Infertility 1, Us 0

It’s official, our first round of fertility treatments has failed.

I tried so hard not to get my hopes up, and remind myself that it can take several tries for it to work, if it’s going to work for you. But I was encouraged by my doctors who looked at all our labs and felt that this protocol would likely lead to a pregnancy for us. Although they did make sure to remind us that it could take more than one round. As our first round progressed, and everything continued to look good, I let hope take root in my heart and grow like a weed. “This could be it!” I thought over and over again.

I instantly began to cry as I listened to the nurse’s message on my phone. “It’s negative. I’m sorry.” All of my hopes and dreams slipping away as quickly as the tears rolled down my cheeks. I thought about the date that I had hoped would become my due date, the day before my next birthday. I thought about the trip we’re taking in the spring, and how I hoped it would become a babymoon. I thought about the empty nursery upstairs that would remain empty even longer. It just wasn’t meant to be. At least not yet.

I despise the rollercoaster that infertility takes you on. The hope and anticipation, then crushing devastation as it all comes crashing down as you hold yet another negative pregnancy test in your hands. Add that to our already difficult journey with bereaved parenthood, and it’s downright miserable.

Of course, there is still hope. We talked to my doctor, who said she would have liked for me to respond a little better to one of my meds, so we’re changing the dosage and hoping that’s the boost I need. If not, there’s other options for the round after that.

Of course, that all sounds promising if that was all there was to worry about, but it feels like flushing money down the drain when a cycle fails. Especially since most American health insurance providers cover 0% of infertility treatments. But I’ll keep my soapbox in the closet, and save that speech for another time.

Here’s to more meds that make me extremely hormonal, shots expertly administered by my husband, and more needle pokes than I can count! Bring it on, round two! We’ll be seeing you soon.


Dear Aria: A letter to our baby girl on her second birthday in heaven.

Sweet Aria,

If I could sneak into heaven today, I would do it bright and early. I’d tip toe into your room and kneel alongside your bed. I would pause for a moment as you slept, and take in the sight of you, my perfect sleeping angel. I’d brush the wisps of hair from your eyes, and whisper, “good morning, birthday girl!”

But today I will whisper from afar, and pray that you can hear me.

“Good Morning, birthday girl.”

Two. Sweet girl, today you are two. In the blink of an eye, two full years have passed since we first held you in our arms. Two years since you took those big beautiful breaths, showing us just how strong and brave you are.

I could spend hours repeating how much I miss you and wish you were here, yet deep down I know that you wouldn’t wish for that. Today is a day to celebrate. Today is about giving thanks for the gift that was and is your brief and perfect life.

So today there will be cake, there will be the Rose family birthday song, there will be birthday candles in remembrance of you. There will be joy, there will be laughter, and most of all, there will be love.

I hope you have the most wonderful second birthday in heaven sweet baby. I hope all of your wishes come true. I hope you have a belly full of birthday cake, and a heart that knows just how much you are loved.

We miss you. We wish you were here.

Happy Birthday, Aria.