Tag Archives: Connecticut


Hi friends 👋🏼. I had intended to be more active on here and yet I haven’t checked in since January. To be honest what seemingly should be a slower time of year has been crazier than ever and down time is at an all time low. In some ways the chaos might be a blessing in disguise as it makes time pass at lightning speed and doesn’t give me much time to get “stuck” on infertility.

Nonetheless as we’re on our journey to baby number 2, I’ve come to realize a couple things. I’m not doing myself justice by being absent on here because I have always said I wished I had blogged during our initial journey as a release and a way of not feeling so alone. And here I am now, having this outlet, and not using it to cope.

I’m also not doing any of you justice by being so sporadic in my posts. I had only started blogging as a starting point for a local infertility support group. Now that I’ve gotten that up and running, I’ve abandoned the blogging a bit. But lately I’ve been receiving many messages from ladies who aren’t in Connecticut and I’m doing a huge disservice to you if I am not sharing on here. So I apologize for that, especially if you so kindly have been following along as you’re embarking on your own infertility battle. For those of you who’ve reached out to me, thank you for reminding me why I need to continue on here and I’m so humbled that you’ve found our story as a source of hope.

That’s the power sharing your story can have-giving someone the invaluable gift of hope.  At times in the realm of infertility that’s all we have to hold onto which makes it all the more sacred.  But infertility is chalk-filled with peaks and valleys that even when hope has gotten us through, there’s always a reality check that knocks us back down.

As for our journey to baby #2 I’d say I hit my lowest valley around the holidays.  It’s not an uncommon time for an infertility rut to rear its ugly head as we all know.  But, as we all know even more, there’s no way of controlling it.  When the infertility rut strikes, it comes full force and nothing can really stop it.  Within our support group (which meets the last Wednesday of every month for you CT locals), we’re constantly wracking our brains on ways to cope or suppress the darkness infertility can cause.  And while we’ve yet to find a cure, we’re all in agreement that just staying connected with people who get it, makes it a little more bearable.  Getting someone’s validation that it’s okay to sit a baby shower out or hear that they too often wonder if they’re not meant to be a mom helps us all come to the realization that we are not alone in these thoughts-these relentless, mind-sucking thoughts that not even our significant others can wrap their heads around. Regardless of how long we’ve been on this path, what interventions we have and haven’t done, whatever our diagnosis, it amazes me how we’ve all at some point had the same isolating thoughts and feelings that can only come from the curse of infertility.

So moving forward, my goal is not only to provide that support within the group, but also here, for all of you who have stumbled upon my story.  I don’t believe you’ve done so by chance.  I believe we’re meant to have connected, whether it’s just my words speaking to you or us eventually talking to one another.  In order to do so, I’m going to do monthly recaps of our Infertility Support Group Meetings.  Each meeting I try to set forth a topic to discuss.  Well we are a bunch of women so you know how that goes, but I always leave feeling like I’ve taken something away-maybe it’s a diagnosis I’ve never heard of, a new vitamin that’s been proven to improve AMH, or just something someone in the group has said that left me feeling my hope has been restored.

Yes, even after overcoming infertility, hope can flee from you.  We’ve already received our miracle.  How could we possibly ask for more?  It was too lucky that it worked the first time.  It can’t possibly work for us again.  We are four years older.  Our son in three and a half.  Maybe our window has come and gone.

Its in those moments when I need to hop on here and blog because that is infertility real talk. I am failing you and myself by not using this platform to share how hard the road is.  It’s so much easier, and downright safer, to talk about it once it’s behind us.  In the moment, the emotions are so raw they’re often hard to encapsulate in words.  Yet, you all get what I’m saying and the minute I hear you talk about a part of your journey-the day you found out, your initial consult with an RE, your egg retrieval-I can instantaneously bring myself back to those moments which bring me to tears.  Tears of joy, tears of empathy, tears of relief, tears of hope that you’ll someday be here on the other side.

And when you do get here, which I know you will, I would love to tell you it goes away.  But I’d be lying.  It’s better. Oh so much better as you hold your baby or toddler whom you never knew if you’d ever meet.  But it doesn’t make it all disappear the way you’d think it might.  Somehow pregnancy announcements still feel like a punch to the gut.  You’ll still think that maybe you’ll get a natural BFP when you’re a few days late because how often do we hear those stories the second time around.  The feeling of being “stuck” will soon catch up to you as you see your son or daughter go off to school, as all the other moms have another baby in the backseat.  You feel as though you’re throwing your lifelong vision of three little toe heads in matching outfits out the window and cannot fathom why everyone else on Instagram has that. And you still feel hurt by comments of unassuming strangers like “Time for another”.

