It’s Pouring.

My last blog post is dated January 20th. I drafted another on January 21st, but never published it. Now it’s hard to even know where to start. We are three weeks into a new reality in the United States. The COVID-19 pandemic has changed the world. Nobody knows how long before we will all return to working in offices, or when we will stop wearing masks, and disinfecting everything before we bring it into our homes. Will some once normal elements of our lives be forever changed, like sporting events, concerts, and festivals?

I have been working from home since the week of March 16th. We had just returned from New York for my laparoscopic surgery which was the week prior on Thursday, March 12th. That was the day that the Coronavirus shit really hit the fan. The NBA cancelled the rest of the season the evening prior. I know I haven’t written about it before, but my husband and I organize a large annual public event. It’s a significant part of our lives, and we work on it outside of our day jobs. This year’s festival was scheduled for March 29th. We ended up announcing its cancellation the same day as my surgery.

My stepdad, who has lived with Alzheimer’s disease for the past few years, had been declining quickly for the past 6 months. My mom moved him into a nursing home the last week in January. He passed away less than two weeks later.

I also chose to try another ovarian stimulation cycle after January’s failed cycle, in hopes of a different outcome. I wanted desperately to squeeze one more egg retrieval in before my laparoscopy. I wanted to believe that my body was still capable of growing viable eggs. It was my eighth stimulation cycle, and was cancelled on February 28th after 13 days. I had four follicles that didn’t seem to change at all. This was my last attempt to get eggs from my own ovaries.

The week after my laparoscopy, a surgery that was recommended for me before attempting a frozen embryo transfer, my clinic, along with most other fertility clinics around the country, decided to suspend all cycles in accordance with ASRM guidance. After spending over a year and tens of thousands of dollars on egg retrieval attempts, related treatments and testing, we were finally ready to transfer with my next menstrual cycle after surgery. Now that’s postponed indefinitely.

I realize that there is a place for levity with respect to the current state of the world. However, the #coronaboom jokes (about a predicted baby boom in 9 months) are, in my opinion, tacky for several reasons. There are thousands of families that are grappling with postponed cycles. They are undoubtedly processing multiple layers of grief right now. There are pregnant women who are afraid for their health and the health of their unborn babies. And there are millions who have lost their jobs because of COVID and are struggling to meet their families’ basic needs. People are in pain, many are suffering, and nearly 100,000 have died worldwide.

There is also a series of posts circulating on social media with a similar theme. Many start out like this… “The world is healing. In Venice for the first time in forever the water in the canals is CLEAR…” It goes on to list more supposed benefits to the environment due to the reduction in human activity. The validity of these claims is highly questionable. Many of these posts go on to claim that the virus is actually just Mother Earth putting us in “time out.” Claiming that the virus is here for a purpose. All of the posts like this that I have seen all seem to have an air of authority. All of this is very dismissive and tone-deaf. It’s the equivalent of being told that “everything happens for a reason” after a pregnancy loss. Or “maybe you just weren’t meant to have kids” to someone who is infertile. There are so many people grieving in the world right now, because of COVID, or because of pain that existed before or in spite of COVID. Grief is valid, pain is valid, and there is no reason that anyone should accept this toxic drivel about the virus being here (causing extreme loss, anxiety, pain, and death) for a reason.

I started this blog on a whim with a promise to myself that I would start to find joy and happiness in my life again, in spite of the heaviness of pregnancy loss and infertility. I had hoped to document my own journey to reclaiming my life, after being consumed for the past few years by our desperate attempts to have a living child. The good and the bad, the victories and roadblocks. I am struggling. 2018 was the year we lost our baby girl. 2019 was the year of IVF – we threw ourselves into aggressive treatments. And it was also the year that my sister emotionally abused me for months, and physically assaulted me. 2020… well, it seems as if a year has passed already, and it has only been three months. I have been working on finding some sources of joy and will share them. But right now I’m just working on surviving.

