finding normalcy
After our final failed IUI attempt, I was numb. The day that I took the pregnancy test, I didn’t even cry when it was negative. I just sat there not knowing what to do next. So I called in sick to work, crawled into bed and stayed there for the next 8 hours. I did eventually cry, but my body was so tired it couldn’t even muster the tears at first.
For many on this journey, IVF would be the logical next step, but we had spoken to our doctor a lot about that likely not being the most realistic option. My insurance at the time didn’t cover IVF so our cost would have been $20,000. This was on top of the amount we’d already spent for the past year on the parts of my treatment not covered either. Because of my unicornuate uterus, even if implanting the embryo would be successful, my miscarriage rate was still nearly 50%. As two 26-year-olds, that was a lot of money to put on the line for not the greatest of odds of having a pregnancy make it to a live birth.
So instead, we paused everything. The truth is, during that year of treatments, I completely lost myself. Looking in on us it would seem as if we had everything we could possibly want. But the desire to be a mother hadn’t changed and now the impending reality that it just might not happen, and I was the reason, became stifling.
I lost my confidence as a woman. The acne and constant hormonal swings from all of the medications made me feel like a stranger in my own body. Which of course on the surface is so superficial and shouldn’t matter, but when you’re facing the possibility of not being able to do the one thing a woman should biologically be able to do, the superficial stuff seems to matter even more.
I tried to picture my life without children and a family, and part of me could see it. But I know that really I was just going into self preservation mode so that if it didn’t work out, I could just go on with life and be fine. Only I was never truly sure what fine and going on with life was supposed to look like.
We were grieving. No we hadn’t physically lost a child, but we lost the dream that I may one day carry my own child. We were so lucky to even be able to go through fertility treatments, but with each failure, my feelings of inadequacy increased. It was unbearable.
I needed to get back to a place where I just had fun and did things for the sheer joy of it. I hadn’t felt like myself in so long, that as happy as I would have been to give up all of the things I was required to during treatments, since it didn’t work, I needed to take a minute to do things for myself. It’s hard not to feel selfish when saying that, but I believed that if I got back to a place where I found some semblance of normalcy again, things might start to make sense once more.\
The feelings of loss are endless. It makes you evaluate everything you thought you knew about yourself, your relationship and life in general. This may seem like an exaggeration to someone who hasn’t been through it, but even now, nearly 10 years later, I can still feel that unimaginable pain deep inside me. That longing that finds a permanent part of everything you are.
In the midst of all the pain, unfortunately, my ex-husband and I didn’t do a good job working through our emotions. At first, we had incredibly honest conversations with each other. Many were ugly. Many still hurt to think about even now. We were raw. I didn’t just want to sweep things under the rug and he didn’t want to dwell. So we ended up burying the pain, the anger, the animosity and tried to move on with life. We’d go out nearly every weekend, travel and always stayed busy so we didn’t have to face reality. The problem with that is of course, all of that is always sitting under the surface ready to rear its ugly head. And it did. Often. Sometimes it was stupid and we could move on, and sometimes it was earth-shattering and left us knowing we were tearing each other apart and creating wounds that would be nearly impossible to heal.
Hanging out with family and friends. Traveling. Trying to find normalcy.
For those that know me personally or as my blog says, I am divorced. Some wounds leave deeper scars than others, but I can openly and gratefully say, my ex and I are on wonderful terms. Our journey didn’t end here and I’ll dive more into what did come next for us, but as I am sharing the journey honestly, it’s only fair to note that while many couples can go through infertility and come out stronger, we were not one of those cases. We struggled. A lot. So, if you’re going through this too, you’re not alone. Struggling as a couple doesn’t mean you won’t make it—but it’s okay to feel the crushing weight of it all. Sometimes, just knowing you don’t have to have all the answers right now is enough.
As always, thanks for reading and being here for the journey.
Honestly,
Theresa