Mom Struggles With Infertility

This is a topic that affects innumerable women, be they current moms or moms-in-waiting: decoding their own fertility. Some women get pregnant instantly, and bully for them. My first pregnancy (Smith) was actually unplanned. A wonderful surprise that my husband did not respond well to at first. Men can be a tad tactless when presented with life-changing news. 

Actually, men can be tactless in multitudinous ways, but we tend to remember the important ones. We can greatly improve our mate's response to situations by berating him endlessly when he errs.

Just ask my husband. He no longer wears the shock collar, and we are all so proud of him for overcoming his bedwetting problem.  

But seriously—I'm having a devil of a time getting pregnant this time. We have been trying for 11 months. I never knew that it was so hard.  At the end of every month and negative pregnancy test, I feel deflated. I feel failure. I feel loss. I am blessed to have Smith, and I know that I am lucky to have him, but I am one of three children. I want him to have a sibling so he has someone to call and say, "should we commit Mom?"

But it's not working at the moment, and I feel loss.  

No one on the outside of fertility problems can understand the emotional toll that months of trying can bring upon a woman's heart. I feel bad to complain so early, as it has only been 11 months, and I know there are women who have been trying for years. I can't imagine. I know there have been days where I just want to curl up and cry for a while because I'm so exhausted. 

Why am I exhausted? I've had months of hormones being pumped into my body, creating delightful personality changes. I've taken so many blood tests, I afraid I'm going to look like a heroin addict. I have gone to three different acupuncturists who told me different things and stuck needles in different places.  I have lost sleep.  I have peed on an insurmountable number of sticks.  I have cut out certain foods and added others.  And to what end?  Another negative test that hits me like a boxing glove to the stomach.  Another mother in Smith's play group announces her pregnancy, and I am stricken with a mixture of joy for my friend and sadness for me.    

The past few months, I started seeing a fertility specialist at Pacific Reproductive Center. On top of Metformin, which hurts my stomach and makes me irritable, they started me on Clomid—a fertility drug—which hasn't helped. Sure, it's worked for a lot of women, but it didn't work for me.

Bugger.

Clomid can create mood swings, bloating and hot flashes. I didn't have hot flashes, but boy did I have some mood swings. I laughed, I cried, and I lambasted my husband for not taking leftovers to work. I have now been reduced to a water balloon rolling down the sidewalk with an angry face drawn on with a Sharpie. People ask, "What is that?" when they see me bobbling by grumpy and delirious.  

I have talked to two different people. One person gave up trying and decided to enjoy life—but I'm not there yet. And another who went through hell for years and finally had a baby. They both say they are happy they made their individual decisions. 

I have talked to mothers of twins, mothers of one, mothers of five and mothers of many, many cats. We all struggle. We all hide our pain. That's why I wanted to write this article.  

It's OK to wear it out there. It's OK to get frustrated with the "So when are you going to have another one?" questions or the "Why don't you have any children?" remarks that leave women feeling deflated and frustrated. It's not the fault of the asker. People are people, and people want to make conversation. I don't begrudge someone who questions why I don't have another child. They just want to talk to me about a topic that is universal, and people who have never had fertility issues have no idea why you would be offended. I know I am not the only mother who answers with "We are waiting for a while" or "One is enough for us!"  

How are women to deal with fertility issues?  Remember that you still have so much to be thankful for. It's terribly painful and all-consuming, so allow yourself to grieve when you feel like grieving. Allow yourself to break the occasional dish against the wall, punch random balloons, and walk around the house in your pajamas with dried chocolate on your chin and mascara smeared down to your cheeks until noon.

But please remember the good things that surround you. 

I cherish my time with Smith (I still go in at night to watch him sleep), and I rejoice in the fact that I'm not eight months pregnant and chasing after a rambunctious toddler.

God bless the mothers who have to do that.

I can drink wine, ride roller coasters and eat copious amounts of raw fish at the moment. These are three of my favorite things to do, so life isn't so horrible. It's hard but beautiful nonetheless.

I'm prepared to endure more hormones, blood tests, ultrasounds, negative tests and sleepless nights on the road to having another child. And if that child doesn't come? I'll cross that bridge when I get there. All I can do now is just let go and let God—and a fertility specialist—help me on this road.  

There are many wonderful places in the South Bay to help you with your fertility issues, including Pacific Reproductive Center, Reproductive Partners Group and Innovative Fertility Center. These are just the ones I am familiar with—I know there are more out there. I was referred to Pacific Reproductive Center by a friend who had a successful experience there, but I recommend researching your best options. Even acupuncture alone has helped a lot of people, but my problem is more medical, so I had to bring in the big guns!  

I'll let you know when I've had my quintuplets, Redondo Beach.