Barb’s Story – Part 2

I can so relate to Barb’s post! The roller coaster that people go through when dealing with infertility is palpable. Barb’s writing paints a painful yet poignant picture of what it is like when the thing you want so badly is just out of reach. I especially appreciated the section where she talks about her desire to be a part of the “Mommy Club”. Thank you Barb for sharing your story! Again, if you are interested in learning more about Barb click here. Barb is also a gifted designer – please visit her on her Home Chameleon’s facebook page.

 After being on Clomid for three months, and having a period every single month, I became somewhat depressed wondering if my efforts would result in my ever getting pregnant. I finally made an appointment with my doctor to talk about the failure of the Clomid to help with my fertility issues and to ask what the next step was.

I got an appointment a couple of weeks later. I checked in at the front desk, confirmed my insurance information and took a seat among several women in the waiting room, four of whom were pregnant. One woman continually stroked her belly and there was a moment when I caught her smiling, as if she’d just felt her baby move. Another woman had propped her swollen feet up on the chair opposite her to relieve the pressure, I presumed. When she caught me looking at her, she said, “I’m only five months along and my feet look like this at the end of every day. Wonder what I’ll do in the next four months!”

She then leaned her head back against the wall, closed her eyes, and seemingly fell asleep. 

I tried not to look at the other two women while I sat in my chair waiting to be seen. I held my purse on my lap to actually hide my stomach so no one could tell if I was or wasn’t pregnant. I longed to join that exclusive “Mommy Club,” the one where women rubbed their tummies, had outrageous cravings, and picked out baby names. I wanted to decorate a baby’s room—not specifically in blue or pink, but in a color and a style that the baby could grow into. I knew he or she wouldn’t be an infant for long. I wanted to kvetch with my mom about how she felt when she was pregnant with my five siblings and me. But so far, my invitation to the club had not arrived.

When I finally saw my physician, she could see that I was a little down about not becoming pregnant on the Clomid. “It doesn’t always work but we’re still early in the process so let’s not give up hope just yet.” I was skeptical but wanted her hope to be contagious. 

My doctor suggested another test, a Laparoscopy, in which a small incision is made near the navel and gas—carbon dioxide or nitrous oxide—is put through a needle to inflate the belly so the doctor can look for evidence of cysts, fibroids or endometriosis which contribute to infertility. Since it was an outpatient procedure and didn’t require general anesthetic, I took a day off from school and scheduled the appointment, telling my husband I just needed a follow-up with my doctor. 

I got the results from the procedure a few days later, although at the time, the doctor said she didn’t see anything that would compromise my fertility. When I received the results, I realized it was time to speak with my husband. Fortunately, the kids were spending the weekend with their biological mother, so we had time by ourselves.

I explained to him my need to at least find out if I could become pregnant, telling him that living with his children, caring for them every day, and loving them as my own only made want a child of my own. I was concerned that he would get angry because I was on this journey without his knowledge. He did get a bit disgruntled and asked what I thought would happen if I did get pregnant. I told him that besides being over the moon with happiness at having a child, his child, I figured he’d deal with it. That
actually seemed to appeal to his ego and he agreed to participate in the next step of the process—checking his sperm. He did make the argument that he’d already fathered three children and knew he could produce but I told him what my doctor had told me—over time, a man’s testosterone levels decrease and there could be a change in sperm motility. 

I don’t want you to think that having that conversation with my spouse was easy because it wasn’t. Having a child is a serious decision and not to include one’s husband may be a serious breach of marital responsibility; however, at this particular time, things were finally settling down in our home. The trials that my stepchildren had been through, and the concurrent counseling that we all participated in, helped to bring a certain semblance of order and normalcy to our home. In addition, the kids’ relationship with their biological mother had reached a regularity in that she finally took visitation on a bi-weekly basis, rather than sporadically. That helped settle things down as well, for all of us. The “conversation” wasn’t resolved in one sitting. We had the weekend, without interruption, to discuss all the possibilities. At times we got loud and angry but by the time the kids returned home, we’d made the decision to proceed.

The next step was sperm collection for the lab, a subject I’ll address in segment three. . .


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