From a medical standpoint, undergoing fertility treatments is sort of like riding a horse. You are brazen until the first time you get thrown off. After that first fall, though, you know what you’re doing but you might hesitate before jumping back in the saddle.
Now that some particulars are out of the way, Jerry and I have been cleared to begin fertility treatments again. Sitting in front of me is a bag containing five days worth Clomid, some hcg chemicals waiting to be mixed and a junkie’s stash of needles to inject said hcg into my body at a very specific, doctor-ordered time. I think filling the prescription indicates that we have decided to move forward with treatments sooner rather than later; but, it is not without reservation.
It took two cycles of treatment in order to conceive the first (and so far, only) time. When the first cycle didn’t work, it was disappointing but not surprising; nor was it heartbreaking. We expected that it would take multiple cycles in order to for me to get pregnant.
Now that I have lost something I have wanted for so long, I think it will be heartbreaking this time around, even though I know it might still take multiple cycles before it works again. And I think that is where this reservation stems. I know that’s a cop-out; being scared of trying because you’re scared of failing…but it is what it is. I am scared. I am afraid of it not working. Of course I knew the statistics on miscarriage; my case is not unique and medically speaking, it didn't make any doctor blink an eye in concern. That hasn’t made the fall any less painful. Fertility treatment and miscarriage are wild, snorting, bucking horses and they threw me hard.
I also don’t know how I feel about telling people about when we have started fertility treatments again. Before, I wanted to be as open as possible with those who asked because most people don’t understand that 20% of infertile couples are classified as having “unexplained infertility”—i.e. no medical reason. We are in that category. I am perfectly comfortable discussing this with interested parties in hopes that it will do something positive for someone else. I am not ashamed of the fact that we’ve had a rockier road to parenthood than others; but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t frustrated.
Telling people we are starting again brings something I’m not sure I’m ready to grapple with: expectation. This anticipation, this hope that so many people embraced us with the first time around is something I’m not ready for yet. I see no medical reason to wait to begin taking the medication again and going through the procedures involved, but I don’t know if I can bear telling people that it didn’t work (if it doesn’t). And I certainly don’t think I can handle telling people about another loss if the treatment does work but a living, breathing baby isn’t part of the result.
To some that may be a sign that I am not emotionally ready for this. I disagree. The sadness over the miscarriage will always be there to some degree. I’ve accepted this as what it is. I’ve taken from it what I can; the knowledge that I will have gnarly, soul-sucking morning sickness and that at least the confirmation that pregnancy is possible for us.
I do feel jaded. The first treatments gave me hope and I was empowered by the fact that I could do something to change my childless state. Now, that hope just terrifies me. I want this more than anything but I’m afraid to fall off the horse again.
But, regardless, I will confront that fear head on. So, here we go.
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