The Road to Pregnancy
I want to share my story of starting a family. “Aww that’s so exciting!” Well, it turns out its really, really hard…
Isn’t there a stat that like 90% of social media is just the rare 10% of people’s lives? I could share all the things going right in my life—but I want to share more of what I wish was talked about, what would help me feel less frustratedly alone.
“Good luck on your road to pregnancy.”
About 3 years ago, I started thinking logistically about having a baby. I thought, I should probably decrease my commute and take a less stressful job. I gave notice to my manager and mentioned to her that I wanted to start a family soon. Her response was a dark foreshadow. “Good luck on your road to pregnancy,” she said. Damn, what does that mean? Yikes! What road? “Thanks!,” I naively replied.
I want to share some pretty personal things about this journey for a couple reasons (not including the bottle of wine I just opened). The first reason is because not enough people are sharing their experiences. I want to change the stigma around fertility problems. After all, it’s just another one of many women’s health issues.
1 in 8 couples have trouble getting pregnant or staying pregnant. 7.4 million women have used infertility services.
That’s crazy. So why is everyone around me knocked up the minute they try? Well, of course that’s not true but if you’ve been in my shoes, then it genuinely feels that way. I hope someone else reading this finds comfort in knowing that despite this sucking big time, there are people who understand and who can relate.
The second reason I’m writing this is because I wish there would be a greater understanding of the impact that years of T.T.C. (trying to conceive—yes, we have secret acronyms), can have on a person. My hope is that by sharing more about my experience with infertility, it will help family members and friends of people experiencing infertility to know what to say (and not say) to best be supportive. And lastly, it just feels good to get the pain out of my head and be able to leave some of it on paper. Women are so strong, but sometimes we try too hard to endure all of our problems independently and in-private. So I’m here to say: Don’t bear it, share it. You’d be surprised how less shitty the journey is with support.
According to research, the psychological effects of infertility are similar to those with cancer, cardiac rehabilitation, and hypertension patients.
But don’t worry, the effects of infertility are less severe than patients with HIV and chronic pain… so at least there’s that. Studies have shown that up to 10% of women struggling with infertility have suicidal thoughts.
According to this article, cancer survivors who experience infertility after receiving chemotherapy treatments will often report infertility being the more difficult diagnosis, and with significantly less support 😳.
I call this next part…the rollercoaster of trying to get pregnant. Everybody’s ride looks different, some ups, lots of downs. This is mine. Feel free to laugh, cry, or close this window. I have done all of those things while writing this.
Month 1: I can’t wait to get pregnant! I’ve been taking prenatals for 6 months and I’m ready to say goodbye to my pot-smoking, binge-drinking days. Hello, motherhood.
Month 2: That was fun! We got it on last month. Not pregnant… huge bummer but I guess I have one more month to enjoy wine and my independent womanhood.
Month 3: Okay, not pregnant again. Maybe I should cut back on my wine and double check when I ovulate. Let’s spend $45 on ovulation sticks and $30 on the brand-name pregnancy tests. Some tests even work 6 days before your missed period ✌🏽✌🏽✌🏽! Side note: I discovered all the weird pregnancy forums that tell you to eat pineapple for implantation and then wish you baby dust.
Month 4: Why? Why, God? WTF did I do to deserve this? I was supposed to be pregnant 3 months ago so that I could have a baby in {insert your ideal month to have a child}. Clearblue sucks, I’ll buy First Response next month. Clearly, that’s the problem.
Month 5: I’m so sad. I woke up multiple times throughout the night, hoping that it was morning so that I could take a pregnancy test before work. Negative again. They say 60% of couples conceive in the first 6 months, so I’m almost there. It will happen soon — it has to. I’m optimistic. I guess I’m just getting a little life lesson on patience.
Month 6: WHY GOD?!?!? Seriously?! A 45 year-old meth addict delivered a baby at my hospital today, yet I can’t get pregnant? What is wrong with the world? Whatever… I guess it’s for the best. Now I won’t be pregnant at {insert friend}’s wedding and I can have fun.
Month 7: Okay, I don’t even want to talk about it. No one wants to ask, it’s becoming awkward. I’m just going to stop trying and forget about it. Besides, everyone loves to tell you, “you’ll get pregnant when you stop trying,” which is neither helpful nor true. But sure, I’ll forget about it. I’d love to be wrong.
