I’ve been quiet on this front lately. Writing in general, but specifically in sharing parts of our story as we continue to try to conceive. It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it, but it’s more a fear that it is getting old for those who have been walking alongside us for so long. I’ve been reassured by many friends that this is not the case, but I admit feeling a little self-conscious if I am the one bringing it up all the time.
The practical, medical facts of our whole journey, since many of our friends have asked for the latest:
- 2015 was when we started trying.
- 2016: at the one year mark, I did day 3 and day 21 blood work to check hormone levels–everything looked normal, and showed that I ovulated. Eric did labwork as well, and while one of his factors was a little low. They put him on an antibiotic to see if that made a difference, and while it didn’t, they told us they weren’t too concerned about it, since it was just below the normal range. WE MOVED TO CONWAY so I saw a new doctor, who scheduled an HSG (“the dye test”). Everything was normal.
- 2017 was the year of testing for Eric. I went to see my doctor, who did a vaginal ultrasound and suspected a little bit of endometriosis. He wanted to schedule the laparascopic surgery, however, we also decided to test Eric before scheduling the surgery, and his numbers had declined drastically. They had us wait a few months, then test him again to see if this was a fluke, and the numbers were the same. He did blood work to check his hormone levels, but they were all textbook perfect My doctor prescribed Clomid for him (apparently, it can make an impact on men too!) then had us wait a few more months before testing again. Eric also tried going off a daily prescription he takes, just to see. It didn’t make a drastic difference, and the doctor told us there wasn’t really anything else they could do for him.
- In early 2018, we tested Eric again, just to check in, and his numbers randomly went back up to normal! This is after he went back off Clomid and on his regular prescription, so we have no idea why. But since there’s nothing else to be done for him if his numbers do drop again, we decided we wouldn’t test him any more. Then, WE MOVED BACK TO FAYETTEVILLE so finally scheduling my surgery (now that everything was straightened out with Eric) was a little delayed until we settled in and reconnected with my doctor here.
- In August, I had the laparoscopy procedure, and my doctor only found a little bit of endometriosis–not enough to necessarily be the cause of infertility, but she also did another round of dye through my tubes, which is said to be one of the most helpful things because it basically clears the pathway. If we aren’t pregnant by the end of the year, she said to call her and they would put me on Clomid just to try it, even though my hormones have been normal up to this point.
It’s been hard to think about other options for growing our family because all of our medical steps have been within smaller windows of time–”Try this for a few months then come back,” or “Give it a few months then test again.” We’re in this constant cycle of waiting to see and checking in pretty frequently, especially since we haven’t found anything that would tell us a clear solution. There have been moments, but it’s all pretty foggy still.
Beyond the medical path, though, I struggle with feeling forgotten. I don’t feel intentionally left out, but I definitely feel left behind. This has become such a normal part of my life, and sometimes I forget to pray about it because it’s hard to picture anything different.
And yet, the sweetest thing lately is that I have had friends randomly text me to let me know that they are thinking about me and praying for me, that they see me and haven’t forgotten. This means the world to me. It’s a reminder that I am loved and that people aren’t sick of hearing about how I’m doing, and it’s a tangible reminder that God sees me and cares for me. When I grow weary of trying to convince myself of truth about who God is and what he can do, I’m reminded of a community of people who are in it with me, believing for me and praying for me and holding up my faith when I feel weak.
So yes, we’re still here. I wish we weren’t, but at the same time, I’m so thankful we are.