Familiar Emptiness

**This particular post did not turn out quite as I had intended. It may not be incredibly eloquent, but it is honest. It is not something I talk about openly or frequently. It is only the bare bones of a story that is very personal and very painful.**

 Did you know that this week is National Infertility Awareness Week?

I have previously shared some personal thoughts on infertility here on our family blog. Some of you may already know that Mr. Jenkins and I struggled with infertility for some time before we were blessed with our little miracle. If you didn't know, now you do. I'd like to share a brief synopsis of my journey with you in an effort to perhaps lend my voice to those who are struggling in silence. 

By the age of 5, I knew with certainty that I wanted to be a mother. Even as a child, caring for children seemed to be at the center of my identity. As I got older, I began to ponder and plan for my future family. I wanted 8 kids, no more than 2 years apart. It was easy to imagine such ideals in my youth.

At the age of 17, I was diagnosed with severe hypothyroidism. I was given a prescription for synthetic thyroid hormone and told plainly that I would take it for the rest of my life. The doctors and nurses did not seem to think this was anything of much consequence. I was also told that my chances of conceiving children would be approximately 50% lower than the average person. That's when the fear and anxiety of infertility really began. Around the same time, I was put on birth control to produce a menstrual cycle that my body was not initiating on its own. Again, the doctors did not seem to think this was anything of much consequence. 

I started doing research on my own and discovered that many of my health concerns lined up directly with the symptoms of PCOS. I tried to discuss this with my doctor, who quickly made me feel as if my concerns were irrational. "Once we get your thyroid regulated, I am sure your periods will pick up on their own. This is very common. Nothing to worry about." Doctor after doctor (Family Practice, OBGYN, Endocrinology) continued to tell me the same thing for the next 6 years. At no point, did any doctor seem to be overly concerned that my body simply did not menstruate without artificial hormone supplements. They all claimed that my blood tests were always in normal ranges, even told me that I was "too pretty to have PCOS." I just didn't fit the mold. These doctors (who likely knew next to nothing about PCOS themselves) made me feel ashamed of my concerns--so much so that I didn't even dare seek out a specialist. Heaven forbid that I should want to know whether I was infertile before I was actually trying to get pregnant...

And so I lived in fear and anxiety. I dreaded that any boy should fall in love with me, want to marry me, want to have children with me. I knew if he loved me, I would have to tell him about the possibility that I could never give him those children that I wanted so badly myself.

Then I met my Mr. Wonderful. He fell in love with me despite my health problems, my insecurities, my many faults, and weaknesses. I warned him that I may not be able to give him children. "We'll adopt if we have to," he would tell me in his eternal optimism. But still, I silently fretted about what infertility might do to our marriage, knowing it could certainly destroy me, if not the both of us. I became Mrs. Jenkins and within months of marriage I was anxious to start trying for a little one, but we waited. He was ever positive that there would be no problems and I was ever insistent that we wouldn't know until we started trying. Anxiety. Fear. Anxiety.

When we did start trying, it was a struggle just to get me menstruating regularly. After 6 months, a very sweet 89-year-old OBGYN offered me some Clomid to help. He insisted that my blood work still looked great and that it wouldn't take long with the Clomid. (Clomid is miserable, for the record.)  For months and months, I took the Clomid. Slowly increasing the amount each cycle. NOTHING. Progesterone cream was next. It kept me menstruating, albeit not regularly. (It smelled terrible, and I hated it.) Oh and I forgot to mention, all this time I was tracking my Basal Body Temperature daily... watching the numbers on the chart and praying for the blessed peak that meant my body was doing something right. So much Anxiety! One thing the charting told us, was that I wasn't ovulating. "Oh, you're an-ovulatory," they told me. Again with the almost total lack of concern. Again with the insistence that I couldn't possibly have PCOS. 

After 18 months of basal body temperature tracking, pill popping, crazy periods, nasty cream, ovulation detection kits... Nothing. (Unless marital strife and the depths of anxiety and depression are results worth mentioning.) Finally, I was referred to see a Reproductive Endocrinologist. An appointment was made with the help of my insurance company (which was quick to explain that any treatment by this specialist would not be covered.) 