It doesn’t go away.  It is a little easier in someways and not so much in other ways.  You still have peaks and valleys of infertility ruts and wonder what it’d be like to not be trying, but not be preventing it from happening.  And your hope is tested, but you have a tangible, precious reminder each and every day of why there is reason to be hopeful when most would say all hope has been lost.

That is some of where my heart and head have been lately.  However after my husband’s appointment in January with his urologist I’m in a much better state of mind.  We have a plan in place.  Isn’t it amazing how just a plan can renew your optimism and alleviate some of that angst?  The timeline is to continue my husband’s hormone therapy for a few months and reconvene at that time to see if any thing has changed and regardless proceed with a second and final TESE. This of course will be aligned, as it was the first time, with an IVF cycle so I’m excitedly making appointments with our RE to get the ball rolling.  It could be as soon as a May cycle.  I want to keep you all updated here, but know there’s a sensitivity in all of this.  I’m sure there may be some things kept private, but I promise to be as raw and real and open about the emotional aspect as I can be-for the both of us.  At this point, I need you just as much as you need me.

I can’t help but get caught up in the realness of it all-the good, the bad, the known and unknown.  My mind wanders to when and how we could announce another pregnancy and then I quickly come back down to planet earth and realize how unlikely another first time IVF cycle success would be.  So basically even if your on your journey to baby for the first time, I still feel your same feelings.  I still think your same thoughts.  You are not alone and my hope is that you know that 💞.


December 14, 2017

I’m literally stopping myself dead in my tracks to sit down and write this. Amidst the chaos of the season, there’s toys to be wrapped, gifts a mile long still to buy, decorations still left to be hung. And then there’s life-clothes to be folded, closets to be cleaned, dishes to be put away. The list goes on and on all the time, but especially this time of year. How often are we reminded to make sure to stop and take care of ourselves?

Well let’s just say me stopping to write this is me doing something for myself. It’s been almost three months since I last wrote something on the blog. And my excuses are just the same as yours and everyone else’s. Aside from those, the blog’s purpose was to launch a local support group and I can proudly say that has been going strong since March. Our little group has come so far and been through so much in almost 9 months (I write that and can’t help but to correlate it to pregnancy). There have been many friendships made, advice exchanged, tears shed, and recently an adundance of {overdue} successes. 🙌🏼🙏🏼💞👶🏻. So, to some extent, I haven’t felt the need to blog since so much of my focus has shifted to the support group.

It also doesn’t help that three months later since I last wrote, I’m still in the same spot in terms of our journey to baby #2. I felt some momentum as I posted our RE-initial consult and updated SHG in early fall, but it quickly came back to a screeching halt. I feel as though I haven’t written because there really isn’t any update. Contrastly, that’s precisely why I should have been writing and am now taking a time out to do so.

This blog wasn’t in exsistence when infertility and I first met in 2012. Time and time again I’ve said I wish I had this blog and this community the first time around. And here I am doing the same thing I did the first time around. I’m in baby limbo and that’s when infertility hurts me the most.  I am in an infertility rut and not using this blog and community in the way I need to for me.

Fast Forward ⏭

January 1, 2018

I am literally starting where I abruptly left off writing this post {3} weeks ago (thanks to a premature nap wake-up).  While the hustle and bustle and pure magic have helped relieve the constant infertility thoughts in the back of my head, they’re now back full force.  And that is why I’ve come here to write.

To say we enjoyed the holidays is an understatement.  A three -year-old at Christmas fell nothing short of what I have imagined for so many years as I yearned to have a child to share in these joys and traditions with. BUT…(my husband squirms at this) it’s still there.  I’m finding myself right back in this infertility rut that I cannot shake.

I began writing this post because I always said I wished I had this outlet the first time around and here I am now, almost 4 years later from the time of our first IVF cycle, and I find myself doing precisely the same thing I did before-trying to keep it all together on my own.  I feel as though I’m drowning, which in turn makes me take more on to busy myself from my own thoughts, only to make me fall deeper underwater, grasping for air.  It’s not what I would qualify as depression, just more of this thing that takes up space in my life.   It’s something that’s always in the back of my mind, taking up brain power, taking up free time, taking up memory.  It’s almost subconscious.  It’s not debilitating; nor does it seemingly interfere with my daily happenings, but it’s there.  It’s always there.  The more time passes, the more it surfaces.