Pregnancy Announcement Blowback

We came home from New York after another cancelled IVF cycle, and as I sifted through the mail, I found a holiday card… the last one of the season. I opened it up, not giving it a second thought, and there was a pregnancy announcement. Early ultrasound pics and all. I started 2020 with the intention to live my best life alongside infertility and grief. Today I feel lost. My emotions around the cancelled cycle, this pregnancy announcement, and future treatment all feel… very heavy. I’m acknowledging my feelings, and I’m hopeful that writing about them may help me process all of this.

To tell the truth, as much as I really, really wanted to be happy for the pregnant person, I also wanted to scream profanities and throw the card across the room, curse God and once again wonder why I can’t be like them. I ran to my husband and said indignantly, “Guess who ISN’T pregnant? Me. just me. I’m the only one who isn’t pregnant.” We speculated about this announcement. Were they trying? Was this expected? I said that it was probably a surprise – because that’s how things seem to go. Everyone seems to get pregnant without a hitch. Without even trying that hard. Without any interruption to their lives, much less any medical intervention. Everyone but me, of course.

I realize what I’m describing is what people call victim mentality. And yes, sometimes I just need to wallow in self-pity before I pick myself up again and again, because these people who are announcing pregnancies left and right, and going on to have uneventful experiences, are people who I have to face, not just acquaintances on social media. I have to bite my lip to prevent from crying as I congratulate them. Yet it’s more complex. I also have to hide my fear and anxiety, the trauma I’ve experienced from pregnancy loss. The sheer terror that I feel, on top of thinly veiled envy, when someone announces at 6 weeks gestation or shares ultrasound pics from 8 weeks. The images and memories that come up in my mind. I know first-hand how much can go wrong.

I’m feeling a strong sense of deja vu as well.
Almost every time I’ve gotten pregnant, it has been early in the calendar year.
I was cast in a dance concert when I found out I was pregnant with our girl in January 2018. This was our third pregnancy, and I was afraid to tell anyone. But I had to tell the people that cast me, because the show was 4 months away at that point, and if I did stay pregnant, it would clearly impact their pieces.
I told everyone, sent an email, most pieces were re-cast, and then we lost her months later.
Another dancer got pregnant on accident and waited until it was “official just in case something happened” i.e. 12 weeks/second trimester to announce in March 2019. She texted everyone. It reminded me so much of the email I sent a year earlier, talking about timing as my pregnancy progressed and not being able to dance but wanting to help in other ways. It’s an email that probably nobody but me remembers.
And now another surprise announcement.
It has been nearly 2 years since I announced my own pregnancy to this group. It’s distressing for me to think about how much time has passed, and how many treatments we have endured since then. And still we don’t have a baby.
Sometimes I look back and try to remember what it felt like to be 16 weeks pregnant. I was afraid at the beginning of the pregnancy, but by then, my fears had nearly subsided. I was naive and believed what most like to say, that once you’re past the first trimester, you’ve entered a safe zone.

Then there is the guilt. I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to be resentful, jealous, and bitter. I wish that I could be fully happy for people who are easily able to have biological children. What a gift it is. It’s like a special club that is closed to me, no matter what I put my body through, how much I sacrifice, how hard I try, how much I hope and pray for my status to change, and how much I visualize myself entering the club. I can’t force the doors open. I can’t buy my way in. No amount of hard work on my part seems to open those doors. Yet, I watch as others pass through effortlessly.
There have been times when I thought I might get in. I got to the top of the steps, touched the door handle, was able to get a small glimpse inside. Each time, I seemed to get a little further along. The last time that I was *almost* in and was swept back down the stairs and knocked on my ass, I wasn’t even surprised. I expected it.

I will see this pregnant person today. I’m not going to say anything. I’m going to try to get through the encounter without crying. That’s just where I am today. Maybe tomorrow will be easier.

If you have never lived through pregnancy loss or infertility, please know that they both fuck with your mind. I’m not always able to look on the bright side, or count my blessings. I’m often sad and anxious. I realize that I have gradually isolated myself over the past few years, as medical diagnoses were delivered, bills piled, treatment became more intense, and time marched forward faster than I imagined possible. I often hesitate to describe our experience to friends and family because it is incredibly complex. But I am so appreciative of anyone who has checked in with me, and who has expressed concern and support. Most days I feel like hiding in a corner or burying myself under the covers. But it’s lonely over here in the corner.

