Two years ago, I was diagnosed with Stage 4 Endometriosis. The diagnosis followed a year of mindfully trying for a baby—tracking and logging and researching and wondering why we still weren’t pregnant. With the diagnosis, we finally had our answer. An answer that led to even more questions and uncertainty, but an answer nonetheless. Since then, we have soldiered through one major laparoscopic surgery, one round of IVF, two polypectomies, one failed fresh transfer, one cancelled Endometrial Receptivity Analysis (ERA), and one cancelled frozen transfer. I never could have predicted this journey. I never would have planned this journey. Even so, I have learned a lot because of the journey. My husband and I met in high school and married seven years later. We both knew we would have kids…some day. Over the years, we bought the house, added dogs, built a savings account, and established careers. A few years later, our friends were starting their families—some already welcoming their second or third child—I was settling into my career, and we knew it was time to have children of our own. We both figured, “we have decided to have kids, so kids we shall have.” We had a plan. Fast forward three months, six months, twelve months, and we were still childless. While we wondered why we weren’t announcing a due date, our friends celebrated baby showers, baptisms, and first birthdays.
I found our unexpected struggle frustrating. I am a Type-A planner. I had never faced a problem I could not research or plan into resolution. I hated how out of control I felt. So falling back on my go-to, I took action. We met with the doctor. We underwent testing. I had surgery. The doctor removed a sizable (aka massively large) cyst from my right ovary. We learned about endometriosis. We tried a few medicated cycles. We switched doctors. We decided to pursue in vitro fertilization (IVF). We discovered more problems, more setbacks.
Giving up control has been one of the most beautiful parts of the story. I am not in control. No matter how much I worry or how bitter I feel, I am not in control. This is bigger than me. It is amazing how freeing it has been to accept this and move on. Not only freeing in my fertility story but in so many other aspects of my life. I have always embraced the mantra, “this too shall pass,” but not until recently have I truly lived it. One of the more difficult struggles has been remaining positive and hopeful. As I prepared for the first frozen transfer cycle, I knew I had to adjust my mindset. I needed to flip the narrative from, “this is never going to happen” to “this could really work.” Don’t get me wrong, I was still grounded in reality. I knew the odds weren’t great. Because we opted to not genetically screen the embryos, each transfer has a 50/50 shot of success. We only have two more embryos. But
why would we go through all this work and all this heartache if we didn’t think there was a chance? Reality does not have to be negative. I signed up for infertility yoga classes. I learned to meditate. I took back control where I could. Sure, I cannot control whether my disease progresses or whether my embryo sticks, but I can certainly control my outlook and attitude.
More importantly, I have learned to give up control. I do not have to know what is going to happen next, and I have accepted I do not need to know what is going to happen next. I do not have to do this alone. So many people want to be there for us, to support us and pray for us. All we have to do is let them in and accept what each person is offering. Sharing my worries does not make me weak. Just the opposite; the more I share, the stronger I feel. I do not let my diagnosis or infertility define me, but there is no denying it is a huge part of who I have become.
What would I share with others on this journey? So many things, but I will give the cliff notes version. Trust yourself. Advocate for yourself. Keep the “what ifs” and “why mes” to a minimum. If you need some time to just be in your feelings, limit how long you wallow. Then pick up and keep going. Do what is right for you, and block out the extra noise. You really don’t owe anyone an explanation (though sometimes I find it helps). Only you know what works for your story, for your circumstances. Don’t wait for others to tell you how to write it.
Even though we are still waiting for our baby, I can’t help but count our blessings. It is hard to be so resentful and bitter when I consider the positives. I am constantly in awe as to how much I have grown over the past three years. I focus more on self-love. I have learned to say no and accept that I cannot make everyone happy. I have a greater appreciation for what I already have and worry less about what I don’t have. The process has certainly put things in perspective and rearranged my priorities. We take the trip. We buy the tickets. We stop living for what could happen and start living in the moment.
As my husband and I prepare for our next step, we know we are going to be okay. We stopped comparing ourselves to other people’s stories. We are writing our own story, and it won’t look like anyone else’s. We have learned to communicate. No matter where we go, I know we are going there together, and I have never felt more certain I chose the right partner.
– Laura Oblinger
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