I’m seated on my patio, a glass of wine in hand, while my 8-pound dog, resembling an inquisitive little alien, lounges on my lap. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow over everything, and we appear completely at ease. A few hours later, I’m at a bar, surrounded by my husband and friends, sharing laughter over a funny story while we try to balance our muddled fruit cocktails.
What remains hidden from view are the tears I’ve just wiped away. Earlier, I spent four long hours at a fertility clinic undergoing extensive testing to uncover the reasons for our struggles with conception. Why was this journey so challenging for us? A doctor later delivered what she termed “unfortunate news” in a stark, bare office. As I stared at the collar of her shirt, she explained that while pregnancy was still a possibility, it would likely end in multiple miscarriages. My uterus might never sustain a pregnancy to full term. In an instant, my world shattered; I felt utterly deflated.
Now, I find myself in front of an RV with my husband and two friends, embarking on a one-way cross-country adventure. Over the next eighteen days, we’ll traverse thousands of miles, capturing memories of quirky cafes, vibrant landscapes, and thrilling experiences. Every image chronicles a remarkable journey.
What you can’t see is how every ounce of my determination has been poured into planning this trip as a means of escape. I needed to envision a life without children and see if we could manage it. Just four days into our travels, I received a call from a new specialist. After a 3D ultrasound, I learned I had been misdiagnosed. Though my uterus had issues, they were operable. After months of despair, I finally felt grounded again.
At a friend’s wedding, I’m posing with familiar faces I haven’t seen in ages, dancing to nostalgic songs and laughing like we did back in college. I smile for a photo, squeezing in between old friends, while someone nearby cradles a burgeoning baby bump.
What you can’t see is my breathlessness. My husband and I just rushed from our car—strategically parked between two towering trees—to administer the injections required for our first round of IVF. Despite the surgery to my uterus, I still faced negative pregnancy tests after our failed IUI. We were desperate for the emotional rollercoaster to end.
Dressed in festive attire, I pose next to my husband, who has his eyes half-closed. I post it anyway; it’s the only decent picture of us in our holiday best. Luminaries light our sidewalk, and we appear enthusiastic for our annual celebration. In the next photo, I’m laughing with family and friends, while my sister sings and others dance to cheerful holiday tunes. A typical person might have canceled.
What you can’t see is the recovery I’m undergoing. My stomach strains against my dress, a reminder of earlier that day when I underwent anesthesia for my second egg retrieval during round two of IVF. I was thrilled to hear they retrieved 30 eggs, but behind the scenes, pain set in before our guests arrived, and I worried all night about overexerting myself. I desperately wanted to enjoy the laughter around me, but inside, I felt increasingly hollow.
At happy hour with my husband and brother-in-law, the bar is nearly empty—who goes out for drinks on a Tuesday?
What you can’t see is that these drinks are meant to lift my spirits. IVF has failed again, leaving me feeling defeated. My husband assures me he loves me and that we’ll find happiness together, regardless of children. But I’ve always dreamt of motherhood, and I long to see him embrace fatherhood.
As I read “Gone Girl,” I share a photo of my teal manicure, humorously featuring a mustache on my ring finger. I joke about sociopaths and post an adorable picture of my dog sprawled across my lap.
What you can’t see is the weight of my experience—after a corrective surgery, an IUI, and two rounds of IVF, I underwent my first frozen embryo transfer earlier that day. I’m physically and emotionally paralyzed, terrified to move from the couch, even for a shower.
In a Colonial Williamsburg gift shop, I showcase my 22-week baby bump, announcing my pregnancy to the world.
What you can’t see is the underlying fear; even at 22 weeks, I worry this might not last. After a threatened miscarriage and bed rest, everything still feels precarious. Yet, I share the moment, yearning for a semblance of normalcy.
Now in the hospital, I’m cradling my baby. Below the photo, the caption reads something like, “It’s been a long road, but we made it.” I look pale yet proud; it’s our first family picture. Everyone assumes I’m referring to going 11 days past my due date, but in truth, it reflects the entire journey that brought us here.
What you can’t see is that my delivery did not unfold as we hoped. My placenta attached to the uterine wall, resulting in significant blood loss. You also can’t perceive the two subsequent surgeries that followed. My eyes carry a vacant look after I refused a blood transfusion in a moment of panic and confusion, struggling through the motions of healing.
Now, I’m posing with my daughter, surrounded by my in-laws who are visiting for the holidays, ready to open gifts.
What you can’t see is that I’m experiencing a miscarriage. While their plane touched down around midnight, I was battling nausea and praying for a miracle. The bleeding began, and it wouldn’t stop. After finally conceiving naturally, I faced losing the baby just nine weeks later.
I’m posing with my daughter once again. This time, we’re at the beach. She proudly displays her belly while I show mine, appearing cool, calm, and collected at 17 weeks pregnant. She’s absolutely adorable.
What you can’t see is the relief washing over me. Perhaps this chapter is finally coming to a close. I’m happy, scared, and relieved—all at once. I feel fortunate, exhausted, and ready for whatever comes next.
That’s what you can’t see.
For further insights into home insemination, consider checking out this excellent resource on pregnancy from UCSF.
Summary
This narrative illustrates the complex emotions surrounding the journey of infertility, highlighting the contrasts between public perception and private reality. It captures moments of joy and despair, revealing the struggles behind seemingly happy moments in life, ultimately emphasizing the resilience of the human spirit. For those seeking information on self-insemination, resources like the Cryobaby at-home insemination kit can be invaluable.