I can never ever forget where I came from that got me to this point.
Jealously that almost ruined my best friendship.
Anger and bitterness that drove people away.
Friendships lost because the hole in my heart was too big to manage.
Nearly alienating my only sister because of one comment.
Almost losing my marriage and my own life to a medical treatment because I was so desperate for a baby.
If I didn’t have my archives to go back and read I may be able to think about the past five years differently. I know a lot of you had hope for me, you knew this would happen for me when I didn’t. There were even a few of you who sent me “I told you so’s.”
There are also those of you who have come forward to admit that you stopped reading my words because you felt guilty for having what I longed for so badly.
There have also been some who have pegged all of your hopes on me. “IF YOU CAN DO IT SO CAN I!” or “WHY YOU AND NOT ME?”
And then there are those of you who have lost much longed for babies. I can’t even pretend to know the pain associated with such a loss, I only know the fear, and the fear on its own is crippling.
When a painful five year journey ends in an instant, and suddenly your entire life is about to change in less than 36 weeks? Five years doesn’t seem like such a long time.
I know I was guilty of turning my back on my friends who became pregnant when I couldn’t. I am so deeply remorseful for this. I was so busy licking my own wounds that I lashed out at those who didn’t deserve it. I can’t thank God enough for giving me the last year to realize my mistakes, rectify some of them and come to peace with what may or may not be in store for me.
I feel like a hypocrite writing the following words when I know that I was guilty of doing the same thing. As soon as I announced my pregnancy I could feel a two handed shove, the kind that whips your head back, shoving me out of the classification of infertile and into unfamiliar territory.
I’m not sure I can ever take my rightful place among the other side. It took way too much to get here to ever take this pregnancy for granted. I mingle with the other side. Make jokes about cravings and poop. But I can’t ever truly turn away from that other group, the one I was a part of for so long, the one I spoke up for and the one that supported me when I couldn’t support myself anymore. I feel as though when I look back at them, their backs are all turned to me. “Traitor” they mumble.
“But…but! You guys! I get it! I know how you feel!”
They turn for a moment, look at my swollen belly, roll their eyes and turn away.
Maybe I know their mannerisms so well because I did the same thing for so long.
It’s lonely out here in the middle. There’s very few people out here with me. Or maybe there’s more of you, we just haven’t talked about it yet.
I don’t want to be the story someone tells to an infertile friend, “Well there’s this blog I read, she tried for years…surgery…hormone treatments…she had finally given up and then WHAMMY! it happened!”
I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of that conversation. I know how to mechanically smile and nod in response, not letting on to how frustrated and hurt I am inside.
I am so deliriously happy that I sometimes forget that there are women around me at the grocery store or online that are giving me the same dirty look I’ve given so many women in the past. If I were to catch one of them and hear their story and try to relate I wouldn’t be taken as a credible source, simply because the stars aligned and I was fertile for one magic moment.
I don’t know why this has been so hard for me to write about. Maybe it’s because I can still feel the shove to my back while the sting is still on my hands from shoving others.
I don’t have an answer.
But I know I’ll never forget. Especially since I’ll never quite belong here or there.
making unbreakable - formerly moosh in indy. 
I’m right here in the middle with you, Chica.
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I am a middle girl too…. 7 weeks and counting
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Oh Casey…
This is such a hard place to be, but I understand. While my journey was three years less than yours, my two years were spent in tears, with harbored resentment and unintentional feelings of jealousy.
I always find myself saying “well it took us two years to have our first…” since we became pregnant quickly with our second.
And I still have many friends who are still there. And I grieve for them, but also feel like I’ve stabbed them in the back.
I don’t know that there’s an answer, but I do know that there are many of us who exist in this in between space.
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Such honesty. That is what I admire about you.
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And… this is why I can be happy for you even when I long for a baby. You have such grace!
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I’m so glad you wrote this.
Xoxo
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You say it so well. We only dealt with infertility treatments for 18 months, but I know all too well how you feel. I am not the person who got pregnant easily, I don’t take for granted how much of an art and a science there is to the creation of human life. I know the pain and hurt of infertility. And while I feel so happy and blessed to be expecting twins, I agree with you – I don’t feel like I belong with all the moms-to-be who can smugly say, “and I wasn’t even REALLY trying!”
