I am infertile. There, I said it. It took me a few times to write that, especially as an opening line but I thought it was better to get it over with.
In April 2018 I was diagnosed with infertility. It was a pretty bad month let me tell you that.
When it’s time to start trying for a baby, you think it will just happen within a few months of trying. Or for some lucky people, like my mum, it happens straight away.
You never anticipate that you may be infertile. It isn’t ever on your radar. Most of my friends seem to get pregnant just by looking at each other. Why would I think I was any different? The sad truth is, I am.
My husband works away quite a lot, so I just put it down to not “getting jiggy” at the correct time. Three years later, I started to question the fact that something wasn’t right.
It took a while for my gynea to take me seriously and his response was “Stop worrying, you’re young everything will be fine” – so I took it into my own hands and paid privately for some thorough tests.
It turns out my egg pot is on the low side. I have an AMH of 1.2. (AMH = Egg count – anything above 8 is good, so I’m told.) Not a great start.
Why so low I hear you ask? Good question. I don’t actually know why. I’m still looking for the answer to that.
Oliver, my husband, has super sperm though. (Of course he has, show off). The Dr mentioned his swimmers are so good in-fact that he is donor worthy. Awesome. Just what you want to hear when you find out your ovaries are empty shrivelled grape sacks.
So what did this mean going forward? It meant IVF is probably going to be our best bet if we want to try and create a family of our own. 2% chance of success we’ve been given. Ouch.
The pain of hearing that was real. Hearing the news that my egg count is low was bad enough. Adding that meagre figure on the top of that was a right boot in the face.
I will never forget that night. I cried and cried, then cried a little more. I didn’t sleep. I had dark thoughts. It was the lowest I have ever been, to the point where I actually started to scare myself.
Weeks went by and the more I thought about my situation the more of a failure I felt.
The psychological impact that this news had on me was unreal. I was so angry at the world and everyone in it. I don’t know why, it wasn’t their fault. I didn’t want to speak to anyone as I felt like nobody would understand me so I became a bit of a wreck.
What I found particularly difficult, was trying to portray myself as OK. On my social media accounts, which is my work, I had to come across as my usual, happy self. Like nothing was wrong when in fact I was a broken woman.
I had to pull it together. Sulking, moping and feeling sorry for myself wasn’t going to change anything so I mustered up the courage to explore my options and read into infertility.
After feeling like the loneliest person in the world and thinking “why me” I found that 1 in 6 people are in the same boat. That’s a crazy amount of infertile beings kicking about.
I wasn’t alone and knowing that made me feel a million times better. I reached out to people in the same boat as me. Vented to them and they vented back. It was so nice to be listened too, and understood. Not to be told to keep positive. (My least favourite sentence.)
It’s all well and good telling your fertile friends (or super fertile partner) but they don’t understand. They never will, unless they are in that position.
Infertility isn’t spoken about enough. We, as women, feel like we are failing. So why would we talk about it? Its very hard to come to terms with it and speaking about it makes it much more real.
Being infertile changes the way you see things, the way you see your friends, your life. Everything. I am surprisingly vocal about my infertility because I refuse to be ashamed of it. However, I still haven’t accepted it either.
Its one of the hardest things I have ever had to deal with and I feel like it has changed me as a person since finding out. Its taken its toll on my mental health and its makes me feel incredibly lonely. Despite having a great support network. The only downside is, my support network are all fertiles.
Why write about it? Well, in my darkest hour I turned to blogs for help and reassurance when I didn’t know what else to do. And if I can help even one person out who felt how I did my mission will be complete.
I don’t want to keep referring to myself as infertile, I want to see it as I’m ‘a working progress’ and maybe its just not my time yet.
One thing is for sure, I’m not ashamed of it.
Never say never.