The “I” Word
Contributing post by: Mandy Ogaz
Infertile. There, I said it.
I said the word that had become a near swear word in our house. It was right up there with the word, “fat” (said with distaste and a very HARD ‘t”). My husband always asked why I said the two words with such disgust. I think the reason is obvious; they are both ugly words that shouldn’t be used or repeated. So, instead of repeating that first word, we’ll just refer to it as the “I” word.
We had been married for a couple of years and my hubby was getting anxious. “This year is the year”, we proclaimed and fully expected that it would be. Ok, so both my grandmother and mother had issues with the “I” word, but that was beside the point. It had never crossed my mind that I might have a problem with the “I” word as well. You never think those sorts of things will actually happen to YOU.
And so it began…we didn’t get pregnant that first year, or the year after, or for several years in fact. And I became known as an “I” word. Ugh.
I was living on two week cycles. Menstrual period. Check. Wait two weeks. Check. Ovulation. Check. Trying. Check. Wait two weeks (live on anxiety and stress while trying to be calm cause everyone says that helps!) Check. Wait one more day. And maybe just one more. I tell myself not to get my hopes up, ‘cause I’m probably just late. But I’m never late. I am like clockwork. So I take a pregnancy test…
The devastation was always harder than I can even explain. I had been living guarded, trying not to hope, but deep down I was begging and pleading for it to happen. It literally took all I had (and sometimes more than that) to face another month on this two week cycle. More tests, more experiments, more pain (physical and emotional), more inseminations and more clomid (which I have lovingly named hell in a bottle). More months living on two week cycles, all the while feeling that the Lord didn’t trust me enough to have a child; feeling like I was doing something wrong, but didn’t know what; feeling like a failure; feeling broken; feeling that there was something I wasn’t doing to become a good mother, but what?; feeling like this despair would never end.
And then people’s comments only added to the discouragement and at times, anger.
I remember vividly the time I told a neighbor I was nervous about our first “I” appointment. Her response still makes my blood boil. “You shouldn’t be worried about not having children now because you’ll have them in the eternities.” Seriously?! She obviously didn’t understand my pain. And so I started to shut others out.
The “I” word hurts more than most people can imagine. It is a pain that can’t well be explained. It is a pain wrapped up in a feeling of failure, inferiority, hopelessness, guilt, anger, confusion, questioning, loneliness, and despair. It is a pain so personal that it isn’t shared with almost anyone.
And THAT, is where I began to learn.
I learned that it was ok to cry when I needed it.
Sob when I needed it.
Punch a pillow when I needed it. Then punch the pillow again.
I learned the fine line between hoping and despair.
I learned that there are memories and friends to be made
along the way.
As I said, the pain and the comments drove me to silence, but it wasn’t until I learned to SHARE that the pain seemed to dull. I felt I was the only person passing through this pain and was resentful at friends and neighbors who seemed to be unaware of my situation and even worse, empathetic. Until I realized that I wasn’t letting them in. How could they be sympathetic if they didn’t know? Is that to say that people won’t still make stupid remarks? No, they will. But you will find that others will come to you. They will share with you and you will both understand each other. It is then that you make memories and friends.
Now, I have the ability to actually speak the words, “I have issues with infertility”. I no longer feel that being infertile means that I am the one and only, or that I don’t belong, or that I am a failure. Now, being infertile means being part of a group of strong women who are willing to fight for something great. Being infertile means growing and learning through the pain. Being infertile means sharing, empathizing and understanding. Being infertile means pain and agony, tears and struggles, but it does not mean failure.
Being infertile means that I have the opportunity to LISTEN to others who are suffering. Being infertile means that I can EMPATHIZE with their pain. Being infertile means that I can give them HOPE.
PS – Part of that HOPE means laughing a little, even at your own situation. We still joke that we were going to have hamster children (Only some of you will truly understand why that is funny!) and about holding our little white styrofoam box in the waiting room (Oh, how I would have loved to crawl in a hole during these moments if it weren’t for my husband’s great sense of humor). My husband still “wonders” why all the men left the insemination room with smiles on their faces! And I shake my head remembering the first time we had to give a “sample”. We both looked at each other and started cracking up. How can you be serious at that moment?!
Mandy Ogaz Vasquez
Smitten By Guest Contributor
A real-lovin’, practical kind of girl. No fluffs, lace or frills for me. No fake face or talk. Before having our girlies I even had a hard time with baby talk! But since having those two beautiful twin girls (invitro babies) whom we adore, you’ll find me humming baby songs from the moment I wake up. That doesn’t mean that we have not forgotten those who still ache for the chance to look into the face of that little baby in your arms. It is YOU who are in my thoughts and prayers daily. Somehow, someway, it will happen for you. Believe in it. And know that others believe it for you!
Please feel free to contact me if desired at or visit My Family Blog.
Comments
comments
I LOVE this! Just reading this makes me feel we’d make great friends. We struggled with infertility as well, years of trying (doing all the same things mentioned) and finally breaking down and setting up an invitro consultation before we finally conceived our son…on our own! We went through the same heartbreak mentioned and the same “comments” made, the worst for us was how insensitive my husband’s family was to the issue. But now we have 2 adorable babies, a 2 1/2 year old son (we call him miracle baby #1) and a 9 month old daughter (miracle baby #2 both because of our infertility struggles and because she tried to leave us too soon with an undetected heart condition but pulled through beautifully) and couldn’t be happier. I am always heartbroken for others who are experiencing infertility, I’m sad to say I have several great friends enduring the wait for children of their own, I just wish it didn’t exist and we could all have beautiful babies of our own to love and cherish! Thank you so much for sharing!
