A wise person once said, "The more you try to control something, the more it controls you. Free yourself, and let things take their own natural course." Now if only I were wise enough to live by these words. Usually I am firm believer that if you want something done, you have to do it yourself. I'm a total control freak. I like things to go a certain way-- my way. I've been this way for as long as I can remember. As a child, I had to be the one to make-up the games that my neighbors and I would play. I had to be the cashier in the pretend grocery store at Maw and Paw's house. I had to know every single detail of every shower or event that was planned for my wedding. However, infertility is something completely out of my control. I can’t control the fact that I can’t get pregnant. I can’t control the fact that this is happening to us. So far, I haven’t been able to control any aspect of it, and it has been a constant struggle and heartache.
It's taken me almost a year to come to terms with the fact that my husband and I are officially members of the infertility club. It's not a club that anyone chooses to join, but unfortunately, the club is overflowing with couples like Augie and me. Typically, I am a very private person. I have a select group of people in my life that I am an open-book with, but for the most part, I'm not the type to broadcast my personal life with my acquaintances.
I have battled with the decision to tell our infertility story for many months. Nevertheless, it wasn't until walking out of the doors of my first Sarah's Laughter Infertility and Infant Loss support group that I decided my story was worthy of telling. My sister in law and I had been contemplating the idea of going for many months. We heard about it from co-workers, as well as different Facebook groups filled with other couples that are also enduring the same journey and path that we walk. She and I decided that we both needed some relief and were willing to try anything. We wanted to be in the presence of people who were like us, too.
Like I’ve previously said, I'm a private person, so when we went to Sarah’s Laughter group, I had absolutely no intention of saying a word. Things quickly changed after multiple women willingly opened their hearts and began telling their infertility stories. I was moved to tears by their struggles. For the first time in weeks I finally felt like my feet were planted back on the ground, right in the middle of the small circle of these complete strangers. This felt like such a relief compared to the perpetual hovering I'd been feeling for weeks before. Each woman had a chance to tell her story. No one was pressured into saying anything; however, they all spoke effortlessly about this heart-wrenching topic. I pondered how they were able to be so strong, but I picked up on how they were able to be so comfortable in this room and how after each story, the rest of the women offered love, kindness, support, and advice. Before I knew it, I was “tagged” by another woman in the room to speak. I looked over at Bridgette, my wonderful, supportive best friend and sister in law, and found the extra courage I needed to start speaking. Before I knew it, I was telling our story out loud for the first time.
On September 3, 2014, exactly one month before my wedding, I got off of birth control. Two weeks later I started to notice these weird changes. First I noticed the facial acne, then came the excessively oily hair, and then finally, tiny, black hairs on my chin. Being the control freak that I am and panicking that my wedding was less than one month away, I immediately made an appointment with a local dermatologist. With one look at my face and no real examination, he told me I was a “textbook case of a hormonal imbalance.” When I left, I had a complete meltdown over the phone with my mom. I took the proper steps and then made an appointment with my wonderfully amazing OBGYN for the next week.
After panels and panels of blood work, she was able to come to the conclusion that I had PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome). PCOS is an extremely complex and poorly understood syndrome that affects ovulation. Basically, my endocrine system is out of whack. There are various symptoms. To my surprise I have a mild insulin resistance, which was causing multiple hormonal problems that I would’ve never known about had I stayed on the pill. Through the blood work, it was brought to my attention that I wasn’t ovulating. After another dramatic breakdown, I was prescribed Metformin to try and restore ovulatory function. Metformin isn’t a known cure, but it’s been proven to help women with insulin resistance regulate ovulation cycles. Even though Metformin sounds good, she is a monster. She totally messed up my GI track, and I struggled at first because of the stomach pains and constant trips to the bathroom. Fortunately, 1500 mg per day and almost six months later, I am proudly ovulating. But this only brushes the surface of our infertility struggle.
As it turns out, my sweet husband, Augie, faces his own infertility issues. To give a brief background story, in May of 2014, our first niece was born. Louie Ashton Ford has been the constant light in all of our lives and is fully responsible for bringing our family as close as it’s ever been. Louie was diagnosed with Down syndrome at birth. After some genetic testing, it was revealed that Louie did not have the most common form of DS that most babies with DS have. Louie has Translocation. Unlike the most commonly known form of DS, Trisomy 21, 1 in 3 people with Translocation have DS due to genetic material passed from a parent. Louie’s 14th chromosome broke in half and attached to her 21st chromosome. From there, her parents were tested because this form of DS can be passed for generations or it can be spontaneous mutation. Augie’s sister, Bridgette was then diagnosed with Balanced Translocation. In order for Augie to be tested, his parents had to be tested first and the results showed that Augie’s mother was a carrier of the gene, as well. Then came our turn. We met with the geneticist in Baton Rouge and ten days later, we were hit with the same results as his mother and sister. Augie is a carrier as well. Basically, what this means for us is if we would miraculously conceive a child naturally, we are looking at a 67% chance of miscarriage and a 15-20% chance of having a baby with Down syndrome which would increase with parent age, and a 15-20% chance of having a “typical” baby that may or may not be a carrier of the same chromosome abnormality. Obviously, this condition is very complicated.
