a hand so swollen my husband had to cut off my wedding rings in order to avoid a trip to the emergency room.  And, I wish you could see our faces as we sob together, embrace each other and pray over each of these things.

I wish I could explain the guilt I feel over the lack of energy I have to contribute to relationships.  I feel like a bad friend.  I feel like I am absent from many relationships that I value.  My emotional resources are limited and being drained by what we are continually processing. When I don't feel like an absent friend, I feel like a burdensome one.  I wonder when my friends will tire of hearing about our struggle and desire to have a family.  I mean to reach out to engage in the lives of others, but fail too often to do so.  I fear that makes me come across as selfish and only interested in our journey.  I'm very much interested in your journeys and I'm rooting you on, but I often don't have the energy to say so.

I wish it wasn't so complicated for relationships.  How do you explain to someone that it's hard sometimes to hear them talk (or worse - complain) about their babies, but it's hurtful when they shut you out of the conversation all together?  How do you make it clear that you adore their little ones, but sometimes seeing them makes you feel the hurt all over again?  How do you tell them that you are interested in their lives and want to know what's going on, but you're more exhausted than you ever though possible (physically, emotionally, spiritually) and you sometimes barely have the strength the make it through the day? And, how do you express how hard it all is and still know it's your dream and you believe that God hasn't forgotten and will somehow come through?  None of it seems to make sense.

And, speaking of God, we believe that He decides when babies come and He has the divine power to grant this desire for us.  But, for whatever reason, it is not His good and perfect will for us right now (or maybe ever). But, our faith in Him is strengthened through this, not diminished.  We are feeling love and support through the prayers of so many that sustain us in ways we never knew were possible.  We don't know what He is doing, but we still trust His hand.  It's hard to communicate the pain without it coming across as doubt at God's goodness.  It feels like a betrayal of our belief, sometimes, to say we are in pain.  We don't want others to doubt God's goodness because He hasn't granted this for us yet.  We know that he is either preparing us for a biological or adopted child, or He is preparing us for a ministry where children would distract from His work.  No matter the situation, we believe He is good and He hasn't forgotten us.  He is a good Father who loves His children perfectly - even when we don't understand.

This is hard.  Harder than anything I've done.  But, it is where we are in our journey.  It's where we are supposed to be.  We have hope that it will not always be this way.  Whether God is planning to bring us a biological baby, an adopted one, or a ministry to fill that void, we know He is not mean.  We know He has not turned His face from us.

I am grateful to those who have walked through this with us so gracefully.  I'm grateful for the prayers and support and those who just cry with us.  I'm most grateful to be walking beside a man who loves me whether I can give him a baby or not.  I can't believe how gracious the Lord has been to us that we have been able to draw closer to one another and not be torn apart.  Many marriages aren't that lucky when going through this process.  It's such a roller coaster of ups, downs, hopes and disappointments.  And, our hearts are tired and sore.  We know it's hard to love us through this, but we are so grateful for the effort.

We know it's hard to know how to love us in this journey.  All we ask is that you pray for us and be gentle with us.  Please, have compassion and grace when we can't meet your expectations.  And, if we've upset you or you're not sure if something might upset us, please, just talk to us.  We've tried to be open about this whole experience, but we know it's hard for you to understand.  So, let's talk.  We'll even do our best not to be upset if your questions are hurtful and insensitive.  The relationships are important to us and we need them.  Walk with us in this - we need you.

Here are some links to some blogs that help express what we are feeling:
Waiting for Baby Bird - "Infertility Is More Than Just The Inability To Conceive" Meant To Be Mommy - "An Open Letter To My (Fertile) Friends"
Resolve.Org - "Infertility Etiquette"

These women are so encouraging and impressive to me.  Their willingness to be open about this private issue is amazing.  Thank you, ladies, for helping express what so many of us feel but are afraid to say.