Infertility Awareness Week - What Our Experience Has Been Like

This week is National Infertility Awareness Week. Having secondary infertility has affected my life very deeply, and to spread awareness and understanding I decided to put together this post about what secondary infertility has really been like. It's one of the hardest things I've been faced with. It’s important to note that everybody’s experience with infertility is unique and personal, so while I am sure there are commonalities with my experience, I also don’t speak for everyone who has been here.

What is it like to have secondary infertility and be unable to have more children?

It’s buying so many ovulation tests that never seem to help enough to get pregnant on our own.
It’s buying so many pregnancy tests that always turn up negative.
It’s getting your hopes up every time your period is even a little bit late, only to be crushed when it shows up month after month.
It’s trying to get pregnant for years while watching friends and family continue adding kids to their families.
It’s remembering how much you loved feeling the movements inside the womb, and never getting to feel that again.
It’s anticipating the excitement of pregnancy when you are getting ready to add to your family, only to be more and more heartbroken that that never comes.
It’s waiting to see how your family dynamics will change when you add more children, only for things to never change.
It’s talking about the fun ways you and your spouse might want to announce a pregnancy, and never getting to use any of them.
It’s imagining the bond that your current children will create as they meet and get to know their baby brother(s) or sister(s), and never being able to experience it.
It’s hearing your kids talk about how they want to have more siblings that they can play with, and wishing you could have given that to them years ago.
It’s keeping all of your baby clothes for years for your future children only to have to get rid of them without ever using them again.
It’s giving yourself so many shots and feeling a bigger emotional toll from it than you expected.
It’s having all the fun taken out of sex as it becomes more of a chore for both of you because of the pressure and timing.
It's all the testing and procedures and never determining a cause for your infertility.
It’s the mood swings of hormones from medications.
It’s bruising and puncture marks all over your belly from injections.
It’s getting your hopes up with every IUI cycle, only for it to fail time after time.
It’s getting your hopes even higher when you try IVF, only to be crushed when even that doesn’t work.
It’s crying at the doctor or on the phone because once again you received bad news.
It’s paying thousands of dollars for fertility treatments and coming up with nothing.
It’s imagining for years the complete family you want to have someday, only to ultimately learn that you can’t have any more kids.

(Pictured: all the syringes from my self-injections)

It’s loving your little family with all of your heart, and also feeling like it will never feel complete.
It’s feeling jealous and bitter about friends and family having babies while you can’t, and feeling guilty that you feel that way because you also love them, are genuinely happy for them, and would never blame them for having more kids and would never want them to not be able to.
It’s looking forward to trying again to breastfeed because having twins as your first was too overwhelming to keep it up, only to never get to try again.
It’s hoping that maybe next you will have one baby because you never got to feel the magic of devoting yourself to one tiny infant without worrying about another infant, and never getting to experience that.
It’s people telling you that maybe when you take a break it will happen, and that never being the case.
It’s having random meltdowns because something (big or small) triggered your grief.
It’s picturing your kids in your old baby swings and bouncers as you assemble them to sell and aching to see babies in them again.
It’s not bothering to go through any of your baby clothes as you sell them because when you tried to you ended up cradling them like a baby and crying.
It’s not pursuing more extensive options to grow your family because it’s too much financially and emotionally, but having to navigate the deep emotional impact of being done.
It’s having a list of baby names you and your spouse want to use and never getting to use them.

It's planning on things like walking with a baby to the bus stop to greet their older siblings home from school, only for those plans to never be realized.  
It’s dealing with the normal emotions of having had your last children, without getting to cherish any “lasts” because you never thought you wouldn’t be able to have more.
It’s feeling overwhelming loneliness even though you have a great support system, because infertility has a way of just always feeling lonely and isolating.
It’s not fully relating to those who have primary infertility because at least you had some kids before being infertile, while also not relating to those who haven’t had any infertility problems.
It’s feeling so grateful for the family that you have, while simultaneously being so heartbroken over not being able to have any more.
It’s holding on to the hope that eventually it will work out, and it never does.
It’s never being able to see your kids be helpers for a new baby.
It’s having to unfollow people you love because seeing all the pregnancy and baby announcements and pictures hurts too much.
It’s crying in the shower, crying when you go shopping, crying any time that the grief hits.
It’s trying for years and years to have more children and never having them.
It’s being absolutely certain that there are more children waiting to join your family, and then being just as certain that it’s okay to be done, and not knowing how to reconcile that.

It’s feeling not okay and not knowing how to be okay.

Infertility sucks.  



Love,
Ashley