This isn’t my typical blog post. It’s definitely long and a lot more personal and mostly just text, and I debated keeping this on a private blog or sharing it. I wrote this a few months ago when I wanted to capture all the emotions I had felt through the crazy roller coaster of getting to the point that I was at. I didn’t want to forget how raw it all felt and the feelings I kept buried behind a chipper facade, so I jotted down some words. Maybe one day my child will read this and see how much sweat, blood, and tears go into creating life.

Sharing this makes me feel a little self conscious, considering my story is nothing compared to what plenty of women go through, but I decided in the end to share this because I think a lot more people might secretly feel as lost and frustrated as I did for over a year. Recently, I’m also running into more and more people experiencing the same journey I went through, and it has also given me more courage to share this. Sometimes knowing that you’re not alone can be helpful and powerful.

People often feel ashamed or embarrassed that they are trying so hard to conceive without any success. You hear stories of how so-and-so JUST got off their birth control and boom, she is already pregnant just like that. But you don’t hear as much about the pain and quiet aching of those women who try for so long without fruition.

You may not even know someone has been trying for so long because it’s not exactly a light topic to bring up. Social media only shows so much of the good news, but it doesn’t always reflect the entire journey when it comes to these topics. And so I feel the need to throw in a voice, even though I know there are much, much more arduous journeys than mine on the path to parenthood.

So if you need some commiseration (or you’re just plain curious about my story) and you are okay with reading a little bit the long version, here goes…

Written in October 2018

A few months ago, I found out one of the most life-changing news of my entire existence. I thought getting engaged or married were some the biggest moments ever in my life…and they still are. But nothing compares to finding out that you are literally growing another human being inside of you. And I’m sure nothing measures up to the moment that human leaves your body–which I have yet to get to that point.

But it’s still been a longer road getting to this point than I had imagined it would be.

The plan was simple. Buy a house. Get married. Honeymoon-travel our butts off and eat as much fancy food as we could for our first year of marriage. Basically YOLO it up like a millennial. And then have a baby after a year of blissful marriage. All before the age of 30.

The travels were exhilarating and exotic, the food was delightful, and the newlywed life was totally cloud 9 for a good solid year. From Alaska to Maui to Singapore to Bora Bora to backpacking in the Grand Canyon searching for the mystical blue/green waterfalls of Havasupai…all of it somehow got done, even though they were all just dream bucket list items, and I’m not sure how we fit it all in. Maybe life was too good. Because everything was mostly going to plan. Until we hit our one-year mark and seriously started trying to have a baby.

Because, well, life is funny and you don’t always just get to choose when you want to have a baby or get married, etc. And I get that. But I’m not sure I really got it until I experienced it firsthand the hard way. And let me tell you–trying to get pregnant is not a sexy process at all.

I knew it could take some time and it might not have happened right away. Part of me was grateful for the delay, as we got more time to fit in my other dream of traveling to Paris and Italy. We were able use our Southwest Companion Pass freely (even for random flash sale 24 hour trips) and I could eat all the sashimi I damn well pleased!

But one month turned into two into three to four. I dusted it off like Aaliyah and said, we’ll just try again. Internally, I was starting to get the teensiest bit anxious, but externally I tried not to care. I was happy for the baby announcements from friends left and right, but a small part of me felt jealous. And then extremely guilty for feeling jealous of good friends. Because I was also genuinely happy for them! But it seemed like it was so easy for some people…like they didn’t even try or want to get pregnant. I felt ashamed for feeling this type of jealousy.

To mask those feelings, I tried to distract myself with things I knew I could still do more easily while I wasn’t pregnant. I guess now I can book that trip! And I guess now I can actually be in a good friend’s wedding because we didn’t end up conceiving! I can drink Chianti in Tuscany and I can ride those roller coasters at Disneyland and the Wizarding World of Harry Potter! …

Four months turned to five to six. I’ve already been religiously tracking my cycles in my phone app. Now I also start testing ovulation sticks left and right because another good friend suggested it. “You’re probably just missing your window,” she told me. Great. So I test. But now I’m worried and wondering, “OMFG, am I even ovulating?!” Because there were several months I just wouldn’t even get that solid smiley face that was a sign of ovulation, which made me wonder if I just plain wasn’t ovulating!