I am happy to straddle the middle line with you – one foot on either side – a human bridge.
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Hey Casey,
Its ironic that you say that you dont want to be the example given to infertile friends that they too can become pregnant. I myself just found out that I am pregnant. I have a friend whos been trying for 5 years with her husband, and has gone through all of the same things you did. 2 minutes after seeing the positive, I was petrified at the idea of telling my friend. Would I lose her? Would I alienate her because I didn’t put in the time and effort that she did? I remember her telling me stories of some of her friends who had become pregnant and how she wasn’t happy because they wouldn’t be good parents. I was so lost that I went to your archives for help, and had planned, when the time came, to show her your blog in August about how infertility affects friendships. Hoping this would give her hope that something will come eventually, and that all her hurtful thoughts inside are normal. I thought sharing your blog might help her… but now I’m questioning it. How do you recommend I tell her, with inflicting the minimal amount of pain. During your infertility years, were there any friends who let you down gently? Someway they told you that made it hurt just a little less? Any advice would help.
THANKS!
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@S, The truth is when friends let me in on the news early and way before they made their big announcement it always allowed me enough time to work through their announcement on my own before I had people running up to me (or avoiding me) at church or wherever squealing with excitement about the latest announcement.
I know when I found out I told my family and closest friends first, then I quietly let the people know who would have a more difficult time with the news be it from infertility, sterility or miscarriage. Then I announced it to the general public about four weeks later.
It’s worked for me. I just know it hurts the worst when I was the last person to know from close friends, or when I heard it from other people.
Hope that helps. (And congratulations!)
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I don’t feel I belong here or there, either. I had 1 biological child nearly 8 years ago and never since. I’ve adopted 1 child, too and am a huge adoption advocate.
One day I realized I get frustrated with people who have loads of babies or “get pregnant on accident” when they could adopt kids – and that I feel that way because I’ve not been able to carry a child in 8 years. I’d never give up the opportunity I had to adopt my precious child, yet I would always welcome another biological child.
Recently I had surgery to remove some growing cysts and it was discovered during surgery that some of my organs were adhered together into one big lump inside. I had no idea! When I woke up my surgeon told me I basically went from being completely infertile to having the same chance as any fertile woman my age of getting pregnant. Many would jump for joy – and I am amazed and grateful – yet I can’t help but feel I don’t belong in the fertile world (even if I don’t ever get pregnant again) after having believed it wasn’t for me all these years.
To say the least – it’s devastating to realize what we allow our internal self-talk to convince us of, believing lies about who we are and struggling to accept what is to be.
A big *mwah* to you, Casey 😀
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You did a great job in articulating your feelings here. I am so happy for you (and was so sad for you during your time of struggle). Fortunatly, for me, I haven’t had to deal with infertility and am so grateful not to have experienced that pain.
What I have experienced is the loss of friendship over a pregnancy. Six years ago, a very very close co-worker of mine had some ‘female’ surgery (can’t remember exactly what the problem was). There was a group of three of us that were all getting to the point where children were something we were thinking of (checking ovulation charts, etc. in preparation of possibly trying for pregnancy). She was the oldest of the group, recently married, and always had some fears that she might have trouble conceiving…. the surgery exacerbating those fears. Anyway, during this time, my husband and I went away on vacation and, during that time, decided to go off birth control. Remember – we’d all been talking about children for a while. Anyway, before I even got back from my trip, I had called my friend at work and told her that we’d thrown caution to the wind (we were close enough to talk about that). When I got back to the office, she was acting strange and then completely shunned me. Finally, she came clean and told me that she felt I was trying to “steal her thunder, just trying because she was trying, etc.” Just ridiculous stuff. Anyway, I remember coming home to my husband and laying in bed crying because I could see the friendship ending and telling him that we were going to STOP trying for a while because I didn’t want her to feel bad. Ridiculous. Anyway, turns out I was already pregnant and for 9 months I had to avoid her in the halls so we wouldn’t have to look at her. The other friend was stuck in the middle and tryed to continue being friends with both us us separately…tough. It was miserable. I was so upset that my first pregnancy, when I should have been joyous, was partly ruined by this situation. I was able to get past the sadness, but it was still awkward. Funny thing is that when I returned from my maternity leave, she was 6-7 months pregnant. Her son is just a few months younger than mine. A friendship was ruined for NO GOOD REASON. Anyway, she eventually apologized and said that her emotions were just really high then and he worry took over to the point she couldn’t really think logically about the situation. I forgave her of course, but we’ll never be what we were. (I left that job soon after that)
I just thought I’d throw in a view from the other side. I know my story isn’t tragic by any means, but it was painful.
