In honor of National Infertility Awareness Week (4/18-24/21) I wanted to share the letter I contributed to Emily Long's newest book, In the Waiting Time, Messages from Infertility Warriors. It can feel vulnerable and daunting to share about infertility (the acronyms alone!) but it also feels really important to speak out. You can find lots of great information about infertility and how to support those going through it here: https://infertilityawareness.org/ https://resolve.org/support/for-friends-and-family/ Brave Fertility Warrior, I’m sorry this is so hard. This thing that seems so easy for everyone else. This thing that happens by mistake, with no planning or intervention, no pills or needles, no muss no fuss, no heartache. It’s not fair. But it’s not just one “thing” either, is it? Getting pregnant isn’t just trying to conceive- it’s your hope, your dream, the way you envision your family- your life. It’s your baby and your parenthood. The fact that it isn’t easy can very quickly get wrapped-up in your self-worth. Then you can find yourself spiraling into over self-analysis. That vicious cycle - the “yes, this is it- I feel different- I know this HAS to be it”, to the let down, the disappointment, the heartbreak, the grief. Then the self doubt can seep-in. The “I don’t know what’s going on with my body, or my partner’s body, this will never happen.” None of this helps. Then add in all of the platitudes that well-meaning people seem to never run out of- “just relax”, “it will happen”, “if you weren’t so stressed about it all, you’d already have a baby”. And don’t get me started on the clueless, innocent questions that are so much salt in the wounds of infertility...the hurtful list goes on and on. But I don’t have to tell you that- you know- and I see you. I see you giving yourself the pep-talk every cycle, trying to invest your heart in it every single time. It’s exhausting and daunting and tortuous. For me, my journey to parenthood started as someone I would eventually resent- we got pregnant in the first month of trying after getting off the pill. Honestly, we weren’t even trying, we just stopped preventing. I assumed infertility was something I would never have to face, and while I was aware of it as a concept, I was just grateful that I didn’t have to endure knowing more. Then at the end of our first pregnancy, just past our due date at 40.5 weeks, we got the devastating news at a routine ultrasound that our precious baby was no longer alive. She had a strong heartbeat at our appointment on Tuesday and by Thursday morning, she had died. Inside of me. I delivered her that night, though we didn’t yet know she was a girl. We wanted to be surprised. After 4 hours of active pushing I gave birth to our first child. The first thing I said was, “Well, is it a boy or a girl?” “Girl.” The doctor said it so quietly. It was all so heartbreakingly quiet. A girl. I looked at my husband and we knew her name was Mathilda- our powerful battler. I could write a book about my experiences around Tillie and what kind of Mother she has made me- but I will save that for another time. Another book perhaps. After Tillie died we knew we wanted to try again. We were in those early stages of intense grief, and while it was suggested to wait a bit longer for our emotional well-being, we couldn’t- we had to try as soon as it was physically possible. Looking back I am glad we did. After months of trying, timing, and tracking ovulation with no success we started infertility testing. Ultimately I was diagnosed with a low ovarian reserve. I was running out of eggs faster than I "should" have been at my age. So, while it didn't mean we couldn't get pregnant, it did mean that we had no time to waste and that we would need help. Not the worst news, but coupled with our grief it felt appropriately unfair.. So the plan was to try a few rounds of IUI and if that didn’t take we would have to talk about IVF. After taking Clomid, going to acupuncture, internal ultrasounds to measure follicles, and a shot of Ovidrel to get the party started, we went in for our first round of IUI. It just so happened to be the day before Mathilda’s first birthday. To say we were emotional wrecks is an understatement. Luckily, we also decided to rescue our sweet pup, Zuzu the same day. We named her Zuzu after the youngest daughter in It’s a Wonderful Life. Zuzu’s flower petals are George’s final reminder that life is worth living- and we certainly needed that reminder then. We were just trying to hold on to anything we could. Not to mention, holding on to any kind of hope was exactingly complicated because this thing that we so desperately wanted was a thing we were equally terrified of, because of our loss. The fear and the what-ifs were overwhelming. I am grateful that we conceived on that first round. It was a gift to only have to endure one round, after all the testing and trying. All of the time spent trying for a living child was no small feat and it is something other people- who have not experienced the devastating challenges and losses we have- simply cannot even begin to understand. We held Tillie in our arms, we know her smell, her weight, her sweet skin. We had a beautiful child, and it is not fair to have to start all over again when all we wanted was her. After the long-haul of pregnancy after loss, filled with more tests than I can count, we delivered our second daughter, Winslow- alive. Then, when she was eight days old, I knew something wasn’t right. We brought her to the pediatrician who immediately called an ambulance to rush her to the ER. She wasn’t getting blood to the lower half of her body, she had gone into shock, and she needed emergency open heart surgery. We were transported to Boston Children’s Hospital where they saved her life, along with ours. I have contemplated - if Tillie had lived, would Winnie have died? Honestly, if we hadn't experienced Till’s death, I don't think we would have been as hyper-vigilant. We just knew from personal experience that terrible things happen and it doesn’t always go to plan. Winnie didn't get an in-utero diagnosis- I just had a pit in my stomach that she was going to die. If I hadn't known that life is cruel, and babies die, and infertility is traumatic , I wonder if she would have had the more common outcome for her condition- she wouldn’t have woken up. I say all of this just to express that you will never be the same because of this journey. You will be a different person now. You will live in a different way than you ever would have if you weren’t facing this. The grief and struggle of infertility and loss wear on you- emotionally and physically. I look in the mirror and can see it in my eyes and on my face. I carry it- like my love for Mathilda, like my fight for Winslow. Those experiences won't go away- they are a part of who I am, a by-product of the irrevocable change in me from navigating this path. After all of that, we still knew that we wanted a living sibling for Winnie. I figured it would be a similar experience and we should get going as soon as possible. We started by testing my levels. Come to find out my AMH had dropped again, by more than 50%, and the red alert light in my mind started flashing. I stopped pumping for Winnie and got on Clomid to begin the IUI process again. It didn’t work. I upped my Clomid- it didn’t work. The two week wait became agony. I started dreading the emotional disappointment each cycle. I began to feel desperate and hopeless. It was scary and sad. I just had to keep trying and hope that my body could do it again. It was all so intense and after five unsuccessful rounds we were feeling incredibly defeated. We had one last chance. IVF would have been the next step, but we couldn’t afford it. This was all we had left. The timing worked out that we would go in for our sixth and final round of IUI on the morning of my 37th birthday- that had to be good luck, right?! It worked for Tillie’s birthday, so why not mine? I went through all of the usual emotions in that two-week wait, all of the over self-analysis, the ups and downs- and it ended in two little pink lines. I took an extra pregnancy test to be sure- just like we did the first time with Tillie. We were pregnant again. We did it. Deep breath. Could this be my boring baby? The one who is born alive and can stay alive without a major surgery? Yes, and his name is Hugo. As I write this he is a sweet koala of a baby who is ten months old and gives hugs like he knows what we’ve been through. I decided to get an IUD put in as soon as I could- the end of an era. I just knew we were done. It was sad- both me and my OB cried- we have been through so much together, we are forever linked. She is a true Hero of Compassion and I will love her always. I don’t know how your journey will end- what your family will look like when this era is over for you, but I do know that the struggle and the fight will be worth it because you will be able to look back and know that you did what you could- what was right for you. I can’t guarantee it will be what you hoped for or dreamed of- but it will have made you who you are- a fertility warrior. In love and solidarity, Darcie Mama to Mathilda, Winslow & Hugo https://lostlullabies.weebly.com/ https://www.facebook.com/lostlullabies
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