My Fertility Journey
Content alert: This post contains frank and personal stories concerning the process of trying to conceive and stay pregnant.
Yet another month gone by, and I’m still unable to become (or remain) pregnant.
We’ve now been trying for a year and a half. At first, I began the journey with optimistic caution. At 34 years old, we conceived West on the very first try, and it was my first pregnancy ever. The entire experience — including labor — was positive. I knew then how lucky I was. I know it still. (More on that further down in this post.)
In the past 18 months, I’ve had:
negative and positive pregnancy tests
bleeding that my doctor and I suspected was implantation bleeding (which I experienced with West)
months with no periods
months with weeks-long bleeding
normal FSH levels / test results for my age
hormonal & physical fluctuations
I’m sure that there have been a few months along the way during which we missed my ovulation window. I routinely wore an Ava bracelet to track my cycle, but life still gets in the way sometimes, and that’s okay. (Click here to view my post about intimacy in a small space.)
But the mental and physical rollercoaster of trying to conceive (and the unsuccessful starts) takes a toll of sorts. There are the changes in the body (some visible, some not), the extra careful monitoring of everything consumed, the dramatic dips in energy, and, ultimately, the heartbreaking disappointments.
I’ve modified my diet, the contents of our medicine cabinet, and even my wardrobe to accommodate the ride. I now sticking almost entirely to clothing that adapts comfortably to the dramatic waistline inches gained and lost over the months, including pants that accommodate the fluctuations while still being appropriate for business video conference calls and bike rides with my son and dogs at a moment’s notice. (This might seem like a silly detail, but every single time I get dressed I’m somehow reminded of my inability to get or stay pregnant, as well as the need to keep my company going during this pandemic while also still being present with my family. To me, it’s a meaningful consideration, even if it’s a minor one.)
It’s a challenge to discern which emotions are a result of my fertility journey, and which are a result of the pandemic, running a small business, and renting in an expensive city. It all adds up to a tangle of anxiety.
I’ll keep my head up, even during the days that are particularly draining and bleak. Our little family has so much privilege, along with everything we need— we have to pay that forward.
It’s my duty to focus daily on being an anti-racist, raising a feminist and anti-racist child, advocating for voting rights, and fighting for human rights and environmental justice every step of the way.
Throughout my pregnancy and on the day I was ready to deliver West, I had the privilege of safe and respectful maternity care. It wasn’t perfect— there were points at which I believe the hospital got it wrong. For example, some of the medical staff tried to hurry me into having a Caesarean section since my contractions didn’t progress quickly after my water broke, but I had access to a doula team that advocated hard on my behalf for a vaginal delivery without an epidural. This sort of access, along with the opportunity and space be heard, and the successful outcome is by no means a given for every woman in America.
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention reported that “Black mothers in the U.S. die at three to four times the rate of white mothers, one of the widest of all racial disparities in women's health.” (NPR)
According to Every Mother Counts: “Chronic stress and systemic and interpersonal racism contribute to a higher risk of complications and death for women of color. The number of women who die giving birth in America each year has nearly doubled in the last two decades, and over half of all maternal deaths in the U.S. can be prevented.“
My fertility journey includes working towards dismantling the systemic racism that robs Black women and women of color from potentially having the same wonderful experience with their baby/babies as I had with our lil’ West.
The fight for equitable maternity care is one to engage in every day until quality healthcare is accessible and provided for all mothers. And as for my physical struggle to conceive… well, I’m 39, so it’s still very much within the scope of possibility, but I’m coming to terms with the fact that West might never have a sibling beyond our pups, StanLee & Sophee. (For reasons I’m not yet ready to discuss publicly, we aren’t currently considering IVF or adoption.)
Just when I start to feel overwhelmed with disappointment, West intuitively swoops in and reminds me of my overflowing gratitude for this lil’ family, home and life.
