It feels like a lifetime, the space between last spring and now - the space between retrieval and transfer.
I have been in an incubation period since our retrieval. I longed for alone time, time to nest and dive into the depths of my soul. I have uncovered so much, yet I know I can go even deeper. With the help of healing practitioners and time alone to unfurl, I’m can confidently say that I’m ready to move forward with no doubt or fear.
Remembering our Retrieval
Imagine pulling off your fingernails one by one and pounding nails into the flesh that’s exposed. That’s how emotionally intense going through infertility and IVF is. But now that I reflect on our retrieval time, I tell myself, “Nah, it wasn’t THAT bad.” It was exhausting, yes, but in a way, it was exhilarating and eye-opening to see what my body was capable of doing. I imagine pregnancy is much the same.
I’m blown away by science and all that doctors and researchers have learned (and continue to learn) to help us conceive. My doctor manipulated my hormones to grow 26 eggs in 2 weeks. You read that right, they harvested 26 eggs! When I woke up from anesthesia and they told me, I said, “I was aiming for 30, but that’ll do.” It’s not easy work, though, let me tell you. The shots hurt, I had acne, I was very swollen and gained 10 pounds, and my ovaries each felt like they each weighed 5 pounds. When I walked, I held my hands over my lower abdomen to try to protect my ovaries from flopping around so they wouldn’t have to cut them out. Yes, that’s a thing.
Out of the 26 eggs, 17 of them fertilized. Six of them made it to day seven and these were each biopsied and sent off to Colorado (where Graeme and I met, how symbolic!) to be tested for aneuploidy and chromosome abnormalities. In the end, we have three healthy embryos to work with. I can’t recall their grading, but the doctor said that two of them look really good, and the third is a “bonus” embryo. Whatever that means. For us, they are so much more than cells in petri dishes. They are massive glimmers of hope. I imagine then as fat, blond babies.
My gratitude has no limit for my supportive partner, Graeme. He administered my 2-3 shots daily, came to every appointment with me, and nourished me with his support, cooking and never-ending encouragement. I am constantly inspired by the magnitude of his loving, gentle nature.
Thankfully, I found a lot of humor in the process and caught myself giggling uncontrollably many times throughout those few weeks. Hormone shot, anyone?
Incubating the Time Between
This summer, I didn’t want to make plans. I craved alone time and space. Space to breathe into what I’m feeling, space to wake up and sit outside and listen to the bird songs, space to be. And I’ve experienced a lot of that. I’ve created space in my life, in our life, for this next phase of our journey. We pray that it’s the parenthood journey, that’s the ultimate hope. Hope is paramount.
I relaxed and enjoyed being in my body instead of constantly focusing on creating a fertile environment and consuming myself with the “dos” and “don’ts” of what you should physically do while trying to conceive. I lifted weights, sipped on wine and tequila and went for runs. We traveled to Iceland and Paris and reveled in one another’s company without having to worry about the upcoming retrieval. At the end of the summer, we went back to Ontario and spent a week at the cottage with family and friends and went on a 2-night canoe trip into the Canadian wilderness. This summer was full of fun, alone time, exercise, solitude, tears, processing some of my biggest fears, and joy. My (our) quality of life has increased. We’ve been preparing the soil, making life sacred. What we focus on, grows.
I’ve held on to infertility so long. It’s been my enemy, my friend, my confidant. She opened my eyes to so much. She made life more beautiful, more sacred, more painful. She’s made me feel unworthy and forgotten, and she’s also helped me love myself and opened my heart to be able to receive love. She’s pointed out to me the fragility of life and how much of a miracle human life is. I’m thankful for that.
We are all so vulnerable and exquisitely made.
I realized that a part of me was afraid to let her go. What happens if the transfer works and I’m not walking around with this label anymore? What will my excuse be for when I’m having a bad day and want something to blame? What can I be angry about if I don’t have infertility? Oh yeah, I am not angry anymore! I’ve let that shit go. Bye, Felicia.
People who endure infertility ought to get an honorary degree in reproductive medicine. We learn so much! Deep down, I always knew I’d go through this. I felt that if I can go through this experience, I will be ready for motherhood. And part of that is true. The endless nights of tears, the constant thoughts buzzing in my head, the grace that infertility has taught me about how to love, that is what has prepared me for motherhood. And while there is no guarantee that I will indeed be a mother to another human life, I know that these lessons are invaluable as I continue to have relationships with friends, family, my husband, animals and all of life that surrounds me.
You cannot do anything about infertility, and unfortunately, it’s going to become more and more common. Our collective environment is a lot more toxic than it used to be. People took it for granted 50 years ago. Fertility is declining and I believe it’s calling us to wake up and do everything we can to create a fertile environment within. What does it mean to be fertile in every area of your life? Your bank account, your work, and if you’re on this same journey as me, your fertility. Ground, surrender, allow. Create an intentional, sacred journey with life. It’s really so beautiful.
Honoring the Process and Moving Forward
As we move forward through our transfer process, I want to remember to honor my life no matter what I’m moving through. In this moment, I am made up of equal parts grief and gratitude. I think it’ll always be that way, through all of life’s joy and sorrow.
I feel ready. I’m ready to move on from this story, from this label. She’s done her job, and now it’s time for her to let go, for me to let go. She taught me to listen and HOW to listen. I honor days where I’m depressed, anxious, and sad. And I drink in the good days like a fine wine.
We’ve created a loving home for our baby to come into. A home of deep respect for one another and the land we live on. We have 5 years of planning behind us of fun things we’ll do with our children and how we’ll teach them about life.
My fertility journey helped me create the life I want to live, and through what Graeme and I have learned together, we are stronger than ever and are building the life that we are meant to live.
So, here we go. I feel ready, I feel calm. Graeme texted me the other day and said, “I’m so ready.” This meant the absolute world to me. To have a baby to hold in our arms is our ultimate dream. It’s impossible to not get attached to that outcome, but we’re doing our best. Let’s see what the next chapter of life has in store for us.
Perhaps infertility is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Oh, and by the way, we’re choosing not to disclose our transfer date or any details because the element of surprise is important to us. We hope to have good news for you in the months ahead.
Thank you for reading. xo