My infertility is my story. It’s a story of recurrent pregnancy loss, unspecified autoimmune diseases, endometriosis, thrombophilia and MTHFR. My story is more than a diagnosis. It’s more than six years of heartache and dreams, questions and hope. It’s thousands of injections, weekly blood draws, sonograms, and IVIG treatments.
My story is four D&C’s, trial drugs, new diets and a counter full of hard-to-pronounce supplements. It’s fighting with insurance companies and calling pharmacies for their help. At times, it’s anger and frustration but also weakness and strength. It’s advocating for my family while supporting others.
Online chats with infertility friends helped me feel like I wasn’t alone. Quickly, late night conversations turned into weekly lunches and get togethers. My story is women helping women. It’s empathy. My story is nurses, home care nurses, doctors, specialists, reproductive immunologists, perinatologists and specialized labs. It’s research, dedication, love and kindness. It’s building new relationships over broken ones.
My story is eight IVFs – more than a dozen embryos watched on the black and white screen gently placed into my womb. It’s a story of counting miscarriages on two hands. It’s a loss of innocence, fear of the known and unknown.
At times, I thought my story could only be sadness and grief, but I’ve learned even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise. My infertility is my story. It’s a story like many others – a story of hope, faith and love. It has changed me, my relationships, my husband, and our family. We are stronger, more resilient, wiser and better informed. We are not ashamed. We fought, we survived and now we advocate.
Kelley K., New York