Emily's letter isn't so much the typical definition of infertility. But from a stance of hearing when you're a teenager that your fertility years will likely be spent with troubles getting pregnant. Emily has PCOS much like I have and many other ladies. I hope that her journey to conceive is a quick one. Some women with PCOS get lucky and don't have any issues and or conceive in that first 'normal' year of trying. Here's to hoping that you are one of those women Emily.
Thank you for sharing your perspective as I'm sure there are others out there who have gotten news like this and need someone to relate to. I know this may not have been easy to share in such a public forum but I thank you for submitting your letter and sharing with us.
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Intro:
Hi! I'm Emily! My husband and I aren't currently TTC, but I
was diagnosed with PCOS at 13 and was always told to expect having a
"difficult, if not impossible" time conceiving a child naturally. I've
experimented with a lot of different medications and even trying to
self-regulate my cycles without the help of hormonal birth control all
to no avail. We've been NTNP for a little over a year and will start
actively trying this Christmas. I have so many fears jumping into this,
and I'm trying to find any way that I can to try and put off our start
date so that I can somehow delay what I feel will be our inevitable
disappointment. This letter is to my husband.
My darling N,
I
remember like it was yesterday the day you suggested we go shopping for
engagement rings. I was equal parts elated and terrified because I
knew that this meant a really difficult conversation. I remember you
showing me the most gorgeous diamond ring and I remember seeing the
all-encompassing love you had for me in that moment reflected in the way
you looked at me as I tried it on. And I remember that look never
wavering when you first heard the words "polycystic ovarian syndrome"
and the lengthy explanation that followed. If I close my eyes and think
hard enough, I can still feel your arms around me as I sobbed through
apologies to you for the certain fertility difficulties that lay ahead
for us, and I can still hear you telling me that I was insane when I
said that I understood if you couldn't be with me anymore. As often as I
feel it, you've never once let me get away with telling myself that I'm
somehow broken. You listen to my tearful blathering as I discuss all
of my worries with you, and the more excited you get about baby stuff,
the more I feel my heart swell with love but my throat constrict with
fear. But you're still my shining beacon of hope... in spite of (or
maybe because of) all of my crazy. Your constant reassurances that
we'll be ok have started to sink in, and I can only hope to absorb and
adopt that same optimism when we face the (almost inevitable) challenges
in the coming year. I couldn't have asked for a more understanding,
caring, and positive person to share my life with, and I know that this
journey is going to be hard - one of the hardest things we may ever do
(until it comes time to actually raise a child) - but there's no one
with whom I'd rather face the oncoming storm.
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