Two Years.

This month marks two years. Two years since Matt and I began trying to get pregnant. Two years of visits of gynecologists and fertility doctors and specialists. Two years of tests and procedures and pain and tears and new diagnoses and new medications. Two years of too many negative pregnancy tests to keep track of. Two difficult, heart-wrenching, excruciating years.

It's been two years, but it feels a bit more like a lifetime.

Friends, I was so naive at the beginning of this process. We "officially" started trying to get pregnant in July of 2014 because I figured we'd get pregnant right away, and I had done the math... Nine months from July is April, and I thought April would be a really nice month to have a baby. I shit you not, that was the actual thought process that my brain went though. I knew so little of the whole ovulation process and what goes into two people conceiving a child. I took for granted that I would be able to just snap my fingers and get pregnant whenever I wanted to. If teenagers can "accidentally" get pregnant after a night of unprotected sex, it wouldn't be hard for two people who are in love and have been together for over ten years to get pregnant, right? Wrong.

It's been hard. Really hard. It's been a silent struggle that we've been dealing with for two years, only sharing with the closest of friends and family. I feel so helpless, so vulnerable. There has been a lot of tears and sadness, and a lot of anger. Excessive weight gain and a neglect of my heath in a time where I should be doing my best to improve my health. It's been a hard season of life.

I've been diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome, aka PCOS. I had never heard of PCOS until we had our first visit with the fertility doctor. I won't bore you with all the details, but basically, my ovaries are filled with small cysts. This throws off the hormone levels in my body, and my eggs don't have the opportunity to fully mature. Essentially, I just don't ovulate, which obviously makes it very difficult for me to get pregnant. The list of symptoms for PCOS is basically a checklist of things I've struggled with for years, so it was almost nice to get the diagnosis and finally have an explanation for all of those issues. After going through some additional testing to make sure nothing else was impeding my ability to get pregnant, I began medication to help me ovulate. The hope was that this method alone would be enough to allow me to get pregnant, but so far, no luck.

Recently, a couple that we're very close with announced at a big gathering that they were pregnant. Matt and I accidentally missed the official announcement, so they pulled us aside to tell us in private since they knew what we have been going though. I tried my best to look excited and congratulate them, but then I immediately went to the bathroom, locked myself in, and spent the next 40 minutes sobbing. I was happy for them, but so, so sad for us. Not exactly my proudest moment.

I know that Matt and I will eventually be parents. Aside from a brief period of time a few years ago when I was feeling selfish and thought maybe I'd rather not have children, instead spending my time and money traveling the world, I've always wanted to be a mother. And if you have ever met my husband, then you know he's going to be the most incredible dad ever. Seriously. I know that without a doubt, and I can't wait to raise kids with him. I want nothing more than to experience pregnancy, and to experience it naturally, but I am frustrated by how difficult this process has been for us. I'm not a big fan of things that aren't "natural", and I already hate that I have to take medication to help me attempt to get pregnant. Our next steps beyond this would be IUI (intrauterine insemination) or IVF (in vitro fertilization), both of which can get a bit costly and aren't really ideal in my book. Combining sperm and an egg in a petri dish in the hopes that they fertilize? Not exactly my idea of a romantic conception. Beyond those options, we would begin to explore adoption.

This has been a tough thing to go through not only because of the obvious reason (aka the whole not being able to have a child thing), but also because infertility is just something that's not really talked about. Unless you're a woman trying to get pregnant and you happen to have a friend that has also gone through this same thing, you feel like you don't really have anyone to talk to about it. You feel alone. There's almost a negative stigma attached to the issue of infertility, and it's just not a common topic of discussion. I am asked all. the. time. whether I have children and/or when Matt and I are planning to have kids. Can you image how people would react if I responded truthfully? If I said I don't know, I've been wondering the same thing myself? That we've been trying our hardest for two years and we're heartbroken that it hasn't happened yet? I guess my main reason for putting all of this out there is to just to open the discussion, say that I'm not ashamed of the "infertile" title that has been slapped on me, but also admit that I need help. That I, we, need your support during this time. Whether it's through prayer, happy thoughts, texts, phone calls, emails, or offers to join me during a fertility appointment to hold my hand when Matt's schedule doesn't allow him to join me (KB I love you always), we will take it. If you've been through this, reach out to me. If you have suggestions or tips or recommendations, send them my way. If you would pray for us, please do. It's been hard, and although I want to believe that this will all work out in the end, somedays it's hard for me to see beyond the negative pregnancy tests.

Thanks for being an open ear, friends. Much love to all.

Steph