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I have the opposite problem. I am so non-baby-wanting that I have a hard time mustering up sympathy for the infertile. I really, really don’t get it. I’m like “So no baby – get over it. Yeesh.” I have no idea how it feels to want one and it seems crazy to me that people obsess about it.
I don’t mean people are wrong for wanting babies, not at all. I mean that there is something missing in me that makes it impossible for me to relate to those feelings. I have to remind myself to be kind, to shut up and listen, to not give stupid assvice.
I can, however, imagine the difficult situation you are in as you are thrust from one world into another. I am glad that you got what you want.
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There’s kind of a third side too. Those of us who always hoped to meet Mr. Right and have a chance to have a family but find ourselves on the far side of 40 with Menopause looming and no prospects on the horizon. I’m always happy that people have children that really want them and feel for those that can’t conceive. But I haven’t even had the chance to know if I’d be fertile or not.
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@Amy in StL, I hear you. It so hard.
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You don’t have to have an answer sweetheart. Sadly none of us can un-do the past. We can’t change others futures either, only our own.
But please try not to feel bad for being pregnant. Even if others are, you can’t take that on. You tried everything. You waited years. Your children will be six years apart. Anyone who has read here for any length of time, knows these things. Celebrate that boy (see, I’m convinced) and your ability to have another baby. Celebrant love. Celebrate. Everyone in your place right now, would. It’s okay for you too do it.
I want another baby more than most anything in this world. Yet, I am loving reading about Mozzi. It doesn’t make me sad. It makes me happy for you. Thrilled for you and Cody and Addie.
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Even after three wonderful little boys, I will never, NEVER forget the pain of infertility. It took us five years and many medical interventions to get pregnant with our first. And yet, it’s an odd limbo, trying to tell a currently infertile friend that you know how they feel. Even if you really, really do, they don’t believe you when you’re juggling three children while talking to them. How could they? I wouldn’t have believed me either, back when I was the infertile one.
No, you’re not alone in the middle, Casey.
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I really identified with this post. Thank you for posting it.
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We live in a weird little world. I had surgery twice to clear out scar tissue because of my endometriosis. It took us 18 months to get pregnant with our first, 12 for our second. And then because God is in control, I was on birth control when my third showed up.
I remember the pain, but it’s so hard to fight the urge to offer hope when you know someone is hurting. So if I make the mistake of saying something to the point of don’t give up, I know that I’m more likely to be lashed out at because the person is hurting, but I try to not take it personally.
I’m just happy you are one of the lucky ones, even if it’s a weird headspace in which to live.
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I’m in the middle with you. Took over 5 years for us to conceive our twins (with help). I had the same feelings while waiting to get pregnant, and then once I was pregnant. It’s a funny feeling to step over to the “fertile” side yet still have friends back on the “infertile” side. Slippery slope.
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I am in a different middle. I have a son, but to get that son, I had to go through miscarriages. And then my body didn’t want to get pregnant again. I remember spending those years looking at friends who had babies and complained (how dare they!) about stuff. I swore if I could just have a baby I would never complain (yeah, right). So I have my boy. But will I be able to have more? I don’t know. Nothing about getting pregnant, staying that way, or giving birth for me was “how God intended”. I needed drugs and surgery. Sometimes I feel like nature is telling me I am not supposed to be a mother.
but I have a son.
i look like a mother.
but i don’t always feel that way.
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The middle can be a very difficult place to be, but I think you’re handling it better than most. Great post!
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I hate to break it to you, Casey, but you were kicked out of the infertile club about 5 years ago when you had the moosh.
