RX marks the spot

Yesterday I looked through old photos on my phone.

Big mistake. Huge. I have to go shopping now.

Okay, sorry for the "Pretty Woman" reference (and if you didn't catch it, shame on you), but if you can't laugh at times like these, what else are you going to do?

Look at that girl down there. So happy. So full of hope. This was the day I picked up my first prescription of Clomid. We had finally jumped through all the fertility hoops (basal body temperature tracking, ovulation kit purchasing, mid-month mucus evaluating) and had landed on "let's give Clomid a try" with a doctor that I felt mildly okay with. But I wasn't going to complain - we were on our way to a resolution.

So I got to Target the second they opened, filled the RX, got out to my car and texted this photo to Hubs with the caption, "This is the month!!!" 

In that moment, here's what was going through my head:

Should I really take a pic of this moment? I mean, if it doesn't work, then I'm going to be really sad and depressed. But if it DOES work, and I didn't take the picture, I'll be sad I didn't capture that moment. I guess I'll take the picture and hope for the best. I mean, if it doesn't work this time, it probably will the next time. It's not like I"m going to end up having to do IVF or something. *takes picture* Oh good. My double chin is hardly noticeable and damn, I love Essie nail polish. 

I can't help but cringe and feel sorry for the girl in that picture. She really thought it would work. She really thought IVF was for other people who have non-functioning ovaries and who don't ovulate every month. IVF is for "them", not for her. She has a normal cycle and has never missed a period in her life. All of her tests have come back fine. This little pill will be the answer. It will work.

But three months of it didn't work. And here I am, presumably one month away from a fresh IVF cycle. I have become one of those "other" people. And I have learned the hard way that infertility doesn't discriminate. It doesn't care about your ethnicity or your college degree, or your which shampoo you use or even if you're a good person. (In fact, sometimes I think being a good person makes you more likely to be infertile.) 

Part of me wishes the girl in that photo hadn't been so naive. I almost wish I could go back there and tell her, "sweetie, you've got a looooong way to go, so slow your roll, mmk?" But then I think to myself, "Yo, she didn't know any better."

And she didn't.

The girl in that photo is blindly hoping for a miracle, with no true understanding of what could be going on with her body. She doesn't really even understand how conception happens. She doesn't know about AMH levels or progesterone or how important Vitamin D is for her fertility. She doesn't know whether her insurance covers Clomid and she doesn't care because THIS time it's going to work. She doesn't have to worry about all of that other stuff. She is cluelessly hoping.  

We're often told, with infertility, hope is all you have. I say horse pooey. Hope is wonderful and it's amazing, but infertiles also have brains. I'm no longer the girl in that photo. I understand my body in ways I never thought I would. I know my insurance will cover prescriptions and I'm not afraid to get on the phone and duke it out with a receptionist if I need to. I am my own advocate.

Yes, I do believe in a miracle and I believe in hope. I also believe in pushing myself to learn as much as I can and share that knowledge with others like me. And so I keep going forward. Was looking at that photo painful? Yes it was. But guess what?  Looking back can only make me truly appreciate how far I've come.