It’s never easy sharing things about your life. It’s even harder when those things are both personal and life altering. However, as I’ve come to grips with my disease, and realized how truly not alone I am, I’ve decided it’s time to share my story.
Maybe I can help others in their struggle, or at very least remind just one other person that they too, are not alone…
(This post wont be very photo heavy, but there is not much of this story that I cared to document photographically over time.)
The trouble begins:
My story begins many years ago, 13 years ago, to be exact. I was just 20 years old. I had my whole adult life ahead of me.
Things were great! I had just finished college with a great average, had a new fiancee and a good job. Happiness was everywhere.
We decided to try and start a family.
Months passed, to no avail. So finally I went to see a doctor.
He did a few, very painful, tests. No reasons for my infertility could be found. So he labeled me with ‘unexplained infertility’.
At the time I had very painful periods. I tried to mention this factor to him, but his reply was “women are supposed to be in pain when on their periods”. A disheartening response if ever there was one.
I gave up. Emotionally and physically I was drained and depressed.
My fiancee found himself a way to still have a family, with another woman, and that was it for us. (No, I don’t hold anything against him, we were young, and he got his karma long ago.)
I went on from there. Trying to find a reason for my pain, and for my infertility. Doctor after doctor, with no result for years.
Fast forward to 23. Still young. Still in pain. Still no answers.
I did more than my share of bad moves in my life. I drank too much and cared too little. Depression can make someone do awful things.
I met a man, we got along well, we both decided to go wild together and move across the country. During this time, I spent a bit of time living at my mother’s. I ate well, walked a lot, and was happy. Then we moved.
The strangest thing happened, I became pregnant.
I was over the moon!!!
Him… not so much. He left me, and moved home. Again, I didn’t mind. I didn’t care about anything beyond the life growing inside me.
For 13 weeks I as on cloud nine, sick 24/7, but on cloud nine.
Then one day I woke. I felt no sickness. Instantly I knew everything was wrong.
A trip to the hospital confirmed my worst nightmare. I had miscarried. My baby, my love unborn, was gone.
I was devastated.
My doctor looked, tested, and found more nothing. No reasons, no explanations, nothing to calm my renewed sense of extreme depression.
I would go on to spend the next few years of my life in a constant state of “self medication” at the hands of alcohol and drugs.
For the record, I am not proud of any of it, but it happened, and cannot be undone by simply pretending it didn’t.
By now, I was in my late 20’s. My pain was intensifying seemingly monthly. It got to the point that I could barely function for weeks at a time, with brief periods of normalcy.
I had made the choice to give up the drugs and drinking for a career change that was much needed.
With the change came benefits, and access to better doctors. I found myself again pursuing solutions to my pain and infertility.
More months and years would pass.
A doctor in Chinese medicine helped me to find ways to manage my pain that no longer took as many over the counter or prescription pain medications, and for that I was grateful. My daily abilities and mobility increased and I found a renewed love of things like bicycling and jogging.
As much as I thank him, no solution was found. Time continued to pass, and now I was turning 30…
… to be continued …