What I Learned as a Silent Sufferer
My husband and I were married for two years before we sought the help of a reproductive endocrinologist. My desire to have a child was burning inside of me, and it quickly became my obsession. At the time of the first treatment in 2012, I was 29 years old, and the IUI cycle was unsuccessful. An x-ray test concluded I had a fallopian tube blockage on the right side. We had never fallen pregnant on our own, and I had never been pregnant in my entire life.
We buried ourselves in our work and did not seek help until four years later in 2016. Married for approximately five and a half years, I knew there had to be an explanation. Why was my body failing me? My menstrual cycles were regular every month, and nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. Grieved at the thought of getting help for the one thing I felt my body should do naturally and with ease. I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism and underwent surgery to remove uterine polyps in the spring of 2016.
I was alone for four years during my journey to motherhood outside of my marriage. Things were a little different at this time, and advocacy for infertility lacked on social media platforms. I scrolled various hash-tags endlessly for women with the same complexion as me on Instagram to ease the invisible pain. I quickly realized brown women did not openly express their fertility issues as widely as our Caucasian counterparts. I had to be my therapist and explore various ways to cope with an infertile diagnosis. Two coping methods were through journaling and expressing myself through poetry, which I had done for most of my life. I researched and became deeply connected to meditation and allowing myself to sit in my emotional state. Prayer has always been my go-to for connecting with a higher power. In some ways, it was not enough to ask for the creator's help without doing the much-needed work to heal my emotions.
It became increasingly apparent that I was more resilient than I realized. I possessed the inner power to create and be the woman I desired, despite infertility's tight grip on my life.
The emotional destruction that infertility brings is similar to the waves of the ocean. There are times of high tides and moments of absolute stillness. What trick was karma playing with the life my husband and I were attempting to create? Why was the universe punishing me physically, wasn't my body made to conceive? I was mad at God for our struggles with infertility. Didn't God see me searching Dr. Google obsessively for answers? Life can be unfair; this was a hard truth, my ego and controlling nature took the longest to accept.
After 1460 days or four years, infertility pushed me to speak about my struggles and voice the pain finally. I was no longer ashamed of our journey to conception. No longer my little secret. When I reflect, I wish that there was a space for "everyday" people to share their infertility journeys. I needed it then and still do. Infertility is not something you graduate and forget; it imprints on you. Celebrity or public figure stories are great too, but what about the couple, single man or single woman hurting and longing for a child? What happens when treatment is too expensive, and a couple or single person forgoes any form of infertility treatment? Representation matters and is so important. Thanks to infertility, I am being pushed into purpose through vulnerability and bravery.
~Monique Farook
