I’m Thankful for Infertility

This Thanksgiving I’ve got a lot to be thankful for, but most of all this year I’m thankful for my infertility. Now I know what you’re thinking, “Did she really just say she is thankful for infertility? This broad must be drunk already.” And you’d be correct in that assumption. Wine goes great with turkey and potatoes and bread and pie and pie and pie… well you get the picture. I like wine and pie and if you don’t then you should probably stop reading my blog because we can’t be friends. Of all the things I have to be thankful for this year, my infertility is at the top of my list.

This year has been the best and worst of my life. When you picture starting a family that picture in your head usually doesn’t include blood work, ultrasounds before you’re pregnant, invasive vaginal procedures, snotty doctors, so many pee sticks (seriously SO MANY! I feel like I single handedly keep ClearBlue in business) and lots and lots of crying. Unfortunately that is what the journey is like for so many women. A time of your life that is supposed to be scary but full of excitement and anticipation suddenly becomes a different kind of scary after a few months of only seeing 1 line on the pregnancy test month after month. After this description I’m sure you’re wondering how someone could be thankful for this. Well in no particular order, here are the reasons I’m thankful for my infertility:

  1. I say these are in no particular order, but I think my first reason is definitely the most important. I’m thankful for my infertility because it has brought me closer to God. In a time where it’s easy to ask “why are You doing this to me” (and trust me, I’ve cried that out more times than I can count), I’ve learned that I need to let go and just have faith. Even though I don’t understand His plan (as a matter of fact I HATE His plan), but it’s not up to me. I still struggle with letting go on a daily basis (I’m a control freak, remember), but I know that my life and our future children are all in God’s hands. Without that comfort and my faith I don’t know how I would have survived this past year. And maybe, just maybe… that’s been His plan all along. To bring me closer to Him and to teach me to let go.
  2. I’m thankful for my infertility because it has brought me closer to my husband. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, that man is a saint! I don’t know how he has put up with me for the past year, but he hasn’t divorced me yet is still sticking around. I’ve leaned on him to be my strength and my support, he has been my source of laughter when all I wanted to do was cry, to be my caregiver after procedures and so much more. He has done it all time and time again and I know I couldn’t have made it through this year without him. He continues to amaze me with the amount of love he shows me. His constant reassurance that I’m not crazy we are in this together has meant more to me than I’ve been able to babble out through the constant sobs.
  3. I’m thankful for my infertility because it has brought me friendship. Weird, I know. By blogging and putting my story out in the open I have received countless messages from friends and strangers to be honest. Seriously, people came out of the freaking woodworks! I’ve learned more about my friend’s struggles that they maybe didn’t feel comfortable sharing before. I know how it feels to be scared to talk about infertility. You feel ashamed and embarrassed that ‘your body can’t do what it’s made to do.’ It’s a constant mind game of: my best friend just announced she’s pregnant. I’m saying congratulations, but thinking I wish it was me. And I wish so and so would quit asking me when I’m going to have a baby. And should I tell my friends about the endless amounts of details that go along with infertility? Will they care? Will they understand? Any woman who struggles with infertility can relate to all of the above and the second you know someone else is experiencing the same problems you are it’s an instant unleashing of word vomit because you just know they will get it. You don’t have to explain the acronyms. You share doctors. You swap stories of success and you swap stories of sorrow. It’s a club that I never wanted to be a part of, but it’s comforting to know that in an instant I’m a phone call, a text message or a Facebook chat away from getting support from a woman who has been in my shoes. And in my case, my go-to Gals ALWAYS know just what to say. Special shout out to my Twin. You’ve been a constant ray of sunshine and a reminder that there is always hope.
  4. I’m thankful for my infertility because it has given me a special appreciation for the creation of life. Making a baby is hard and I’ve heard actually growing a human is even harder! The miracle of life is such an amazing thing. Experiencing infertility has made me feel like a doctor (don’t worry, I won’t be performing surgeries anytime soon). I’ve learned more about a woman’s body and reproduction than I really ever cared to know. I obviously knew all the basics, but once you experience infertility you end up knowing your body inside and out. It’s truly an amazing thing. Everything I’ve gone through this past year has just completely changed my outlook on motherhood and I can’t wait for the day when we welcome a beautiful little baby into our home.
  5. And last but certainly not least… I’m thankful for my infertility because it has given me a free pass to get drunk drink wine and rant about s*** on the internet.




Hakuna Moscato: It Means Drink Wine

My new moto is Hakuna Moscato, because nothing says it means no worries quite like a bottle of wine!


A big thanks to my hubby who supplied me with a nice large bottle this week since my time machine failed me and I turned 30 on Monday. Spare me the, “These will be the best years of your life,” and “30 isn’t bad, just wait until you turn 40,” or “Age is just a number.” Yes, age is just a number and that number 30 makes me feel old! Or maybe it’s because I spend most week nights eating dinner at 4:30 and going to bed by 8:30 that makes me feel more like 70 than 30.

Needless to say I was not excited about this milestone birthday. I think everyone has a picture in their head of how their life will be at every age. For me, that picture in my head couldn’t be more different than what my reality is. My reality is 100 times better than what I ever imagined. I have the best husband… literally, THE BEST! I know every woman thinks that. Sorry to break it to you ladies, I totally win in this department. And I feel sorry for everyone else who isn’t married to my husband. And even if we were like those people on TLC who believed in multiple wives, I still wouldn’t share him because I’m selfish and he’s mine. So you’ll just have to settle for hearing about how wonderful he is. This picture in my head of my life included children… SO MANY CHILDREN. I always joke and say that I would raise an army of kids if that is God’s plan for me. And once again that picture in my head is far from my reality. I am raising two of the best little nuggets, but raising children that weren’t biologically mine was never part of the plan and I couldn’t be more thrilled for this unexpected twist. They bring me more happiness than I ever knew possible. I live and breathe for my two children. But, at 30 I also thought I would have my army a couple of biological kiddos. I think that has been the reason for my lack of enthusiasm. I’m getting older and I know “30 is the new 20,” or whatever crap people tell you when you turn 30, but that doesn’t mean my ovaries are getting any younger here folks.

