Taking the Test || Infertility
When I put out an Instagram poll asking what people wanted me to write about I was surprised at the response to a blog on fertility. I then thought long and hard about what kind of blog I could write, there are so many angles I could have taken this from. The horrendous IVF system that makes navigating it a complete minefield, the weighing up our choices because I am too old for IVF on the NHS, meaning we have agonised over the choice to own a house or have a baby. A choice that most couples are never faced with, get both and take completely for granted. The fact that being 36, married and not having children means we are not really seen as a family in the eyes of society. While I am on this, why do we wait for a child to come along to refer to people as family? We are family as much as the next people and I am convinced that we do not need children to make us complete. Don’t get me wrong we would love it, but it really doesn’t mean we are not family.
Leaving all those feelings and frustrations aside (I may blog about them in the future) I am going to share one of the most painful moments in this journey that both Matthew and I have faced. I remember this particular day like it was yesterday, it was almost a year ago on the 27th September 2017. We had been waiting for my period to arrive, it hadn’t and we became more and more excited by the day. I was way over 2 weeks late and I told myself my symptoms were getting stronger and I must be pregnant. I longed with every part of my body for it to be true and looked earnestly at the web for signs that I might at last be carrying a life. I told Matthew the night before that I was going to do a test first thing the next morning, as I was working from home and a negative result would mean I didn’t have to think about work. This is the kind of planning I had to/have to do when I take a test.
I had waited a long time over the two week pregnancy test mark, and I think it was because I wanted to tell myself it was true and a test was so final one way or the other. Anyway, I woke up exceptionally early on that cold Wednesday morning and snuck into the bathroom alone. I was already dreaming of running into Matthew and shouting wake up, you’re going to be a daddy! I peed and I waited, then there on the stick it said not pregnant. My heart sank and the bottom fell out of my world. I curled up on the bathroom floor and sobbed, you know the big belly achingly loud sobs that come from deep inside of you. The ones you didn’t know you had and can’t control. I dragged myself back into bed, a far cry from the dreaming I had been doing a matter of minutes before. I curled up behind Matthew and said through my tears and sobs…I’m not pregnant, slowly I felt him crying too.
That day was a haze of tears and pain, I text a friend who had walked the same path and told her I had done a test that I was convinced would be positive. I told her how the negative result had killed me, totally floored me. My friend sent me the most beautiful message back and held me from afar in complete love. I stumbled across an incredible website that day called Saltwater and Honey which is a Christian blog for those facing infertility and childlessness. I sat and read and cried and read some more. I read some aloud to Matthew and we had a blazing row because he didn’t want to hear other peoples hurts, he wanted to only think about our own. One of the many things we have learnt about each other and how we grieve in this rollercoaster of a journey.
I don’t remember how that day ended, but the affect it had on me, and us is still apparent, this was a test in amongst many others, but it came at a time where our journey was really affecting me. Since then, this past year has been tough, our sex life has suffered as a result, I went through a time of being frightened to have sex because when we did I told myself I was definitely pregnant. So much so we started using condoms again, sorry if that is too much information but it is the reality of what this journey has done to us. It’s a year I have taken my infertility seriously and really started a journey into having children anyway we can. It’s a year in which I watched others around me get their happy ending, shared their joy, but also had a pang of pain in the midst too. It’s a year in which I have had hope, the hope that is so necessary but feels so dangerously fragile. This year has continued, we have carried on, but I long, hope and pray that this time next year, it will be a different story for us.
Big love
Ruth x
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