Eleven Things I Wish I Could Say to My Fertility Doctor

This is a face of infertility.

Dear Infertility Doctor,

I get so flustered and forgetful once I'm in the office where I meet you monthly. These are some things I don't feel comfortable enough to say but feel like they need to be said.

1. Making an appointment to see you has been years in the making, so please take my concerns seriously. It's immensely difficult to admit that I can't do this. It's really hard for me to have come to the understanding that there's something wrong with me. Please remember that just calling you to make an appointment took a whole lot of humility. So please be gentle with my ego.

2. I know that I'm only 25 years old, and I'm completely aware that many of your patients are so much older. I know that I'm technically considered "young." But I also know that my three years of unsuccessful trying have been some of the hardest of my life. Your "older" patients are encouraged to come in after six months, so, unfortunately, I've got a monopoly on the emotional hardship that comes with years of this. Please don't invalidate me because I'm not almost 40. Please don't tell me I've got lots of time because I'm so young. All that does is make me think that you don't value my time and won't work as hard as I need you to.

3. When I ask for more testing, it's because I am not satisfied with your diagnosis. Because, honestly, how the heck is "unexplained" a diagnosis anyway? It's not. It's a cop-out because you don't know what the answer is. You know this. I know this. Let's not pretend that it's anything it's not. You know just as well as I do that next month when I'm not on treatment I could end up pregnant spontaneously, and you wouldn't have any better of an explanation for that either, because neither you nor I understand what's working and not working in my body.

4. There's still about 30% of me that is in complete denial. I still hope that I'm just not timing things right or something. I know that doesn't make sense because we've had like 36 tries to get it right, but that's just part of my denial. Part of me doesn't think I actually have infertility.

5. Another 20% of me really wants to find a natural way to resolve my infertility. I wish that I knew how to get into acupuncture or could enroll in a nightly meditation class or get friendly with a dietician who could help me know exactly what I need. This part of me really hates that I'm going to a fertility specialist and wasting so much money and time on medications that clearly aren't working anyway.

6. About 40% of me is convinced nothing is going to work and I'm barren. (Never say that word. It is the worst!) This part of me is pretty positive I'll either adopt or remain childless. This part of me never expects anything to work anyway and is the "cautious" in my "cautiously optimistic" I feel each month.

7. The last 10% of me is unrealistically hopeful that every single procedure will work and that I'll have the results I want every single month. This part of me starts stressing about the idea of twins or triplets when I haven't even had a positive pregnancy test. This number fluctuates, but it's just shrinking smaller with time.

8. You may have gone through years of school, but I still know my body best. I was ovulating before I met you, and I'll continue ovulating once we part ways. I'm aware that sometime between ovulation and menstruation, something is going wrong. That's really all I know, but I know that there are a million different things that can be going wrong. Not only have I lived in this body my whole life, but I've also done a ton of research in the last three years about my specific symptoms and issues. Don't dismiss my ideas just because I didn't go to medical school.

9. Every month that I get my period, I feel like it's a miscarriage. It is the epitome of utter devastation. Every. Single. Month.

10. IUI's and IVF's may be commonplace for you, but they're really scary and painful for me. If you're in the room performing my procedure, don't talk and laugh with my husband until you're done. Tell me what you're doing. I'm scared and it is physically painful that you're shoving foreign objects into my body. At least talk me through it.

11. All of this having been said, thank you, just the way I say thank you every month. I know that you're trying. I know that you want us to be successful too. I know that you're doing what you can. I'm much more frustrated with our lack of answers and the fact that I don't have a cut and dry case than I am with you. Please don't hold it against me that I'm angry about my situation. I promise I'm not angry with you. Thank you for helping us in our quest.