I’ve often heard that trying to conceive is a journey, and, as a metaphor, it holds up really well. There’s a start - going off the pill, charting temperatures, making the conscious step to stop preventing - and a destination - having a baby. You read up ahead of time (Taking Charge of Your Own Fertility in place of Fodor’s), you look forward to the trip, you get excited at the unknown. But, unlike your typical road trip, Mapquest can’t tell you how long trying to have a family will take. And that is what makes it harder than any trip I’ve ever made.
With the start of my present cycle, I’m entering my ninth month of trying. Nine months is just a moment compared to many couples struggling with infertility, which makes me feel terrible for even talking about our wait. But, nonetheless, tearing off this month of the calendar hit me especially hard, because it’s the month our baby would have been born if I’d gotten pregnant the first time out. Others who, with joy and hope, started out the blocks with us, are preparing now to have their children. I’ve nothing but the greatest happiness for them. For me, though, it’s just sadness and self-doubt.
For most of my life, I’ve been incredibly fortunate to achieve just about everything I’ve set out to accomplish through hard work and dedication. I had my heart set on going to a particular college since fourth grade, and graduated from there 13 years later. At age 10, I decided to become a prosecutor: at age 26 I was sworn in as an ADA. Three years ago, I applied for a dream job with an really well-regarded office; somehow, despite the competition, I was hired. All of this has greatly shaped both my life and my sense of self - as someone who tries very hard, but ultimately succeeds.
How ironic then, that this integral part of myself has made trying to conceive so very difficult. Much of me just can’t understand why pregnancy hasn’t happened. Logically, it seems like I”m doing everything right: I’m healthy, thin, and fit, I’ve never smoked and rarely drink to excess; I have regular cycles and appear to ovulate; I chart and “try” accordingly. So, why? I just can’t get my head around the fact that, unlike in just about every other area of my life, there isn’t a whole lot I can do to pass this test, to get this A. And it takes just about every shred of strength not to ask the next logical question, “Why did it happen for X? What is wrong with me?” I fight that impulse so greatly because I would hate hate hate to be that girl, who begrudges her friends their good fortunate. I fight it, mostly successfully, but in a small, terrible part of me I still wonder why.
To try to make sense, I’ve tried to reason that, maybe this is some part of a larger plan to teach me patience and appreciation for all I have. And I am trying to do just that, to face each month as a new opportunity to both enjoy life with my husband and to have a child, rather than merely a month we weren’t successful. But, I have to admit, it gets to me, more than I want to let on. I just wish there were some other way to learn that trying could be so hard.
Kris97
Yes, well said.