I understand that it was painful for you to want a second child and not get it immediately, but you have no idea what it feels like to find out at age 18 that because of your medical condition you will never- and I mean, NEVER- have a single child.
You and all these other women who struggled with “infertility” for a few or even several years do not truly know the soul shattering pain of being 100% infertile, forever. Your ovaries have not been totally ripped to pieces by a medical condition that you didn’t even know you had because it didn’t effect you in any other way.
I appreciate what you have done with your website, in trying to make infertile women feel like there are others out there to support. However, by having one, and soon two beautiful children that are all yours- you are slapping truly infertile women in the face.
This was a very gracious post, and you have a good heart, but I take umbrage with your claims about infertility.
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@Proud, I take umbrage with your insistence that someone can’t wrestle with infertility unless they belong to a special club of being 100% infertile, forever. You’re slapping everyone else in the face who may experience that pain and heartache, even if it’s temporary.
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@Avitable, Adam, I am liking you more and more. Is this a sign of the apocalypse?
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@Suebob, oh, Sue, if you ever paid attention before, you’d see that this is how I’ve always been. 🙂
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@Proud,
I was born with a heart defect. I was told from every cardiologist that I had ever seen that my heart would never survive carrying a pregnancy. So I wasn’t infertile then? Because while I could get pregnant it would kill me.
Because I can tell you even though I could get pregnant I would die. So I consider myself to be infertile.
It took a miracle and a VERY risky open heart surgery to be able for me to be able to be Amelia’s mother.
I consider myself to be infertile now because Amelia did damage my heart and I will never be able to be pregnant again.
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@Proud,
First, I’m so sorry for what you have gone through, not being able to ever have children naturally. That is rough.
But I have to say…
Infertility is infertility is infertility. If you struggled to get pregnant and are personally familiar with the yawning emptiness that comes only with the searing void of infertility, then you know infertility. You just do.
One may try to feel justified in their self-righteous indignation that “at least you have a baby”, but it doesn’t make another person’s struggle any less real or painful.
It’s a tough row to hoe. Plain and simple. But my pain (having personally miscarried twins, ruptured ectopic, and experiencing secondary infertility — seven years and counting) does not nullify yours, and yours does not nullify mine. Pain is pain is pain.
I’m a member. Casey is a member. You are a member. It’s an ugly, wicked club to belong to, but all the same I think we owe it to the membership to offer our own struggles as collateral, and compassion and support as our dues.
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@Proud, That seems unnecessarily harsh and judgmental.
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@Proud, Being sterile is slightly different from being infertile. Casey met the clinical definition of infertile – and then some. Certainly the experience of infertility changes as you go through it. How I felt at two years is entirely different from how I feel at 5 years. And I’m sure how I feel now is different than how I’ll feel if I reach the end of my child-bearing years without another child. But just because I’m not diagnosed as permanently infertile does not mean my experience isn’t infertility, and it doesn’t mean it isn’t unthinkably painful.
Infertility experiences just aren’t comparable. Some people would envy you because you have certainty. You maybe envy others because they have hope. But make no mistake about it – having hope doesn’t make the journey easier. It just makes it different.
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@Proud, Proud, deliberately hurting other people, using semantics to belittle other people’s pain, and isolating yourself are not going to make you feel better long term. We are sisters on this planet and we need each other. My experiences are not like Casey’s or like yours. But each of us has pain. And as this post points out, all of our circles overlap on THAT point: we all hurt. And where our circles overlap, is where we can find comfort from each other. Please learn this lesson and find a little solace.
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@Proud,
Proud,
I too have felt as you do and have been tempted in the past to make the same arguments you have. Know that you are not alone. Although you may be berated for your comments, know you are not the only one to feel the way you do. I remember feeling as though I had to get those same feelings off my chest.
I know the pain of being hopelessly infertile and going to an infertility support group online, (or a blog) only to have ladies sharing their efforts of trying to conceive and getting their damn “BFP!!!” I have been in your shoes (or ones the same style), I know what it feels like to HATE when women who had a hard time conceiving or couldn’t conceive a second or third child, lumped themselves into your personal hell. I know it feels like an insult to the pain you are going through. I clearly remember thinking, “They have a child, or at least are able to try, they have NO idea what true infertility feels like.”
