Get a second opinion

I never anticipated posting an update to this blog so soon. I knew, when I "came out" with my infertility story several weeks ago, that I had an appointment scheduled for this past Monday with a new infertility specialist. My last treatment/procedure was nearly a year ago, in our old city, with the doctors we'd been seeing since beginning TTC. I found and began using the services of that fertility clinic on the recommendation of many other women I had connected with in the area. They had a stunning reputation in the state, and I felt confident in their skills and knowledge. After three and a half years of treatments under their guidance, we found ourselves thousands of dollars out of pocket and no stickies (see first post).

We moved last summer to a new state and city, and decided to wait a few more months before meeting with a new specialist. Again, on the recommendation of other women and my new OB/Gyn, I found a renowned infertility specialist and began to psych myself up for the appointment. My husband also (finally) shared with me his trepidation about this appointment, and our combined fears and anxiety led me to the state in which I first blogged about my history.

We had our appointment earlier this week and I could not be more shocked, angry, and hopeful. I had forgotten to have my previous files transferred to this new office, and so I expected this consultation appointment to be brief and with an outcome to attempt another IUI or IVF. Instead, the doctor asked a small handful of very specific questions, requested an immediate exam, and within ten seconds had diagnosed me with PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome).

WHAT?! "Are you sure?" we both said. One by one, he counted the multiple cysts, the "string of pearls" that are so indicative of PCOS. Combined with my weight history, anovulation, and failed attempts with even the highest dosages of medications, he was confident. He immediately grabbed two bottles of metformin and prescribed a low/no-carb diet for us both. The diet and pills we can handle, but how did this go undiagnosed for over three years?? How, after month after month of internal ultrasounds JUST like the one he had just performed, had this so-obvious condition not been considered? He told us that many women with PCOS find conceiving much easier after taking metformin, though nothing is a guarantee, still. We are both still shell-shocked, but have already cleaned out our fridge and cupboards and are focused on getting healthy.

Even though we are eager to see if this helps, I'm still conflicted and hesitant and anxious about getting pregnant. I'm not a terribly religious person, but I spent some time in a chapel earlier this month, praying fervently for some kind of direction. All that kept repeating over and over in my mind was "You will have children. You will have children." It sounds crazy, I know, but I'm going to take all the chances I can and exhaust the options we can afford.

The moral of my unfinished story is that, no matter your diagnosis, seek other opinions. Whether you struggle with infertility or any other condition, do not settle on just one opinion. I'm not saying my first set of doctors was wrong or treated me incorrectly, but I certainly wish I had sought other counsel years ago.

Breaking My Silence

I'm breaking my silence about infertility. It's still a very personal journey, though, so I don't want to reveal my true identity yet. Just call me Infertile Myrtle for now. Too many infertile women suffer in silence, without someone to turn to to cry, scream, ask questions, or express jealousy or hurt. I have been one of those women, and today I'm deciding to come out with what I've been feeling in the hope that it might relieve some of my own tension or help others know they are not alone. I don't want your pity, just your support.

According to the Centers for Disease Control (http://www.cdc.gov/nchs/fastats/fertile.htm), in 2011 nearly 7.3 million women suffered from impaired fecundity (an inability to have natural children). 2.1 million women suffered from infertility, or an inability to get pregnant for at least 12 consecutive months. Of all of those women, 7.3 million have used infertility services.

By definition, I am infertile. My husband and I have been trying to get pregnant for five years with no luck. No failed pregnancies. As awful as it sounds, even that would give me hope that it's possible. Nope, no sticky follies here, ever. Just doctors telling me, "We know we can get you to ovulate. We're not sure why it's not working." Gee, thanks.

Of the nearly 60 months that we have been trying to conceive (TTC), about two-thirds of that have been on some kind of medication, treatment, or procedure. We have not gone the IVF route yet, but have had three failed IUIs, and many failed months on Clomid and other ovulation-stimulating hormones. In fact, we've been trying for so long I'm starting to second-guess whether I want to keep fighting.

Infertility is an expensive game. I haven't calculated exactly what we've spent, but when the ultrasounds cost nearly $250 out-of-pocket, and there can be several each month, you can imagine what the monthly meds, injectibles, procedures, and now psychology appointments add up to. It's a complete rip-off that infertility is often considered a pre-existing condition. Most of us would not have chosen it off of the shelf of possible conditions when we were being made, so don't punish us by not covering our treatments. Even more than being expensive financially, infertility is incredibly expensive emotionally.

Picture in your mind one thing that you've always dreamed of having... let's say an expensive car, for example. A luxury car with all the bells and whistles, costs a fortune but, with care, will be yours forever. You've seen pictures of it, you've researched online, you've saved your money but the dealer just can't locate the one you really want. One by one, your friends start getting the exact car you want. In fact, you drive down the street or go to the mall, and that's all you see around you. You start to wonder, "Why can everyone else have that car? I've done everything I should have to earn it, and now every Tom, Dick, and Harry has one?? What's wrong with me that I can't have what I want? Why can't my dealer make this happen??" People start staring at you, snickering that you aren't good enough to have that car. They ask, "What's wrong with you? Everyone has this car. Everyone CAN have this car. When are you getting yours?" You're becoming socially inacceptable by NOT having this car.

