Decisions is a series dedicated to the choices we make in our lives and the factors that led us to our given resolutions. We welcome guest posts to this series to hear about how you’ve tackled a life decision. Email your story ideas to thesmartdomestic@gmail.com.
In today’s post, I talk about how my husband and I decided to move forward with fertility treatments so we could have a kid.
Making a baby should have been easy. Birds do it. Bees do it. Even educated fleas do it! Teenagers do it all the time, according to MTV reality shows. And yet, this nice married lady with a stable job, common sense and a great husband COULD NOT DO IT.
I was relatively young (under 30) and otherwise healthy when I was diagnosed as infertile. But the facts are clear: My ovaries didn’t (and don’t) produce mature eggs without pharmaceutical help, and those eggs are essential to creating babies. I wasn’t going to get pregnant naturally, no matter how excellent my husband’s sperm nor how frequently we, ahem, practiced.
So my doctors prescribed pills, which were easy enough.
No response.
>A larger dose of pills followed. Then another dose, above the FDA-recommended amount. Still no results. As a last-ditch effort to try “the easy way,” my doctor agreed to try a different type of pill (typically prescribed to postmenopausal breast cancer patients but could also be used stimulate ovaries in younger women).
Nothing.
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