To catch you up to speed, my husband has now been on his med protocol for over a year.  However it’s really been touch and go.  There were lots of issues with one medication in particular so he’s been on the full protocol much less than that time.  I’ve lost hours upon hours trying to deal with the vicious cycle that is doctor’s office ➡️ medication ➡️ insurance ➡️pharmacy.  There’s been more cancelled appointments than there have been attended ones because of all the issues and now the impending  date is set for late January.  Will there be any change?  Has it been long enough?  Will he be where he was at this stage in the game when we were trying for baby #1?  Are his levels affected differently now that we’re 4 years older?  Will we get the green light for TESE surgery? When are we looking to be at the point of an IVF cycle? 2 months? 6 months?  Longer 😰?

You can see how my mind can’t stop.  I’ve been dealing with this for sometime.  Initially when my son was about a year and a half I was ready, not to be pregnant, but to start the process (which for us is well over a year) so that I wouldn’t get to THIS POINT.  My husband wasn’t there yet, which I get.  I pryed him to re-enter this dark place last fall and really feel as though we’re not as far along as I had hoped over a year later.  That, coupled with the challenge of keeping my longing to grow our family at bay, has snowballed into this infertility rut that I’m currently in.

I am disappointed that we’re stuck in the same spot over a year later.  I’m mad at myself that I didn’t push the subject harder-that I didn’t make him go sooner for my own sanity.  I’m frusturated that it can’t just be me so that I could just do it all my own.  I’m resentful that I take this all on myself-that the thoughts don’t weigh on my husband day in and day out like they do me-that I’m doing all the work.  I’m sad that the time between my son and a potential sibling is only getting longer.  I’m guilty for wanting more.  I’m embarrassed that I haven’t been more accountable here-I preach to use this as a coping mechanism, but have abandoned it in some ways.  I’m anxious now that I know so much more about the possible outcomes and the reality of the statistics.  I’m stressed as this is our only shot at having baby #2 biologically and feeling the overwhelming pressure of that dead-end.  I’m feeling defeated from the countless pregnancy announcements, specifically of baby #2, that have flooded my social media feeds the last 48-hours.  And I’m feeling so cliche but honest in saying it’s not that I’m not happy for you, I’m just sad for me.  I’m dealing with infertility and it’s a lot to handle at this moment.

Contrastly, I am still hopeful.  I am still positive and optimistic.  I am still excited for what 2018 has in store.  I’m still happy when you see me smiling.  I’m still living my best life.  I’m still blessed more than ever.

I’m not one to outwardly make goals or resolutions for the New Year.  I just think, in an effort to take time for myself, you’ll see me more here 📍.

Never Say Never


Last Wednesday was our ninth wedding anniversary. If someone years ago would’ve ever told me that we would be one of those couples that didn’t celebrate our anniversary on that actual day, I would’ve said “Never”. If someone years ago said we’d only have one child of our own on our ninth wedding anniversary, I would’ve said “Never ever”. Nine years later and one child down, my greatest advice is “Never say never.”

Because, well, life. Nothing has made me more aware of this than my journey to and through  motherhood. We celebrated the following evening instead because it was parent’s night at my son’s school.  Rather than have someone else put him down to sleep two nights in a row (which basically means letting him stay up way past his bedtime), we decided to combine the two. That’s life.

As visions of what I had anticipated life to look like with at least two kids float through my head, I know how fortunate we are to have our one.  He has made our life and understanding of it’s meaning exponentially better. While we are on a quest for baby #2, the reality is we are parents of one child at this point in time. One fucking awesome kid and infertility…which makes it uncertain if we’ll ever have another. That’s life.

To be perfectly honest, the night of our anniversary was what some seemingly would deem a disaster. On an early evening walk, my son randomly threw up his undigested lunch. As I scrubbed him down, in true mom fashion, I started running down the list of what could’ve caused it. No fever. No other symptoms of coming down with anything. Eating, sleeping, behavior all normal. Then it dawned on me, he had hit his head with a wooden mallet earlier in the day at my husband’s jewelry store. There was no lump, bruising or tears, but could it have been a mild concussion? Pretty certain that it wasn’t and that I had even thought to myself not-so-long ago that my kid would never have a concussion (at least not before age 3), I called the pediatrician. I figured better safe than sorry and wanted to run it by them and see what other signs I should look for.