I started panicking.

Was it the birth control pills I took for 3 years because I had a polyp that caused me to bleed every other week? But I had stopped taking them for half a year already! My gosh, was it back?! My doctor assured me it shouldn’t be after the surgery I had 2 years ago..

My friends keep asking me, “Soooo, when are you going to have kids?! Are you guys trying? You are, aren’t you?! How’s that going?” As if I weren’t placing enough pressure on myself already! I am so much more mindful when asking any friends about their conceiving journey now. And when people ask, I’m never planning on revealing that I am “trying” again to reduce all this pressure on myself.

Okay, so maybe I don’t need kids in my life… I lie and say this to make myself feel better. I mean, I should just enjoy my freedom right now, right?! But I remember holding my baby nephew at his first birthday and he nuzzles his head into my shoulder, clutching me tighter as I try to pass him off. It’s taking every fiber of my being to keep my ovaries from bursting of baby lust at his one little move.

I want this. I’m terrified of this, but I know I want it.

I wonder when it will be my turn. I’m nonchalantly testing strips; I’m tracking cycles, as irregular as they are. And gosh mom, I AM having sex—please don’t be embarrassing! I know how babies are made; I do have a biology degree, as useless and expensive as it was.

The feeling of when I see spotting that signals the beginning of my period is one of utter disappointment and dread now. Crushed hopes and self-doubt. What’s wrong with my body? I’m only 29; I should be fine. Ok, nevermind, now I’m 30. But still, I’m only 30!…right? Why should it be this hard at this age? I’m still young, aren’t I?!

A sinking feeling washes over me as the dreaded memory surfaces of a pharmacy professor saying that women peak at age 25 and everything is downhill from there on out… But what young professional finishing grad school is married and ready for kids at 25 nowadays?! I was in the middle of residency!

Honestly, one of the worst parts of this whole conceiving process is age pressure, in my opinion. However, age pressure from society doesn’t bother me quite as much as my own internal knowledge of biologic pressure that is just simply how the human body IS. You just can’t cheat biology and avoid the scythe. And that scares the crap out of me. But the light at the end of the tunnel was science. I was hoping we didn’t have to resort to it but not completely discounting it.

It’s been over seven months and though I don’t like to talk about it, my closest friends suggest maybe I see a reproductive doctor if I am worried I’m not ovulating. Damn pee sticks. These were suggested to be helpful. Not to bring more stress.

The specialty doctor runs all the tests because for some reason my regular OB isn’t allowed to order them. So many vials of blood and weird ultrasound appointments. They shoot dye up my tubes. My husband runs a few tests. We are both normal after everything. In fact, we are so normal and so good that she worries we’d make not TWINS, but TRIPLETS or more if she tried to intervene with the tiniest dose of medicine.

Okay, no thanks to the multiples! It’s very assuring to hear the biology all works and for a moment I can breathe again. We go on more vacation. We hope the relaxation helps. Because “don’t stress,” they say. It’s definitely easier said than done.

But then eight months becomes nine after we see the specialist. My cycles are usually irregular to begin with and longer and later than most women. My body tricks me into thinking maybe I’m pregnant because I’m extremely late– for a whole. entire. month!! I know my cycles aren’t regular but a whole month is quite a long time! I get hopeful.

But four frustrating pregnancy tests later and a negative blood test confirm, I am not with child. And these high tech pregnancy tests my husband bought flat out spell for me: “NOT PREGNANT” on their miserable little digital screens. I am a wreck internally and mentally exhausted by my own body’s irregularity.

I ask the specialist what to do because at this point I’m at a loss. She said she can induce a period after I do some labs first. But right before I was able to take the pills, my body decided, okay, we’re back on track! I am once again relieved to see Aunt Flow because it means at least I can try again. What an incredible mind f*ck, right?

