Tick tock of regrets

Ah, regrets. We’ve all got a few but I’m having trouble deciding whether this is one of them; waiting to late in life to have children.

The steady tick tock of my biological clock only kicked in a few years ago and it refuses to stop. It’s the 'tick tock' that keeps me motivated in this quest for motherhood. It spurs me on to research our fertility issues and prove Mother Nature wrong.

Biologically, women are designed to have children in their 20s. I was 26 years old when I got married and 27 years old when hubby and I decided we were ready for parenthood. Society tells us we must find a partner, date at least 2 years, marry and then begin procreating. But I'm beginning to think conformity can be cruel sometimes as can the big guy upstairs. Hubby and I conformed and followed tradition, however tradition has let us down.

Our bodies won’t allow us to have children the old fashioned way. Lucky for us, we live in the 21st century where medical science can assist us. Well, i hope medical science can assist us. But three years on and we’re still no closer to parenthood. The tick tock noise is constantly ringing and I fear getting older. Each time I blow out my birthday candles, I sense another fertile year is lost. It would be nice to rewind the biological clock.

All my research shows that the older you get, the more complications increase. There is an increased risk of miscarriage, a decline in fertility, complicated pregnancies and difficult births. Not to mention the risk of having a baby with abnormalities or Down syndrome.

I don’t believe 27 years of age is old to begin trying for children. In fact, many of my friends would consider this young. It pains me to realise I could be trying for my 2nd child by now if things had worked out at the tender age of 27. But the older I get, the more I think I’ve missed the boat biologically? Maybe hubby and I waited too long. Maybe this is a regret. The pressure to procreate and beat the clock is so prevalent it’s almost palpable.

Regret? My answer is maybe.

Guarantee please

Over it. Over it. Over it. My day has started off with a pregnancy announcement, baby photos on Facebook from 3 different friends AND to top it off, I just received a birth announcement via SMS.

For someone suffering primary infertility, this is a punch in the face. A kick in the guts. A truly ugly day.

And it only gets uglier.

DH and I just saw the FS and were told his testosterone levels are below average. So it’s time for DH to hit the pills for 3 to 4 months and see if there is any improvement with his swimmer count.

What annoys me the most is this pill offers no guarantees. It seems whatever option we’ve chosen over the years in this effort to create our own tribe, nothing has had a guarantee. IVF is a highly effective treatment for many couples however it is estimated that half of the couples who try IVF will not be successful.

Bit depressing ain’t it. I read that sentence over and over again. Half of the couples who try IVF will not be successful. I’m probably crazy for not being scared off but what other options do we have. We can be with child …. or childless.

I really want the guarantee that one day this will all work. Because then I’ll calm down and appreciate the journey a little more. I mean, you can walk into any department store and they hand out guarantees and warranties with just about any purchase. But not IVF! Everything is trial and error. Or worse, failure!

So, where does that leave us? DH will begin the pills next week. If there is no improvement in his swimmer count after 4 months, then we can use our frozen batch.

Or we explore a new avenue. Donor.

Knowing what I know now

Knowing what I know now, I wish we had done this sooner. Two and a half years and it’s still a living hell. It’s been invasive; it’s been confusing. I’m afraid and I’m sad. I feel hopeless, afraid and guilty all at the same time. No one understands the daily struggle and I fear my own reaction to these struggles. Knowing what I know now, we should have done this sooner.

Most of all I feel unsettled and angry. My life constantly feels on hold. It’s impossible to make a decision about my future. I simply cannot make a decision about holidays, career, education courses, moving house, having a dog or eating out. The more I try and struggle with infertility, the less control I have. The more questions you ask, the more you struggle. Should I try the new expensive fertility drug? Should I undergo further expensive testing? Should we attempt adoption? It’s unsettling to have no guarantees.

I’m angry at my body for betraying me and I’m angry at my husbands body for betraying him. Our anger is easily misdirected at times. We fight. We argue. We never seem to be on the same page in this infertile journey at the same time. It tears us apart some days but we’re closer than ever because of it. My anger gets directed at my family. My younger brother has a son. My mum use to tell me when I was younger that she was very fertile and surely I would be too. What a lie! It makes me sad to see my parents show off their grandson. Being the oldest sibling, wasn’t I entitled to bare the first grandchild for them?

I’m angry at my Doctor because she controls our future and charges us for it. My doctor rips me of my dignity and invades my privacy. She also inflicts pain on me. This is humiliating. My husband and I make so many sacrifices to pay the medical bills and our health insurance company barely provides anything in return.

Finally, I'm angry at everyone else. Everyone has opinions about our quest for parenthood. Everyone has easy solutions. Everyone tells you to relax. Everyone seems to say too much.

Someone once old me ‘It’s not the journey, but the destination’. But what if this is wrong? Maybe in my situation “It’s not the destination, but the journey’. Today I begin a new journey. Today I seek my STORK.

One day my struggle with infertility will cease. It will never disappear but it will change me. I yearn for the day I’m not controlled by this struggle but I’ve accepted I cannot return to the person I once was. When it does cease I will be left with a bucket load of empathy.