A few months back, my OB-GYN introduced me to the term “secondary infertility” during a routine appointment. My partner and I felt prepared to expand our family two years ago, filled with hope and anticipation for baby number two. However, each passing month has transformed our initial excitement into anxiety and heartache, leaving us two years later without the addition we so desperately desired.
Our first child, a daughter, took about nine months and several rounds of Clomid to conceive. Naturally, when we decided to try for a second, my doctor prescribed Clomid right away, and I expected it to work just as it had before. Unfortunately, it didn’t.
After six months on Clomid and numerous lab tests, our doctor suggested artificial insemination. The thought was daunting, and honestly, we were skeptical about pursuing that route. Upon researching, I found that the success rates for the procedure range from 10-20%. Given the financial implications and the low probability of success, we decided to keep trying the traditional way.
In my quest for answers, I explored various options, including acupuncture, massage, and essential oils. I even indulged in some quirky old wives’ tales, like consuming copious amounts of pineapple. In a moment of vulnerability, I consulted a psychic who confidently assured me I would be pregnant by fall—or else! Desperate for reassurance, I prayed for a sign, hoping for a divine message to guide me. Alas, if the sign was there, I missed it.
I diligently tracked my cycles and took ovulation tests, all while reminding my partner that it was time for “timed intercourse.” It’s a peculiar experience trying to make intimacy feel special amidst the stress of timing—trust me, we’re not the only couple struggling with this.
I recognize that many couples endure far longer battles with infertility, and there are days when I question whether I have the right to feel this way, especially since we have a child. Yet, the weight of my sorrow is undeniable. The tears I’ve shed are real, and my husband shares in this heartache. Why should anyone feel as though they must justify their grief?
We made a pact a year ago to continue trying until the end of this year, and now here we are. My emotions fluctuate daily—sometimes I feel grateful for our family of three, while other times I mourn the sibling I couldn’t provide for my daughter. I never envisioned our family as complete with just one child; that was never the plan. Coming to terms with the fact that I can’t control this situation has been incredibly challenging. Each negative pregnancy test feels increasingly difficult to bear. How much longer can I walk past an empty crib? How long should I hold onto baby toys and those adorable little outfits?
Few understand the depths of my pain. It’s profound, a heartache that resonates in my very bones. I’m fortunate to have a supportive circle of friends who listen, cry, and stand by me. Many people are wary of asking if a couple plans to expand their family, and I appreciate that sensitivity. But we shouldn’t shy away from these discussions. For a long time, I kept our struggles private, fearing I would jinx our chances. However, as time passed, I realized the importance of sharing our journey. No one should suffer in silence.
People often say, “Just stop worrying, and it will happen,” but that’s a cliché that doesn’t help. What do you say to someone who has just experienced a failed IVF procedure or a miscarriage? There are no words that can truly comfort. I found myself replaying phrases like “if it’s meant to be” and “everything happens for a reason.” But why couldn’t we conceive? Am I a bad person? A bad parent? What did I do to deserve this? Eventually, I came to understand that sometimes there isn’t a reason. Life can be unfair, and that’s just the reality.
As we navigate this phase of life where friends and family are welcoming babies, I feel both excitement and sadness. My hope is that one day, this will be a distant thought. I want to grieve the dreams I had for my family and accept that things are as they should be. After all, moments—good or bad—are fleeting.
In conclusion, secondary infertility is a complex and often isolating experience. If you or someone you know is navigating this journey, it’s essential to talk about it. Resources like this excellent article on pregnancy and home insemination and this informative piece on artificial insemination can be invaluable. Remember, you are not alone.