Infertility is like a roller coaster that you never truly get to disembark unless you actually get pregnant. I have cycled through every emotion under the sun and there is no end in sight. Gut wrenching grief….cautious optimism…pure jealousy….reluctant acceptance. I wish deeply that I could just move on, but until we have a child in our arms, I am reminded of our infertility daily.
To give us something to look forward to, we are planning a trip to Africa next summer. We needed something to fill our dreams aside from thoughts of a baby. We are getting near to the time that we need to start putting down deposits, including paying for hefty trip cancellation insurance that will cover us should we be placed through adoption between now and our departure date. As excited as I am to book Africa, it also feels like committing to this trip is poignant sign that I have given up on getting pregnant. This shouldn’t be such a hard thing when we are all too aware of the statistics for successful pregnancy when you’ve tried for three years. But even with all that awareness, the idea of giving up brings both relief and devastation.
I took two rounds of clomid in the spring without success. In reality, this is not a great option for us anyways…I already ovulate but our fertility doc suggested it and it was the only medical intervention we were open to. After two rounds, my heart couldn’t take the disappointment anymore. Plus my hair felt like it was falling out which was making me feel even more terrible about myself.
That leaves one round of clomid remaining on our prescription. One. And since we are committed to booking Africa in the next few weeks, I decided to take this final round of clomid as a last ditch effort to get pregnant before I throw that dream away for good. It feels ridiculous to even hope that it’s possible. But hope is all I have.
After a few months of putting less effort into trying, this month is really messing with me. I feel sad about our scheduled “intimacy.” It feels like a chore for both of us which breaks my heart. I am dreading the two week wait and the more than likely impending disappointment. I am tired of trying. I feel like I can’t emotionally invest in the idea of a pregnancy any longer after this last ditch effort. It just hurts way too much.
On my last day of taking clomid, a supervisee of mine confided in me that she was 9 weeks pregnant. Unplanned and unexpected. Not the best timing and feeling quite scared. I’m learning that unanticipated pregnancy announcements are the most painful for me. When I have my suspicions and can grieve in private before the announcement, I cope better. This one knocked me totally off guard. I did my very best to be supportive and congratulatory but when she left my office I wept. I made it through the rest of my work day and then sobbed at home until bedtime. Grief, you are sneaky and impossible. I dread having to be near her pregnant belly for the next 7 months. To this point, my interactions with pregnant people have been minimal – but I spend a lot of time with this person. I dread that it will be a constant reminder of what I can’t have. I know she will be a wonderful mother but my jealousy and feelings of unfairness persist.
Regardless of how this cycle turns out. I just need it to be over. I need this door to close so I can move forward. I can focus on our trip and I can accept the reality that our adoption placement will likely take another two years. I hope this is how it can be but deep down I know that I’m on this roller coaster for the long haul.