Clomid, will you be my Valentine?

I’ve hemmed and hawwed about whether I should include the story of our struggle to conceive Ben in Life with BE.  Afterall, I wouldn’t be where I am without my journey through  infertility.  But the whole thing was so intensely private and painful.  And difficult for people on the outside to understand.  I was open about the factual aspects of infertility with plenty of folks, but only shared with a select few how I was actually feeling about all of it.  Like deep down feeling about it.  Because I wasn’t doing well at all.  It was not my finest year by any stretch.  After some pondering, I’ve decided to include a handful of moments, realizations and snapshots from a heartrending road that lead to a breathtaking destination. 

February 2008, a few months in to realizing there’s an issue

I spent Valentine’s Day with my gynecologist. If I can be completely honest, it wasn’t as romantic a holiday as I was hoping for (I blame it on the speculum sitting on the counter beside me). My gyno had previously hoped the first batch of progesterone would get me right on track and then it would be clear sailing. But I was back in the office with my crappy chart on Valentine’s. To celebrate, my doc had also brought my crappy bloodwork results. I hadn’t ovulated.

The gyno was still positive. I’d take the progesterone again to start a new cycle, I’d start Clomid, we’d throw in some more bloodwork. Honestly, 90% of my brain was thinking, “I’m just having issues from being on the pill so long.” The other 10%, the deep-down-keep-it-to-myself part, was starting to freak out. What if it’s a real problem? What if it’s not just from coming off the pill?

We wrapped up the appointment with a solid plan and I headed up to the front desk with my check out paper from the doctor in hand. I stopped dead in my tracks about halfway there. Under “Reason for Visit”, my doctor had checked off “Infertility”.

It actually took my breath away….like I was punched in the stomach. One little check in a teeny tiny box stopped my world on its axis for just a moment. Really??!! You’re already calling it infertility?? We’re already calling it infertility?? I’m not ready to call it that.

I got in my car and just sat there, the word infertile bouncing around in the empty silence. And then, I got angry at my gynecologist. Like I wanted to go back in that office and, in front of his patients, yell at him. The only words I could come up with were f*ck you with some c’mons and seriouslys thrown in. I decided that would not be a very wise choice. Instead I went home, feeling angry and sad about a little check in a teeny tiny box.


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