If you are reading this and know of someone wading through the shit that is infertility or pregnancy loss, know that a simple gesture – a text, email, or offer to meet for coffee – can go a long way. Odds are they are lonely and already feeling like the odd one out. Go one step further and read about infertility and pregnancy loss. Researching these issues might help you understand what your friend or family member is facing. For more information on how to support a friend facing infertility, check out this article. If you want to know how to help a friend who has experienced pregnancy loss, I think this resource is helpful. There is a separate page for late miscarriage. As someone who has survived a late miscarriage, I can say that there are nuances that not many are aware of, such as the physical experience of labor, and other difficult and upsetting events and circumstances that often accompany a late loss.

Lucky Number 7 [continued]

Lucky cycle number 7 is on the verge of being cancelled, so as it turns out, the Agonist/Antagonist Conversion Protocol recommended by Dr. Sher didn’t work for me. This is SD 8 (stimulation day 8 – in other words, my 8th day of taking drugs to stimulate follicle growth in my ovaries). We went in for our monitoring appointment, knowing that we had three small follicles and one possible cyst three days ago. The nurse waved the ultrasound wand around inside my pelvis for all of two minutes, which was a record-short ultrasound for me. I didn’t even see her measure the follicles on my left ovary. But somehow she concluded that there was no growth since my last scan three days ago. And my labs also showed no increase in estrogen, which Dr. Sher did say could happen with the A/ACP. However, without a change in estrogen or follicle size, CNY saw no justifiable reason to continue.

I’m not surprised, but I am disappointed. In spite of my attempts to avoid getting attached to the outcome of this cycle, I am upset. I put a great deal of planning and resources into cycle number 7. We have been staying with my in-laws in Rochester, NY in order to be monitored locally by CNY Fertility. Typically we are travel patients. Many things needed to fall into place in order for this to be possible. I gathered up the courage to ask permission to work remotely. I chose a month when I knew my meeting schedule would be light. My ex husband was available to take care of one of our dogs, Chance, who I adopted during my first marriage. My consultation with Dr. Sher was in October, 2019 – nearly three months ago. I waited and waited after a letrozole-induced 60 day cycle, so that I could start priming with birth control and lupron, the first phase of the protocol. And finally, on January 3rd, my period came. We left for New York that weekend.

I got the call from the same nurse at CNY that I saw this morning for my record-fast, and apparently unremarkable ultrasound. I think it’s interesting when people delivering bad news tend to ask, “how are you?” beforehand. I imagine that it’s how they have learned to warm up to the person on the other line, and perhaps buffer the blow. I stopped disingenuously answering “good, how are you?” as I expected they wanted to hear, and started meekly responding with “I’m okay” at some point in this process. She said that she had talked with the other nurses in the office, and since there had been no measurable growth, and they were unfamiliar with the protocol recommended by Dr. Sher, they could not advise me to continue. She told me that the addition of Cetrotide on SD 1 was something that CNY would not recommend, because Cetrotide can stunt follicle growth. She gave me several options, including continuing for a couple more days and keeping my appointment two days from now to see if anything had changed. She advised me to call Dr. Sher, which I had already planned to do.

I called Dr. Sher, being mindful not to contact him too early, since he is in Los Angeles, 3 hours behind me. I explained that I was in the middle of a stimulation cycle using his protocol, with little to no follicle growth on SD 8. I asked for his recommendation. He said that it was clear the protocol wasn’t working for me, and then proceeded to recommend estrogen priming, but not just any estrogen priming. HIS estrogen priming protocol, which he would disclose to me should I decide to cycle with him in L.A. (which we cannot afford to do). He also opened up my records, and noted that I have “EXTREMELY low AMH and VERY high FSH.” He added that my AMH is probably much lower now, than the last time it was measured. He finally recommended that I continue stimming for 4 days using the same meds, and if nothing changes, the obvious choice would be to cancel this cycle, schedule a cycle with him to try estrogen priming, or move onto donor eggs. To Dr. Sher’s credit, he has answered his cell phone both times I have called him, and has answered my questions, for the most part.