Month 7.5: Just kidding, you can’t forget you’re trying to get pregnant. It’s your freakin’ body we’re talking about. Let’s get to work babe. This will be the month. We’re good people… this is meant to be… I can feel it.
Month 8: I’m heart broken and don’t even really remember why we were doing this. I mean, having a kid would be super inconvenient right now. They cry. And they’re expensive. And it’ll totally change girls night when I’m pregnant (slowly trying to convince myself that I don’t want this that bad).
Month 9: Great, f’ing month 9. I’m earning my way right into the textbook diagnosis INFERTILE. I hate that word. It sounds so incredibly dry and negative. I’m still hopeful and positive. The last thing I need is that term hanging over my head.
Month 10: Alright, I’ll just book an appointment and see what they say. Everything seems normal. I’m young, I’m healthy. It’ll be okay. Just taking longer than I thought….Update: Everything was normal, but the OB was horrible and made me want to run for the hills. I hate everything about this. Also, I’m not taking pregnancy tests anymore. The next test will be when I’m two weeks late and I KNOW it’s real. I might not even take prenatals, what’s the point?
Month 11: Screw it. This hurts too much. It’s no longer fun. I hate babies. I hate pregnant people. I hate anything that makes me think about this. I’m done.
Month 12: Actually… I can do this. I really want a baby. This will be the month. Of couples trying to get pregnant, 85–90% will succeed within 12 months. We won’t be that 10–15%. We can do it. We just have to really time it right and wish our lucky stars. If it happened this month, then the baby would be born in the perfect month and then they could have {fill in blank}-themed birthday parties. Eek! I can’t wait to be a mom.
Month 13–18: This fucking sucks. I don’t remember the details anymore. Done tracking, done timing it. It’s just a bad dream. It’s causing problems across the board, definitely not worth it. I’m giving up. At some point I’ll go to a specialist, but I literally can’t bring myself to do this. I also can’t forget about it. I’m stuck and sinking.
Month 19: I found a light — the best acupuncturist ever at Mama Lounge SF. I’ve never felt more calm and fertile. This shit is amazing. I don’t know what will happen but I’m going to ride this wave while it lasts. $700 a month for weekly treatment + custom traditional chinese medicine (TCM) herbs but it’s soo worth it. I have finally regained control of this maddening experience.
Month 20: I’m doing it. I’m joining a fricken women’s fertility support group, an additional $300/month. I’ve never seen a therapist in my life — why would I need to? On Tuesdays, I go to my group. Thursdays I get acupuncture. Everyday at 6am I chart my basal body temps, followed by drinking TCM herbs that ever so slightly burn your throat. I don’t drink coffee, I cut out booze. Livin’ my best life. #babymakingmachine
Month 21: It’s not working. All this work and it’s not working. It’s tearing me apart at the seams. I could burst at any moment. I just need to get through school and work. I just need to make it out alive until Tuesday night when I can share it with women who understand. It’s the only time I really talk about it. Try to stay off Facebook. One more “we’re expecting!” announcement and I’m going to throw my iPhone in the toilet and buy a landline.
Month 22: I find out a family member is pregnant and I reach my lowest of lows. I didn’t know how badly I wanted a baby or how much this all was a part of me until that day. That day is like a bad memory that makes me cry just thinking of it. And of course, I feel really, really shitty for having this reaction. Countless tears shed. Maybe more like countless days and nights spent crying. I need something to get me through this.
Month 23: Well it’s coming up on 2 years. That’ll be easier to say than 20-odd months. At least I don’t care when I get my period anymore. I’ve got an appointment next month at a fertility clinic. Insurance doesn’t cover anything but he’s the best in the city. Thousands of dollars, lots of hormones, needles, and blood draws is what I keep picturing. Though oddly enough, I think I’m finally excited again about starting a family ❤️.
Start to Year 3: To be continued. Thanks for reading and allowing me to share this journey with you, whether you’re in a similar boat, have been, or are just learning about this hush-hush topic. I’m Tricia, and I’m working my ass off to start a family. I’m crushing grad school, working part-time saving babies as a nurse in a neonatal intensive care unit, happily married to a entrepreneur, and training the world’s craziest Border Collie/Australian Shepard mix. I will not let this get the best of me, and I want other women who are struggling to start their family to feel nothing but strength and courage as they work to make their dreams reality. It’s nothing like I imagined becoming a mom would be, but I know I’ll be one helluva mom because of it.