But…
Like others have said, pain is pain. Yes, we are jealous of those who experience it only for a few years of “trying”, because we know we will never be relieved from it, but everyone who is suffering from infertility is hurting. I believe that some situations are “harder” or “sadder”, but they all suck and they all hurt. Nothing productive, including making yourself feel better, comes from comparing pain levels.
I have come to a point in my life where I have been able to store my “infertility pain” in quiet place in my heart. Only rarely does it escape to that ripping and searing pain that I am too familiar with. I hope that you too can find a quiet place in your heart, and until you do, know that you are not alone. There are other hopelessly infertile women out there who understand your pain. I know it seems as if it will never let up, and you don’t give a crap how you make other people feel, because they can’t feel half as bad as you feel right now. I know that feeling.
To everyone else, give her a break. I’m sure we’ve all had lows and hopefully we remember them well enough to know that we would all try desperately to make ourselves feel a little bit better. For “Proud” to express her frustration may be painful for others, but if it is one of her attempts to feel better, let it go. Don’t take it personally, she hurts. Hell, we all hurt.
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@Proud,
Proud, I am sorry for your circumstances. I truly am. But your line of thinking implies that any women who struggles for any period with the inability to conceive can not call herself infertile.
I went to an infertility specialist because my dr told me i was infertile, after passing all the infertility tests and being told that my 34yo reproductive system looked like it belonged to a 50yo. So 3 yrs of nothing & 2 yrs of medical fertility voodoo (IVF) i became pregnant. (now I’m in the middle)
But the definition of infertile is ‘unable to reproduce’. There is no timetable or additional circumstances attached to the word. No one group of women can own a word and exclude others from identifying with it as well.
However, your emotions seem fresh and raw and heart-wrenching. I can not begin to know your pain, as I am now in the middle with Casey too. I can only pray that in time, you will find some solace and be able to see yourself beyond this affliction label. You are more than your diagnosis. You are a woman meant to do wonderful and glorious things in this life. (punch me now, but i believe it)
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I don’t think it matters at all how long it takes, the very instant you know you’re ‘infertile’ whether it’s permanant or secondary, there is something that takes place in a woman’s heart… that knowing you’re ‘broken’ even if it’s possible you can be fixed. Yes, I do imagine it’s harder for those who will NEVER have a baby, but I admit, even after having one, waiting a few years, then trying for 2 years and realizing it wasn’t happening, something very painful happened inside.
I never quite joined the ‘infertile’ group since I knew mine was secondary and 2 yrs after trying, wound up pregnant (total shock) but, I do know how it feels to have something wrong with you, something that prevents you from experiencing that joy of life. And, to see everyone else pregnant or holding babies…
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So because I had twins – through extraordinary means – I’m no longer infertile? Seriously? According to you, Proud, I am. According to my doctor, my ovaries, and how I feel every freaking birthday with ‘only’ my twins, I am painfully infertile. I just got incredibly blessed that the first attempt worked.
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I am a middle girl too, three times. It sucks, it is hard, but it is also why I told you the hard things I told you the night we stayed at your house. Whew, so glad I was right. 🙂 Love you to the moon and then some.
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One thing I know:
The human race is bonded together by one commonality.
We all feel isolated. Alone. Burdened.
Here’s the thing. When we are alone, when nobody understands, when nobody will ever be ABLE to understand, and we are utterly desperately alone?
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That is when we find it.
It’s there in the corner of the back of the closet. The place we only look at when there is no other option. When despair floods everything and leaves us cold and lost.
And alone.
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It gives us the confidence to stand up tall and square our shoulders.
To tolerate the comments not meant snidely, and looks and stares of curiosity…
not kindness.
In short, it gives us the companionship needed to carry on. To shoulder a burden that is the same, but lighter somehow.
What is IT?
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Hope
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My sweet wonderful friend…
You know how envious I am of your blessing. And while I cannot speak for the rest of us, I felt nothing but gratitude when you announced your pregnancy with Moz. (Envy certainly came later). I think that if I ever do get pregnant, I too will feel like the middle girl. The thought of even being a mother is so complex to me right now. I can’t imagine it. Secretly sometimes when my pregnant friends say that they love their baby so much, I think, “It’s not even here yet” and I wonder if they’re faking (even though I really know they’re not.)