I had to take a few breaths and fight back the tears after these phone calls. Reality set in. I talked to my husband about our options, and we decided that we would continue meds and keep my next monitoring appointment, if nothing else, to use the time to discuss a new plan. Perhaps estrogen priming? Ironically, I had discussed estrogen priming with CNY after my last cancelled cycle, but while researching it, I came across Dr. Sher’s agonist/antagonist conversion protocol, became intrigued, and set up a phone consultation.

It seemed pointless to continue the same amount of meds – Gonal-F, Menopur, and a full dose of Cetrotide – as I had for the previous 7 days with no measurable progress, so we decided to try removing Cetrotide. Two days with stimulation meds and no Cetrotide may at least tell us whether or not Cetrotide was impeding follicle growth. We don’t have much to lose (except valuable stimulation meds), because this cycle appears to be a bust either way.

I’m tired. My body hurts. I am feeling anxious about being away from home. I began experiencing physical side effects from stimulation drugs during my last cycle that was cancelled in October, 2019 after nearly two weeks of stims.
My joints began to ache.
My knees would throb. They hurt when I was sitting. They hurt while I lay in bed.
Then my back began hurting.
Then I started spotting.
I felt pretty good this time, until few days into my current cycle, when I started having intense cramps. [TMI] I started spotting and passing pink tissue. But other than that, I felt fine. Then the joint pain set in around day 7 of stims.
I have had more cancelled cycles than egg retrievals at this point.
I often wonder how many more times I should put my body through this.

  • Hey, I feel alright this time! Oh, just kidding.

It is hard for me not to feel like I am now another step further away from having a baby, instead of another step closer. When I spoke with the CNY nurse today, she looked back at my previous cycles, noted that I had my best cycle yet on letrozole, and expressed that for women like me, sometimes IVF is trial and error. But time marches on, and while I always attempt to find the lesson in what didn’t work, I think about the amount of months and years that have already passed. When I felt like crying today, it wasn’t because my cycle was getting cancelled. Instead, I caught myself thinking of the pregnancy we lost in 2018. She would be 15 months old now. We would have our baby – if only I could have kept her alive. We wouldn’t have been presented with the option to venture down this path of seemingly never-ending treatments, appointments, procedures, and medicine that fucks with my body and my emotional state.

In an effort to document my cycles for my own reference, as well as possible benefit to others, I have outlined my protocol below. I also plan to share protocol outlines from my past stimulation cycles in upcoming posts.

Lupron was 0.5 mg/10 units per day; Omnitrope/HGH was 0.33 mg/6 units per day; Cetrotide during stims was 0.25 mg, or one full kit per day

ETA: This cycle was cancelled, as we suspected it would be. After dropping the Cetrotide for two days, there was still no measurable follicle growth. We sat down with the PA at CNY Rochester, and she theorized that Dr. Sher’s protocol had suppressed my ovaries too much. She came up with a couple of options for our next stimulation cycle, and set an appointment for me to talk to Dr. Kiltz on the phone this coming Monday.

Lucky Number 7

On Monday I started my seventh round of IVF.

2019 was the year of IVF. I underwent six stimulation cycles throughout the year, three of which led to egg retrievals. I learned quite a lot about the science of IVF – meds, supplements, timing… but most of all, I learned to temper my expectations. I can control several inputs in this process but I can’t control the outcome.

I started the year having just survived the first holiday season since we lost our baby girl in the second trimester. The day after Christmas 2018 was my consultation at CNY Fertility with Dr. Kiltz. He came in, larger than life, and talked a mile a minute about keto, keto, keto… and oh yeah, IVF too. I do have a great deal of respect for Dr. Kiltz for so many reasons. He is clearly dedicated to his patients, and he has built a fertility business that is more accessible than most clinics in the United States. His relentless optimism is infectious, and I left with a plan, and the feeling that this could work for us.

