Well here we are, nine months after first trying to get pregnant, and still no pregnancy. My would-be due date from my miscarriage is coming up in March, and I feel a powerful sense of panic. Like I’m falling behind or something.
After getting pregnant with Lila the first month, and then again the first month this summer, I never thought I would be someone who struggled to conceive, but here we are. Am I officially in the “infertility” club? I’m not sure, and would never want to disrespect women who have been trying for years, but I guess I have to admit to myself that we are struggling.
Compromised fertility (we’ll just label me that for now) is such a strange thing to experience. I am naturally a very open person who tends to share a lot in the moment with people. I think I just like making that connection. But I’ve realized that when it comes to fertility struggles, no one really wants to hear about it (except for a few people I have come to rely heavily on). When I’ve brought it up in the past, desperate for someone to talk to, I’ve more times than not been met with blank stares or awkward attempts to change the subject.
I get it, it’s uncomfortable and hard to empathize with if you’re not experiencing it. Thankfully I have my blog as an outlet to share and connect – I just hope you all aren’t uncomfortable reading this!
I realized something wasn’t right with my body back in December. I was struggling to sleep, my ears were ringing constantly and I had no energy. Oh and I wasn’t getting pregnant. Thankfully I made an appointment with a reproductive endocrinologist (re: fertility doc). There’s only one RE in Toledo, so the wait is extensive. My call in December got me an appointment late March.
Trying to get ahead of the curve, I saw my general practitioner to run tests on my thyroid, hormones and anything else relevant. After several weeks of testing, it appears that I have adrenal fatigue. My cortisol was off the charts, while all my other hormones are very low. Basically my prolonged stress these past six months wrecked havoc on my body and now my high cortisol levels are constantly “stealing” from my other hormones.
The scary part is, from what I’ve read, it can take your body years to recover from adrenal fatigue and for your hormones to balance back out. I definitely don’t want to still not be pregnant in a year.
While I wait to see the fertility doctor, I’ve been trying to do everything within my control to lower my stress and support hormone balance. I’m going full on crunchy here folks. I’ve dedicated myself to a healthy clean diet without sugar, which spikes cortisol. I’m doing yoga regularly. I’m meditating each night. I’m getting a Mayan fertility massage. I’m starting acupuncture and taking Chinese medicine herbs that are supposed to balance hormones.
I’ve been told more times that not that I need to “just stop worrying about it and it will happen.” I get this. I really do. I am fully aware that I likely am making things worse by trying so hard to get pregnant.
But me trying to not think about getting pregnant is just not possible. I want it so badly that is seeps into my thoughts constantly. And I’ve found that stuffing my disappointment, worry and sadness each month just results in insomnia and emotional stress. It’s much better for me to get it out, process it and move on.
I don’t write this to make anyone feel bad for me or worry about me. I realize it’s coming across a bit doom and gloom when it hasn’t been a year – the required amount of time to claim “infertility” – but I’m just coming off a negative result this month after getting my hopes high once again. The crash each month can be painful, but I always pick myself back up.
For now I’m just putting one foot in front of the other, enjoying my time with Lila, leaning on Luke and keeping hope alive every day. I hope that this doctor in March can help me. I hope I will finally feel good again. I hope I can give Lila a sibling. I hope this is all just a bad dream that will be over soon.
Thanks for letting me unload.