This post is also available as a podcast here: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/s-p01/episodes/Infertility-e2ko0i8

This is a post I’ve been avoiding, but it’s time to write it. Approximately 10% of the people reproductive age face infertility, and I am in that 10%. It’s a rather unfortunate medical issue that only seems to get worse the more invested you become. We know that stress affects our physical state, but when facing infertility, stress is heightened and there is a clear correlation of that stress decreasing success rates. The more you want to conceive, the harder it seems to become. Meanwhile, you might watch friends conceive without even trying – and only become further stressed.

People around you will tell you to relax, it’ll happen. None of us feel like relaxing about it, the stress is overwhelming. There’s an inherent belief that we were made to procreate; that our bodies should just do it. So, when it doesn’t happen, there is an overwhelming feeling of failure underlying everything else. I felt like a failure; I felt unworthy somehow and I questioned every single reproductive choice of my life. None of those feelings or actions were useful to my process, and if you find yourself going down that path, I’m here to tell you: You are not a failure. You are worthy. You are not responsible for your infertility. It is, but that doesn’t mean it’s your fault. Love.

I got lucky. I have a child. This post is coming out about 5 years after the procedure that resulted in my child. It seemed fitting. I’ll tell you about my journey, my processing, and my lessons. I’ve always had short cycles. I spent my teenage years working to normalize my cycle because I was bleeding for 3.5 months straight with about a week off. That was my “cycle.” I didn’t want to take birth control because I wasn’t having sex. I used progesterone cream to get a more “normal” cycle: 21 days. I had ovarian cysts, my hormones were all over the place, and so were my emotions.

I started having sex – always with condoms. But, my best relationship of that time resulted in a pregnancy that terminated in early miscarriage the same cycle I got my first set of birth control pills. I took birth control continuously from that time until I wanted to have a child. I thought it would be easy to conceive. I thought I had an abundance of eggs, so I waited until my second marriage was finalized to stop taking birth control. But, my cycle wasn’t right. It was still short, but it was also very light and, just, weird.

About 5 months in (I was already in my mid-thirties), I went to my OB/GYN office to get checked out. My hormones came back – I had an AMH (Anti-Mullerian Hormone) level of 0.3. For reference, the recommendation is 1.0-4.0 for conception. Receiving a result of 0.3 is extremely low and only typical in late 40s and beyond. It was a sign of perimenopause; I was told that I could be entering menopause before I turned 40. My other tests were in line with that result; they indicated that my ovaries were severely depleted for my age and my body was struggling to mature egg cells to ovulation.

Devastating news for someone who waited to have kids; who desperately wanted to be a mom. I was depressed for months. I couldn’t focus on work; I spent hours working on puzzles to distract myself from crying. I did all that I could to keep moving forward and have any faith that my body would come around. We went to a fertility doctor. He reran all my tests, confirmed that my results were at levels consistent with someone in their mid-late 40s. He gave me a 2% chance of conceiving, with his help. IVF wasn’t an option because my AMH level was so low, 0.19 at his office. I could try IUI, but that was my only option.

By the time we finished all the testing, all the prep, I had no hope left. I kept hoping the numbers were wrong, but I just kept feeling like my body had failed. I spent all those years saving myself to have kids when I was ready, exercising, eating healthy, and genuinely doing my best to be my best in everything. I hit a wall with infertility; it was the first time in my life that trying harder wasn’t going to help. The more stress and energy I poured in, the worse things got. Ironically, losing hope – worked. I gave up, I went through the motions convinced it was a waste of money and it wasn’t going to work. Then, I got my child.

I can’t say giving up is the answer. I’ve tried to have a second child on my own, but each attempt has failed. I can say that I have so much empathy for everyone who faces infertility. My journey was not as long as most. The expense of IUI is significantly less than IVF. I have a fraction of understanding the pain and loss in this process. However, I hope that by sharing my story – we all feel less alone.

This whole post was my story, but let’s end on a bright note that has nothing to do with fertility: the time I confused everyone with my Halloween costume.

I watched Parks and Recreation, but I didn’t really identify with the characters the first time. I think I was grading while it was going, so I enjoyed it – but I wasn’t fully watching it. Then, someone who knew me well told me I was like Leslie Knope… and it was like an explosion in my brain realizing the similarities. I was a bit stunned by the realization. I get overly excited, I care “too much,” I’m totally the person who did the whole group project, I was just a bit shocked. I don’t like when she’s mean to Gary, but I rewatched the series to experience the show through my new lens.

That year, I dressed up as Leslie Knope for Halloween. The episode “Citizen Knope” where she shows up in sweatpants with a white Garfield t-shirt that says “I hate Mondays.” I got the shirt, wore sweatpants to work with Ugg-like boots and spray painted my hair that gold blond color to look like her. I even walked into my upper division class and said “What up, Fartwads?!” Nobody got the reference. Nobody. No one recognized the costume, I was just in my own little random P&R world, looking like a slob at work on Halloween. Please, laugh with me.

Whatever difficulties we face in life, they always shape us. The key, I think, is to find the best of them.

There is no upside to infertility, but there is an upside to the hope inside us while we carry on.

Much Love, -S.