Then my lab results started coming back. AMH 0.08. Fragile X pre-mutation carrier. Sperm issues. We made adjustments, but I was not dissuaded from proceeding with stimulation cycles. This is the benefit (and the drawback) of CNY. Nobody is turned away, regardless of hormone levels, AFC count, previous failed cycles, age… nobody. All patients are made to feel like they have a good chance at conceiving.

My first egg retrieval in March resulted in zero eggs. Not to be deterred, I jumped immediately into another stimulation round (DuoStim). And success! The egg retrieval that followed produced our first embryo.
And then another failed stimulation and cancelled cycle in May, followed by yet another stimulation and early ovulation (and cancelled cycle) in June, followed by a luteal phase stimulation which yielded two embryos in July.
We took a couple of months off, and tried again in September, attempting to mimic the protocol from July. Nothing. I think the nurses kept waiting for something, anything to grow… so I went back for ultrasounds and blood work three times. Cycle cancelled after 14 days of injections.

321 shots in 2019. At least that’s the estimate that I have after looking back at my calendar and the number of days that I stimmed or primed with HGH.
24 ultrasounds
26 blood draws
10 pounds gained
Many unpleasant side effects
Lots of trial and error
3 frozen embryos

I worked extremely hard for our three embryos. I ran around the city for ultrasounds and blood work. I tried (vegan) keto for a few months. I went gluten-free. I tried intermittent fasting. Acupuncture. I meditated, I did yoga for fertility, I tried yoni steaming. I spent hundreds of dollars on supplements, thousands of dollars on stimulation drugs, and tens of thousands of dollars for IVF and PGT (preimplantation genetic testing – which constitutes its own post).

Each new stimulation cycle was an opportunity to start fresh, to try a new and promising protocol, to find the silver bullet we were looking for. Each cancelled cycle was such an extreme letdown for me, because I invested all of my hopes and dreams, time and energy, into the cycle. I did as I was told – I adjusted my mindset. I expected a positive outcome. I prayed for the cycle to work. I visualized my ovaries full of eggs. I obsessed over my lab results. I questioned each scan that showed zero follicles.

I became embarrassed to keep going back to the same local OB-GYN where many CNY travel patients from Indianapolis have gone for ultrasounds. The office is so small that all of the medical assistants seemed to know my story. I started to wonder what they thought of me – was I the desperate older woman without a chance? Did they think that I must have unlimited funds to spend on this venture? Did they think I was selfish for wanting to have a biological child?

My last cycle began in September, 2019 and was cancelled in mid-October, after 2 weeks of injections. Seven days of Letrozole, arguably the worst drug I’ve ever taken. My joints hurt. I was exhausted. I was spotting – I was told it was possible for my ovaries to be overstimulated even if they weren’t producing anything, and this was a sign of overstimulation. This sent me into a 60 day menstrual cycle which didn’t end until late November. In the middle of the longest cycle ever, I got the results from our PGT-tested embryos. None of them have Fragile X Syndrome or are Fragile X carriers. But all of them are abnormal or aneuploid, per CooperGenomics’ guidelines. The news was crushing. We will not discard these embryos. I would like to transfer them. There are debates raging online and among fertility doctors regarding the validity of PGT. Still, I realize that the odds of a viable pregnancy from these embryos are still very low.

I knew something needed to change. I wasn’t ready to stop trying yet, so I started researching optimal protocols for women with DOR (diminished ovarian reserve) or POI (premature ovarian insufficiency). I came across Dr. Sher’s work, specifically the agonist/antagonist conversion protocol. I read his opinions about Letrozole and Menopur being contraindicated for women with DOR, because it promotes excessive LH production. He theorizes that this can also affect egg quality. I had been on Letrozole for 5 of the 6 cycles, and Menopur for all of them.

So, here we are… stimming again. Trying again. I feel empowered by the knowledge I now have about IVF, about my body, and the lessons learned from past cycles. I am trying my best to release any expectations about this cycle, and avoid getting attached to an outcome I realize now that I can’t control. But it’s still damn hard. I should know on Friday when I go in for my second scan whether or not the agonist/antagonist conversion protocol is effective for my body.

