Friday, November 30, 2012


The conversation went something like this: "You should write a blog. I read a lot of blogs written by other women going through the same thing you are going through, and maybe you would find it helpful to commiserate with other women who understand where you are coming from."

Nine years ago, on this day, I took that advice from my dear friend Sandra, signed up for a "blogger" account, and began to type. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined what a journey my blog would take me on.

Sandra was right; there WERE a lot of other women out there going through the same thing I was going through. Specifically, infertility.

At the time I started my original blog, we had been trying to get pregnant for nearly two years. We had JUST consulted with an RE (reproductive endocrinologist) and had started going through actual procedures, not simply pill-popping clomid and hoping for the best.

There are some of you reading this who have been on my entire blog journey with me. There are others of you reading this who may have no idea what I am talking about. Suffice it to say, so so SO much has happened in the last nine years that I have been able to chronicle here in my little piece of the online world. For me, blogging was my original "social network." When I was having an emotion, or having a "day," or had big or small news to share, I turned to my blog. Sometimes I recieved feedback, sometimes not, but every time I wrote it cleansed my soul.

Before Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and all those other sharing networks, I had my blog. At first I kept it very private and only shared it anonymously with the other women I had met online who were also blogging about IUI's, progesterone shots, and HCG levels. They understood my language, my arduous schedule with my many doctors, and my roller coaster of emotions that turned on a dime. At the time I could have been having the best day in the world, and suddenly I would be in a store and see a pregnant woman walk in and know that the rest of my day (and my sanity) was going to go right down the toilet.

A recurring theme in the early years of my blog was that I wished I could be given the gift of a crystal ball. The most difficult part of infertility was the "not knowing." Over and over I wished for clairvoyance. "If I could just know for certain that what we are doing will someday result in a child, I'd feel better about continuing." The not knowing was heartbreaking. Do we just keep going through IVF cycle after IVF cycle, praying that ONE of these times it would work out? When do we know when to quit and say "enough is enough?" If we could only see into the future and know for sure, it would all be worth it.

If I could have looked nine years into the future then, could I have ever predicted all this? Since I began blogging, I endured a total of five IVF cycles. I miraculously got pregnant, had twenty-one weeks of twenty-four hour "morning sickness," and at long last gave birth to a precious baby girl.

...A baby girl who will turn SEVEN YEARS OLD next week. Wow.

I ironically got pregnant with NO MEDICAL HELP - twice - after we resolved to be done trying to have another child. Both pregnancies ended in miscarriage. And at that point I resolved that I would only ever birth one child, and made sure of it.

In the time since I started blogging, we built a house, moved, and enjoyed it for neearly seven years. During those years my marriage slowly changed and piece by piece began deteriorating. I changed jobs and went back to work for the company where I met the father of my beautiful daughter. I became an aunt, not once or twice but three times. I started running and, once I decided to take it seriously, I ran five half-marathons and two full marathons. We sold our beautiful house and I moved back to my hometown, this time as a single mom, never in a million years anticipating divorce.

Everything has changed in the last nine years. Everything. And yet the blog is still here, still keeping me company, still being my faithful therapist. I may not visit as often as I should, but it doesn't judge. It is steadfast and pure, and it continues to hold a mirror up to my inner soul, revealing the true me.

To those who have read over the years, I thank you for coming along on this journey.

Perhaps everything situationally has changed. But I am still here, still surviving.

Still me.

A forever grateful me.