my story of infertility
We officially started trying to conceive one swelteringly hot night on a bumpy twin mattress in an airbnb in Honolulu, Hawaii. It was late 2018, about a week before my 32nd birthday. I had always felt nervous about my ability to get pregnant, but I was hopeful. And I was already romanticizing the story we would tell about creating life on this beautiful island.
But, as you may expect on a blog about infertility, we did not become pregnant that cycle. Nor the cycle after that. After ten more failed cycles, our doctor referred us to a fertility clinic.
We spent the next two years in and out of the clinic, an experience made longer and more difficult by the pandemic. We were finally given a diagnosis of unexplained infertility sometime in the summer of 2020. After two failed IUIs, we asked to try IVF.
I had (naïvely) high hopes for IVF, but was nervous. I didn’t know much about what the process would look like. I started listening to podcasts about others’ experiences to better understand the many courses of treatment available. After listening to a few episodes, I was horrified to learn how many stories ended in loss. We had already been at this for three years–that’s 36 cycles of hope and despair every time the pregnancy test came up blank. I didn’t think I could survive finally seeing that second line, only to lose the pregnancy soon after.
What followed, turned out, was even worse*. After my first few blood draws came back low, but climbing, I was given a handout on ectopic pregnancy symptoms to watch for. Following three agonizing weeks of blood tests and ultrasounds, the pregnancy was finally located in my left fallopian tube. I was given methotrexate on Christmas Eve to medically terminate the pregnancy.
Only that didn’t work and, a week later, I found myself in the emergency room awaiting surgery to not only remove the pregnancy that was so badly wanted, but also to save my life. The cumulation of grief was torrential.
*In no way am I trying to compare grief here. I only mean to say I hadn’t thought about having to deal with the added stress of the potential, life-threatening rupture that accompanies ectopic pregnancies since, you know, they were placing the embryo directly into my uterus.
where we are today
As I write this, it’s been just over one year since that first loss. I’m happy to say that I’m still here, I’m still trying, and–more days than not–I’m feeling happier and healthier than ever. This is true despite my second IVF transfer (and final embryo) resulting in a chemical pregnancy, a miracle natural conception that, sadly, resulted in an even more dangerous cornual ectopic and more surgery, and a second natural conception that ended in a missed miscarriage and MVA. There are still a lot of tears, of course, but I haven’t given up.
Last January, after my first ectopic, as I was trying to grapple with all that we had endured so far on this journey, I knew I needed a new plan if I was going to keep going. I slowly began to make a number of small changes in my life that, over time, really added up.
This time around, I wasn’t focusing on changes that would improve my fertility, but ones that would strengthen my mental and physical health in general. I tried to focus on what was making me feel good. And I did more of that. The changes were small: I made sure to set aside time every morning to read. I charged my phone outside my bedroom so that I could get better sleep (bonus advantage: I no longer doom scrolled pregnancy forums late at night). I resumed travel, even when it meant delaying my second embryo transfer.
All of these little things seemed unrelated at the time, but I have come to believe that many were things that helped me bring a little bit of awe back into my life. Awe that I had unknowingly been missing for so much of my infertility journey. I was always looking down at another negative pregnancy test, instead of focusing on the wonder of everything that was still going on around me.
Look, anxiety, sadness, and depression are all common and valid emotions that show up when trying to conceive. The last thing someone experiencing infertility needs to be told is to stop and smell the flowers, I know. But when we start down this path, none of us know how long the journey will be. For some people, it may only be four weeks. For others, it may be four months. And, for people like me, it may be four years or more. That’s a lot of missed flowers.
why awe is important for infertility
As my journey went from months to years, as the treatments became more challenging, and as I began to grapple with pregnancy loss, the darkness started to consume me. I knew that one day I was going to regret how much of life I was missing out on because of my infertility.
A lot of my intuition and understanding about the role of awe and infertility evolved slowly in the beginning. But things really clicked into place when I read Dacher Keltner’s book, Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life.
In it, Dacher describes Awe as “the feeling of being in the presence of something vast that transcends your current understanding of the world.” A powerful emotion, awe can break through a lot of the day-to-day noise that keeps us feeling stressed, anxious, and depressed, to unlock greater mental and physical well-being.
