Infertility During a Pandemic: The One-Two Punch

Infertility.

“You have a 50% chance of getting pregnant.” 

“Wait. A what?”

“A 50% chance…at best.”

I desperately wanted to ask more questions. My mind was swimming in them. How could this be happening? Why me? Why now? How do we fix it? But instead, I found myself paralyzed by my own thoughts. My heart sank. Tears were imminent. I felt broken.

I spent the rest of that Telehealth appointment in a daze. I went through the motions, nodding my head as the fertility specialist spoke to me in soothing tones. I blinked back tears as she outlined a game plan, talking about blood work that would need to be done, and yet another procedure to further evaluate my chances of conceiving. I tried appearing calm as I searched frantically for pen and paper to scrawl down her list of recommended vitamins, my shaking hands rendering the words completely illegible.

And just when I thought I had pulled off the most Oscar-worthy performance of composure in my lifetime…

“And Sarah? None of this can start until after COVID-19 clears up. Unfortunately, fertility services have not been deemed essential.”

According to guidelines issued by the American Society for Reproductive Medicine that meant: No new treatment cycles (ovulation induction, IUIs, IVF), no non-urgent diagnostic procedures, and no elective surgeries.

It was the one-two punch I never saw coming. First, the diagnosis of infertility, then the sad reality that there would be no start date, no definitive light at the end of the tunnel, no tests to give me clarity on what was happening inside of my own body.  My hope of expanding my family now just a distant dream, always slightly out of reach.

“You have a 50% chance of getting pregnant.”

Those words rang in my ear long after the appointment was over.

I don’t know why it came as such a surprise. I had been to a fertility doctor before. In 2017, a series of “routine tests” turned into an enigmatic diagnosis. Doctors discovered I wasn’t ovulating, but couldn’t tell me why. Then, more bad news; an ectopic pregnancy.

I watched on a monitor as the dye was slowly injected into my uterus, filling up one Fallopian tube. The other side remained dark. The doctor stopped short of calling it a total blockage and instead called for another test. That’s how I remember it anyway, but the doctor running my Telehealth appointment saw something different.

I never ended up getting that follow-up test, because a few months later, during a break in my infertility treatment, I got pregnant. I naively assumed, the birth of my beautiful rainbow baby meant an end to my fertility issues, but I was wrong. After six months of trying with no success, I reached out to my doctor hoping for a pep talk and walked away with a referral. Apparently, six months is the magic number when you’re 35.

To all those women out there spending Governor Gretchen Whitmer’s “Stay Home” Order in isolation; alone with their own thoughts; fighting their own demons; managing their own mental health – I see you. You are not alone in your infertility struggle.

To the women whose tests are now on hold; whose treatment cycles have been paused; whose eggs can’t be retrieved; who can’t get their next round of shots; to the women who have been going this route for months and years, only to have it all come to an abrupt halt – I see you. You are not alone in your infertility struggle

To those of you fielding the uncomfortable questions; sweetly smiling as you’re asked for the 85th time when you’ll be having that next baby, or if you want to have kids, or what’s taking so long – I see you. You are not alone in your infertility struggle

To the women scrolling through social media; ducking and dodging all those pregnancy announcements; keeping a brave face on as you type “Congratulations!” for the birth of someone’s second, third, or even fourth child, when all you want is one – I see you. You are not alone in your infertility struggle.

To the ladies who find a way to fuel even the smallest glimmer of hope; whose hearts sink when only one line appears on the pregnancy test, but who muster the courage to take another one anyway; to the women who know the heartache each test can bring – I see you. You are not alone.

To those of you struggling in silence; who feel like this diagnosis somehow makes them inferior; who are afraid to come forward, and who feel alone throughout this process. I see you.

You are most definitely not alone. My name is Sarah, and I am 1 in 8.

If you have questions about fertility or would like to learn more, click here.