Regardless of the outcome, I acknowledge that I now know to trust my intuition, listen to my body, and not blindly follow the orders and guidance of health care professionals and wellness practitioners. I feel lucky to finally be in this place.

2019: a lesson in boundaries

Earlier this year, I distanced myself from a toxic family member. They had said and done some hurtful things. I had told them some information in confidence, and they shared it. Then they used the information against me. None of this was new behavior, but I was finally at a place where I could recognize the patterns.

I made the choice to put space between us, not to hurt them, but to protect myself.

They sent me harassing messages. I blocked their phone number.

Then they started sending angry and inappropriate messages to my husband.

They manipulated my parents into organizing a face to face meeting where we would “work things out.”

I showed up at my dad’s house for this meeting, against my better judgement.

They physically assaulted me.

My husband’s words as we drove away were, “you will never see them again.” And I knew he was right, that was it. The end of any chance of reconciliation. I will not risk my safety or my family’s safety ever again.

I wanted to get a protective order, however, after consulting with HR, I was terrified that it would mean they would get fired from their job SINCE THEY RECENTLY STARTED WORKING IN THE SAME BUILDING ON THE SAME FLOOR AS ME.

If they lost their job, I knew that the blame would be placed squarely on me, and they would come after me, regardless of any protective order.

Although already unstable, my peace of mind has been seriously shaken by this. For the past four months, I have had to show up for work every day, knowing that there was a strong possibility that I would cross paths with this person. It has caused my relationship with my parents to be challenged. This incident changed a lot of things for me. It sent me into a tailspin of negativity and distrust. It has affected my sleep. It caused me to question and re-evaluate many of my memories and past experiences with my family.

I set a clear boundary with the distance I created at the beginning of this year. I let that boundary be destroyed and walked into a situation that I knew wasn’t healthy. I knew it wouldn’t end well, but I suppose I had hoped for a different outcome this time than what had played out repeatedly with this person in the past.

What are the lessons here?

Set clear boundaries.
Protect your boundaries.
Listen to your instincts.
Guard your mental and emotional health like the treasures they are.
Learn from my mistakes. I definitely have.

Sometimes I get lucky. It sounds too good to be true and I don’t want to jinx anything by putting it in writing, but I heard last week that this person is moving out of state in the next 30 days. This won’t undo the damage that has been done, but to say I’m relieved is an understatement. Looks like life might get a little easier in 2020.

Holidays, Grief, and The Richter Scale of Infertility

This year was hard. Like, really hard. It was arguably one of the hardest years I’ve experienced so far, second only to 2018, when we lost a baby in the second trimester and I received some daunting and unexpected diagnoses. 

We put up our Christmas tree on the second Friday in December. It’s a beautiful tree that was handed down to us from my aunt and uncle 2 years ago when they bought a new one. We took out all of our ornaments – my husband’s childhood ornaments, a photo ornament of one of our dogs from 2012, an ornament with polymer clay caricatures of my husband and I and our dogs from 2015, our ornament from the year we were married, the memorial ornaments for Josephine, our daughter who we lost in 2018, and more. 

We trimmed the tree. 

Then I lost it. 

Overwhelmed by grief, which I’ve learned comes in waves that often I can control, I sat and stared with tears in my eyes. Maybe it was because as we took out each ornament, I was reminded of the passage of time and how long we had been waiting to hold our child in our arms. Maybe it was because I had turned 39 a week earlier, and felt incredibly stuck while the world around me moves ahead. It could have been because I had been flooded with pregnancy announcements that day. I opened a Christmas card from a colleague announcing that they were expecting their third child – and I remembered when they announced their first – long after I had started trying to get pregnant. Another announcement from a friend my age who, because of recent remarks, I knew hadn’t been trying for long if at all. And then a woman who is a facilitator of an online infertility community announced her pregnancy out of the blue. I am happy for these people, but I cannot help but feel sad for myself. And scared for them because I have experienced how pregnancy can go wrong. 

