This all transgressed on the day my beautiful nephew was born. I was angry about the call. I was upset that my body wasn't working. I was overwhelmed about my nephew's birth. So I found a place to go cry quietly alone for a few minutes. *breathe Stephi, you've gotta get through this day* So I would hold most of it in until I got home. That day wasn't about me. It was about my beautiful sister in law and my amazing brother and the birth of their child. Medication worked for her... maybe it would work for me too. Ethan's birth gave me hope.
My nephew was perfect. Beautiful. Ethan James was in the world. My first thought was, I wish I was holding my baby. But I was overwhelmed with joy for my brother and his wife. So I held him and cried. He was perfect and healthy. It was such a long happy sad emotional day.
I would let it all out when I got home.
Soon, it was time for my appointment. This would be my last appointment at this office. After being tossed around during our loss then the fiasco to even get lab results... I was fit to be tied... then there was the straw that broke the camel's back. The doctor that I had been seeing for nearly 10 years, since I was 17 walks in and says. "Hello Stephanie, I'm dr. so and so, I hear your having trouble getting pregnant and want to get on clomid?" Hold on... you're introducing yourself to me as if you've never seen me? "Uhm, I was in here a few weeks ago, you did my yearly checkup, I've been seeing you since I was a teenager... and YOU were the one who wanted to prescribe me the clomid..." She had this deer in headlights look, looks through my chart... and then gives a half hearted... "Oh yeah..." I got my prescription and left. I stopped at the front desk and immediately told them I would need a copy of my records and wouldn't be back, I was finding another doctor. Getting those records was the best $25 I ever spent, of course they were 'too busy' to get them right then, I would have to come back to pick them up in a week or so.
I had done as much research as I could do on progesterone deficiencies and annovulation, they all had the same conclusion... infertility. I hated the idea of that 9 letter word... I-N-F-E-R-T-I-L-E. It made me feel like a disgrace. Like I hadn't felt like that enough when we lost our baby. Now suddenly, me saying "I'm not worried about getting pregnant" to my mother seemed ludicrous. How did I not know there was something wrong with me? First I had a new mission. I was finding a doctor that actually wanted to help me. Not just a careless office that herds you through the doors like cattle.
Then I went home... thinking the same thing I had thought a thousand times prior, but now it was more compounded... "God, why is this happening to me?"
I told my husband everything... at this point I fully expected him to want to trade me in for a newer better model of a woman, one who could carry his babies... one who was capable of giving him babies. I had never felt more like a failure. His response? "We will do whatever we have to do"... there he goes again with the "we"... never laying the blame on me, taking some of the burden upon himself instead. He was also tested that month, and passed his test with flying colors. Even though he had no issues himself, he would still help me carry this burden.
There was some good news that month, however... our sweet Sophia was getting better. Although our vet warned us that she could go up and down for a long time... for this time, she was better... and she became a light of hope in our broken world. This little puppy was living evidence of answered prayers and miracles...