An Anniversary of a Different Sort

Two years. Two full years of trying to concieve. Two full years of taking my temperature every morning, of holding my bladder for four hours for my afternoon OPK test, of every other day timed intercourse, of blood draws, of invasive tests, of questions and no answers. Two years of trying and failing. Bummer.

May marks our "anniversary" of sorts. We officially threw out the condoms and all other forms of birth contol in May of 2011. No, I don't know what day specifically. I didn't know then that this would be an annual day to remember. I know that it was in May, and I know that it was early May, because my next cycle started June 9th. I also know that it was after Sam finished the Spring semester... that was the deal; he wanted to wait until his second year. Whatever specific day my cycle started is irrelevant. We're here. And it's two years later. And we don't have a toddler. Or a baby. Or a bump. We have NOTHING to show for it.

The truth of the matter is, that two years is small potatoes to a lot of infertiles. Sure, there's tons of couples out there that stuggle for one reason or another, but simple medications like Clomid get them appropriately knocked up and they go on their merry way. Not to discredit those couples in anyway, Clomid's no joke, and no one wants intervention in the baby making process, but for a lot of couples the time between "We can't get pregnant" to "Holy freak out, we're pregnant!" is fairly "short". But for WAY TOO MANY other couples it takes years and years and years.

I'll be honest, when I first started marching down this infertility road, I actually avoided stories of delayed success. If the story started with "we've been trying for two (or three, or four years)", I just didn't want to hear about it. I think I subconcoiusly thought if I didn't acknowledge the long journey some couples have, or the fact that IVF is sometimes required, then those things wouldn't be true for us. Hahaha. Funny, Amanda. On one hand, I feel totally justified in pitching a fit about TWO YEARS of trying to do what a zillion tenneage girls do in the back of their boyfriend's car. But on the other hand, gosh, there are so many women, many of whom I've come to call my friends (though most of them, I've never met) who have been at this for much longer than we have.

With that in mind, the two year mark is kind of humbling. Yes, we've been at this for two years. Yes, they've been difficult and costly years. But the truth of the matter is, we may be at this for quite a while longer. I certainly hope not. I hope I never reach the three year mark. If I do, I hope my status is quite a bit different: I hope my uterus is occupied. But I've come to realize that there may be a year three, or four, or (heaven forbid) five in this process.

It's also kind of a revelation, this two year mark... a coming to terms, if you will. For a long time, lots of people have said things to the effect of "you're not that infertile". I think many people assumed this for two reasons. One, I got pregnant before. I miscarried, but I got pregnant, and pretty quickly after we started trying at that. So I think the assumption is, if it happened once, it'll happen again, because hey, even lightning can strike the same spot twice. And then following that comes the assurance that, "I'm sure it'll stick next time." Secondly, I think a diagnosis of unexplained infertility makes people think I'm less infertile in some way than someone with stage IV Endometriosis or Dominished Ovarian Reserve. Since, the doctors can't find anything, many people assume, there must not me much to find. Well, let me tell you, I've come to feel pretty differently about the whole scenario.

I've come to terms over the last several months that I'm infertile. I know I said that along time ago, but with so many people telling me that "I'm just a little infertile" I was secretly hoping that it was true. Of course there's nothing like three textbook perfect IUI cycles failing to make you go "hmmmmm". But the truth is, if I wasn't infertile, I'd be pregnant by now. Period. End of story. 90% of people (I made that statistic up) manage to get pregnant without ever knowing when they ovulate. A little wine here, a little vacation there, and pow... pregnant. An additional 5% of the population (don't you like these stats?) will get frustrated that the magic isn't working, and they'll do some research. They'll read Taking Charge of Your Fertility or begin testing with ovulation predictors or maybe they'll hit up their OB/GYN and leave with a prescription for Clomid to "get the ball rolling". A few months of actually having intercourse when it matters, and voilà, pregnant. And then there's the rest of us. That other 5%. We have sex like it's our job. We have schedules. We know when we ovulate. We don't miss ovulation day. We take a slew of drugs and supplements and vitamin cocktails to induce ovulation, to make bigger, stronger, and just plain more eggs, to create cushier uterine linings, to make stronger swimmers, to make every little thing go like clockwork, and yet, to no avail.

That's me. I'm in that group. My twenty-third cycle is in progress. Simple math tells you I should have been pregnant long ago. I've done two medicated cycles on high doses of Clomid, one IUI on Clomid, two more IUI's on Femara and zero of those cycles resulted in a BFP. Even when we're not going though treatment, we're testing, we're supplementing, we're alternating intercourse days, we're temping, we're waiting. But it's been nineteen cycles since that one, brief, BFP. The two year anniversary is all the confirmation I need... I'm infertile.

So happy infertility anniversary to us! May we never see another one!