Permanent Infertility
We never did get pregnant.
We actively tried to conceive for eight years but were never successful. I say it all in past tense because it was five years ago at the age of 37 when I was given the diagnosis of premature menopause, thereby closing that window of possibly being able to get pregnant.
Switching my focus of hope from conceiving to then hope of finding peace with this diagnosis was not easy. I had to face the hard truths that I would never see a positive pregnancy test, never watch my belly grow with my child inside or experience the sensation of a baby kicking from inside my womb. My husband and I would never experience the live birth of our child and I would not know the intimacy and beauty of breastfeeding. They were difficult realities to come to terms with.
I can imagine some people telling me how lucky I am to not have to go through the burdens also associated with these experiences, and I do realize the sufferings that can come with each one of these experiences. I do not pretend to be ignorant of the hardships pregnancy presents.
But I would also charitably remind those folks to imagine having the gift of being able to get pregnant taken away without having any say in the matter, being totally out of control of one of the great privileges of what it means to be a woman.
I vividly remember the morning I was told about my diagnosis, and the response of my husband. As a matter of fact, I told him in a text and his response meant so much to me that I took a screenshot of it and have it saved in my phone.
I sent him a screenshot of the message from my doctor, reading, “Your recent labs are consistent with menopause.”
“Boooooooo,” with a crying face emoji, I sent him. “I’m sorry that I’m broken.” I was shocked by the news and heartbroken at what it implied, that our days of trying to conceive were over. All those years of trying so many medications, visiting neverending doctor appointments, undergoing five surgeries, going through the painstaking cycle of hope followed by disappointment and gearing up quickly to hope again – all halted with one sentence in an online portal message. My heart filled with sorrow.
“You’re still perfect to me,” he responded.
There was nothing more I could have asked to hear from him in that moment. There were so many ways he could have responded with his own grief, and deservedly so as that was devastating to him as well in our long journey we had experienced in trying to build our family. But his immediate response to me was out of love and demonstrated that our relationship and marriage was more important than ever conceiving.
To those who may be given the same diagnosis or to others who have tried for years without success to get pregnant, I offer solidarity in sisterhood and support and prayer for you in your journey toward discovering God’s will for your family.
It’s easy to feel like an outsider in the infertility community when it seems that everyone else around you continues to get pregnant, yet you remain infertile, perhaps permanently. However, you are not alone. Those in our community know what it’s like to feel that isolation. No one else other than us can relate exactly to the roller coaster you feel like you’re on.
Sure, many will go on to conceive (praise God!), but there are still those of us who will remain infertile for a long time or maybe even forever. And there is hope and peace to be found even in our circle. I hope to be a witness of that.
Please reach out to me if you find yourself living in that place of loneliness. No one has to go through it alone! God has planned a future full of hope for you, it’s a fact (Jer 29:11). We must be here to support one another, and I can offer stories of hope from so many I have been blessed to walk with in their family building journeys. I plan to share them here on this blog, so stay tuned and let me know if you need further support.