In December 2007, I began having "problems." They were not life threatening, but they were bothersome enough to seek medical intervention. For the next year and a half, my husband (who I shall refer to as A) and I heard words like endometriosis (confirmed through surgery) and interstitial cystisis (unconfirmed through surgery), and ended up being diagnosed with a mystery reproductive ailment. Because no one knew exactly what was going wrong, we were told several times that my fertility could potentially be affected. Though it was a frightening thought, I was sure we would be able to produce a bouncing baby when we were ready. After all, in 2008 we were only turning 25, and we were both relatively healthy.
Fast forward a couple of years. Baby fever set in late in 2009. We kept holding off for "the right time to start," then had a bit too much to drink one night and tossed the pills. April 2010, both 26 years old. I was so certain that we would have a baby in nine months...I began researching crib safety and seriously contemplating what color we should paint the nursery (green is most practical since it would work for a second child of the opposite gender). Since we were treating with a reproductive endocrinologist already, he decided to monitor me as we began trying. He also gave A a quick test, who of course checked out perfectly.
My doctor quickly determined that I had serious hormonal issues/deficiencies--namely, my body refuses to make progesterone. Within a few months of trying, we were already beginning our first chlomid cycle. My head spun...What if chlomid doesn't work? What would we try next? How much would this all cost? How could I manage fertility treatments and my full time job? It all seemed to be going downhill so quickly.
Then, on our second chlomid cycle, something miraculous happened. I saw two lines. I had spotted a bit the week before, but there were two lines on the stick. This was it--I was officially becoming a mom. The next two weeks were the most stressful days of my life. First the doctor said it was a chemical pregnancy, a term I despise. Then as levels continued to rise, we thought everything was okay. Then the word ectopic began floating around. After two and a half weeks of tests and a traumatizing experience at my doctor's office (which included this doctor mocking me and cursing at A), I was given methotrexate to "treat" a failing pregnancy that was believed to be ectopic. I spent 8 hours that day being shuffled to three doctors, and at the end of the day I had lost the baby I desired more than anything, the doctor who was supposed to be helping me, my sanity and my hope. I was exhausted and felt clueless as to where to go next.