www.alwaysBdesigns.blogspot.com or www.alwaysbdesigns.com
Angela is a crafter who loves to make art of all kinds. She has a home-business where she sells custom stationery and gifts, including domino jewelry, clipboards, and scrapbooks. She is also passionate about writing, is a published author, and has edited two books for other authors. She lives in Texas with her family. Find her on Twitter and Facebook!
Barren: Coming to terms with infertility
It sucks. There’s no getting around that fact. And if you haven’t been through it personally, you probably know someone who has.
If not – you do now.
My story isn’t unusual. In fact, ½ of all pregnancies end in miscarriage, most before the woman even knows she’s pregnant. My infertility isn’t uncommon either: 1 in 7 women will struggle with infertility during their lifetimes.
But the worst part isn’t the miscarriages. It isn’t the shots and timing and planning of fertility drugs. It’s the lonely, barren feeling that the women who deal with this issue feel inside, deep inside, where a baby is supposed to be.
I really don’t know how to explain it, other than to say you can’t really understand until you’ve been through it, and that I don’t wish that on anyone. But, to give you an idea, I’ll share more of my story.
All my life I’ve wanted kids. I got married, bought a house, did everything in the order I was supposed to. We got off the pill, and got pregnant right away. I had just started my business, always B designs, and felt that everything was falling into place.
Then, at 8 weeks, I found myself in the ER just as Hurricane Ike was beginning to come ashore. I was monitored all day and then sent home to miscarry naturally while we rode out the storm. No pharmacies, no doctors, and no way back into the ER. Everything was closed. I miscarried at home, feeling devastated. It took awhile to get over it, truly get over it. I was angry at everyone: pregnant women, moms with babies, my husband, myself, God. Other people didn’t understand, especially my husband. Not for lack of trying, I might add, but because he was a guy. And, to top it all off, everyone around me was getting pregnant, even my unmarried siblings! I felt robbed. It took months of trying and failing to get pregnant, but each month brought me closer to healing.
Eventually, after an unsuccessful year and a half of trying simpler ways and various fertility medicines, we were able to try IUI. Success! Then, our numbers dropped and we learned we were miscarrying again. This time, I wasn’t devastated, only disappointed. I had learned to cope with the loss, the anger, and the feeling of barrenness.
Now, we’ll see the fertility doctor again, go through a miscarriage panel for additional testing, and see what may come from there. I have hope that I’ll one day have children, I have faith that it will happen. But, to say that I’m worried would be an understatement, especially since my husband and I just had a long talk about adoption and don’t necessarily agree on all the aspects of the choice. Could I live without kids?
It was a question I had to ask myself. Barren. Forever. No kids to chase after, love, grow into beautiful adults. Could I really be happy without (more) children?
I think this is the question that anyone who hasn’t gone through infertility issues should think about if they know someone going through it. It’s the easiest way to put yourself in their shoes. It is after all, what women who are dealing with infertility must come to grips with, even if they already have a child.
So, hug a friend today who is going through this, give them hope. Let them know they will get through this. Hug your children also, and realize how lucky you are to have them.