The One with the Fertility Doctor

We made the decision to see a fertility doctor when we had been unsuccessfully trying to get pregnant for 10 months. From research, I knew that one year indicated an official “problem,” but it was my opinion that 300+ days of worry was long enough. Good friends of ours had gone to a reproductive center nearby and had good things to say about their experience. We wouldn’t be able to see their same doctor, but we were grateful to be pointed in the right direction for a clinic.

To say that I was nervous on the day of our appointment is an understatement. I was restless, shaky, and unable to focus at work. My main concern with seeing a doctor was the same concern I had with telling friends and family: I wanted to be taken seriously. My fear was that we would meet with a wise old man who would take one look at my babyface and decide I wasn’t ready to reproduce. Ultimately, my overwhelming desire for answers outweighed my anxiety.

On a Tuesday in October, I took a long lunch break and Jk drove with me across town to the infertility clinic. The office was big and beautiful and I felt my hope rising as we walked through the doors. This was it; we could potentially find out what the heck was wrong with my body! Or even better, what was wrong with Jk’s body! (I secretly hoped that the problem would be with him...It’s terrible, I know--but that’s why it was a secret hope.) I felt a mixture of nerves and anticipation up until the conversation with our doctor began. And then I felt sick.

For half an hour, we were told that our likelihood of conception was comparable to the rolling of dice: 1-in-6 chance each month. Apparently, we hadn’t rolled enough dice to be sure there was a problem. The explanation went on and on. The doctor listed off statistics about the improbability and irrelevance of endometriosis. I explained that my family had a history of endometriosis, and though he admitted the chances increased to 1-in-2, he quickly dismissed it and offered no consolation. I mentally checked out. It took everything inside me to keep from bursting into tears. We were told to “keep trying.”

To be clear--I understand that doctors use certain timelines to draw conclusions. We hadn’t waited a year. Fine. But I felt utterly humiliated. It was like hanging from a cliff by my fingertips and being told that no one could help me until I actually fell. As the doctor talked, all that ran through my mind was the thought, I am 25 years old and I know what genuine pain feels like. In thirty minutes, 300 days of heartache were dismissed.

We drove home from the appointment and I had absolutely no words. I was beyond disappointed, while Jk, the ultimate optimist, felt like we had come away with good information. To be fair, we were given some instructions we could follow while waiting for the year mark to hit (including ovulation tests). But ultimately, I felt like the appointment was a failure.

After just a few months, I am in a very different place than I was when I went to that appointment. At the time, I felt isolated and vulnerable. Opening up to that doctor felt like the most intimate thing in the world. Today, I feel supported and empowered. I am no longer frustrated with God or embarrassed by my infertility. This week, we will go back to that clinic for a second appointment with a different doctor. I have embraced our story and despite how hard it has been, I am so much stronger for it. I am capable because He has made me so.

"I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me." - Philippians 4:13