July 2009: I went off the Pill after a few months where it seemed like every story I heard on the radio or read in the newspaper was about a heartbroken infertile woman. I panicked, thinking it would be better to find out right away if we weren’t going to have an easy go of it.
August 2009: I was pregnant. And shocked. And fat. I wasn’t ready, but we were thrilled. Until the heartbeat was too slow, and my progesterone levels were low, and suddenly things were unsure. And I had a miscarriage.
2009-2010: We used condoms, dealt with some crazy house-selling madness, each lost a bunch of weight. We thought it would be such a breeze to get pregnant, just as soon as we had our ducks in a row.
October 2010: We went on vacation and started trying. It didn’t work.
October2010-May 2011: We tried; I stayed not-pregnant and did my best to keep it together. My husband said he can be happy as long as he has me. There just aren’t words to describe what it feels like when someone loves you enough to say that. He said he could be happy but he wasn’t sure I could, and that was hard for him. So I spent a lot of time coming to terms with the possibility that we may never have children.
May 2011: HSG test. Those things are fucking painful and horrible, but they don’ take too long. Radiology rooms are not pleasant places, and I was all-too conscious of the fact that radiologists aren’t gynecologists. But all was well with the tubes and stuff.
Summer 2011: Somewhere in here my husband had a sperm analysis and I had an HCG–he’s good; I’m not so much. I’m 35, but my egg score is older than that. This is still something I’m not entirely clear on, but I’ll give you my score: it’s 10.5. That’s why we can’t conceive, or why we haven’t so far.
Fall 2011: My doctor puts me on Clomid for three months, says she’d like to do an ultrasound to check follicles but then kind of flakes on it. I’m losing faith in my local OB. Three rounds of Clomid and three BFNs. Sigh.
I took this time to do some soul-searching. I knew everything would begin to snowball once we took the next step, which was seeing a specialist. My complicated feelings on the specialist don’t belong in the timeline, so I won’t go into them here. Let it suffice to say that I’ve learned to accept a lot of things about infertility, the most important being that when all is said and done, we might remain a childless couple–a happy childless couple.
February 2011: I asked by OB for a referral to a specialist. After some crossed wires and stupid, sub-par-healthcare snafus, we met with the specialist. He said we should try IUI for a few months, then escalate from there if we needed to.
March 26, 2011, a Monday: I went in for the ultrasound. One good follicle, one decent follicle. Scheduled IUI for Friday.
March 26-30, 2011: I scour the Internet for success stories. Didn’t anyone get pregnant with their first IUI? It doesn’t appear so.
March 28, 2011: My husband bends me over the kitchen table and gives me an HCG shot in the ass. It didn’t hurt, but I had to lie down afterward because the whole thing was pretty fucking intense.
March 30, 2011: IUI #1. And our fingers are crossed. And my boobs hurt because of the goddamn HCG, and I continue my search for the success story that mirrors my own.