When my husband and I were told that we were not able to have children on our own, there were a flood of emotions that took over. Disappointment, sadness, incompetence, grief, uncertainty. Those are just a few. I remember thinking, “now, what?”
I think that when we think of experiencing grief, it is when someone we love dies. At least, that’s how I always thought of it. I didn’t realize that I was grieving the news of not being able to get pregnant. I was experiencing a huge loss. I cried, a LOT. I felt like my body was somehow damaged. I wanted to have a baby. I wanted to be a mom. Throughout my life, I thought about what I would name my children. I thought of the fun trips that we would take to Disneyland and the beach. I never imagined that I just wouldn’t be able to do those things!
Most of my girlfriends were having babies or had already had one or two children when we were trying to get pregnant. I had been to countless baby showers, received news almost monthly that another friend of mine was expecting. My husband and I would go to church events which consisted of kids running everywhere, moms talking about how exhausted they were, and dads talking about how expensive kids were. My husband and I both just felt left out. We wanted to be part of those conversations – (we wanted to be tired and poor – ha!) 😊.
After a miscarriage, a laparoscopy (resulting in an endometriosis diagnosis), meeting with 2 different adoption agencies, we eventually met with an infertility doctor and decided to try invitro fertilization. Before going to the clinic for our first appointment, I remember feeling embarrassed. Embarrassed that we weren’t able to do this on our own. Embarrassed that my body was unable to create life in the way that it is supposed to – although that quickly changed when I realized how many other women go through this! The waiting room of the clinic was like a mini-support group. Even though we didn’t talk, I felt so much hope, in that room. The simple smiles we exchanged were statements of “we’ve got this!”, or “it’s going to work!”.
It DID work. The first time! It was a gnarly process – one that I don’t ever want to go through again, but it worked, and we were blessed with twins, a boy and a girl! After years of wanting to have our own baby – we finally had children that would carry on my family’s extra-round chin, and my husband’s long eyelashes.
My kids will be turning 10 this year. They are happy, healthy, and crazy. They think it is SO cool that their first baby picture is of them in a petri dish as 5-day old blastocysts – which has actually led to some interesting “where do babies come from” discussions. 😊
I am forever grateful for the doctors and nurses that helped us become parents. I am grateful for the families that struggled with infertility and shared their story with us. I am no longer ashamed or embarrassed. I never should have been.