Meanwhile, my husband had gotten stuck late at work. He gave me the ‘I’m leaving in 15-minutes’ text which was the green light to put the steak on. An hour and a half later, he walked into a cold plate of a once deliciously steaming meal and me half asleep in our son’s bed. Oh and a homemade card and unwrapped anniversary gift because we only had girl and baby wrapping. That’s life.

Now as a mother, my greatest parental advice for my expectant friends or friends who don’t have kids is never say never.  Literally the moment I think, or worse off, utter the word “never”, it happens.  My son has never had an ear infection.  Bam! Two back-to-back in a two months span.  We were never going to be that couple with a kid ending up in our bed more nights than not.  Becoming a parent?!  Medicated birth, formula feeding, driving around at 2 am with a screaming newborn, only giving organic baby food made from scratch, taking an antibiotic-if your answer to all of these now is “never”, do yourself a favor and heed my advice immediately.

Coincidentally as I was writing this post, I was eavesdropping as two older aged women, both evidently grandparents, conversed.  One went on and on critiquing feeding habits and bedtimes.  They went on to question if reflux was even a thing because back when they had kids that didn’t exsist.  Before changing their long winded topic, one of the two said one thing  that never happened in our house was kids in our bed-it was a non-negotiable. The more I listened the more I thought to myself, I just don’t get the “nevers”.  In the end, do they really matter if our children are happy and healthy?  Society is so quick to say never do this and never do that which causes us to have these rigid notions of what is assumingly the right thing to do.

For as long as I can remember the “nevers” were engrained in my head.  I’d never do this and never do that.  Would infertility ever affect me directly?  Never.  I would never have an only child.  And I could never truly wrap my head around why a single person would want a child.  As I noticed parents with apparently adopted children or learned of what gestational surrogacy was, I respected and admired it, but it’d never be for me.

Many years later, experience gained, and infertility ridden, I now understand why you can never say never.  One might end up adopting, or only having one child, and even being childless by a matter of circumstance and not choice.  I would’ve never had dreamt in my wildest dreams that I at some point might be faced with these options, or lackthereof.  I’ve learned to never say never because that’s life.

And what a beautiful life it is. The more often I remove the “never’s” from my words and thoughts, the more I realize that this is what life is made of. Both of us were un-phased by that day’s events and would emphatically say it was a nice anniversary because what we’ve learned over the years is its not always the most grandiose parts that make for the best parts of life. While the “things” are nice, they’re nothing in comparison to the “moments”. Nine years ago and childless I didn’t quite know that.

To Teachers in the Waiting

I’ve been MIA guys because…well summer. Busy days trying to cram everything in before it’s over and late nights causing us all to crash hard…making it a feat to squeeze in a blog post. But for me, summer is always a harder time for dealing with infertility.

As some of you may or may not know, I am a speech-language pathologist (SLP). Before having my son, I worked as a school-based SLP which meant I was fortunate enough to have summers off. And while summer months can be a perfect time to re-charge I also found they afforded me a lot more free time to focus on my infertility. There were more free minutes to google. More opportunities to research and read. No alarm wake-ups meant I could peruse Pinterest all night for nursery ideas and baby stuff. It also meant that my mind had more space to go to those deeper darker places, especially as August rolled around.

Here we are, the first few days of August. Back-to-school Staples commercials and billboards of tax free back-to-school shopping already have our stomachs nervously filled with butterflies thinking of the imminent end to summer days. And for anyone who works in a school and is struggling to get pregnant, it also means the dreaded going back to see who has since become pregnant from last school year.

It may sound selfish or ill-natured, but I can assure it’s neither. Rather it’s a culmination of all this built up anticipation of getting pregnant over the summer when we could “just relax” or have extra time for monitoring and bloodwork. Most women who work in schools have been trying for awhile now. Originally the plan was to get pregnant with a spring baby as to not have to go back until summer when he or she was at least six months. Then it got revised to a summer baby and then to any time of the friggin year because I just want a baby NOW. And then here comes August and it hits us smack in the face when the whispering of pregnancy news echoes through the halls and the emergence of glowing faces and rounding bumps burns the sting a little more.

Even now, having overcome infertility and having not gone back to work/school, it’s as if my internal clock knows. Looking back Summer 2013 was the toughest point in my journey. I feel as if somehow my body, my brain, and my heart can’t forget that and all remind me around this time of year. Currently in a very different chapter of my life than then and in the very early stages of our journey to baby #2, some of those same emotions are surfacing. While these “bad infertility days” as I call them are very few in number and mild in nature they still remind me of where I was four years ago. It feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago all in one. It’s almost as if it’s subconscious; as if I’m not really sure if my eyes are welling up because of that, but what else could it be?

