"Fifteen years from now I see myself married to a nice, romantic, funny man... down the road I hope to have four kids."
These are the words of twelve year old me. Had someone told me then, that I would be unmarried, childless, and battling infertility at almost twenty years after those words were penned I don't think I'd have believed them. Throughout my life my career path has changed. Once I wanted to be a ballerina, then an OBGYN, then a veterinarian, and mostly a teacher. But what never once faltered in my mind was that I would be a mother. I have wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember.
Two years ago today I was walking out of my doctor's office after my six week post op checkup. I'd just had emergency surgery to drain a large cyst and remove endometriosis adhesions, my right ovary, and right fallopian tube. Via the findings during surgery and my symptoms, I was diagnosed with Stage 3 Endometriosis. During that last appointment my doctor very seriously discussed the state of my fertility and asked what my plans were. I left that appointment feeling a whirlwind of emotions, but mainly dread at giving my partner the news, terror that I had already lost my chance to be a mother, and heartache at knowing I was not likely to have a natural pregnancy experience.
I went home that night and I called Will and asked him to come over so we could discuss my appointment. While I waited for him to arrive, my preexisting anxiety took this new information and ran with it. "He's going to leave you," it said. "What if he doesn't want to forgo the 'plan'?" "What if he decides to look for a partner without medical problems and a likely battle with infertility?" "Can I handle something like IVF? Can we? How do we even pay for it?" I had these thoughts and the biggest, most scary thought of all, "What if I never become a mother?", over and over again, for the thirty minutes or so that it took him to drive over.
One part of my childhood prediction did come true, though we aren't quite hitched yet. I found in Will exactly the person I'd always dreamed of. He's kind, he's witty, he's sweet and thoughtful, and almost twenty four hours a day, he's hilarious. This conversation was one of very few times that I saw him stripped of all humor. He was as serious as I was and he listened intently as I relayed the information I'd been given about my body. I told him how it had betrayed me, and us. I told him I was terrified that the Endometriosis would take my left ovary as quickly as it had taken my right. I cried and I shook, and he held himself steady and strong, my ship in the storm.
Ever since that day we have been trying for our miracle. For two years we have been riding this god awful emotional rollercoaster of a ride. That is twenty four cycles, twenty four chances all missed. Twenty four months of apps and logging information. Twenty four months of waking up to temp and following a supplement regime. Twenty four months of planning for intimacy which takes everything intimate about it away. Twenty four months of stress and worry about each other and ourselves and our family, and honestly, sometimes fighting each other against this awful situation we're in. Twenty four rides up the ascension of hope, crashing to the depths of despair, and plateauing through complete and utter apathy.
Life has a funny way of kicking you when you're down, and so ironically I write this today, exactly two years after making the decision together to begin trying for a baby, at cycle day 1. This day is the absolute worst, and I have to relive it over and over again month after month. I wait and I pray and I hope and I dare to dream of two tiny pinks lines, and instead I'm met with blood and pain and a belly that looks as if it holds a baby when in fact there are only swollen and diseased organs.
I don't know where this road is going to take us. I don't know if we'll ever conceive successfully. I don't know if we'll be able to afford IVF, if I'm strong enough to go through the process, or if it will work. I don't know if we'll be able to use a surrogate. I don't know anything about what the future has in store for us. What I do know is that this last two years has been so incredibly painful and scary, and I know that to many two years is nothing in comparison with the length of their journeys. For now we push forward and we continue dreaming of the day when it is our time to experience the joys of parenthood together.
**All images in this blog post belong to Lindsay Sprague Photography and are the work of my very good friend Lindsay Sprague.**