This year for my 30th birthday I decided to pay the hospital about $500 (because of course nothing fertility related is covered by insurance) to shoot magic glowing dye into my cervix to make my insides light up like a Clark Griswold house so they could check and see if I had junk in my tubes. I was able to schedule the procedure last week after Aunt Flow made her monthly visit. The nurse at my doctor’s office transferred me to the hospital to schedule the HSG test or after today what I will refer to as the Hell Test, because I’m pretty positive what I went through today is as close to Hell as I ever care to come. This test had to be scheduled 1-5 days after Aunt Flow skipped town to ensure that I wasn’t pregnant. So we scheduled it for Friday the 13th of all days and she began telling me what to expect. “The procedure is relatively quick, but you will experience some mild discomfort and you’ll need someone to drive you home. We’ll see you next week!” Once again, that broad was so chipper and I wanted to punch her through the phone. So I waited and googled all week in preparation for this next test. I was actually praying for blockage. I was praying for an answer to this nightmare. I was praying for something that was “common” and an “easy fix” to our fertility issues.

I arrived at the hospital to be admitted about 45 minutes early. I was anxious and scared and every emotion in between. I’d heard horror stories about this procedure and I’d also heard that it was quick and not bad at all. So I really had no idea what to expect going into it. I’ve learned that when you experience fertility issues, everyone wants to tell you about their brother’s sister’s cousin who couldn’t get pregnant and then she did. Today was no different. I told the woman at admitting what procedure I was checking in for and she began with her story of her sister’s infertility. I appreciate the positive vibes and all, but excuse me woman I’ve known for 3 minutes if I don’t give a s*** about your sister’s fertility issues. I’ve got my own problems to worry about and sitting her listening to you go on and on about how you told her you’ll carry a baby for her if she is unable to isn’t putting my mind at ease for the pain and probing I’m about to endure. It’s just making me want to ever so politely tell you to shut the h*** up. After I left the chatty Cathy in admitting I checked in at x-ray and waited.

A super sweet and tiny little nurse came to get me and take me back. She made small talk during our walk and briefed me again on the procedure I was about the experience. Once again she mentioned the mild discomfort. We got to the room and I dropped my drawers and was ready to get this show on the road. I got my bare cheeks up on the freezing cold surgical table and assumed my position staring at the ceiling waiting for the hell to be over. The nurse called in the Dr. and he was a miserable human being. “Hi I’m Dr. McA**hole (that’s not his real name, but it should be). Do you know why you’re here today?” I responded with, “Well you’re the doctor. I would hope you know why we’re here.” He didn’t laugh. Then he asked if I understood the procedure. Once again I sarcastically responded with, “Yes, Dr. In technical terms, we’re here to see if my shit is clogged.” The nurse laughed. I mean I think I’m hilarious most days, but apparently my humor doesn’t always translate well to hospital staff. So the Dr. rolled his eyes like my 6 year old does to me often and went about his business. Not sure what he had to be so cranky about. I was the one laying spread eagle on an ice cold table about to have a Dr. go fishing in my insides with a catheter. Sounds super pleasant right?

So there I lay and then the pain started immediately after the Dr. went to work. I like to think I have a pretty high tolerance for pain but after today I’m not so sure. This was supposed to be a quick procedure. The nurse started making small talk again and I knew something was up. Then the Dr. finally chimed in and said he was having a hard time getting the catheter in my cervix so he kept poking away with little concern for my squirming. After what felt like an hour he said he was able to get it in. So I laid flat and they got the xray machine in place. The nurse then said I would feel that mild discomfort as the push the dye through the catheter. HOLY S***! I moaned and grabbed the table. They had me rotate, more dye, another scream from the pain. Then Dr. McA**hole had the nerve to ask, “Are you experiencing pain?” No you jerk, I scream and writhe like this for fun. Yes, I’m in a whole lot of pain. Mild discomfort my ass. “We’ve got to get a picture of the other side. We’ll need you to turn the other way and I’ll push the dye through one more time.” Repeat horrible pain and scream and then we were all finished. Of course by this point I was crying. I felt like I had a bowling ball in my uterus and I couldn’t move just yet. The nurse told me just to lay there. Thank God that was over.

The Dr. took one look at the screen and said, “You’re tubes are clear. Everything looks fine.” And then he walked his cranky a**hole self right out of that room. I looked in disbelief at the nurse and told her that man needed a hug. She laughed and said it was good news that my tubes were clear as day. No blockage in sight. She said it was cause for concern that he had so much trouble getting the catheter in my cervix and that I experienced so much pain when they pushed the dye through. That also means that the little procedure they just did could be all I need to open up my cervix and flush out my tubes. So fingers crossed that was the best $500 I’ve ever spent.

So I put on my diaper they gave me (because as if the pain of the procedure wasn’t enough discomfort for the day, I’d apparently be leaking fluid for a while also) and went on my way. They’ll send the images to my Dr. and she’ll call me with her results and her recommendations for the next step now that this test turned up empty. No idea what will happen next and I think that’s the worst part. The unknown. The ‘nothing I can do about it, drink more wine, hurry up and wait, one door closed and another door closed, drink even more wine, nothing I can freaking do about it’ unknown. So here I am wine in hand, still in pain from today, heating pad on high, popping pills and waiting once again. And of course, praying. Lots and Lots of praying!

On a totally unrelated note… I NEED these shirts!