But my periods continue to be a tease and arrive late by two to three weeks, giving me false hope each time. Making me stare at more “NOT PREGNANT” windows. But heyyy, at least now I’m finally starting to ovulate on those dumb pee sticks…that’s good, right? Except ten months, eleven months, a whole year go by. We get an adorable new baby bird instead, and I’m hoping it takes my mind off of the lack of human-baby. (No, we did not get the new pet as a distraction–we did our homework.)

It’s our two-year wedding anniversary and I’m thinking how nice would it be as a gift if we were with child! I’m late…again. So I’m slightly hopeful. Just slightly. Because how nice would it be to tell my husband on our second anniversary that I am having his child! A day before our anniversary, clinging to the hope that I was 2 weeks late, I tested. Negative.

I try really hard not to cry.

I try to think positive and stay grateful for the extra time I’ve been given. I try to think of all the stories of women who have failed IVF and again remind myself to be extremely grateful. I try not to let it defeat me, but it’s literally been over a YEAR. And I know people have tried for much longer than a year, so it may seem like nothing. But what bothered me most was that if all the labs were more than normal, and we were timing everything right, what was the barrier??

And what I learned through all this is that every woman who is frustrated with trying to conceive is in this together, whether you’ve been trying a few months or a few years. That feeling of sinking disappointment and self doubt does not change or get better month to month, even as you try to not let it bother you and carry on with your normal life. You might get numb, but the sheer aura of “failure” looms in the back of your mind, especially when you see other women succeeding at it.

Another month passes. I go to my regular OB/GYN doctor for a Pap that I’m due for. Her medical assistant asks me when my last cycle started. When I tell her she says, “Oh, so it should be starting again soon!” I cringe. “Well, I hope not.” She stops typing. “Oh my God, are you trying?!” And she begins to tell me about her journey with reproductive services. She is seeing the same specialist I am seeing. This is more common than I thought… I guess I feel slightly less alone.

My doctor comes in for the exam and we also talk about it. She inadvertently calls my problem “infertility” and then she backtracks when she sees my face to say that by definition, they call it “infertility” if it has been over a year of active trying. My heart sinks.

She quickly tries to talk about my options and give me some hope by saying my labs look great. “Would you please just gain two pounds for me? That might help,” she says. This doesn’t make me feel any better because at this point, I know she is just grasping for straws. I know I am a normal, healthy weight already. I start crying, totally embarrassed because I work at the same facility as her and I’m supposed to be a healthcare professional too. She gives me a big hug with sympathetic puppy eyes and tells me I just have to keep trying.

I consider myself a pretty resilient person, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being upset that day. That night, I told my husband half-bitterly that if we don’t succeed by the end of the year, I’m taking our butts to Japan and gorging on all the sushi I can because if I can’t be pregnant, then I might as well enjoy my un-pregnantness as much as possible. He understands my frustration and says of course, whatever I want.

A few weeks later, I noticed the weirdest pre-menstrual symptom that I’ve never experienced before. My breasts are suddenly super tender and sore. And I know this can be common for some people before Aunt Flow comes. I’ve never been one of those people, but hey, maybe I’m getting old. A week of this goes by…a second week continues. Now I’m wondering if this is normal. And I’m late by now, but that could just be my version of “normal” since I have weird cycles.

Could it be? I’m so scared to check another damn pregnancy test only to have my hopes wither away again. But two weeks of this insufferable breast tenderness are also driving me nuts wondering, wondering, wondering… So I bite the bullet. As I’m waiting for the test to finish and spit out its results, I try to hide it so I can’t see the verdict. I’m scared to feel that shattering disappointment I’m all too familiar with…yet again.

This test is unusually fast though. Before I could walk away from it, a word flashes on the screen.

“PREGNANT.”

My breath catches. I take a second look and stare long and hard at the screen. Then the floodgates tore open. I start bawling like I hadn’t bawled since my husband proposed to me. He hears my gushing sobs and hurries over to comfort me.