While dealing with this news and once I finally got the call saying I was ovulating, Augie and I decided to actively keep trying to conceive. My OB said the next recommended protocol was to get Augie in for a semen analysis. Like any man would be, Augie was hesitant at first. He felt uncomfortable, unsure, and childish going into such a strange room of a hospital to do what should be private. But finally control freak-me convinced him to go in and get it done. His analysis was done on a Friday, and the next Tuesday I received a phone call while I was teaching. Having the hospital’s number saved in my phone, I answered. When my OBGYN spoke, I went completely numb. On the other end of the phone, my once hopeful doctor sounded hopeless. She informed me that the results of Augie’s analysis were not good. The results showed that Augie had a ZERO sperm count, which is consistent with traits of a man with a condition called Azoospermia. Hearing this felt like someone had taken the little jar that held my dreams and aspirations to be a mother and shattered it with a sledgehammer. Here we were again facing another roadblock on the journey of pursuing parenthood. The next thing that raced through my mind was how in the world was I going to deliver this news to my always-optimistic husband. He already carried the burden of guilt ever since he learned of his genetic results. The next eight hours were, simply put, horrific. Thankfully I was able to leave work after answering the phone. My co-workers took care of me. They did their absolute best to try to console me and keep me calm until my mom arrived. Mom picked me up from school, coaxed me to eat lunch, and just listened while I blurted out every possible outcome I could think of that ended with Augie and I having or not having a baby in our arms.
I met Augie at our house that evening and he knew right away something was up. Once I stated the news, I have never witnessed such heartbreak in my entire life. For the next hour he blamed himself. He told me he would understand if I wanted to leave him. I let him be irrational for a while. Once he calmed down and could finally look me in the eye, we talked. We made each other a promise. We vowed to love and support each other through this long journey. We vowed to take extraordinary measures to become parents. We didn’t sleep much that night, but we connected on an emotional level that we had never experienced with one another before.
Today, I feel I am a different version of myself. I am learning the new me. I still have days where I cry uncontrollably, but luckily we are surrounded by people who love us. I am lucky enough to have my sister-in-law, Bridgette. She can empathize with me, and she knows exactly how to motivate me when I am at my lowest point. Nothing feels better than having someone who truly understands you.
Through Sarah’s Laughter, I was granted the courage to tell our story. We are hanging onto all the hopeful outcomes. Augie and I have made appointments with the best infertility specialist in Louisiana and are beginning to take the steps necessary to expand our family. We will never lose hope. We will exhaust every option. We will push our bodies because we have no limits. This blog will follow the journey of expanding our family, which we are only just beginning.
It's taken me almost a year to come to terms with the fact that my husband and I are officially members of the infertility club. It's not a club that anyone chooses to join, but unfortunately, the club is overflowing with couples like Augie and me. Typically, I am a very private person. I have a select group of people in my life that I am an open-book with, but for the most part, I'm not the type to broadcast my personal life with my acquaintances.
I have battled with the decision to tell our infertility story for many months. Nevertheless, it wasn't until walking out of the doors of my first Sarah's Laughter Infertility and Infant Loss support group that I decided my story was worthy of telling. My sister in law and I had been contemplating the idea of going for many months. We heard about it from co-workers, as well as different Facebook groups filled with other couples that are also enduring the same journey and path that we walk. She and I decided that we both needed some relief and were willing to try anything. We wanted to be in the presence of people who were like us, too.
Like I’ve previously said, I'm a private person, so when we went to Sarah’s Laughter group, I had absolutely no intention of saying a word. Things quickly changed after multiple women willingly opened their hearts and began telling their infertility stories. I was moved to tears by their struggles. For the first time in weeks I finally felt like my feet were planted back on the ground, right in the middle of the small circle of these complete strangers. This felt like such a relief compared to the perpetual hovering I'd been feeling for weeks before. Each woman had a chance to tell her story. No one was pressured into saying anything; however, they all spoke effortlessly about this heart-wrenching topic. I pondered how they were able to be so strong, but I picked up on how they were able to be so comfortable in this room and how after each story, the rest of the women offered love, kindness, support, and advice. Before I knew it, I was “tagged” by another woman in the room to speak. I looked over at Bridgette, my wonderful, supportive best friend and sister in law, and found the extra courage I needed to start speaking. Before I knew it, I was telling our story out loud for the first time.
On September 3, 2014, exactly one month before my wedding, I got off of birth control. Two weeks later I started to notice these weird changes. First I noticed the facial acne, then came the excessively oily hair, and then finally, tiny, black hairs on my chin. Being the control freak that I am and panicking that my wedding was less than one month away, I immediately made an appointment with a local dermatologist. With one look at my face and no real examination, he told me I was a “textbook case of a hormonal imbalance.” When I left, I had a complete meltdown over the phone with my mom. I took the proper steps and then made an appointment with my wonderfully amazing OBGYN for the next week.
