When I was younger, the idea of getting pregnant and having a child seemed like such a straightforward, biological process that sexually active couples easily achieved. In fact, what was more mysterious to me was how a couple managed to have just one or two children, and not get pregnant every so often throughout the course of the woman’s fertile years. Naïve, I know, but that was what it looked like to me as a young girl growing up. Infertility was rarely spoken about in my community, and miscarriages were often brushed under the rug like just an unfortunate mishap.
Back then, the equation was simple—sex (at the right time of the month) = pregnancy = equals healthy live birth nine months later.
In my mind, it was a purely physical experience. And early in our marriage, that formula almost played out to the tee. My husband and I got pregnant, with little effort, about a month after walking down the aisle. We knew exactly when it happened. What we didn’t expect was to go into preterm labour in our second trimester. About six months after that loss, we got pregnant again, and once again we knew the exact day it happened; there was no laborious trying, no real effort. It was a simple physical and lovely experience. Unfortunately, it was only after losing that baby, again in the second trimester, that the doctors concluded that I had a problem. An incompetent cervix.
Needless to say that, years later, and a decade into a childless marriage, I’ve been woefully disillusioned regarding conception and fertility. It’s so much more than just a physical experience. It is an overwhelmingly emotional one, especially if you’ve been trying, unsuccessfully, to get pregnant for more than a few months.
Infertility can be an incredibly stressful journey. It can leave you feeling undone if you allow it to consume your life. Just the mechanics involved—timing ovulation, ensuring that the sperm gets to the egg within the hours that it remains viable in the uterus, ensuring that implantation is successful, and further ensuring that your body is a suitable haven of life for the next 40 weeks of pregnancy—can leave you feeling disconnected from the world of ‘normal’ people . Yes, it can be downright stressful and filled with anxiety and doubt and anger and depression, and even shame.
I’ve cried many times. So have friends of mine who are on a similar journey. Each time a pregnancy test returns negative, or your period returns when you were hoping it wouldn’t, it feels like a dagger to the heart.
Unfortunately, stress does not aid the process, and can actually thwart your efforts. If you’re a woman struggling to conceive, know that you’re not alone. There’s a community of women who feel your pain, share your anxiety, and understand your disappointment.
As hard as it may be, try to take time out to relax and rest. Rest and relaxation are vital to your overall health. There’s no need to feel ashamed. You are a woman, full, complete, whole, regardless of your ability to bear a child. Keep your head up and love on yourself.
Here’s to your body,
Her Body and Her.
Image courtesy of iStock.