“Don’t worry beta, everyone has a destiny, and I am sure this too will sort out soon.” The kind, reassuring words were coming from my mother-in-law, who had just lost her mother whose one of the last wishes was to see her great grandchild. She was telling me this when after another round of trial, I had failed to conceive and was in the lowest pit of my life.
Instead of feeling lighter, I went further deep into the murky bottomless pit of guilt and remorse. Here she was, finding strength after losing one she loved the most in the world, and still trying to perk me up. And here I was, unable to give her the only thing that she cherished the most, a grandchild. “How cruel”, I thought “and I have never been so helpless in my life”. Keeping up the hopes high was the hardest thing to do for me those days. Stress was mounting, I was not able to concentrate on my work, and my only talk to friends and family those days was my latest trial and tribulation about trying to have a baby.
I had a good team of doctors, though they were piled on with cases, they often told me how losing weight or reducing stress could help me and my cause. But was it that easy? Weight was a direct result of hormone injections that were being injected into my system, stress was caused due to not being able to be the master of my own life.
Then came a tipping point. I conceived with IVF. And 40 days later, I was getting into an emergency surgery for ectopic pregnancy. Those 40 days were one of the best days of my life, and they ended in such a state that I almost died. In the days that followed, the sense of irreparable loss and sadness took over, and finally I vowed to take matters again in my hands.
I had to stop feeling guilty, and start loving myself again. I was so full of self-loathing and self-neglect, that I had no likes or preferences for anything. I would eat whatever came my way, wear whatever clothes others thought looked good on me, and generally was living only because others wanted me to.
I practically got down from my good doctor’s examining table, and told her I am quitting my job, and I am looking for her support to help me get off the medicine bandwagon for next 6 months. I told her “6 months, and I will come back and you can cut me up and plant an embryo there”. Being a good doctor she is, God bless her, she understood. I took that lease of life, and ran, literally! I ran, ate, slept, cooked, painted, read, listened to music, travelled, watched movies, did everything I was supposed to do at the age of 32.
6 months later, I conceived, naturally. I was off medication, was at one of my happiest times in life, and stork visited. I was too dumb found to react. Actually, both me and hubby didn’t feel happy at all till the baby was safely delivered in our hands. Having burnt everything that we had during our path to conception, we were too shocked and scared to believe it was really happening to us. That too without IVF which had become our lifestyle by then.
I share my story here, because countless other hopefuls like me are waiting on the assembly line to be stamped “infertile”. I want them to know that even if they seemingly fail an attempt, it is just that, an attempt, and it bears nothing on them as human beings. They all are great women, excellent partners and family members, extremely successful and brave. To be able to go through the treatment in itself is an act that requires utmost strength, probably more than carrying a baby.
Every day, I can’t help and look back how much I waited for this moment. Trust me; even after so many trials and tribulations, heartbreaks and pain, I won’t change a single thing about my past except for one- the heavy cross of guilt, despair and sadness that I bore till it all worked out on its own.
So be a sport, like any game, IVF is just an attempt and what matters is that you tried.
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