December be like…

So I cried. I’m positive that I’ve cried more in the past two years than I have in all of the previous years of my life. My husband asked what was wrong. I told him. We talked about how there’s no going back to our previous lives before we experienced our most devastating loss. But I have to figure this out. I need to learn how to live with grief and anger and regret, and still find joy in spite of it. Joy can exist alongside these feelings, which will never leave entirely. I have learned how to control my reaction to triggers, which is different. I have learned how to squelch the wave of sadness that starts to consume me, the heat that starts in my heart and moves up to my face and rises to the top of my head and prompts my eyes to well up with tears. I can control it. And I know when I can let it go. Letting myself indulge in these feelings has helped me to process the events of the past 3 years. But I have still been bound by immeasurable sadness and while reconciling my grief, my life in the past year has been consumed by fertility treatments. I have thrown myself into a community that shares details ad nauseam of treatment protocols, doctors, specialists, unconventional treatments, and natural and holistic interventions. It can be helpful, it can be educational, and it can be therapeutic to connect with others experiencing infertility and loss… to a certain extent. Our case is truly unique and complicated. And our treatment journey is accompanied by the lasting trauma of recurrent pregnancy loss. 

When it comes to the infertility community, I often feel like I’m in a category of my own. Like, if my infertility was an earthquake, it would probably be a 6 on the Richter Scale – strong and inflicting moderate to severe damage, and can have a lasting detrimental effect outside of the structural damage initially inflicted. Significant time, energy, and resources required to recover. Earthquakes of this magnitude are not common or frequent. I am surrounded by infertility earthquakes ranging from 1-3 on the same scale. While they still may be scary or painful initially, they are easier to overcome, and the recovery is cheaper and often faster. I know it’s strange to compare infertility to earthquakes, but I was born in California, so the analogy makes sense. 

The fact that I stand out in this way can make it hard to connect to and relate to what others experience and share. It creates an environment for me that is similar to what I experience and how I relate to people outside of the community. And it’s not just one-sided. When I start to share my experiences, sometimes I feel other infertiles pulling back. Like, if I were to be talking to them in person, they would begin to withdraw and pull away, maybe looking at me like I have two heads. It’s as if some believe my plight is somehow contagious. 

While various virtual communities have been useful platforms to learn from others’ knowledge and experiences, we agreed that I don’t need any more information at this point. I need to focus on our journey. Being mindful of what I consume, including on social media, is a big step for me. Choosing not to take part in forums and communities that aren’t helping me, and could in some ways be compromising my mental health, is a choice that has been a long time coming. I needed to ask myself how I’m benefitting from participating in groups where the focus is on success, with the assumption that success means getting pregnant. What happens when people don’t get pregnant, or what if you’re not sure you will stay pregnant? We don’t get to post our “sensitive content” posts, or receive accolades for succeeding, or hear how inspiring our story is, or get to tell the rest of the group, “Don’t give up hope, ladies! Your time is coming!” And when you’ve been on this journey for a few years, it becomes increasingly hard to just “stay positive” or “visualize what you want” or “trust that the universe wants you to succeed.” We begin to wonder, after processing hundreds of “sensitive content” posts and out-of-the-blue pregnancy announcements that hit you like a ton of bricks, if it will ever be our turn. 

Haven’t we worked hard enough? 

Haven’t we prayed hard enough? 

Haven’t we sacrificed enough? 

We have. 

Of course we have… and then some. 

We are all deserving and we are all worthy. But what happens to us when we never achieve this narrow definition of success? When and how do we quietly exit stage right, and what does that feel like? How do we recover?

Toxic positivity is a buzz term lately, and I am glad that it is gaining some awareness. More thoughts on this to come. 

I may not get pregnant in 2020. I may not have a baby in 2020. Our treatment journey will continue into 2020. I will experience pain and grief to some degree. I will also be open to change and to new opportunities while respecting my own boundaries, and start to rediscover my life outside of infertility and loss.