Mandy, this was beautiful. Really well-written, touching, hopeful, and from the heart. And I love the hamster baby reference.
Love you!
Beautiful, Mandy! You are so inspirational. I know that I cannot understand but just a TINY bit of what you went through… trying to get pregnant and do it on your own timeline and it not happening until you learn how to be patient. I believe many of us can relate to that part. But I admire your courage, strength, determination, and willingness to share! Thank you for being a wonderful example to all of us women.
Hi Mandy,
Thank you for sharing this. A friend sent your site to me. I have recently come out of the “baby-clothes-less” closet to reveal my struggle with infertility. As a guarded person it’s been so difficult to share this with everyone! I have felt so defective. I share your feelings about Clomid. (Those are a doozie). We went through 4 unsuccessful treatments last year and we are giving it a rest this year. The big white “i” in the room is getting smaller the more we connect. Thanks so much, Joy
This is the “I’” mother Mandy referred to in her post. I’m Mandy’s Mom! She expressed so well the feelings of my heart as we waited almost 8 years before she came to our family. I think often of a saying that was posted in my infertility doctor’s office over 30 years ago. It said “All around us in nature we see lessons in patience and waiting. When we are required to wait a long time for something, it is all the more precious to us when it comes.” SHE is the precious daughter that we waited for! Thank you so much for putting into words feelings that many of us feel but hesitate to share. Your sharing lifts burdens and gives hope to many. I love you forever and always!!!
Thank you for sharing this touched so close to home after 4 1/2 years of trying we were able to adopt a beautiful little girl 15 months ago. I too had a hard day facing another month, week and a few points each day. It was very hard when all my friends were getting pregnant and having babies and making comments that I was next even know we knew this was not going to happen. As the years past and we got older and still no kids and living in Utah we would get lots of question or comments, “when are you going to have kids?” “Why no kids?” so we decided that are response would change each time so in a very joking manner we would respond ” I didn’t want to ruin my body by getting pregnant” or “who wants those sticky things” we would break out laughing each time. The worst was when family who knew asked “when are we going to get a baby out of you?” that was the hardest because you can’t brush them off as easy. So one day i sat down and wrote down my feelings. I hope I don’t offend anyone but it’s how I felt/ feel .
There are women that become mothers without effort, without thought, without patience or loss and they are good mothers and deserve and love their children.
I don’t believe that God never meant for me not to have children.
That’s not my destiny; that’s just a fork in the road I’m on.
I’ve been placed on the road less traveled, and, like it or not, I’m a better person for it.
Clearly, God meant for me to develop more compassion, deeper courage, and greater inner strength on this journey to resolution, and I haven’t let him down.
Frankly, if the truth be known, I think God has singled me out for a special treatment.
I think God meant for me to build a thirst for a child so strong and so deep that when that baby is finally placed in my arms, it will be the longest, coolest, most refreshing drink I’ve ever known.
I will be better not because of genetics, or money or that I have read more books but because I have struggled and toiled for this child.
I have longed and waited.
I have cried and prayed.
I have endured and planned over and over again.
Like most things in life, the people who truly have appreciation are those who have struggled to attain their dreams.
I will notice everything about my child.
I will take time to watch my child sleep, explore and discover.
I will marvel at this miracle every day for the rest of my life.
I will be happy when I wake in the middle of the night to the sound of my child, knowing that I can comfort, hold and feed them and that I am not waking to take another temperature, pop another pill, take another shot or cry tears of a broken dream.
My dream will be crying for me.
I count myself lucky in this sense; that God has given me this insight, this special vision with which I will look upon my child.
Whether I parent a child I actually give birth to or a child that God leads me to, I will not be careless with my love.
I will be a better mother for all that I have endured.
I am a better wife, a better aunt, a better daughter, neighbor, friend and sister because I have known pain.
I know disillusionment as I have been betrayed by my own body.
I have been tried by fire and hell many never face, yet given time, I stood tall.
I have prevailed.
I have succeeded.
I have won.
So now, when others hurt around me, I do not run from their pain in order to save myself discomfort.
I see it, mourn it, and join them in theirs.
I listen.
And even though I cannot make it better, I can make it less lonely.
I have learned the immense power of another hand holding tight to mine, of other eyes that moisten as they learn to accept the harsh truth and when life is beyond hard.
I have learned a compassion that only comes with walking in those shoes.
I have learned to appreciate life.
Yes I will be a wonderful mother
I believe we can all be great mothers but I make sure to cherish every moment I can, and when times are ruff and she is being difficult or not doing what I want or need her to do I remember what we went through to get her and take a step back and just enjoy the moment (this is not always easy). I hope this will help at least one person get through the dark days of the big “I”.
If I had to do it again I would as it has made me the Mom, Wife, Sister, Daughter, Granddaughter and Friend, It gave me time with my husband just the two of us that I will never get back and we were able to nourish our marriage so we could handle the stress of parenting. I was not able to see this until after we were blessed with our beautiful daughter.
Thanks again for sharing and the opportunity to share our stories as well.
Wow… I am inspired and touched. Thank you, thank you, thank you for sharing. Thank you all for being bold and speaking truth in love. My journey is hitting a milestone soon and it hurts so much. Been married for 12 years next week and been actively seeking God and doctors for 10. I think I’m ready to adopt , then I read about “birth mom” and I’m floored. How can I receive from such pain?