Then your phone rings. Your dealer says, "We know we can get it for you. Can you come in and make a down payment? We'll have to run some tests to make sure you're a viable owner, but we're sure we can get it for you this month." So, you go down to the dealership, go through the tests, slap down a few thousand dollars, and feel practically giddy at the prospect of finally getting the car. In fact, the dealer calls the manufacturer to request shipment, only to discover that the car was scratched by an assemblyman (first month), paint wasn't quite right (second month), stereo components are discontinued (third month), and finally got recalled by the government entirely (fourth month). You're despondent, beside yourself. Do you really still want this car after all of this trouble? YES. MORE THAN ANYTHING NOW. But are you willing to wait until the kinks get worked out? Are you willing to put up with more comments and jeers from others to get what you so rightfully deserve?

Okay, so the car analogy might be stretching it. Some of you might even be saying, "People aren't really that rude to infertile people, that's ridiculous." Au contraire. YOU have probably been guilty of it. Here are some things to NEVER say to a woman/couple experiencing infertility:

• So, when are you going to start a family? (On or after the wedding day, since "first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage.)
• Just be patient. It will happen when you least expect it. [Like boiling water or the mailman?]
• Have you tried other positions? I've heard that sleeping on your back with pillows under your hips and your feet in the air can help! [It's uncomfortable, believe me.]
• Take my kids! They're driving me crazy.
• We really struggled when we tried to have our fifth child. I know exactly how you feel.
• I know exactly how you feel. [That's impossible.]
• What about adoption or foster care?
• I'm sure there's a reason it's not working out. Have you seen a doctor? [Duh.]
• Don't rely on science. God will see you through. [Well intentioned, I'm sure, but still not helpful.

Some of the most hurtful experiences are those not necessarily directed at the infertile woman/couple. When I'm on Pinterest or Facebook or even watching TV or a movie, I see women/couples thinking up the most creative and cutesy ways to tell their friends and family that they're expecting. A picture of a hamburger bun in an empty oven, for example, or just posting a picture of an ultrasound image. Why can't I have that opportunity? Why can't I be the one sharing with family at a major holiday that we're expecting? Yes, I am jealous.

I read a fantastic book on infertility from a Christian perspective called Hannah's Hope. For those who are unfamiliar, in the Old Testament, Hannah is the mother of Samuel. Hannah was the second wife of Elkanah, and was barren and desperate to provide for her husband. She pleaded to God to open her womb: 1 Samuel 11: And she made a vow, saying, "Lord Almighty, if you will only look on your servant's misery and remember me, and not forget your servant but give her a son, then I will give him to the Lord for all the days of his life." The high priest overheard, granted her peace, and the Lord remembered her and took favor in her, giving her a son whom she named Samuel, which means "heard by God" in Hebrew.

Anyway, in the book, the author describes the anguish many infertile women feel on Mother's Day, particular at the Mother's Day service at church. The author drafted a letter to her minister, asking for sensitivity on this very fertility-worshipping holiday. "It is a definite time for rejoicing and honor," she said, "but at the same time can bring about moments of anguish for those enduring the road of infertility or loss." Another similar letter can be found here: An Open Letter to My Pastors.

In closing, here are a few other things I want to express in this post:

• If you recently told me you are pregnant and I didn't congratulate you right away, I am sorry. I am happy for you, but also may be struggling with jealousy, sadness, and pain.
• If you want to console a friend who is struggling with infertility, just let her/him know you are thinking/praying for her/him, that you are willing to listen. Avoid the statements I listed earlier, and be prepared for anything.
• Do NOT judge me if I/we decide to forego more treatments and live a childless lifestyle. It was a decision that likely took us years and many tears to make, and it does not make me any less of a woman/wife/married couple/HUMAN. Help me/us feel accepted and don't shut us out.
• If you are pregnant (again, congratulations), don't feel that you can't talk to me about your pregnancy, but please ask first if I'm up for the conversation.
• Don't think that my partner/spouse isn't hurting, too. Be sensitive to both of us.

I know I can't speak for (and don't want to speak for) all infertile women. This is the perspective of just one Infertile Myrtle. Yes, I am bitter right now, and perhaps things will pick up. Infertility sucks, plain and simple. I do believe that God has a plan for me, but I just wish I knew what it was. I wonder why He has placed this burden on me, but I am grateful that He has given me my husband to help me through it. Some women aren't as fortunate, but until "it happens" for us or we become comfortable with it not happening, we just ask for a little space, sensitivity, and support.