I think I fit into my own category as well. I could still get pregnant. It might be an option. I haven’t done all the crazy treatments, surgeries and lifestyle changes….. yet.
I think that you deserve this after everything you’ve gone through. I know the heartbreak you’ve felt. You put your heart on your screen and it translates very clearly.
Pregnant or not, I still think of you as a wonderful advocate for infertility and the pain that it causes the rest of us.
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I’m in a different part of that middle group. I’ve been pregnant five times…two of those ended in beautiful little girls who I adore, two just ended with no explanation and I’m currently pregnant again. I’ve never considered myself infertile, obviously I can get pregnant. But losing babies hurts, a lot! So, while fertile, it comes at a price. I’m probably someone that those struggling to get pregnant look at and hate and honestly, I hate that. I’d rather not get pregnant in the first place than lose a baby, the pain of loss is agonizing. And of course, anyone that sees me now and doesn’t know me well doesn’t even know I’ve lost before, so I’m just that mother who already has 2, why do I get another?
I’m so happy for you and your current situation. I’m most excited for your daughter though. I grew up an only child (because of my parents own secondary infertility), I longed for a sibling, still do and I’m 32. I’m so happy your little girl won’t have to have those same longing feelings. 🙂
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xoxoxoxoxo
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You are so honest and you take my breath away with it, truly. I was very blessed and had no problems getting pregnant with either boy, but I’ve known people within the whole spectrum. It’s such a fine line, not wanting to offend, wanting to be happy, trying to be kind but wanting to scream. You handle it well – HUMAN.
Not sure why “proud” is reading your blog, to be honest. Your blog screams family and child and faith and love and “proud” seems to be the opposite of all of those things. (your blog is awesome, please don’t take that the wrong way!!) To judge someone for degrees of infertility is absurd. To say that just because someone has a child once that they can’t be infertile later is just silly. Medical dictionaries define infertile as inability to get pregnant over a period of time…applies to a lot more people than those who are never able to conceive.
xoxoxoxo
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Here’s what I find annoying… When someone vocalizes their pain, someone else always comes along to one-up them. “Oh yeah?! Let’s feel bad for ME instead…” Everyone’s situation is different, but the heart-wrenching pain is the same. ;(
Love you Casey.
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@Merilee A, That is very well stated, Merilee. It is NOT a competition.
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great post. great things to wrestle through. i cannot relate to infertility *at all.* I have no idea what it is like to long for a baby. but my heart is heavy for those and sad. i know the desire to be a mother and it is bittersweet.
our first child was born at 30 weeks. our second, at 39. the first time that i realized that our experience with the first wasn’t in vain was 6 months after he was born, when friends of ours had just had a baby and he had to be hospitalized for a few weeks. we visited them and could totally relate. we cried with them, understood how hard it was to have a newborn in the hospital, in a situation you didn’t expect. it was then that our experience wasn’t in vain. i finally felt like there was a purpose in our son’s prematurity, and even now, still feel like we can love and minister to those that are in a similar situation. we know what it’s like. and even though we had a healthy second child, we still know that pain and difficulty.
i hope that you are greeted with kindness and compassion from the infertility camp, and that you can sit and cry and care and love with those that are hurting. because you know. and i hope that they have the grace to celebrate with you the miracles and gifts that you have been given in having conceived your babies.
i am so happy for you that you are pregnant again. praying for a healthy baby, excited to find out who it is!
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I’m a middle girl too. Every story is different – and I love that you’re sensitive enough to look back and feel those feelings for those who are still standing where you once stood. That’s a really beautiful trait< Casey.
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Thank you. That was one of the kindest thing you have ever written.
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I’m in that no man’s land too.
I’m infertile. But it’s not ruining my life or relationships because it simply doesn’t bother me that much. Infertile women hate that.
I’m still a mom. But I’m a 24 year old mom of (almost) 4. People look at me an assume teen mom or assume I sleep around a lot because my kids are all racially mixed. The teen moms don’t want me because I wasn’t a teen mom. The moms my age don’t want me because I’m an adoptive mom. The adoptive moms don’t want me because I’m “too young”.
