There are many stages of the grief of infertility. There is the initial nervousness when trying to conceive a pregnancy isn’t happening as quickly as you’d hoped. There is the shock of a first miscarriage, the complete crisis of self from a third or fourth miscarriage. There is the invasion of tests and procedures, the mania of Clomid treatments, the silence in the ultrasound room when the tech can’t find a heartbeat, the devastation of years of no lines on the pregnancy tests. There is wanting so badly to give up, there’s the determination to never give up. There is feeling as if your heart has literally broken in half, and there is the numbness of the exhaustion of constant heartache. Every single step of this journey is valid. Every infertility warrior deserves to be where he or she is at this very moment.
But this site isn’t about infertility.
My husband and I endured four years in the battle. We lost four pregnancies, including one ruptured ectopic. By the time a reproductive specialist sat across a big, important-looking desk and told us that, even with multiple $20K attempts at medical intervention, our individual “anomalies” gave us a combined 96% chance of failure, we knew we’d just been given our answer.
We were done. This was the end of our fight. And strangely, we were at peace. And at that point, we finally began to heal.
That is what this site is about, the last stage of grief. Not a place of hopeless defeat but of hopeful acceptance. It’s a place to show the world that a life after unsuccessful infertility doesn’t have to be a sentence. It’s a place of understanding the needs of life after infertility, free from the reminders of what we don’t have. Instead, it’s a place to celebrate the perks we do have: more sleep, less laundry, splurges on the finer things, last minute date nights, making love in the middle of the afternoon. It’s not a place of pity over empty arms. Instead, it’s a place to celebrate a life crammed full of as much joy, passion, and life as we had always hoped. We don’t have to simply survive; we can thrive!
(That said, if you’re an infertility warrior still in the middle of your fight and seeking support: first of all, you are not alone and this is not your fault. I know this is terrifying, but it’s not your new normal. Even if it feels like things are never going to be okay again, I promise you they will. And finally, I wholeheartedly recommend wandering over to Ever Upward. Author Justine’s words are like a salve to the soul.)