You are here
Pregnancy After Infertility
a blog by murgdan
I’m pregnant. Pregnant after infertility. Pregnant after IVF.
It has a special flavor — so sweet that it begs to be savored to the last drop. Seeing the second line on a pregnancy test after dozens of white one-liners was like a breath of fresh air. I held the test in my hand, gazed into the mirror in front of me and said to myself, “I’m pregnant.”
I squealed. I jumped. I danced. I ran to my husband and exploded in excitement.
In that one moment, my world felt right again.
It’s hard to describe the change in my psyche that has resulted from this occurrence. It’s as if all the disappointment, hurt, and anger that was carried just at the surface for the last few years has sunk deep into another place. I could never say the pain of infertility disappears, but its hold on me is fleeting.
A little over one year ago we received our diagnosis. I can remember driving home that day in the car, tears pouring down my face like so many raindrops. I was frightened and ignorant. I didn’t understand the endless cascade of acronyms that were being showered down on me. ICSI, IVF, FET. I was overwhelmed with the numbers of counts and levels . . . and dollars.
I’ve driven home crying a few times in the last couple of weeks, only this time my tears are not infused with sadness. I weep tears of joy. I weep tears of celebration. I find myself at the peak of happiness and simultaneously on the precipice of fear and anxiety. Early pregnancy does not feel like the safe cloak of relief I imagined it to be. I celebrate each day as a victory. Each day brings me one careful step closer to the baby I’ve dreamed of for so long.
Times with my husband are no longer spent in uncomfortable discussions about the limits of our finances or our resolve to continue on the fertility treatment journey. He is happy. While he once questioned whether or not IVF was the right decision for us, it is no longer a part of the discussion. We simply are where we are, and how we got here isn’t the most important thing.
My world feels right again.
It’s as if our initial diagnosis pushed my head underwater and I’ve spent the last year holding my breath and struggling desperately to reach the surface again. The diagnosis of pregnancy is that gasping breath of fresh air as my head emerges from the murky depths. I’m still here, treading water.
I imagine I’ll be treading water until we reach the second trimester…but at least I can breathe.