She struggled with infertility, here's a story of the emotional minefield

Jess Yun
·6 min read

There was a moment in May 2016 when my relationship with my dad could have gone one way or the other. I realize this is an odd start to a story about infertility, but bear with me.

As I sat crying in a sterile, curtained-off section of a hospital room, my husband helpless to make me feel better, I did what I always do in times of stress or upset: I called my mom.

Groggy from anesthesia and voice trudging through tears, I tried to explain to her that my doctor only recovered two eggs. The other 10 follicles were empty and in the numbers game that is in vitro fertilization (IVF), this was considered a failure.

My mom worked to find words that would soothe, but none were coming. My CPA, financial advisor, human-calculator of a dad said in the background something he found comforting: “I don’t understand. She wants one baby and they retrieved two eggs. So far, so good.”

Couple with doctor
Couple with doctor

My mom hissed his name and tried to explain the odds, but he remained optimistic.

Six years later, as my IVF baby is probably playing ninjas on the kindergarten playground, I have the mental and emotional space to write this. This is a privilege that is not lost on me. Those two eggs resulted in one embryo and against the odds, became one little boy.

Had it not gone that way, had my body continued to betray me and my dreams, my relationship with my dad would have crumbled under the weight of just that one statement. Yes, his intent was nothing but good. But my emotions were too raw and I lacked the tools to recover had IVF not been successful.

This is the cruel reality of infertility: It permeates your relationships, your finances, your career, and of course your dream of what you thought your life would look like.

“Most of the emotional toll of infertility is unexpected to anyone who hasn’t experienced it,” Susannah Baldwin, director and founder of Reproductive Journey Counseling and Support, said. “There’s anxiety around the waiting process and the what ifs. There’s a sense of sadness usually related to ‘how long is this going to go on?’ There’s a shift about how you think of yourself and your body. And there’s impacts to your relationship – sex can feel like a business deal and blame can sink in.”

Imagine walking along a flower-lined path on a clear, sunny day. You can see everything ahead of you, including your destination: a moss-covered cottage with a picnic on the front lawn. Suddenly, a dense fog settles. You can no longer see the cottage or lovely picnic. In this cheesy metaphor, infertility is obviously the fog. You can still get to where you are going; you just can’t quite see it.

Blogs, social media posts, your grandma, your co-workers – everyone has an opinion about what you should do to clear the fog and reach the picnic. But that foggy, flower-lined path might as well be a minefield.

Little emotional explosions are everywhere. Everyone seems to have a pregnancy to announce and you feel like a horrible person when that pang of jealousy stabs you in the heart. Well-meaning people will say things like “you can always adopt” and you want to scream at them that “adoption isn’t a cure for infertility!”

And then of course, if you are of a certain age, there are the well-meaning, prodding conversations: “When are you having kids?” “Don’t you want kids?” “You’d be a great mom/dad.”

Or if you are experiencing secondary infertility: “When are you giving little Johnny a sibling?” “Why aren't you just grateful for the kid you have?” “Julie would make such a good big sister.”

This is a minefield that most aren’t equipped to navigate.

There’s an entire industry built around infertility. From supplements to basal body temperature thermometers to saliva ovulation microscopes, there are a multitude of things you can buy and do in the quest for a “cure.” And of course, medical intervention, through procedures such as IVF and intrauterine insemination (IUI), lurks at the end of a long and lonely journey – if you can afford to take it. But there isn’t nearly enough talk about infertility’s emotional effects.

“I feel like generally our society sucks at grieving,” Baldwin said. “When you are struggling to hold onto your dreams of motherhood, when a pregnancy didn’t happen, when a pregnancy was lost or embryos didn’t make it, no one around you actually sees this loss. Infertility creates this invisible grieving process and we aren’t good about talking about any of it.”

For me, the mental toll was sneaky. At first, I found hope each month if my period was a second late or I felt a little more tired than usual. When hopes were dashed, we’d try again. And we went on in this cycle of hope and letdown for a year. By the time we were ready to admit something was wrong, I was in an anxiety-riddled state where my mind constantly raced through an onslaught of what ifs. “What if it never happens? What if this ruins my marriage? What if we have to reshape our dreams?”

“Most people think their fertility journey is scary and weird, but if we can just get pregnant, everything will be fixed,” Baldwin said. “People begin to show up to counseling when the process is taking a long time and/or they have a pregnancy loss, but finding support and resources at any point in the process can help. There’s a lot of power in feeling heard and validated and having a safe place to say whatever you need to say, even if it isn't pretty.”

Looking back, I’m honestly not sure there is a way to experience infertility and remain emotionally unscathed. What helped me was being public with our journey. I wanted our loved ones to know what we were going through so they could be there for us. (My dad quickly learned to follow my lead when it came to conversations around infertility.) And I wanted to connect with anyone who had experienced infertility to share stories, advice and support. It was so incredibly helpful to know I wasn’t alone.

“There are lots of effective techniques to help someone who is struggling during infertility, like learning to identify what you can actually control, learning to name your feelings and learning to meditate even for just three minutes a day,” Baldwin said. “One of the evidence-based treatments for feeling well during infertility is support. So please, if you can’t access counseling right now, find a support group, find someone, somewhere who can say ‘Yeah, I get it.’”

Baldwin also encourages giving yourself permission to take breaks to remember who you are and what you love to do.

“Holding onto the things that give you joy and relaxation will help you now and in the future, even if you end up having four kids,” she said.

While my story has a happy ending, I do regret not seeking professional help when I was deep in the infertility minefield. Therapy or support groups could have helped me develop an emotional skill set that would have been useful during infertility and thankfully on into motherhood.

Resources:

Reading:

  • “Unsung Lullabies: Understanding and Coping with Infertility” by Martha Diamond, David Diamond, Janet Jaffe

  • “Peace (In)Fertility Workbook” by Cathie Quillet

This article originally appeared on Greenville News: After struggles with infertility, a story of the emotional minefield