fertility: week one

Alrighty. It's time to get personal. Really personal. Brace yourself. This is the first post in an ongoing series. I wrote this a few weeks ago as I began my medical journey with fertility. I wanted to share this post almost immediately, but didn't. Hence this post. I want to document this journey and feel strongly that I need to share details of it. For me, and for others. Infertility is so prevalent right now. My struggle with it, so far, has been short by most standards, but it has still been hard. With that, let's get on with this...

.....
For the past year, we've been trying to get pregnant. Nothing's stuck. The infuriating part of this has been that I have not even had a period. At first, I took this as false hope, desperately searching for symptoms where there weren't any. As the months progressed, my thoughts have changed. In a year and a half, I have had my period four times. Sure this is awesome from the lack-of-PMS, no bloating, no aching back side of things. But it also means that I'm not ovulating. No ovulating means that no matter how often we try, there will be no baby.
It took until about a month ago for me to find a doctor, referred to me by a family friend. Then it took hearing that yet another friend was pregnant for me to muster the courage to call the office and set an appointment. Today I went in.
I met with a Nurse Practitioner who was instantly worried about the health of my lady parts. I lost it. Buckets of hysterical tears burst from my eyes as this woman who barely knew me told me of the months of testing that lay before me. Not once did she say that I won't be able to have children. Not once. But I felt the full weight of the last year of worry and heartbreak bear down on me, Suddenly hypotheticals became medical realities and I had a prescription, a needle in my arm taking blood, and an appointment for another follow-up.
I couldn't explain to the NP how grateful I was for her. Nor could I explain the anxiety in my heart or the fear that all of the tests would point to a resounding, "Nope. Not for you." All I could do was cry and mutter silent prayers that my tears would ebb long enough to get through the appointment and to be brave. About halfway through my third prayer, a distinct thought came to mind. This is what the atonement is for. I paused, alone in the room while I got dressed. She might not know you or what you're feeling, but through the atonement, I do. Then the phlebotomist came in and I was focused on not crying over a needle being shoved in my arm. But the truth of the moment is still lingering with me.

The next few months are going to be full of new discoveries for us as we begin the journey of figuring out what is going on with my uterus. I really don't know what we'll find out. I don't know if any birth children await me. I do know that My Savior will be there for me, able to understand the pain and uncertainty as no one else can. I have a feeling that I'm about to be thrown into the fire, to be refined and polished.

I'm on a medication to force me to bleed. The NP has informed me that any amount of blood counts as a period. This information was followed by a list of things I need to do once/should I begin bleeding. Thoughts of my uterus being so broken that I won't ever have a period again resound in my brain. I want to shake them off as paranoid, but I wouldn't be at the doctor were these fears not even a remote possibility. It's hard to feel hopeful as I dwell on the unknown. This is what the Atonement is for...