Writing helps me process what I am going through, and since I don’t think many people read our blog, I have decided to kind of chronicle our summer of doctor appointments on here. Today, I had my annual women’s health appointment. It’s been a year since Mark and I started trying to conceive. We knew that there were problems months ago. I had been charting, and I noticed that I had low basal body temperatures, extremely irregular cycles, and cycles where it didn’t even look like I ovulated. Even though we knew there were problems six months ago, the military healthcare system won’t talk to couples with fertility problems untilt hey have been trying for a year, and this June we finally hit the year point.
Today, we were hoping to get some enlightenment and help, but all that we got was a referral. The doctor took some samples of me for lab work in and put a consult into Walter Reed Hospital. She didn’t even look at my charts. She didn’t want to talk to Mark. We were told that we need to start eating on the South Beach Diet, Phase 2. That’s all. I don’t even get lab work done here, because every time she puts an order in for it, the patients end up having to get it done at Walter Reed…but she warned that they may not take my consult appointment because I won’t have lab work done. Seriously? Let’s make something that is already frustrating even more difficult. The only good thing is that my blood pressure was low for me…122/67.
Mark was furious; I was frustrated and almost in tears. The consult won’t be in until Monday, so I can’t call until then to make an appointment, and my doctor was not able to even tell me if they would be able to get me in this month. She couldn’t give me any information about how extensive the next step will be. She had only shadowed them for four days. I feel like I have read more about fertility and know more than her! She was so unhelpful.
It does not help that I’m home for a week and half. I’m guessing it will be August before the doctors are even doing anything more than lab work with me, and then I have to spend the school year wasting my sick days going to doctor appointments. I’m just not excited about any of this. Mark and I should start with Phase 2 of the South Beach Diet; that’s all the advice that we were given.
Here’s a piece that I wrote in the last few months; let me preface it with I love my sister-in-law dearly. Her comment produced a good lead, and she did go through phase talking about me getting pregnant. It’s died down…I think everyone has begun to realize we are having complications.
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The dreaded question for some couples: “So when are you going to start having kids?”
A few weeks ago, my sister-in-law called me, saying she had a great idea.
“Next year, you need to pregnant on May 5 so I have can have a Cinco de Mayo themed shower for Cinco de Marco,” she tells me.
My husband’s family has wanted a baby since our wedding two years ago. My husband is the fourth in his family to bear the name Marcus Jacob. The pressure to have a fifth has been clear, especially since of my husband’s 30 cousins, only three boys have the potential to actually carry on the family name.
While I know my sister-in-law meant nothing by this comment and that she is simply in a stage of her life where she is easily excited about anything related to babies, I was annoyed, and any woman who experiences fertility problems understands why. I had been trying to get pregnant for almost a year when she made this comment; all that I wanted was to get pregnant. I didn’t care if I was going to have the fifth Marcus Jacob in the family or Emma Bridget. I had long ago stopped trying to plan when I’d have the baby. I just wanted for my husband and I to finally have a healthy addition to our family.
Because those of us who experience fertility problems so often keep our troubles secret, it is no surprise that we are subjected to many upsetting comments. My husband is in the Air Force, and we live on base in a quiet, friendly neighborhood. Occasionally, the neighborhood organizes a picnic so we can get to know those who have transferred into the base or those who are moving to another state. At a recent neighborhood picnic, my husband and I realized that we are the only people in our neighborhood who don’t have kids. We had always wondered why we didn’t seem to be in the neighborhood clique; I assumed it was because I, unlike many of the other wives in my neighborhood, worked. We learned that the reason is more complex than that. We are not part of the “parent club”. At the picnic, the number of complete strangers who came up and commented on our childless status was astounding. “When are you going to start a family?” one stranger/neighbor asked. “We’re getting there, but we’re in no rush,” my husband politely replied. I wonder what the stranger would have said if I said, “We’ve been trying for a year now and haven’t been able to conceive. Thanks for reminding me about it.” It is commonly accepted that a question like this is a socially acceptable inquiry, but in reality, the people who ask this in public are really questioning people’s private sex lives. How is this ever something that is socially acceptable to inquire about with someone you have met for five minutes? So many people assume that couples who have been married for a few years are completely content being DINKs (Dual Income, No Kids). I’m not going to lie; the longer that my husband and I take to conceive, the better and better our finances can get, but having a lot of money and the freedom to go wherever we want on a whim is not as enticing as it once was. We would gladly trade in the money and that freedom to have a baby.
