The following reflection was written by Poppy.
Infertility has forever changed me . It has changed who I am as a woman, wife, sister, friend, and now, a mother. I hate to admit this, but I let it become my whole identity at times. I feel that I will always identify with a woman going through infertility because I was her for such a long time.
I want to be open from the beginning: I’m currently pregnant and will deliver this precious baby very soon. Even this far along, I still have a hard time letting it sink in that my husband and I are going to be parents. That is because of the struggle it took to get here. Infertility has forced me to leave naivety about pregnancy, delivery, and motherhood by the wayside and know that anything can happen at any time. The farther along I am in my pregnancy, the more I find myself worrying about the health of our baby, knowing what a miracle it is to have a healthy child. In many ways, infertility has left a dark place in the back of my mind. A dark place of worry that our dream of parenthood will still not come true. I have battled this every day since my nurse called to tell me I was pregnant. The things that my friends and I have gone through will haunt me for the rest of my life. I don’t want to have this knowledge of all the terrible things that can happen! But not knowing would mean that I hadn’t discussed my infertility with others; wouldn’t have heard others’ stories or been part of the network of incredibly strong ladies that surrounds and supports me; would mean that my husband and I had made this difficult journey alone.
We had nothing but “failure” over 9 years and 1 month of trying to conceive. Only negative home pregnancy tests, no fertilization with IVF, “bad eggs,” and BETAs of 0 following IUIs. Adding to the stress and heartache of it all were a handful of doctors with conflicting messages—either I was “fine,” or my body was not working properly and we should not attempt assisted reproductive technology (ART) again. We did not know who to listen to or believe. It was heartbreaking and at times, unbearable. Over all those years, my hope of becoming a mother via pregnancy constantly waxed and waned. For a while–maybe the first 5 years of our journey–my plans revolved around becoming pregnant any minute. Vacations, vehicle purchases, long-term plans, even the clothes I bought! When I finally let this way of thinking go, it was difficult, but felt ultimately freeing to not plan around something we couldn’t anticipate or predict.
Trying for that long does something to your psyche. Particularly the feelings of uncertainty and inadequacy have never left me, even after being pregnant for almost 9 months. I never expect those feelings to leave, no matter how many of our dreams come true.
The more noticeable my pregnancy has become over the past few months, the more self-conscious I am. I’ve been very judicious with Facebook posts regarding this pregnancy because I know I have Facebook friends that are still trying. When I’m in public, I wonder about what other women are thinking when they look at me. Do I make them feel angry? Jealous? Despairing? In no way do I want to evoke in others the feelings that I used to get when I saw an expectant mother in public. I hate that infertility has done this to me. I would love to enjoy this time to the fullest, but it’s difficult when I know there are so many women out there who would love to be where I am.
Despite the joy of my pregnancy, I still have a hard time being happy for my “fertile” friends when I see a pregnancy announcement. It’s such a terrible thing to begrudge someone else’s path in life, and I realize that. I try my very best to think of them what I hope people think about me: ”I don’t know what she’s been through for this child.” Just because I consider them fertile doesn’t mean they haven’t had their own struggles related to getting pregnant or otherwise. Happiness and excitement should be my first reactions, and I beat myself up over my envy and frustration that this happens so easily for some.
If you struggle with infertility, it can change you and the way you see the world—whether you tried for almost a decade, or for a year before achieving a successful pregnancy, infertility is heartbreaking. It takes something natural and makes it clinical. It takes a private exchange between lovers and puts it under scrutiny. It dismantles dreams and replaces them with the uncertain and unknowable. It breaks down identity and expectation, all while being physically, emotionally, and financially taxing. In a way, your perception of the world is re-wired, and I have found that not even pregnancy can put things back where they were.
If you are struggling with infertility, it will very likely impact you the rest of your life. No matter where your journey takes you, a piece of you will always identify with your struggling brothers and sisters. Even as I sit here feeling my precious baby move around in my belly, it’s easy for me to go back to those dark times when I thought this would never happen, or let that darkness bring worry into the vision for our future. Please know that it is perfectly normal for the traumatic moments, heartbreak, and despair of infertility to stick with you. For better or worse, these things are part of your story.