Tag: infertility

Keeping resentment in check

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One of the things that I’m certain all wanna be/future mamas struggle with is resentment, particularly while trying to conceive. It has been a real challenge for me to keep in check. Each time I hear of someone who is pregnant, or whose partner is pregnant, my brain asks why not you? I often hate that that is where my mind goes, but there seems to be little I can do to stop it. Even if I am happy for the person — and I almost always am — it is just what happens.

I may not be able to change my first thoughts upon hearing this news, but I can control my visible reaction and response. In the last few weeks especially, I’ve expressed my disappointment in it not being me to my husband many times after many, many baby announcements. I (probably wrongly) assume that it was easy for them to conceive. They may have gone through the exact same thing that I am. But I always manage to tell myself that they were lucky or blessed. Two things I hardly feel describe me or my situation. They’ll probably glow and look like they just swallowed a basketball at 38 weeks, too.

Of course I have no ill will towards these women, and I sincerely hope that they have healthy pregnancies. I wish I had an easier time feeling the positives. I know my time will come. I just want it to be right now.

The shift

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Sometime in the last hour my outlook on the day changed dramatically. That happens to me frequently, as I’m sure it does to most women trying to have a baby. That dramatic, sudden shift – the certain to uncertain – is a source of fear and loneliness for me, not to mention it can physically hurt.

This month I had my first fertility treatment – a five-day round of Clomid, paired with intrauterine insemination (IUI). These past 24 days have felt like some of the longest in my life. Never have three plus weeks crawled so unbearably slowly. In fertility lingo there’s an acronym – TWW (the two-week wait), of which I am more than midway through. TWW refers to the void of time between an insemination and the pregnancy test.

I’m scheduled to take my test this Friday, but about an hour ago, in the restroom, I feared that I wouldn’t have to wait out the calendar for another few days. Now my heart hurts. The last few days I had essentially convinced myself that I was, in fact, with child. Headaches, fatigue, nausea for no discernible reason… classic pregnancy symptoms. It’s a strange thing to be happy about feeling bad. Yesterday when I felt like I could barely keep down some fruit for lunch, turned my nose up at my large iced coffee, and then sat most of the afternoon at my desk with a box of crackers in my lap, I was feeling elated. When I packed my crackers in my desk drawer at the end of the day I thought gotta get used to this…with a smile on my face.

Yes, I know that a successful round one of fertility treatments isn’t that common. Tries three and four are more likely to work. I know. But, you see, I did some simple math and it added up to a sign. Insemination (and therefore conception) took place on my father-in-law’s birthday. We would find out if it “stuck” on the 13th – my mother’s birth date and (deceased) father’s lucky number. Then, 40 weeks later would take us to November 6th. A lucky six dead in the center of my husband’s lucky five and my lucky seven. That math just couldn’t lie.

Since that moment I’ve treated every second as though I’m carrying the child that I’ve waited for. The nurses tell you after insemination that while nothing is restricted, you should behave as though you are pregnant – stay away from alcohol, take good care of yourself, and the like. I have. I will. Until that little stick shows me one line or two. That stupidly small piece of technology that determines if I get the job as “mama.”

Right this second I’m less sure that I will get that job this month. I want to go back an hour and unsee the spot of red that suddenly, like a shot, made me feel hopeless and helpless again. Just as I have every month before.