I am no longer seeking medical treatment for my infertility. I know that’s a jarring and blunt opening statement, but there’s no reason to surround this with fluff or filler. I’ve decided that I no longer want to subject myself to injections, bruising, bloat, mood swings, and acne. No more transvaginal ultrasounds and blood draws every other day. No more of my fridge and bathroom being overtaken by meds and needles. No more surgeries.
More than that, the emotional rollercoaster, the strain on my marriage, and depression and anxiety were becoming too commonplace in my life.
It is settled in my spirit.
It makes sense to me logically and spiritually.
I initially started this post on December 30, 2019. It sat for over a year. When I initially wrote this post, I thought I was in a good space. I wasn’t entirely. It was only the beginning stages of understanding and dealing with the decision and making peace with the decision. But there was so much more.
It really took almost a full year to continue to process this decision. I did not come to this place easily. There has been a lot of tears, yelling, therapy, skipped events, journaling, and isolation. I had to include my husband. We often forget for those of us with partners, we’re not in this alone. They have a say, opinions, and feelings. And while I had come to a place of peace and a decision, my husband had not. He has his own journey that is linked with mine, and it was important to allow him the space and time to come to his own conclusions and be at peace, and that we were on the same page.
There was a time when I thought not pursuing treatment was giving up and not having faith. I thought I was letting people down: my family, my husband, those of you who follow this blog.
The guilt that I felt, I know we all feel in this journey. The loneliness. The inadequacy. The trauma of infertility is never going to go away. It can be managed, but not erased. There will always be baby showers, and women talking about how they got pregnant without even trying. There will always be days when I feel sad or guilty (or both) about my infertility.
If we choose not to have children, we will always be questioned as to why. By not having children, I will always be seen by some as some pseudo-woman because I never carried a child. If we decide to adopt, there again will be the questions: Why? Where’s their real mother? Not to mention the trauma that comes with adoption for the child and their birth family (and to a lesser degree, the adoptive parents). There is no perfect ending to an infertility journey. Even when that miracle baby comes, infertility trauma is always right there.
This blog will continue to be a place where I tell my story. To give women a safe space. To talk about being a Black woman, battling infertility and navigating life. An information resource. A support system.