Insensitive comments are not the only obstacle we have had to experience. We have also noticed that it truly seems like everyone around us is pregnant. I thought that the economic recession was supposed to ignite a decline in the number of children being born, but I suppose that since teachers and military members are in professions that are not affected as much by the economic conditions, it makes sense that they are having children still. We had five teachers at work this year who were pregnant or adopted a baby. In our neighborhood on a military base, almost every woman of child-bearing age had a baby within the last year or is pregnant. On Facebook, the number of married “friends” continuing to share their news is astounding.
Honestly, I do want to be genuinely happy for these people, but it is hard to not feel jealous. I want to celebrate, but I get easily frustrated with newlyweds or married couples that are able to conceive within the first three months of trying. Instead of biting back my emotions and trying to write “congrats” on their Facebook walls, I slam my computer closed after looking at Facebook newsfeeds, and my husband knows why. I’m hurt that I can’t have that joy yet, and I am terrified that we won’t be able to have our own children. After these episodes, I often ask him, “Why haven’t we got a baby yet? We’re ready physically, emotionally, spiritually and financially. Why?” My husband always replies, “It’s not our time. The right baby will come when it’s supposed to. I know this.”
As much as I want my husband to be right, it’s hard to believe him. We are eating right, working out, and trying to eliminate stress from our lives. We are doing everything physically possible to have a child. As a spiritual person, I’ve had my fair share of days where I have been angry with God. When my students tell me about their cousins who are 14 years old and pregnant, I wonder why God would give them a baby and not me.
Probably what has been most difficult though is that our doctors won’t talk to us about fertility problems until we have been trying for a year. Don’t get me wrong; I completely appreciate and am so thankful that because I am under military healthcare, my husband and I will have to pay very little of any fertility expenses, but the flip side of that coin is that we have had to spend a year trying and not conceiving when we could tell from charting that something was not right with my 30-year-old body months ago. In the military, patients (especially dependents) receive care according to stringent rules; a couple must have unprotected sex for a year before doctors will even talk to them about fertility problems. These stringent rules only encourage more stress and frustration for couples like my husband and me who knew months ago that there was a problem.
So many friends who have had fertility problems supported me in these grueling times, saying the cycle before they had to talk to doctor about fertility problems is when they finally conceived. I really hoped that was going to be the case for us, but it wasn’t.
Now, we are approaching the day of my annual gynecological appointment and the long-awaited fertility conversation, and I fear the unknown. I can’t stop thinking about the many women on my dad’s side of the family who have had fertility problems. I think of my aunt and my cousin who couldn’t have children. I think of my older sister who had endometriosis and had to be put on Clomid. I fear that the Clancy genes are what have been causing my lifelong crazy menstrual cycles, and I wonder if I’ll be able to conceive at all.
While watching the ups and downs of my temperatures each cycle, I’ve also noticed drastic ups and downs in my mood. The emotional stress put on a couple that is not able to conceive is astounding. Despite the obvious negatives, my husband and I have managed to grow closer. We have not blamed each other, and we have worked to become healthier together. We exercise together, eat better and pray more.
Unlike many women who have fertility problems, I tend to be pretty open about what I am doing to conceive and what I have experienced. If I am stressed or emotional, I figure that it is better that my co-workers, family, and friends know why. In the last year, I have learned that more women than I have ever expected are going through this torture as we well; college floor mates, old friends and acquaintances have e-mailed and told me that they were or are experiencing the same struggles. Through this, I have learned an important lesson: I am not alone.
I fully realize that as someone who hates needles and faints when getting shots that the next few months of my life are going to be trying for my husband and me. However, I plan to keep my fingers crossed and say a prayer to God that it is finally Jake or Emma’s time. I will never forget what a gift my fertility is; I have learned that it truly is something sacred, and I know that after this experience, I will be the last person to ask a married childless couple why they are putting off having kids.