It’s lonely. I’ll hold your hand if you want. I won’t even roll my eyes at you, unless you do something goofy, and then I’ll be laughing while I do it.
Be proud Casey – you’re growing a HUMAN. That’s pretty stinking awesome in my book.
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I am happily amazed at the miracle you carry inside you. And I am wondrously amazed at the journey it took to get you to this gracious, humble stage where you are now. You are brave and strong, even though you don’t always recognize it. My life is better because you are in it.
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yep… another one in the middle. 🙂 still stings when people talk about getting pregnant easily, but i’m not in the other club either since i have a biological daughter… i also have a daughter we adopted first, so i always get the “that always happens if you just adopt…” which is a total lie, rarely happens and is frustrating to no end… just wanted to jump in and join the “middle” club! 🙂
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I look at people the same way just in a different situation, I’m not married and when I see those young girls who are getting engaged in college and planning the wedding for after graduation I roll my eyes. I’ve graduated from college twice and have 2 degrees and still no ring on my hand or even a relationship to put a ring on my hand. So even though that’s completely different than all the infertility after reading your post I realized that I make those same looks and get mad just for a different reason. It made me realize that I need to change that, Thank You!
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what you wrote is what i’ve felt, but unable to put into words. my husband and i were told we wouldnt have children without IVF, and even the chances of that working were very slim. after trying for 4 years, we got pregnant on our own. and now he’s 10 weeks old. it is so strange to be infertile one day and wake up the next only to find out there is LIFE growing inside.
i still carry those infertile feelings in my heart. ive never forgotten what it felt like to not have my babe here. i find it hard to relate to moms with babies my age. it seems they like to complain about how little sleep they are getting, how “bad” their baby is, etc. or on the other side: brag about how good their baby is and trying to compare theirs to others’.
i can not complain, nor do i want to compare and/or judge! i love every single minute of my new life. there’s no way id trade it for anything.
and while everyone loves a sweet baby, it hurts the infertile friends, even though they tell me that my story has given them hope.
it’s a rough spot to be in, that middle. if only it were as good as middle of an oreo 😉
by the way; i occasionally read, but have never commented to congratulate you on your miracle growing inside of you!
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thank you for your honesty. that is why i love your blog- you’re always honest. i’m not in the middle yet, but i hope that one day i am. anyone who has experienced infertility that ends well knows how you’re feeling. those who were/are infertile will never forget the pain that is assocatied with it, and that’s what matters. infertility can teach us to be a little more compassionate and understanding and kind to those around us who experience suffering.
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Awwww, Casey.
It has been nearly a year since Saeryn arrived to “cure” me of secondary infertility. And I am still “in the middle”.
I will tell you this-I have never taken one single moment for granted. I have never forgotten how it hurt to be on the other side. I have never really stepped over that invisible line which separates then from now.
And I pray, all the time, for my sisters in waiting.
Big squishy hugs, Casey.
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thank you for this. I’m there in the middle with you. my miracle babies are going to be 6 next month. and while i haven’t yet gone back to the land of the infertile, one decision could send me back there in an instant. it’s the decision i’ve been putting off for a year now because i’m not sure i have it in me to do it again. i was there for 6 years the first time, and now 6 years later, it still seems like it was yesterday. once you’ve been there, you never forget.
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I have a question: I do not mean to belittle anyone’s pain at all, as I have never personally struggled with infertility or anything of the sort.
But, it seems that, not all, but quite a few people have posted on here saying “I’m in the no man’s land too!” or, “I’ve had the same or similar experiences!” In my mind, that makes it seem like it’s not so much of a no man’s land. There are lots of other women (some hurting, some not) in the same place as you to support you.
Obviously I have no idea what this is like, and I am sorry for your pain, I’d just like to understand a little bit better why you all think nobody else is like you when it seems that, though you are not a majority, you still have tons of loving sisters in the middle supporting you.
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@Lila,
I’ve been thinking about how to answer your question, and the best I comparison I can think of is there are just certain things that are hard to admit when society says you should feel a different way.
Society says that anyone who gets pregnant after wanting and waiting for it so long should be thrilled, because yay! You’re pregnant.
