Secondary Infertility Sucks
And so do people who take advantage
After promising several people I would write a blog post about our infertility experiences, I went back and reread a statement I submitted as part of an investigation into the infertility treatment (I use that term loosely) we received while stationed overseas. I also found the website for the doctor's practice. Thirteen years have passed since we walked away from that nightmare, but seeing those pictures brought more heartache than reading the statement. However, in my inexhaustible search for the silver lining, I decided to look at them again and let those memories serve as something we survived, learned from, and can share with others who might feel alone in their struggles.
What IS secondary infertility? The following definition sums up how we conceived our oldest child: "Secondary infertility is defined as the inability to become pregnant, or to carry a pregnancy to term, following the birth of one or more biological children. The birth of the first child does not involve any assisted reproductive technologies or fertility medications." Caleb was conceived after only 2 months of trying, and he likely would've been conceived in the first month had I not contracted a nasty case of the flu. My pregnancy was completely normal, and I gave birth three days before my due date on December 26th, 1998. Despite eighteen and a half hours of labor, he refused to arrive on Christmas and made his appearance the day after. We had absolutely no reason to believe we'd have trouble conceiving again. In fact, in testament to my love of being pregnant and wanting more children, I was still laying on the delivery table with the doctor sewing me up from the episiotomy and told Wes I wanted to get pregnant again. I know, crazy right? We had every intention of having our children close together, while we were young, and then spending our adulthood raising them. So we tried to get pregnant again before Caleb was even a month old. On the eve of Caleb's 5th birthday, standing in front of our Christmas tree overseas, we finally acknowledged getting pregnant again wasn't part of God's plan for us. It fractured a piece of my soul, but my body, heart, and mind were so tired.
I'm no longer embarrassed by my experiences...
I do NOT believe in measuring experiences. I know my fellow support group members had their own experiences, and I know many of you have your own infertility experiences; no matter what those were...they took us all on a rollercoaster ride of emotion. And it hurt because infertility sucks.
Rewind to the summer before...
Wes and I started the infertility process before we moved overseas, but infertility treatments in the US vs overseas are very different, as we came to see. Starting the process meant taking Clomid to boost follicle production and realizing that infertility treatments were SO expensive. In the course of moving overseas we stopped the Clomid after several months but resumed it once again during the duration of our overseas treatment.
In the summer of 2003 we were living overseas, and Wes was stationed at our first Air Force base. We were encouraged to seek infertility treatments while stationed because many of the costs were covered while overseas. We were prime candidates, considering our history, and we went to meet Dr. X.
Forgive the levity, but...
Do you ever meet someone and immediately feel like something is off? That little voice that tells you to stay away? When we met Dr. X I immediately struggled with the fact that I knew couldn't trust him. I talked myself through it because Wes and I were working so hard to come back from marital problems that nearly ended in divorce--because we were both stupid. I talked myself through it because I rationalized my intuition as a leftover hang up from bad childhood trauma and a sincere abhorrence for male doctors. I argued with myself that if I truly wanted another baby I'd set aside my own fears and do whatever I had to in order to get pregnant again. I should've listened to that voice that said, "NO!" However, when someone convinces you they can help you have a baby, you're willing to do almost anything.
Most American infertility experiences begin with discussing your prior history of conception, possible issues, and a plan of action with the doctor. Preliminary tests and exams would be scheduled, and you'd leave with appointments and information to discuss before making final decisions. This doctor wanted to immediately begin treating. He wanted me to strip down, climb up in the chair, and get down to business. Oh, and the blood draw. I have fabulous veins for drawing blood. I'm pale, they stand out, and they're close to the surface. I was fortunate enough to have someone working their first day on the job draw my blood, and she blew my veins to the point that I was black and blue for weeks afterward--no exaggeration. A few extra jabs later, she gave up, and the doctor came in to finish when she couldn't.
Did you catch the part where I mentioned climb up in the chair? I'm completely aware that some cultures are far more open and less inhibited about nudity, but this girl isn't. In this office, you were expected to walk behind a partition, strip from the waist down, walk out half naked, and climb up in an exam-type chair for a vaginal ultrasound—with the doctor sitting there the entire time. No level of modesty, no respect of privacy...nothing. When I asked for at least a towel, he laughed at me and joked about how he has to keep towels around just for the Americans that are weird about wanting to be covered. He SHAMED me for being uncomfortable--and laughed at me--but gave me the towel from a stack he kept in the exam room for the "Americans."
His plan was to do blood work and a vaginal ultrasound every day beginning at day 10 of my cycle until I ovulated every month. I always ovulated late, so that could often mean 2 weeks of daily visits having the ultrasound and blood drawn. Every month. On top of that, I'd be taking Clomid, again (we'd already tried this in the states), to encourage egg development and ovulation. Once I ovulated he intended to do IUIs (intrauterine inseminations) where they would take Wes's sperm and put it directly at the opening of my fallopian tubes. After my exam and a quick check of Wes's sperm count, he was completely confident that we would conceive. He explained my uterus was anteflexed (pointing towards my abdominal wall), but he didn't think that would keep us from getting pregnant with his help. He gave us hope.
If we'd only known the truth...
Due to the length of this story, it will be posted in three parts.
The country and name of the doctor are intentionally kept anonymous. The purpose of these posts isn't to spread negativity but to give others going through infertility the knowledge they aren't alone in their struggles. Infertility sucks enough without people taking advantage, and my life was so much better because a few women spoke up and shared their knowledge. Feel free to reach out if you want or need to share your story.
Email: jamieelizabeth77@yahoo.com
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Oh Jamie, I am so sorry that this you had to go through this but you are so brave to share it with us! You are an amazing and giving woman!
ReplyDeleteJoAnn ... our experiences are part of what make up who we are, so I count this among those experiences. Thank you for being so sweet and amazing--like always!
DeleteI remember you talking a bit about this when we were in Little Rock. You are a strong, brave woman and I'm sorry you went through all of this!
ReplyDeleteIt's absolutely okay—now! The experience is just part of what I've learned from in life. <3
Delete{{{HUGS}} and love to you!
ReplyDeleteGood for you for writing this, for the sake of other people, who it will encourage SO much. Promise <3
ReplyDeleteThank you very much for that, Lizzi. I wasn't sure, but I was fulfilling a promise made to a few people that I would do it. So I did. :-)
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