Let’s be clear: this blog is NOT about finding the awe in infertility. Infertility fucking sucks. It is a constant parade of stress, grief, and trauma. But that is exactly why awe is so important in times like these. As Dacher says, awe is “a pathway to healing and growing in the face of the losses and traumas that are part of life.”
So far in my journey, I have identified seven ways that awe has helped me live a happier and healthier life while navigating infertility, adapted from Dacher’s book.
1. Address the Awe Deficit
I think infertility can create an ‘awe deficit’ by denying people direct access to one of the universe’s greatest sources of awe: creating new life. Finding other sources of inspiration helped rebalance my awe baseline, so that the FOMO wouldn’t always feel so strong.
2. Let Go of Control
Awe helps me to let go of a little bit of control. I think some of the pain associated with infertility stems from the perceived repeated ‘failures’ to conceive and our self-critical and controlling default self. Experiences of awe help to quiet that harsh inner voice which started to sound a lot like Taylor Swift (I’m the problem, it’s me). I have found that this has helped me loosen my grip over trying to control the outcome of our treatments. I am able to see the bigger picture of infertility, which helps me surrender to the truth: that there are many factors at work beyond my own agency here.
3. Remain Open and Curious
Awe helps me stay curious. More than almost anything, I want answers for my unexplained infertility. After my first ectopic, I thought surely we would have more information to help determine next steps and better evaluate my chances for success. I was crushed when I learned that it was just “bad luck.” Awe can inspire wonder, which leads us to stay curious and be open to what the world has to offer. While cultivating curiosity about infertility is hard, staying curious about life in general has helped. It has given me greater patience in the face of the mysteries of infertility. And it encourages me to keep trying new things.
4. Rebuild Resilience Every Day
Finding small doses of awe has helped me rebuild my stores of strength and resilience every day. This has perhaps been the most important and transformative impact for me. Infertility is a daily battle. My mind is occupied with trying to stay on top of my cycle and my appointments with the clinic. And I am confronted with my infertility the moment I go outside and see a parent pushing their child in a stroller. While big sources of awe, like exploring new places, can provide a huge injection of inspiration for me, I find it ultimately dries up over time. By seeking awe every day, my ability to keep showing up and remain positive has significantly improved.
5. Feel Connected
Experiences of awe help me feel connected during what is otherwise an incredibly lonely and isolating process. In many ways, those suffering from infertility and pregnancy loss are expected to do so in silence. Taking part in group activities that inspire awe, like going for a hike with a friend, or consuming awe-inspiring stories and art helps to counter the frequent feelings of isolation on this journey.
6. Recover from Grief and Trauma
Pursuing the big doses of awe helped me recover from the grief and trauma of pregnancy loss. A few months after my first ectopic, we returned to Hawaii in an attempt to escape the pain of our loss. I had been experiencing frequent flashbacks and was struggling to find any hope. I remember how awe-inspiring it was to just be on those beautiful islands. While recovering from grief has been a long journey, that trip definitely helped to kick-start the healing process.
7. Find Joy and Purpose
I didn’t always think I wanted to have children. But when I finally decided that I did, I felt a rush of excitement thinking about the many ways in which becoming a parent would give new meaning to my life. Struggling with infertility has challenged me to find other ways I can leave my mark on this world. In the pursuit of awe, I have uncovered new truths that have shaken up my views on the world and my role within it. These epiphanies have helped guide me to other purposes in life that I have been able to focus on while I continue my pursuit of parenthood.
If you’re reading this story (and made it all the way to the end of this very long post) because you’re currently experiencing infertility, I see you and I am so sorry for your struggles. Thank you for being here.
I am still very much reading the literature and discovering the language and imprints of awe. On this blog, I want to share my personal journey with awe and infertility, in case it helps or inspires anyone else struggling out there.
Has it been easy to find awe while living with infertility? Hell no. But I do seem to have more good days then bad lately and that, I think, is a success worth sharing. Infertility sucks, but living with infertility doesn’t always have to.
Yours,
