Three-year anniversary

So April 1, 2008, marks three years of trying to conceive for my husband and myself. Three years of disappointment and tears. Three years of surgeries, medications, ultrasounds, and exams. Three years of no explanation whatsoever for why we can't have a child.

No one expects infertility. It's like cancer or STDs or horrific plane crashes: It'll never happen to me. That's that attitude with which we went into this. At 24 years old, we were actually a bit scared at how quickly we would conceive. We were young and thought we were ready, but what a huge step we were about to take. Given family histories on both sides, we had no reason to believe we'd ever be in this position three years later.

The story of our journey is a long one, which I will type out piece by piece, post by post, but right now I'm feeling so defeated. Two couples we know have gotten pregnant TWICE in the time we've been trying. I feel as if I'm forever surrounded by happily pregnant women. I don't deny them their happiness or their children, it's just hard to watch sometimes. I had a massive breakdown at a friend's baby shower last August that left me in tears for days. I felt awful. I made her shower about my issues, and that wasn't fair. I skipped another good friend's baby shower recently for fear the same thing would happen again. This infertility has not only affected our plans to have children, it's affected the relationships I have with friends and family. I'm unable to participate in happy events because me emotions overcome me and I break down into tears. How is that fair?

This month we did our first IUI -- intrauterine insemination. I was again on Clomid and the doctor told me to call when I got a positive ovulation predictor test. I got a positive on Day 15 of my cycle, which is about 10 days earlier than usual for me. I expressed concern that the test was inaccurate because I had just finished a round of Clomid five days previous and Clomid can give you false positives on OPKs, but they told me to come on in and we did the procedure. They offered no ultrasound to check follicle size and assure that I was, in fact, ovulating so we didn't waste our time, and I didn't ask about it because I assumed they knew what they were doing. I was really excited and hopeful until this week when I got two negative pregnancy tests and realize my period is on its way. I'm convinced we wasted that IUI because my doctor didn't bother with an ultrasound, and I'm angry, disappointed, and just generally let down. I'm basing this on my charting of temperatures and some cramping I had seven days after my IUI which I at first thought was implantation, but now realize was ovulation.

I'm not sure who I'm more angry at, my doctor or myself. Is it my fault for not demanding the monitoring I thought was appropriate, or is it my doctor's fault for never offering it in the first place? Am I really supposed to follow behind my practitioners to be sure they're following protocol for the medications they give me? The responsible answer is, of course, yes. I take some responsibility for this, because I should have researched more and demanded the ultrasound. We are all responsible for our own medical care. However, I still hold them mostly responsible. They are the experts. They're the ones who are supposed to make sure things are done correctly. I feel betrayed.

Tomorrow (Monday), I'm calling and demanding a referral to the University of Iowa Hospitals and Clinics, something I should have done two years ago. If they won't give me a referral, I'll call the U of I directly and make myself an appointment. Now I'M in charge.

The problem is, I've hit this wall. The more testing and procedures we do, the closer we get to the harsh reality that we may never have children. That fact makes me want to stop here and now and just live peacefully in the knowledge that if we tried harder I could probably get pregnant, instead of possibly having to live the rest of my life knowing we exhausted every option, and I will still never get to see my biological children. I'll never get to see if they get my eyes, but Brian's long, curly eyelashes. If they get his fantastic smile, or my complete inability to have a picture taken of me without looking like I'm suffering from Bells Palsy or just smelled something really awful. If they get his outgoing personality, or my more shy, reserved nature. If they get his aptitude for math and all things technical, or if they get my artistic nature. Right-brained or left-brained. Maybe they'd get both. We may never know.

So here I sit almost three years after we decided we wanted a family, wondering how I will handle it if that never happens. How do you give up that dream?