Image: The Young Mummy.
I’ve just walked in from the doctors. With a heavy heart, I walked inside to my husband who made me only cry more with the generous hug he gave me. He held me for a long time, but it still doesn’t seem like long enough. Today I am again deflated. Today I am again mentally exhausted. Today, my doctor said to me those two words: fertility treatment.
I have been wanting to write about my journey of getting pregnant a second time for a while now. I feel that I’ve shared every little detail with you all throughout my TYM journey thus far, so why not this? But something kept stopping me. Was I embarrassed? Was I ashamed to admit that we were having troubles?
We had decided not to tell a single soul when we started trying in the second half of last year, and as a couple we wanted to maintain that privacy so we could surprise our families & friends so much when the joyful news came. I very recently confided in Jaryd’s Stepmum by telling her we’d be trying for four months.
A shameful lie. Another reason I’ve put off writing about this is because part of me maintained hope, and I thought “Na, don’t write that now, because I’ll definitely get pregnant next month and then I’ll look silly!” As the months passed, how wrong was I? (WATCH: Jessica Rowe speaks about her experience with IVF. Post continues after video.)
I was also conscious of a piece like this upsetting some people. I’m well aware that fertility trouble creates a very touchy area, something I’m starting to learn all about. I have to firstly say my heart goes out to all of you, and I hope not to offend anyone with this piece.
Whilst I can acknowledge that some of you may have been battling for a MUCH longer period that we have (a close girlfriend of mine who I recently confided in told me she tried for 19 months before seeking help) I put my hand up and say this is simply my story and my experiences and I’m well aware there are many couples and women in worse-off situations than I am. I can also appreciate how lucky I am to have my Bobby and I would never want to seem ungrateful for that amazing opportunity.
But reality well and truly kicked in at the beginning of this week when I, unsuspectingly, got my period. Again. My body told me I was pregnant in the way it told me I was pregnant with Bobby. But no, I was wrong. Again. My mum was over visiting from Melbourne, and my husband was at work at the time.
Like mentioned above, we hadn’t told anybody of our ambition to grow our family some more, so I stood hiding in the bathroom in tears not knowing what to do. When I walked out, trying to keep a straight face and act like nothing was up, the little girl in me couldn’t fight it anymore and I hysterically cried into my mum’s arms…just like every girl wants to. I confessed our problems.
Why was I embarrassed when doing this I’ll never know? I can’t explain the guilt I feel when I get upset about it. It’s like I hear exactly what the critics would be thinking. “You already have a child, be grateful!” and “You’re only 25, you have heaps of time!” But that doesn’t make the process any easier. (Post continues after gallery.)
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Something that I never wanted to happen to me, has happened. You become sickly obsessed. I’ve began crossing days off the calendar in the hope it makes those famous “two weeks” go faster. The week of your period then goes forever as you morn the loss of yet another opportunity. You’re heading towards ovulation, and doubt creeps in your mind.
“Am I sure my dates are right?” and “We didn’t do it yesterday, that could be our chance gone!” This whole getting pregnant thing has absolute encapsulated my life in every possible way over the past months and it’s now I need to talk about it. I think the reason I keep getting so upset was because I was trying to keep it inside and act like nothing was happening, but it’s hard to stay composed when you’re convinced your body isn’t working.
Is it me? Is my body failing our family? What am I doing wrong because I am convinced I am doing everything right? The look on my partners face last week upon finding out we weren’t pregnant again broke my heart. Although he’d kill me for saying this, I felt as if I had let him down again.
He wants this just as much as I do, so he hurts just as much as I do. But as I book and attend my appointment with my fertility specialist, I can be at ease knowing his hand will be in mine every step of the way. (Post continues after image.)
It’s one of those things in life we wish we had all the answers for, but unfortunately life runs it’s course sometimes and sometimes, just sometimes, we don’t like it. I hate it, actually. And as I sit writing this at my computer, I look over to my Bobby pretending to feed his drink bottle to his teddy. And again I am reminded of the pain I feel that I can’t give him a little brother or sister at this very moment. ??One day Bobby, I promise you x
Note: My heart goes out to our longtime family friend who has just given birth to her twin boys sleeping. I’ve shed many tears for you over the past week and I can’t possibly begin to imagine what you’re all going through. RIP boys xx
The post originally appeared of Sophie’s blog, The Young Mummy. You can follow Sophie on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook.
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Top Comments
Your words resonated with me so much, thank you for sharing. We're 8 months trying and I agree, there's so many others who have had it so much harder, but we all run our own race and the monthly disappointment is simply palpable... There is a sad sort of comfort that others feel the same I think x Thank you again...