Infertility: The Baby Carriage That Hits Like a Semi Truck (Part 2)

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Read part 1 of this infertility series here.

There’s that sequence from the movie UP that hits me hard every time. Those two sweet kids . . . they love each other so much. They grow up and get married. They see the baby carriage, and they want a baby too. Only (in the sweet, cute little cartoon world) their doctor tells them they can’t have any children. Why did the cartoon makers DO that to them? It’s like they are trying to kill Bambi’s mom all over again, but in new, creative ways!

Part 2: Infertility is the Baby Carriage That Hits Like a Semi TruckFinding out we were experiencing infertility did not make my desire to be a mother decrease. It actually made me want it even more.

I saw it EVERYWHERE I went . . . every baby shower . . . every stroller going by! It became my wish for every birthday candle, for every long tunnel with my breath held, for every Christmas wish list, for every Easter basket. If I had lost any teeth, I would have wished the tooth fairy could bring a sweet little baby instead of a dumb dollar.

The next few years were the darkest of my entire life. I wanted something no one could give me. I felt like I was being stabbed in the back every time a happy friend would ask, “When are you going to get knocked up?” or “Isn’t it about time for you two to start popping out kids?”

I was bitter toward anyone who was pregnant, especially if they weren’t even married or hadn’t even been “trying.” Then I felt guilty for feeling bitter because having babies was supposed to be a happy thing. My older sister was pregnant again. My sister-in-law was pregnant. They had babies at the same time. I was so happy for them but so sad for myself. I felt like I was being torn into two totally different people.

Ryan and I kept “trying” to get pregnant even though we had been told it was very unlikely we ever would. At least we knew we weren’t doing it wrong, except for maybe that time we “tried” with a turkey baster. Somebody told us it had worked for their cousin, so we gave it a whirl. I have not ever cooked a turkey to this day. That remains my one experience with a turkey baster. It ended with fits of laughter at the ridiculousness of this place we were in.

We wanted to be parents so badly that we became desperate and probably a little (a lot) crazy. Yes, infertility made me crazy.

I wanted to try the fertility treatment offered in Albuquerque. Our insurance wouldn’t pay for it. Ryan and I were not in agreement about a course of action.

We sought counsel from others who had been in similar situations. A pastor we spoke with said we should give up trying to get pregnant because it was probably never going to happen. If we really were serious about being parents, then adoption was a much more certain way of making it happen.

I put together a beautiful packet about Ryan and me. It had great pictures of us and talked about all the things we liked to do and what great parents we wanted to be for a child.

My mom had a friend whose young niece was addicted to meth and who was pregnant with her second child. The friend was pretty sure the girl was going to give the baby up for adoption and offered to show her our packet.

Infertility induced Adoption Attempt: Albuquerque Mom's Blog
Infertility Induced Adoption Attempt

I was so excited, just a few months and we would be parents . . . maybe.

After about a month, we heard that the young, drug-addicted girl would be keeping her baby. I knew she had the right to make that choice. I tried not to be angry and to hope that this would help her change her life. But I couldn’t help but feel that she passed judgment on us. We were not good enough to be parents. Childless.

Every month was a terrible roller coaster. When will I ovulate? Did we have enough sex? Did it work? Am I pregnant? I’m not. Wait a few weeks and try again. Incapable.

I took cookies to work one day. I had spent a lot of time decorating them, making them fancy. A lady said, in passing, “You must have a lot of time on your hands. I can tell you don’t have kids at home.” Barren.

We decided to try fertility treatment even though our insurance didn’t cover it. We moved really slowly, saving up enough money to get going, starting with the least expensive options.

Clomid. Every day for a while. Negative.

We waited again and saved up several hundred dollars. (I’m a teacher and my husband works for a nonprofit. It took a while.) We tried intrauterine (artificial) insemination . . . the real turkey baster. Negative.

I felt like we were literally throwing our money away, only I was the trash can. INFERTILE.

My younger sister got pregnant. Why couldn’t I? I was BITTER and JEALOUS.

Then she miscarried. I felt terrible. I felt like I had caused this. Now we were both “trying.”

My older sister was pregnant again. We kept “trying.”

I really wanted to do InVitro Fertilization (IVF) where many eggs are grown at once, harvested from your ovaries with a big needle, put into Petri dishes and fertilized before one or two successful embryos are put back into your uterus to hopefully attach and start a pregnancy. The doctor told us it was probably our only option and that it might not even work.

We definitely didn’t have the money to handle such a large procedure. The overall cost to do it in Albuquerque was about $20,000. I knew I shouldn’t want something so expensive. We were pouring all our money into infertility treatments already and didn’t have anything left. I really thought it might be time to quit all the trying.

Then, my aunt got really sick and needed help moving her things out of her classroom. I helped her. She tried to pay me. I refused to let her. I told her she had to just let me bless her and help her because it made me feel good to be helpful. Later she handed me a card and told me, “If you refuse to let me help you, then you are taking away the joy I get when I am able to help others. You have to let people do the nice things they want to do. You can’t steal that from them.”

Baby Love Fund: Albuquerque Mom's Blog
Baby Love Fund

The note in the card said, “For the Baby Love Fund.”

I accepted it as a sign and drove to the ATM to deposit the $20 check. The ATM popped the amount of the check onto the screen . . . “$200.” I forced the ATM to spit the check out again so I could double check the amount. Sure enough, it was $200, and that’s when I read the memo. It said, “For: Baby Love.”

I was NOT barren. I was LOVED. Infertility did NOT define me. And all my wishes for that unborn, imaginary baby, they were loved too.

Read part 3 of this story here.

Originally published April 2017.



The opinions expressed in this post are those of the author. They do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of ABQ Mom, its executive team, other contributors to the site, its sponsors or partners, or any organizations the aforementioned might be affiliated with.

5 COMMENTS

    • Thanks for reading. 🙂 I’m sure you’ll like the ending. I do.
      I hope my story helps bring someone else a happy ending for their story as well.

  1. Trying to read through all these tears ? so beautifully and heartbreakingly written. Feeling all the love in each wish you wrote of. ?

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