Callie and Kyle

I can’t imagine what you are going through. These words feel empty to me. Probably because I don’t think that the person saying them has really thought about what we are going through or maybe because it is still very raw.

So, how does it feel to watch everyone around you grow their families effortlessly while you fail every single month? Like your heart is breaking and the world around you is falling apart. All you can do is hug each other and cry because you are devastated and you feel alone in this —that’s grief or maybe that’s infertility because the two are so tightly intertwined. Despite the pain and heartache we pick ourselves up every month and start all over. Hoping that this month will be the month because something just feels different. Every damn month.

It’s been over 3 years. One year of trying on our own. Two years of fertility drugs, cycle monitoring, natural cycles, acupuncture, IUI’s and in the Fall we will attempt IVF. When we started this journey we always said that we wouldn’t do IVF. We just couldn’t picture ourselves doing it for multiple reasons (financially and emotionally) and yet here we are at the mercy of regret and time. We know in our hearts that if we don’t try everything we will regret it later.

The last 3 years I haven’t slept a lot. Early morning appointments in the beginning and now it’s my thoughts that keep me awake. What in the hell did I do to deserve this? What did we do? What if we had met each other sooner? What if I didn’t have that second glass of wine… Okay, let’s be real for a moment at this stage of the game it’s closer to 3 or 4. I just stopped counting. What if I worked out too much? What if I didn’t work out enough? What if we are getting too old? (I’m 32 and my husband is 31). What if? What if? What if?

I blame myself for not being able to do what I should be able to as a woman, naturally. It makes me feel like a failure. And it’s my fault. It’s my fault because we have infertility but for us it is secondary unexplained infertility. I still blame myself. And then I am angry at myself and the world and everyone who has what we want. I avoid pregnant people and events like the plague because I’m jealous and bitter and just sad. I feel broken and it doesn’t matter how many times my husband says it’s not your fault — we are in this together. I can’t make my husband a father and that sucks.

We told my daughter about the appointments we were going to and she said to my husband, “So if you and Mommy can’t have a baby that means you’ll never be a real dad and just be a plain old Step-daddy”. We laughed about it even though I know that hurt him to the core. I don’t want him to be just a plain old Step-daddy. I want my husband to experience the firsts that come with having a baby. I want him to know the kind of love that you can’t write about because it is incomprehensible. I want my daughter to have a sibling. We are grateful for the little family that we do have. My husband is already an amazing Step-dad and dog Dad but something feels like it is missing. It’s not just about having a baby for us. Babies grow up and turn into children and eventually teens that are full of attitude. Call us selfish but we’d like to expand our family.

Infertility is hard. Secondary infertility is equally hard and it is something that most people do not understand. It changes you. We are not the same people we were going into this. We are stronger and more vulnerable at times. Our hearts may still be tender while there is still hope but regardless of the outcome we still have each other.