Little Cone Flower

April 9 was my doctor’s appointment to discuss Clomid (fertility medication). In hindsight, I should have asked questions at this appointment. Not to spoil the ending, but it would have spared us six months of unnecessary trying and waiting. It’s honestly disheartening to look back and realize that if we had just known to ask for a semen analysis before any further treatment, we would have jumped six months ahead in our journey. However, that was not the case.

I walked away from the appointment with a three-month trial run of Clomid and was told I should be pregnant in the next three months. For good measure, I was to set up an appointment in August in case things didn’t pan out.

May through July are a jumbled mess of memories. A blur of hormones, tears, tests and too much sex. Due to the stress of the time, my brain seemed to categorized the moments instead of remembering them chronologically. These categories formed into navigation of our science experiment, moments with Mom Cone, processing Jamie’s pregnancy and escaping our reality.

Navigation of our science experiment became an all-consuming process. At the start of my first cycle, we ordered a box of ovulation/pregnancy tests and I began the medication process. On days two through six of my cycle, I took one pill of Clomid a day. Once the medication was done on day seven, I began testing for ovulation. The key to ovulation testing was to test around the same time twice a day. So every day around 9 AM and 2 PM, I’d take my little glass jar, pee in it, soak the ovulation test and wait for the result. Once I saw a positive test, which meant I was in my LH surge, I was supposed to ovulate in the next 24 hours. Although the surge was prime time to do the deed, I was advised to have sex every other and/or every day from the end of my period through a few days after ovulation.

Simple, right? It definitely started out as a fun task, but we both can say that jumping each other’s bones is great until you’re forced to do it whether you’re in the mood or not. By about the fourth day, we both started to feel the toll of it. On top of this, the hormones kicked in and tensions began to rise between the two of us. I wanted to over analyze everything all the time and Brian wanted to escape the process when there wasn’t a “to-do” since we were doing everything we could at the moment.

We did this for two rounds without success. Between the stress and hormonal shifts, my mental state plunged into despair over those two months. I started to have panic attacks to the point of hyperventilation. I hated my body for not functioning “like it should” and too often would cry so hard from a hopeless ache that was beginning to form inside of me.

The unfortunate thing about round two was it caused my period to not return. I had to take progesterone to kick start my period which was the cherry on top of my dismal cake. This last plunge of hormones was the red flag we needed to stop. I remember a day where I could tell the medication was the culprit for the dark mood swings and I told Brian I didn’t want to do round three. So we didn’t. Instead, we waited for our August appointment feeling like there had to be something else going on besides a lack of ovulation.

Moments with Mom Cone were frequent throughout my summer of Clomid. Since I opened up to her in January, she was a safe haven for my thoughts and feelings. As time passed, our talks became less about the fear of being pregnant and more about the possibility of struggle. She’d echo my sorrows, balance my negatives and help transition my emotions from despair to acceptance. Whether it be a warm embrace and listening ear or a distraction like baking, she was there each time I’d text, “Are you home?” Although these moments were brought about due to really crappy circumstances, I weirdly cherish and am thankful for them. Thankful for her.

As I write this, I realize I may have never fully processed Jamie’s pregnancy while it was happening. As the summer unfolded and time moved on I think it was something I dealt with while it was in front of me and suppressed it when I could. It wasn’t easy for multiple reasons. Infertility on its own has its pinch points and stark reminders of what you don’t have, but having a personal visual stung a bit deeper. In many ways, it was like watching all of my internal imaginings of loved ones’ reactions and conversations play out, but they weren’t with me. I remember being told I could remove myself whenever needed and everyone would understand. But that was just it, I hated that infertility was impacting something else that should have been exciting in my life. So I pushed myself (maybe a little too much at times) to be involved when I could.

Jamie and I would go for walks and chat about our situations, pregnancy versus trying to conceive. I’d force myself to stay in a conversation that internally made me want to crumble because as much as it hurt, I also wanted to know everything. Mom, Jamie and I started talking about how special baby cousins would be when Clomid worked. Without realizing it, I started to put pressure on myself because although I wouldn’t have the first grandkid, a new ideal formed. A world where maybe I could get pregnant and only be four months behind Jamie. Or five months behind her, or six months behind. But that was just it, no matter the timeline I continued to feel behind. Having the first grandkid slipped out of my grasp and with each failed month, the image of having baby cousins together slipped through my fingers. I started to believe that if I couldn’t get pregnant before my niece was born, then I wouldn’t be okay. That as long as Jamie’s arms were full and mine were empty, I was stuck in this cruel life stall.

All of this to say, I didn’t fully process Jamie’s pregnancy that summer. If anything I just made up a new ideal goal to focus on each time one didn’t pan out. To give a little hope, I did eventually process her pregnancy, it was just a year later in therapy.

With infertility clouding the majority of our existence, we had to find ways to escape our reality. We succeeded at this by leaving town and hanging out with our friends. These almost sacred moments when we got to leave behind pregnancy, infertility, talk of babies and just be Brian and Kaylee were our saving grace. In these moments our life felt normal and these friends of ours did more for us than they probably still realize. Not only did they help us escape our sorrows through adventure and laughter, but they also seemed to know when and how to check in and ask us how we were doing with our struggles. I say these get-togethers were almost sacred because they were the one area where nothing had changed. Being home was full of constant frustrations and sadness, Cone family gatherings were this awkward balance of pregnancy and infertility, but our friend get-togethers were a breath of fresh air. A space we got to feel normal. And besides having a baby, you crave nothing but feeling normal while in the depths of infertility.