My Journey with Secondary Infertility

"The Student" by Jenedy Paige

Just less than 3 years ago, after recently having a baby, I wrote a blog post about meeting a woman in India who dealt with infertility:

"I don’t have anything profound to say about this experience. But for some reason, the phrase, “for me no children,” is something I have reflected on again and again. It continues to run through my mind as the symbol of what all women with infertility must go through. There are emotions and experiences behind that phrase that I know nothing about. But I have sympathy." 

I am feeling the irony now. Now, I am actually very familiar with the emotions and experiences that come with the phrase, "for me, no children." And yet, that phrase is not perfectly accurate in describing my situation. I have one child. Just one, for now. 

"Just one" sums it up pretty well. There is a feeling that something is lacking, a feeling that something is not enough, or something is missing. 

For some time, I have felt the need to write about my experience. If not for those reading, for me. So I hope if you are reading this, you will bear with me in my openness. In a world where we are increasingly isolated from each other physically, and it becomes harder to "mourn with those who mourn"¹ in person, perhaps you can mourn with me from afar, and also feel joy with me, when I recount the refining and sanctifying effect this has had in my life. 

I found out I was pregnant with Lucy in October 2014. It was a surprise! We had tried to conceive from January-March of that same year, and promptly stopped trying when we learned we would be going to India. Believe it or not, having a baby while in India was not on my bucket list. Instead, I ended up being in my second trimester of pregnancy while in India, which turned out perfectly. We felt incredibly blessed to be pregnant with Lucy. Those 3 months of trying unsuccessfully earlier in 2014 gave me the tiniest taste of what it is like to continually receive a negative pregnancy test. 

Lucy was born in the summer of 2015. Now this is where I will sound crazy...when she was 6 months old, we stopped using any form of birth control, unless you count lots of breastfeeding (most feel that is not sufficient). I had a strong feeling that we would not conceive easily, and that even if we did, so be it. I would have 2 kids close together and they would be best friends! 

Well, I breastfed Lucy until she was 18 months. I weaned her right after New Years Day in 2017. I thought to myself, "Okay, I'm not breastfeeding anymore. Now my body should be able to get back to its normal self, and I can get pregnant." I was actually hoping to get pregnant before I weaned Lucy, since I was hardly breastfeeding during the last 3 months before weaning. I had thought, "this happens to lots of people!" Nope. 

And so throughout 2017, we tried. By the end of summer, I had read a huge book about infertility and commenced with charting–basal body temps, cervical fluid, taking ovulation tests, the whole bit. By November, I had made an appointment with an OBGYN in Detroit and started the initial tests. Blood tests, hormone tests, and pelvic and vaginal ultrasounds. 

By January of 2018, all results were in. Guess what? Nothing looked wrong. My OBGYN told be that at this point, she would normally pass me on to a Reproductive Endocrinologist or some other infertility specialist. The problem? I was on Medicaid at the time. There is no coverage for those kinds of specialists whatsoever. It turns out the government has no interest in helping poor people have more children. It just means more mouths to feed. Sorry, I'm a little cynical about that. 

In the Spring, my husband was tested as well and he passed each category with flying colors. No issues there. 

Looking back, this timeline doesn't seem that long, and it's not. But for me, every step was a huge test of patience. Waiting for the next cycle to try again, or to find out more information, or waiting until Craig was graduated and employed with a job with benefits (which didn't happen until last month) was difficult. Every passing month went so. incredibly. slow. Especially after January of 2018, when we knew we would basically be on our own until we could go to a specialist, which we knew wouldn't happen until at the earliest, May (again, it didn't happen until last month, August). 

Throughout this journey, I have experienced all of the emotions/phases associated with grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I have felt them out of order, and repeatedly. Earlier this year, I mostly felt angry. I was angry that other people get to choose and plan when they have children, but I couldn't. I was angry that my plan to have children 2 years or less apart, was not working. I was angry that I didn't have access to the medical care I needed to get a proper diagnosis (to this day, I have still not accepted "unexplained infertility" because based on a lot of personal evidence, I feel that something is indeed wrong; my previous OB just didn't have the expertise to find it).

Because we felt stuck during this time, I turned to some natural remedies. Now, I know there is a vast range of opinions about this. But one thing about me is that I am deeply drawn to both sides of the spectrum. I absolutely believe in the effectiveness of many medical remedies, based on the studies that are on their side. I also feel a pull towards treatments that have helped people for thousands of years; we just don't have the studies, probably for many reasons I won't speculate on here. During this time I decided to try a form of Vitex, an herb. I took a prenatal vitamin that included Vitex February-April.

