If you’ve been around Craving Connection for awhile, you have heard me share my struggles with infertility and miscarriage. (If you haven’t heard or would like a refresher, I talk about it here).
Naively, after going through one round of IVF and getting pregnant with my daughter, I considered that my resignation from the infertility club. I thought I would be able to plan out future pregnancies with my remaining embryos exactly when I wanted them and ride off into the sunset with ease.
LOL.
That has not been the case.
Below is an essay I wrote a few months ago following my third failed embryo transfer of the year. It is a snapshot of my experience, not only with transfer failures and secondary infertility, but from life in the middle of a situation where there isn’t yet an answer.
While my circumstances are unique, the experience of life unfolding contrary to how you hoped or planned is not. I hope reading my words offers solidarity and comfort to anyone who is in the middle of a struggle where they don’t yet know the ending, and a reminder that with Jesus, our hope is secure.
Last week marked my third unsuccessful embryo transfer this year.
I’m not sure if you know this, but three embryo transfers is a lot for one woman to undergo in 8 months. They require a daily gauntlet of hormones, taken orally, via patches, and through injections of thick oil, which leave welts under your skin. To ensure those hormones level up as expected, frequent blood draws are conducted, which in my case are never straight forward, thanks to my deep veins.
I am such a frequent visitor at my lab, they know me by name and don’t bother to hold the door open anymore. I get the familiar “go on back,” which is both comforting (it’s nice to be known) and depressing (they haven’t even offered me a punch card where my 10th lab is free. Rude.)
In addition to the blood tests, there are ultrasounds to make sure my uterus looks warm and inviting to an embryo. It would be one hurdle attending all of these appointments at my IVF doctor’s office, but since we moved out of town, I have to coordinate them between their office, an independent lab, and my OBGYN (can I be paid to be my own patient care coordinator?).
There is no worse feeling than waiting for my doctor to check my empty womb, hoping for the green light to move forward in the process, and hearing another baby’s heartbeat from the ultrasound room next door. At least at the IVF office I’m surrounded by women in similar situations.
While I conduct my weekly check ups locally, there are still trips to see my reproductive endocrinologist at various points throughout the process. Sometimes I make a day trip, sometimes I stay overnight to give myself the illusion of relaxation. Returning to my old stomping grounds for a quick visit has its perks, but after a while it wears on me because I still have to return one more time for the actual embryo transfer.
Transfer day involves my husband taking time off of work, leaving our daughter yet again, and making the trip with cautious optimism. We go through the motions expectantly and are bolstered by everyone’s encouragement.
Our friends and family pray and eat McDonalds fries on our behalf. My doctor always calls my embryo my “baby,” which I appreciate, and the nurses give me instructions on how to act like I’m pregnant for the next two weeks while I wait.
And then I do, I wait. I don’t eat sushi or oysters even though they’re the only foods I crave. I make sure my shower temperature isn’t too hot and when I get my weekly acupuncture (more needles, more appointments), they turn the heat off in my bed.
I’m careful not to lift my daughter too much in the days following. I don’t take Excedrin migraine for the hormonally induced headaches and tell myself my heart palpitations are just another hormonal side effect (but could they be a pregnancy symptom??).
And I pray. I pray for this to please please please be the time it works. Please let my time of disappointment be over. Didn’t I already learn enough about suffering when I tried to get pregnant the first time? Haven’t I met my quota of adversity in the fertility department? But for whatever reason, the answer to those prayers, three times now, has been “no.”
//
There are plenty of things I don’t do well—I’m not a particularly stellar cook, I’m terrible at small talk, and I’ve been known to throw away important documents in a rageful cleaning fit.
But the one area I’m confident in is my role as a mom. It’s a title I don’t take lightly, probably because it took me years to earn it, and it’s the title I’m most proud of in my life. I’m not perfect (I’ve relied on snacks or screens to buy me moments of peace and quiet, maybe too often), but I know on the whole, I’m good at my job.
In the business world, when you’re good at your job, you’re rewarded with a promotion. My logical brain knows being the best mom doesn’t equate to having the most kids. I know there are terrible mothers who have 10 kids and wonderful ones who have one, but when you desire something so deeply and your attempts have proved futile, logic tends to go out the window.
I remember the days of wanting to even be a mother so badly, just wanting a chance to prove I was worthy of this title. I saw other women mourning their secondary infertility and honestly, I didn’t have much sympathy. “At least you have one”, I’d think to myself. “I’d give anything to want a second child, I just want one.”
I’m not proud of these thoughts, but once again, in the midst of grief, your rational mind is forfeited. I would’ve given anything to trade places with those women, to be in a position to want even more than I had, when what I had was nothing.
I think back to that version of myself and it puts my current situation into perspective. I’m reminded how blessed I am to even want another child. My grief isn’t compounded by the lingering question of “will I ever be a mom?” That is an existential sadness I don’t carry with me anymore.
Instead, in its place, I carry questions like “how much longer can I keep doing this?” and “what if I never get to experience the feeling of a baby growing inside of me ever again?”
While those questions aren’t as dire as before, I’ve come to experience their validity and believe they are worth grieving over. Anytime life doesn’t pan out how you thought, it’s okay to mourn. The Lord doesn’t shy away from our laments.
So I’ll continue to bring my anger and uncertainty and sadness to the foot of the cross. I’ll remind myself again and again of all the ways the Lord has been faithful and His timing providential in my life. I can look back over my first season of infertility and loss and see how His timing was better than mine.
I repeat this story to myself over and over as a reminder of how He has done it once and He can do it again. It may not be a pregnancy, I was never guaranteed one child and I’m certainly not guaranteed more, but He will use this situation to reveal more of Himself to me.
This morning I woke up with the song “Good Plans” playing on a loop in my mind. “He has good plans/He has good plans/For me/So I will take heart in deserts and gardens.” While my desire is still for His good plans to include more children, I know even if they don’t, they are still good. This situation decidedly does not feel good, but my feelings don’t dictate the truth. He remains good no matter the situation and my hope isn’t based on outcomes, but on the assurance of His presence now and forevermore.
-KA
Dinner:
After a couple weeks of no meal plans whatsoever (the iron of KB’s meal planning posts during this time is not lost on me), I’m trying to get back into the swing of things with some easy meals. I made this harvest chicken skillet and it was delish. My friend shared this recipe with me last year and reminded me of it this year, just in time for cooler Texas temps.
Rave:
My husband and I have been fans of Nate Bergatze for the last few years, so when we heard his “Be Funny” tour was coming to Fort Worth, we knew we wanted to go.
If you’re unfamiliar with Nate Bargatze, he’s a standup comedian known for his clean and relatable humor. His delivery is so dry and his observations and self depreciation are so hilarious, we laughed until we cried the entire show. His humor is truly for everyone—there were people of all ages and stages in the audience laughing just as hard as us.
We had never been to a live comedy show before, but it was so fun to laugh with an entire arena full of people. If you have a chance to see him live on this tour, I would highly recommend it, but if not, check out his specials on Netflix or watch him host SNL on Saturday!