Our winding road to pregnancy
Making the decision to have a child is monumental.
Throughout my twenties, my husband and I would routinely say, “we aren’t ready for kids.” I distinctly remember his parents telling us that you’re never really ready for children; you just kind of figure it out along the way. But at the time, I knew there was no chance I’d be able to figure out how to devote my time and resources to raising another human being.
Then one day, after many conversations with Eugene, I finally felt like I was ready to consider having a child of my own. Unfortunately, these feelings coincided with a deployment and a short tour that resulted in him being away from home for nearly two years—far from optimal baby-making conditions.
While Eugene was away, I bided my time by imagining what life would be like when he returned from his assignments. I pictured our house in Germany, day-dreamed about the adventures we’d take, and considered how our growing family might look.
Although I’d always dealt with some health issues, I naively told myself those would magically disappear when I was ready for children. I never imagined infertility would be something with which I struggled.
A few months after moving to Germany, I set up care with an on-base doctor. When I went in for my first appointment, I brought up a concern I’d had about being off birth control for a few months, but not getting my period. The doctor followed up my concern with a question about whether or not my husband and I wanted to have children. After I answered “yes,” the conversation quickly turned to infertility. I was then referred to an OBGYN and then to an endocrinologist. At every appointment the doctors would always reference my infertility.
“Ok,” I’d say, “but I’m mostly concerned with getting my period on track, less so dealing with infertility.”
Of course, I’d heard about infertility, but it wasn’t something people around me were openly discussing. I wasn’t ready to label myself with that term. I figured I could fix whatever was ‘wrong’ with me by simply adjusting my diet or taking medication.
But as the weeks turned to months, more and more doctors were left without answers, Eugene and I weren’t conceiving a child, and I began to accept that infertility was in fact a problem I had.
Throughout that first year, I dealt with confusing insurance run-arounds, countless blood draws, and a brain tumor scare (which thankfully was nothing), before being referred off base to a German Frauenklinik.
Over the preceding year, I was exposed to a whole new type of healthcare on the German economy. Don’t get me wrong, the doctors, nurses and receptionists were great. But the occasional language barrier, incredibly long wait times, rotating line-up of doctors, lack of modesty, and straight-to-the-point way of delivering news often left me frustrated and in tears at the end of every appointment.
I attended appointments at the Frauenklinik a few times each month and almost every one was the same. After checking in, I’d sit in the waiting room for about an hour before a nurse walked around the corner yelling, “Frau Notstad.” I’d stand up and exchange pleasantries with them, then politely ask, “Es tut mir leid. Können wir bitte Englisch sprechen?” When they could speak English, we’d switch over. When they couldn’t, we’d awkwardly fumble our way through an appointment. The appointments themselves were always short and either consisted of a blood draw, a discussion about medication, or an ultrasound in which I lied spread-eagle in the middle of the room with nothing covering my lower half (this is the lack of modesty I referenced above). The doctor would examine my ovaries and confirm whether or not the medication had led to ovulation.
Before and during every ultrasound appointment, I’d focus on my mindset. I wanted to remain hopeful, but I was careful not to get my hopes up too high. On a few occasions, I was certain my troublesome ovaries had produced a follicle and subsequent egg. The news from the doctor that nothing had grown, would literally knock the air out of my lungs. I’d walk back to the changing room, try to compose myself and wipe away my tears, before taking a seat with the doctor and discussing next steps.
In October, I went in for yet another round of fertility treatments. After two full years of trying, Eugene and I decided that this would be the last round of treatment before taking a few months off to regroup. For this round, the doctors prescribed me GONAL-F shots.
At the same time every day for 10 days, I’d take the GONAL-F pen out of the refrigerator, sanitize a small patch of skin on my belly, pinch a section of fat, and inject myself with varying doses of hormones. In the end, the process wasn’t too bad. But for someone like me, who is extremely needle-averse, the first few jabs were pretty traumatizing.
Thankfully, the mild trauma paid off. The shots produced one perfect, dominant follicle and the doctors gave us the go ahead to try for a baby.
Despite my best efforts to remain calm and keep my mind off of what may or may not be happening inside of me, I spent the next two weeks Googling every mild symptom I sensed.
We returned late one night from a trip to Barcelona near the end of my “two-week wait.” Shortly after hauling in our suitcases and getting settled, I headed to the bathroom to take a pregnancy test I’d tucked away months earlier. A few minutes later, I flipped over the stick and was shocked to see a plus sign. After years of seeing only negative signs, I had to consult the instructions, which were all written in German, before using Google Translate to confirm that Schwanger did in fact mean pregnant.
It felt absolutely surreal to stare at a stick stating I was pregnant after years of wishing, hoping and trying for that exact moment. Eugene and I spent the next few weeks letting this tremendous news sink in before telling our parents. For me, pregnancy didn’t feel real until our first ultrasound appointment at the U.S. Hospital, where we saw the baby’s facial features, arms, legs and heartbeat.
Since then, it’s been a wild couple of months. Every day the fact that I’m actually pregnant sinks in a little deeper. I’m fairly certain that no parent takes their child for granted, but after the incredibly bumpy and winding road Eugene and I traveled along to get to this point, I can guarantee that we will cherish every second of every day with our future daughter or son.
I still experience a few fleeting moments when I question whether or not I’m truly ready to have a child and raise a human being. But years of infertility treatments in Germany have taught me that regardless of the challenge, I have the tools to figure it out along the way.
In sharing my story, I’m extremely empathetic to those reading who’ve struggled to get pregnant, dealt with devastating loss, or dreamt of having a child of their own. I know all too well how much a pregnancy announcement can sting. I share my experience in an effort to further open the dialogue around infertility.
Writing has always been a tool I use to sort through my emotions. I share my writing as a means to connect with others and give people a glimpse into my life.
I understand that every situation is unique and I ask that you not compare your story to mine. However, I’m always here for anyone who’d like to speak with someone who’s also waded through the muck. I know how isolating infertility can feel and I’m happy to provide support in any way possible.
💕