After panels and panels of blood work, she was able to come to the conclusion that I had PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome). PCOS is an extremely complex and poorly understood syndrome that affects ovulation. Basically, my endocrine system is out of whack. There are various symptoms. To my surprise I have a mild insulin resistance, which was causing multiple hormonal problems that I would’ve never known about had I stayed on the pill. Through the blood work, it was brought to my attention that I wasn’t ovulating. After another dramatic breakdown, I was prescribed Metformin to try and restore ovulatory function. Metformin isn’t a known cure, but it’s been proven to help women with insulin resistance regulate ovulation cycles. Even though Metformin sounds good, she is a monster. She totally messed up my GI track, and I struggled at first because of the stomach pains and constant trips to the bathroom. Fortunately, 1500 mg per day and almost six months later, I am proudly ovulating. But this only brushes the surface of our infertility struggle.
As it turns out, my sweet husband, Augie, faces his own infertility issues. To give a brief background story, in May of 2014, our first niece was born. Louie Ashton Ford has been the constant light in all of our lives and is fully responsible for bringing our family as close as it’s ever been. Louie was diagnosed with Down syndrome at birth. After some genetic testing, it was revealed that Louie did not have the most common form of DS that most babies with DS have. Louie has Translocation. Unlike the most commonly known form of DS, Trisomy 21, 1 in 3 people with Translocation have DS due to genetic material passed from a parent. Louie’s 14th chromosome broke in half and attached to her 21st chromosome. From there, her parents were tested because this form of DS can be passed for generations or it can be spontaneous mutation. Augie’s sister, Bridgette was then diagnosed with Balanced Translocation. In order for Augie to be tested, his parents had to be tested first and the results showed that Augie’s mother was a carrier of the gene, as well. Then came our turn. We met with the geneticist in Baton Rouge and ten days later, we were hit with the same results as his mother and sister. Augie is a carrier as well. Basically, what this means for us is if we would miraculously conceive a child naturally, we are looking at a 67% chance of miscarriage and a 15-20% chance of having a baby with Down syndrome which would increase with parent age, and a 15-20% chance of having a “typical” baby that may or may not be a carrier of the same chromosome abnormality. Obviously, this condition is very complicated.
While dealing with this news and once I finally got the call saying I was ovulating, Augie and I decided to actively keep trying to conceive. My OB said the next recommended protocol was to get Augie in for a semen analysis. Like any man would be, Augie was hesitant at first. He felt uncomfortable, unsure, and childish going into such a strange room of a hospital to do what should be private. But finally control freak-me convinced him to go in and get it done. His analysis was done on a Friday, and the next Tuesday I received a phone call while I was teaching. Having the hospital’s number saved in my phone, I answered. When my OBGYN spoke, I went completely numb. On the other end of the phone, my once hopeful doctor sounded hopeless. She informed me that the results of Augie’s analysis were not good. The results showed that Augie had a ZERO sperm count, which is consistent with traits of a man with a condition called Azoospermia. Hearing this felt like someone had taken the little jar that held my dreams and aspirations to be a mother and shattered it with a sledgehammer. Here we were again facing another roadblock on the journey of pursuing parenthood. The next thing that raced through my mind was how in the world was I going to deliver this news to my always-optimistic husband. He already carried the burden of guilt ever since he learned of his genetic results. The next eight hours were, simply put, horrific. Thankfully I was able to leave work after answering the phone. My co-workers took care of me. They did their absolute best to try to console me and keep me calm until my mom arrived. Mom picked me up from school, coaxed me to eat lunch, and just listened while I blurted out every possible outcome I could think of that ended with Augie and I having or not having a baby in our arms.
I met Augie at our house that evening and he knew right away something was up. Once I stated the news, I have never witnessed such heartbreak in my entire life. For the next hour he blamed himself. He told me he would understand if I wanted to leave him. I let him be irrational for a while. Once he calmed down and could finally look me in the eye, we talked. We made each other a promise. We vowed to love and support each other through this long journey. We vowed to take extraordinary measures to become parents. We didn’t sleep much that night, but we connected on an emotional level that we had never experienced with one another before.
Today, I feel I am a different version of myself. I am learning the new me. I still have days where I cry uncontrollably, but luckily we are surrounded by people who love us. I am lucky enough to have my sister-in-law, Bridgette. She can empathize with me, and she knows exactly how to motivate me when I am at my lowest point. Nothing feels better than having someone who truly understands you.
Through Sarah’s Laughter, I was granted the courage to tell our story. We are hanging onto all the hopeful outcomes. Augie and I have made appointments with the best infertility specialist in Louisiana and are beginning to take the steps necessary to expand our family. We will never lose hope. We will exhaust every option. We will push our bodies because we have no limits. This blog will follow the journey of expanding our family, which we are only just beginning.