In May, literally the day we were moving out of our apartment, I took a pregnancy test and it was positive. We were amazed, but cautious. I took two more the next two days to be sure. They continued to be positive. During this time we were moving out of Michigan and helping family, and it was a little crazy. I didn't have time to think about it much. I maintained a cautious attitude for some reason. Right after this, we moved to Utah to live with Craig's family while he looked for jobs. Right when we arrived, I started having pain on one side that led me to get an ultrasound. They found nothing to cause alarm, just the gestational sac in my uterus to indicate pregnancy. The next week though, I started spotting. The spotting continued, and then increased. On June 3rd, I miscarried. Looking back, I noticed that almost for the whole pregnancy there were worries, and so I never got too attached to the reality of another baby coming. I wonder if deep down I felt that something was wrong. Nevertheless, the grief was real. I of course had ups and downs following the miscarriage. Some days I felt fine, other days I sobbed and was a wreck in general.

Now, I feel full of gratitude because we have better insurance! Yay! In fact, I have an appointment next week. I am also aware of how grateful I should be that we still have a lot of hope. The chances (thus far) are high that I will be able to conceive and have another baby. Many couples do not have this hope, and my heart goes out to them.

Some factors that have influenced my experience include being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We strongly value families and having children, and so the pain of infertility is very poignant, whether it's secondary or not. We are surrounded by children and babies, and so the reminder of what you deeply desire, but don't yet have is always there. Most of my peers in the church (I am 27) have either 2 or 3 children by now. I have this feeling sometimes of being "behind," and even though I know logically it's ridiculous, sometimes I am not so logical. Having 1 child, versus 3, puts you in different phases of life, regardless of age. Also, going through secondary infertility has made me painfully aware that I still very much care about what others think of me. I can't help but wonder if people look at us and think, "I wonder why they only have 1 child...what's their thinking on that?" And in my head I say back to them, (yes, I'm crazy) "The reason we only have 1 child is out of our control. If it were up to me, I'd have a 1-year-old toddling around right now!" I think there still isn't a lot of awareness about secondary infertility. If you didn't have any trouble with your first, you shouldn't have trouble with having more, right? 

Going through secondary infertility has also forced me to let go of my control in life. I'm one of those people that definitely likes to be in control. As I referenced earlier, when I was younger, I had a plan. I was going to get married, have most of my children (3-5) during my twenties, and then be done! Easy peasy. Well, that hasn't happened. And now, it's certain it won't. I've slowly learned to let go of my anger at the situation (though I still feel anger sometimes) and trust God. In the 2000 film, Joseph: King of Dreams (Lucy loves to watch it on Sundays) they have some really great, cheesy songs. One of them is "You Know Better Than I" which Joseph sings after he's been unjustly imprisoned, and I have come to love it. Here's the chorus, although the whole song relates:

For You know better than I
You know the way
I've let go the need to know why
I'll take what answers You supply
You know better than I

There have been moments during this journey when I have felt God's reassurance and guidance. Other times I have been depressed and anxious, and couldn't feel Him as easily. It's been a time of struggle and growth. I'm still learning that ultimately, He has the best plan for me. I try to find joy in other things while I "wait upon the Lord."² I'm going to be singing in the Minnesota Mormon Chorale, I'm starting a volunteer position, and I'm looking at part-time jobs. He is guiding me in these directions, I think to help fill my cup and give me purpose while I wait for more children to come. The truth is, it doesn't take all of your time to take care of 1 child. You need other things, and so does my daughter as she gets more social. That's another thing–a big reason I long for another child is for Lucy. She would love a sibling, I have no doubt. That was one reason it was so sad to me to let go of my dream of having children closer together. I wanted them to have time to play together a lot before Lucy starts school. But alas, it won't be that way.

This experience is teaching me that it's okay to change your plans and readjust your expectations. I've discovered meditation as a way to help me be present, and I practice every day. I know God can help us through anything, and although I haven't always been receptive, I know He's always been there. I know He's aware of me and the pain I have felt. I feel like I am truly becoming His student (see painting above). I'm learning to trust Him even when I can't see the big picture (or even a little picture). For those who have never dealt with infertility, it doesn't look as hard on the outside. I know, because I saw it that way before I experienced it. It seems like a first-world problem that people shouldn't get so worked up about. But for couples, the pain is real. For those who go through tons of treatments, it has even been categorized as "reproductive trauma." For many people, having children represents something incredibly meaningful, and when that ability is faulty, there are a host of issues that arise mentally and emotionally.

It has been healing for me to write about my experience. If there is someone reading this who is also going through infertility, I hope this helps you remember you are not alone. The pain is real. If you are reading this and you know someone going through infertility, I hope you give them some extra love 💛

1 Mosiah 18:9
2 Isaiah 40:31