I was 19. He was 23.
No. We didn’t get married because I was pregnant. We got married because we were in love. We started dating when I was sixteen and he was my first and only true love.
The first few years came so easy, almost too easy. We first lived in an apartment before renting a house. Several years later, we purchased our very own home. We moved into our home in September. In February the following year, we decided it was time to start trying for a baby. I stopped taking birth control and was scared out of my mind. Months passed along with irregular periods and no pregnancy. I thought things were fairly normal for us still. I figured that it must just take time to get pregnant. After all, I had read the percentage each month under normal circumstances was low.
Then one day, a lady at church asked if I had lost weight. I jokingly told her I didn’t think so. I thought just the opposite. Then for whatever reason explained that my periods were so all over the place and I felt out of whack. She mentioned looking into PCOS or polycystic ovarian syndrome. I wrote it off as being ridiculous. I did not think there was anyway I had a problem.
Well, I googled it.
I had almost every symptom.
I decided to go to the doctor to have it checked out. My husband Joe and I went to the appointment together.
My husband is so supportive, loving, funny, patient, and amazing at putting up with crazy.
We explained to the ultrasound tech what I thought I had. She said that if I had PCOS, my ovaries will look like a pearl necklace. She inserted the ultrasound wand and Joe said “Like that?”. She said “Yup. Just like that.”
Now we know. That’s good right? Knowledge is power. Knowledge pissed me off. Why doesn’t my body work the way everyone else’s does? Why do we have to try so much harder? It didn’t seem fair.
We then began clomid and metformin along with medicine to induce periods since they don’t happen naturally. The medicines were terrible. I hated them. The clomid gave me terrible mood swings. A story that I can laugh about during that time goes like this:
I had made sugar cookies for work. Forgot a bag of them at home. Came home and asked Joe where they were. He had eaten them. I tore my kitchen apart looking for them. Thinking he was playing a joke. He wasn’t. I threw a fit and slammed doors. Then all of a sudden I snapped out it. It was like I had blacked out and come back. I went and apologized. Joe responded with “You. Are. Crazy”. I said “I know.” Then I probably cried and laughed. Laughing along the way is so important. If we can’t laugh at our struggle, we will be defeated.
It’s now been 4 years ago that we decided to try for a baby.
When will the pain go away?