I've been thinking lately about how the path toward getting pregnant for us seems a lot like driving in dense fog toward a destination we've never visited. We know where we want to end up, but we have no idea what we're about to encounter along the way or how long we'll drive before we get there.
We're seven and a half months (or eight cycles) into this thing and about $300 out of pocket, which feels like forever and a lot to me, but is a drop in the bucket compared to some folks' fertility investment (in money, time, and emotional energy). When I sat in waiting room at my OB/GYN's office this week, in some cruel twist of fate, I watched not one, not two, not even three, but FOUR women in various stages of pregnancy stop by the front desk to cheerily schedule or check-in for their ultrasound appointments. The one other woman in the waiting room with me that didn't appear to be pregnant, and whom I silently adopted to be my seething partner-in-misery, was then called back by the nurse, who exclaimed just before the door closed, "Congratulations! How are you feeling?!" I heaved a big sigh and consoled myself by remembering that they all may have been in my shoes at some point. I even sincerely felt like that would be me in a couple months, but whether that was intuition or just wanting something so badly you can taste it, I'm not sure.
On the other hand, I have found comfort in following a number of infertility community Instagram accounts (I've linked some of my favorites at the bottom of this post!). Most of the content makes me feel less alone and validates the many feelings and fears I have, which is incredibly helpful. But sometimes I will see posts of women's experiences as they endure their fourth or fifth round of IVF, like a recent photo of an over-the-door shoe storage system with every pocket filled by meds, needles, and medical supplies, and I shut it down faster than an unsolicited dick pic. I just feel so overwhelmed by the thought of finding ourselves at that stage, it's difficult to even wonder how far we will go to become parents.
I've found myself just about to say "Well, I wouldn't do that" in response to a number of family-building options before realizing, actually I DON'T know what I wouldn't do. I think it's as naive to say what I wouldn't do to become a mother as it is to say what you "definitely" won't do as a parent ('cause spoiler alert, actually being around a child for 24 hours will make you realize you will break all of the "When I'm a parent, I'll never..." promises you ever made as a person without children). How many rounds of IVF would I soldier through? Would I ever acquiesce to using donor eggs or donor sperm? Would we ever consider adoption? Like so many things in our 21st century world - from the cereal aisle to online dating - we now have so many options, it's fortunate, privileged, and...well, overwhelming. So long as we can finance it, there are infinite ways to make a family.
Ah yes, that's right, we have to fiiiiinance it. I remember why treating infertility feels like such a mysterious gamble now - every analysis, procedure, and drug costs a pretty penny, and none of it guarantees it will end with you having a child. And how do you know when to hold 'em and know when to fold 'em? (Kenny Rogers was singing about fertility treatments, wasn't he?)
I recently read Belle Boggs' The Art of Waiting, a book that details her and her husband's own experiences in treating their infertility and becoming parents. (I highly recommend the book to anyone at any stage of infertility, or even to people who love and want to support them.) At one point in the book, right around the time Boggs and her husband have to commit a significant deposit toward future IVF treatments at their fertility clinic, they are also faced with an expensive well dig project on their rural property. She writes this beautiful metaphor about the fertility gamble, likening it to digging deeper this old well to see if it will yield more water or go dry. She writes, "[l]ike water, our bodies and their generative capacity are something most of us take for granted." Boggs is unsure if they should continue drilling the hundreds and hundreds of feet required to strike upon a new, successful water source (the cost ticking upward with each foot drilled) or give up on the well and try to dig a brand new one somewhere else. Just like the doctor will tell you about any of the procedures and medical interventions to help fertility, the seasoned well digger tells her that there's no guarantee.
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Some of my new favorite Instagram accounts centered around (in)fertility:
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