But that isn’t always true. And there are people waiting in line to tell you “how dare you be ungrateful when you’ve waited so long and there’s other women who can’t even get pregnant!”
So many women stay quiet because they don’t want to be scolded for admitting to having a hard time when they got (supposedly) everything they wanted.
I think the same is true for new parents.
Babies are blessings, no lie. But sometimes being the mom to a new baby is hard. And it’s really hard to admit that sometimes because it seems as though everyone else has it together and there are so many people who want babies and how can one complain that it’s hard when there’s a hundred other women who would take your place in a heartbeat?
Which is also why a lot of women don’t seek help for PPD.
Does that answer your question?
I still remember in Junior High I was absolutely sure I was the only girl who sweat in her armpits, that is until one friend (Elizabeth) had the guts to say “I hate sweating through the pits of my shirt.”
I wasn’t the only one! But I wasn’t about to be the first to admit it.
Since then I’ve been the first to admit a lot of things, because I know I’m not alone, I just need other women to be brave enough to speak up.
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I totally get it. My battle with infertility was not as painful as yours. It was shorter too. But now, after I’ve managed 2 kids- the first after 2 years and fertility treatments and the second on it’s own, one of my best friends is struggling to get pregnant. It’s so hard. I know that she looks at me and my babies and wishes she had it. And she’s going to be a great Mom. I just wish there was MORE I could do to help her.
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I’m glad I came back. I don’t know what made me.
I had stopped about a year ago, maybe 1 1/2, b/c of what you wrote here.
I dont’ know what else to say, but I remember what you’re posting about today.
I’m glad it’s over…
I know it’s hard to say these things . I really do.
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I actually understand this feeling.
When I was pregnant with my son, I felt like a traitor to the infertile/adoption world. I was that person everyone hated because, unless you knew the truth (ten solid months of fertility treatments and a baby that almost wasn’t) it looked like we were “pregnant after adopting!”
Ugh. Gag.
Either people seem to be one or the other; you’re either fertile or you’re not. I’m not really either. Well, at least with medical intervention.
When I was pregnant I would see and talk to people who would have that look. You know, “I would give anything to have what you have.”
I always wanted to grab them and say, “I get it. I really get it. I don’t deserve this any more or less than you do and I wish I could share. I don’t want to make you hurt and I’m so sorry.”
The biggest moment of feeling horrible about it was that I was one of three obviously pregnant women in the two table radius of a woman who cried into her taco salad after she looked at us.
I don’t belong on either side. I feel like I have no right to talk about the pain of infertility and I have no right to pretend I’m a fertile. I wasn’t comfortable uttering an unkind word about my pregnancy despite being on so many meds, being so sick and almost losing my baby more times than I’d like to think. I was on bed-rest with a two year old in my house and couldn’t make a peep.
I didn’t want to be THAT woman.
But I’m not on either side.
Infertility still hurts, even when you have two kids.
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I. love. you.
bravo.
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I didn’t read all the comments. Sorry! But I just had to put in my two cents. Some of us never have the stars align when it comes to fertility. I’ve been married 11 years, every moment of those 11 years has been one when we thought it “might” work out. It hasn’t.
But, I have SEVEN kids. We adopted seven of the most wonderful kids on the planet. This isn’t for everyone, I know that. I wasn’t brave enough to try the IVF, the Lupron, the endoscopy. We said “screw it” and went out and waited for someone else to make the tough choice that would ultimately bless us.
My point in saying this is not to discourage anyone from getting pregnant through any of the aforementioned means, it’s all up to you how you want to proceed. I’m just saying that sometimes you have to end the misery for yourself by finding an alternative path. You didn’t need to, I don’t begrudge you that for one second.
We all find a way, and while the pain never goes away, it fades a little when you look at that baby, no matter how it got into your arms.
CONGRATS!
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Nice job on a thoughtful, heart-felt, honest and hard post.
I have a huge, painful lump in my throat just thinking this/ typing it but if I were pregnant ( Dear God…) that I would have to let that happy flag fly high. Your dream cam true. Relish that and don’t let misplaced guilt diminish any of it.
I extend my most sincere, best wishes to your family. You are having a baby… A tiny little human being will join your family soon. Savor every moment.
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