“It’s okay, honey,” he says as he wraps me from behind and kisses my head. “We’ll just try again next month.”

I shake my head fervently, “NO…” I manage to choke up through the tears. “No..?? Why not?!” he asks in a very confused tone. I could only point to the test as I started hiccuping. He looks over and finally gets it. He starts laughing as I’m still blubbing away.

It was more emotional than I thought it would be. And in that moment, I knew my life would never, ever be the same again.

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As I write this, I am just starting my third trimester and feeling immense gratitude that I have made it this far. Pregnancy itself has been a whole different adventure. I know life will never be the same again, but I could not be more thrilled to start this totally brand new volume of life, our next journey— unlike anywhere we’ve traveled to yet. I’d say parenthood warrants a whole new book, right?

Looking back on the tumultuous 14 months it took to conceive, it feels short compared to some other women’s journeys. But at the same time, every month feels like a year when you’re actively trying. I feel like maybe our journey was just a test to see if I really wanted children. There were moments I felt relieved that we had so much time just to ourselves, and then there were moments I felt something was missing. I have always loved children and knew that one day I wanted to have my own. And knowing what an amazing person my husband is, I also knew I really wanted to have a child with him.

I think our little one on the way actually gave us a huge gift of time. I am grateful to have had the extra year to travel and play and enjoy OUR lives the way we wanted because I know it will be very different from here on out. So thank you, my unborn child, for teaching me some patience and for making me take my time to enjoy my life a little more so I could cherish your arrival even more. Thank you for teaching me humility and empathy, too.

In this journey, I’ve learned that conceiving is a process not to be taken for granted. As women, we bear a lot of the feeling of responsibility when it comes to making a human being. After finding out that I was pregnant, my immediate next worry shifted to: “Goodness, will I be able to carry this baby to term??” Conceiving was only the beginning of my worries…my days after finding out the news were filled with thoughts of doing everything possible to avoid miscarriage, eating healthy, supplementing the right nutrition and exercise, and so much more that comes with being pregnant!

And the responsibilities are not going to get any easier. I’ll probably never stop worrying again. But I’m sure it will be the greatest adventure yet, testing our marriage’s strength and foundation, and growing us as humans and partners in ways we never imagined. During these months of pregnancy, I’ve come to appreciate my partner even more than I ever have before. I find we both laugh more, forgive more, and empathize more.

So I know I cannot truly offer consolation to those of you who are trying without results. I know that I am one of the lucky ones and that a year and change is nothing to wait through compared to many other women. You ladies are so incredibly tough.

What I can offer is empathy and respect. It is a hard thing month after month to face this type of “rejection.” I know that feeling very well because I’m the type of person who expects to get everything right on the first try. And that just didn’t happen, which is what makes this such a humbling experience.

Know this–whether you try a few months or a few years, it’s more common than you think. Just because you don’t hear about it, it doesn’t mean it’s not happening to other people. The person you see every day working down the hall from you could be going through the very same internal battles you are going through too. And even if you are perfectly “normal” on paper like we were, it might take awhile to happen.

It’s also never too early to ask a doctor to evaluate you. They told me I should wait a year before seeking medical tests, but knowing myself, the anxiety would have driven me nuts to wait that long. So do what’s best for you. Be your own advocate. You know your body best.

My story is nothing extraordinary. In fact, it is very ordinary. But maybe because it is so ordinary, it also needs to be told. Because ordinary matters too, and ordinary is where the every day people can actually relate to.

My door is open if you are going through something similar and need to talk — no judgement. It’s hard enough being a woman as it is. Let’s support each other!

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Thanks for reading if you made it all the way here! 🙂 A part of me is nervous for sharing this, but I am hoping it helps even just one person feel less lonely and frustrated from this. We are super excited to meet our baby this spring, and I hope to catch up on some other blog posts at…some point. I have a huge back log! But please excuse me if I lag — it’s also not easy being pregnant! 😉

xoxo,
Jasmine