And so Anthony and I arrived at the Utah Fertility Center on a lovely July day in 2011 to meet with Dr. Faulk for a consult. We were seated across from him in his office for 30 seconds when he pronounced a diagnosis of PCOS by simply glancing at a lab result that had been taken over a year earlier by another doctor. He stated that it was one of the clearest cases of PCOS he had ever seen on a blood result. He then proceeded to describe to me each and every symptom I had suffered from up to that point. I cried. 6 years of being made to feel foolish had finally come to end. He did a quick pelvic ultrasound (which would be the first of MANY in coming months) to confirm the diagnosis. My ovaries looked like swiss cheese, there were so many cysts. He was honestly upset that the other doctors had ignored such obvious signs and promptly asked me for the name and number of the incompetent OBGYNs who had ignored my concerns. He then proceeded to lay out a potential treatment plan and sent me home with prescriptions for clomid and metformin to start the process of fertility treatments.  For the first time in 6 years, there was light at the end of a very dark tunnel. I felt HOPE, something I had forgotten existed.

My PCOS is quite severe. On top of the PCOS I also had extensive Fallopian tube scarring from a gangrene infection following my burst appendix (a story for another day) and difficulties with my uterine lining. It took A LOT of medication (pills, shots, suppositories) and a number of minor procedures (2 very painful HSG tests, endless ultrasounds) to achieve a pregnancy. The process of fertility treatments is both physically and emotionally draining. It took every last ounce of my energy and faith to complete each cycle. The first successful pregnancy ended in a heartbreaking and physically excruciating miscarriage. 

After that I wanted to be done for a time, I just didn't think I could take another miscarriage or even another month of the invasive process. Thankfully, Mr. Jenkins convinced me to try just one more time and from that treatment cycle, we got our precious Calvin. Truly a long-awaited miracle.

In many ways, I am now grateful for our trials with infertility. Memories of the long, difficult process of diagnosis and treatment help me remember to never take my child for granted, to shower him with more love than he can handle, and to never waste a single day or minute that I have with him. 

I wish I could say that was THE END of our infertility story. For some women with PCOS, a successful pregnancy can "reset" their reproductive system in a sense and they are able to have further children without the assistance of fertility treatments. Unfortunately, I don't currently fit that mold.

And so, as Calvin's first birthday approaches all too quickly, I am reminded of my dreams of a large family with children close in age. A familiar emptiness begins to seep in these days as I wonder whether Calvin will have other siblings and when. This time around, the questions have changed from "When do you think you'll have a baby?" to "How close together do you want your children?" and "When will you have another?" These questions carry the same sting and heartache, as my familiar response of "Only God knows" escapes my lips. 

This time around, the anxiety and pain are accompanied by a certain level of guilt. I feel guilt and pain as I stare into Calvin's sweet, smiling face and already long to be pregnant again. Not because he isn't everything I ever wanted but because just the thought of him growing up alone might shatter me into a million pieces. Really, the wide array of feelings that go along with infertility struggles are impossible to describe.

I don't share these memories and feelings with you lightly, and certainly not because I want your pity. I'm sharing this today because I believe that infertility is too often a silent battle surrounded by unnecessary shame. I share these things because infertility encompasses its own brand of incredible loneliness and perhaps one of you needs to know that you are not as alone as you feel. 

I know many couples who have suffered longer and harder than we did. I do not claim to be the expert on infertility nor do I think my story is incredibly unique. Hopefully, others who have struggled will lend their voices to this cause in their own way and in their own time.

In honor of National Infertility Awareness Week, I encourage you to learn more about infertility. Do some research for yourself or for someone you love. If you are suffering through infertility in any of its stages, please reach out for the help you may need. Perhaps from a doctor, a therapist, a spouse, a family member, or a friend--but don't suffer alone. If someone you know or love is suffering from infertility, educate yourself and be available to them, but only on their own terms. Whatever you do, don't offer unsolicited advice or condolences and don't kid yourself into thinking you know that they are going through. Even if you have suffered through infertility, it is different for every couple who faces it.

One last warning to the wise... If you find yourself wanting to ask someone about their plans for starting or growing a family, just don't. It is their business, not yours. If they want you to know something, they will share it with you. This is true whether they are facing infertility or not. Tread lightly.