Loss, infertility, and admitting there’s a problem.
When I miscarried a year and a half after our newborn daughter passed away, I wasn’t sure we would try again. At first we didn’t want to. It was too much for our broken hearts to bear.
But as the first weeks passed, a renewed hope filled our hearts and we decided to keep trying. They say you’re more fertile after a miscarriage, so what did I have to lose? Well, it turns out that isn’t true for everyone.
Last week, I became so frustrated and so tired of waiting, that I finally made the phone call I had been dreading, and set up a consult with a fertility clinic.
We’ve had tests done at two different fertility clinics in the past, but I was referred there by my regular OB/GYN. I felt like I had a small safety net by seeing a “regular” doctor that all women see. I didn’t feel like I was infertile in that waiting room. But sitting in the waiting room in a fertility clinic, that makes it real. And well, I didn’t want it to be real.
Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, folks.
But they say admitting the problem is the first step, and I guess admitting the problem is bigger than your regular gynecologist can handle is the second.
It only took a few minutes on the phone with them for me to realize that I was making a really good decision. My fertility specialist put me through more in one appointment than my old doctor did in six months, and that makes me feel like something is actually moving forward. And it helps that the homepage for our clinic’s website says, “Where the waiting ends and families begin.” And dear God, I hope so.
We are waiting for all my tests to come back before finalizing our plans forward, but I already feel so much hope. As my doctor said on Tuesday, “You’ve been through a lot of rough stuff. We need to get you some happy news. It’s time.”