It's funny to think back now. A few months before my 34th birthday we decided to start trying to have a baby. Up until this point, we had done everything to prevent it. My thoughts at that time were "let's get our first one in before my 35th birthday". Here we are, I'm almost 35 and a half. During the last 19+ months we've had several months of negative pregnancy tests, learned about how not fun timed sex is, had a miscarriage after a year of trying, been diagnosed with unexplained infertility, had 2 IUIs, and now another miscarriage leaving us with the diagnosis of recurrent pregnancy loss.
It's a journey.
I don't know if you ever think you are going to be that person. The person who longs for a family, and doesn't know if it will ever happen. The person who is more afraid of a positive, than a negative on the pregnancy test. The person who suddenly gets hit with a wave of grief because out of no where you're triggered. The toilet at work where my first miscarriage started; I can't walk into it without remembering that day vividly.
It's a journey.
I remember the first time I walked in for my work up at the fertility office. In the blink of an eye, my life was changed. Not because I don't have incredible people taking care of me, but when it comes to fertility testing, you are poked, prodded, asked very personal questions, and have very personal tests done. Your dignity goes straight out the window. Little did I know 19+ months ago that it would be part of my normal routine to walking into an office before 7 AM, getting my blood drawn and having an internal ultrasound. Because let me tell you, the first time I saw that ultrasound wand I wanted to ask "you're going to put that where?!"
It's a journey.
The other thing I've found during this journey is it helps to have people who have walked their own fertility journey. But you also find out just how different everyone's story and journey are. Through it all though, they get it. The fear, the pain, the anxiety, the unknowns - the whole mess of emotions. They get what it's like to sit and wonder "will it happen?". They get what it's like to feel the ticking time bomb of age hanging over your head with every delay. They get what it's like to have well-meaning people who say things that hurt you to your core. They. just. get. it.
It's a journey.
It's a club you never wanted to join, but now are a part of. I've heard the statistics are anywhere from 2-5% have recurrent pregnancy loss. But I also heard someone say, to those 2-5%, it's 100% to them - and that's exactly how it feels. It's a pretty lonely place to be when you fall in that small percentage. So you have to do what you can to find your people who can support you.
It's a journey.
It changes your relationship with your partner. At the beginning someone told me "you start fighting and don't even know why because you want the same thing". She was completely right. We've snapped at each other for no reason. But we've also grown through it. To sit in the sadness together, that takes strength. To have to sit and talk through tough decisions. It has challenged us to our core in every aspect of our lives and relationship.
It's a journey.
So, I'm not sure how you landed here, or if you can even relate. If you can, know I'm sorry you're here, but want to walk alongside you. I know our stories are all different, but it makes the journey a lot less lonely to walk alongside it with those who get it. If you can't relate, but want to understand. Thank you. Infertility. Miscarriage. Grief. They are all hard. So very hard.
It's a journey traveled better with others.
