The “Perfect” Time
My husband and I had just relocated to a quaint, old town in South Carolina. I did not yet have a job and had a lot of time on my hands. We had been married for 2 years. It was the “perfect” time to start a family. I had visions of being able to stay at home with my baby, joining a mommy group, making a lot of mommy friends, and eventually building up my piano studio again. It seemed like the “perfect” plan.
Our definition of “perfect” so often does not match our God’s definition.
When we did not get pregnant during that first month, I panicked. Never once did it occur to me that we would have difficulty getting pregnant. No one in my family had fertility struggles. It never occurred to me that it could take time to conceive. It certainly never occurred to me that we would not be able to conceive at all. Discouragement and defeat set in from the very beginning. With little else to focus on, thoughts of having a baby consumed me.
After a year of “trying,” we decided to seek the help of a specialist. My hopes soared. The myriad of tests checked out fine. A baby HAD to be in our near future! Our doctor had a fabulous reputation. I KNEW that he was going to be able to make my dreams come true!
Many drugs, a surgery, and IUI’s later, still no baby. Before each new protocol, my hopes rose up high only to plummet when the results were not as I had hoped. The emotional roller coaster was intense.
Anxiety and Depression
My emotions started to manifest themselves in physical ways. Panic attacks and depression plagued my days and insomnia haunted my nights. I was having difficulty functioning. With much encouragement from my husband, I sought the help of counselors. After months of talk therapy, I decided to try medication to help pull me out of the pit.
I will never forget the morning I woke up and felt like the medication had kicked in. I felt more like myself than I had in months. At the same time, my husband and I had relocated again.
It was an opportunity for a fresh start.
New city. New friends. New house.
I longed to leave the pain of infertility behind me. I wanted to try something different.
My heart started to turn towards adoption.
My husband longed for a biological child.
We heard about this fantastic fertility specialist in our new city. Her clinic was on billboards, in magazines, and on TV.
A visit to the clinic revealed her successes: pictures of babies everywhere. I dreamed of the day when our baby was on that board.
My husband and I prayerfully made the decision to try IVF. I was reluctant…horror stories of side effects from the medication consumed my mind. At this point, I was excited about the possibility of adoption. If IVF did not work, we would pursue adoption. Dreams of adopting a baby are what kept me going during the treatment.
The treatment was physically and emotionally draining. It was a struggle to balance remaining positive and remaining guarded. I wanted to believe that this could actually work; but, at the same time, wanted to guard my heart against possible disappointment. I don’t think I ever succeeded in achieving that balance.
IVF round 1 did not work. We were left devastated, disillusioned.
I had no desire to return to continue with treatment, but we had no choice. We had 2 frozen embryos left.
It took about 8 months for me to get up the courage to return to the clinic for IVF round 2. The side effects from the medication lingered for about 6 months after round 1. My hopes were high again. Protocol was tweaked in order to give us a better shot at success. After the procedure, I felt positive that it had worked. I was calm and hopeful that I was carrying our child.
A phone call from the nurse revealed that I was mistaken.