For that reason, I can’t help but think of my teacher friends still in waiting.  There’s a disappointment in going back with having nothing changed and yet an eagerness to get started as it feels as if you’re moving ahead at least.  And yet, all you feel is stuck.  It’s as if the rest of the world is moving forward and you’re trapped in the same space in time.  You’re no closer to having a baby than you were when you left for summer break.  Baby limbo is a hard place to be as seasons change and transitions occur.

In this season of change, I, myself am experiencing a huge transition as my son goes off to preschool.  While it will be an adjustment to say the least for us, I know it’s time and we are both ready for this next venture.  I’m grateful for our days spent over the course of the past almost three years. We’ve grown together.  We’ve learned together.  And I can’t help but get teary-eyed thinking about what have been thus far, the greatest days of my life.

With this, August is once again filled with the anxiousness and eagerness I’ve always known it to bring.  As difficult as it may be to start another school year, remember that like my son and your students, you’re resilient.  Not even infertility can keep you down.

Four Simple Words

Earlier in the week, I ran into someone I know. We don’t know each other all that well, but well enough to stop, kiss hello and chit-chat. We know about one another’s kids through Facebook and definitely have circles of friends in common. When we went to embrace one another, we started with the normal ‘haven’t seen you in awhile’ and ‘you’re kids have gotten so big’ banter, and then she said “I pray for you.”

Four simple words with such a profound meaning. She went on to say she follows my posts and reads the blog {so if you’re reading this right now, know how much those four simple words touched my heart}. We went on to other topics, but I couldn’t wait to run over and tell my husband what she had said. I couldn’t wait to share that incredible gesture. He responded of course with gratitude, but he was not nearly as affected as I was. It had almost stopped me in my tracks. Maybe because every night with our son we pray for others who are struggling, some we know initimately & others we barely know. But it never crossed my mind that others out there were doing the same for us. Sure I’ve been told that before, but never by someone outside of my close circle and never so raw and genuinely.

Her words spoke to my heart and it came to me. Quite often, I get messages or am asked personally how someone should respond to their friend or loved one struggling with infertility. I’ve read some other bloggers’ pieces addressing the topic and could go on and on for days about things not to say. I have always wanted to come up with some advice of my own to blog about, but wasn’t quite sure I had the answer myself. Or at least I didn’t until the other day. You see, four seemingly simple words can have such an incredible impact- “I pray for you.” “You’re in my thoughts.” “I’m here for you.”

At Wednesday’s infertility meeting, I brought up what had been said to me and how it warmed my heart. I opened it up to the group to give their input about what they found to be most touching. Essentially, it was not advice that was wanted, but rather some validation or words of encouragement. Through our own experiences, here are some additional things someone struggling with infertility would like to hear.

• I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.
• That must be so devastating/painful/unbearable.
• You are so brave/strong/inspiring.
• Don’t give up/quit/lose hope.
• You will be an amazing/incredible/fabulous mom.
• You deserve for this to work.
• I am sorry you have to go through this.

There’s nothing magic about these phrases. They seem pretty standard, right? But how often do we offer advice (“Just relax…”, “My mother’s sister’s dog’s friend did IVF, “Have you tried XYZ?”) instead of just validating the way the person is feeling. You’re angry because your cycle failed? You should be-I’d be pissed. You’re drained from all of this? I don’t know how you do it. I wouldn’t even be able to function. You cried when you heard so-and-so who never wanted kids is pregnant? If I were you, I would’ve cried too and drank myself into oblivion. You declined an invitation to a baby shower around the time it would’ve been your shower if you hadn’t miscarried? Good for you. That’s not selfish-that’s called taking care of yourself.

The greatest way you can support someone struggling with infertility is to do just that. Support them, encourage them, reassure them that their feelings and actions are warranted. Check-in with them. If they told you they have an appointment in July, they want/need/crave your text to say thinking of you/hope the appointment went well/how’d you make out?

It may appear at times like we don’t want to talk about it.  And on some days that will be true and we will gently let you know.  However the majority of the time, it feels good to talk about it.  You may ask, “How are you?” and get a simple “Good.”  But if you suspect that behind that smile we are in pain, press on.  “How’s everything going with trying to get pregnant?”  Chances are a bottle and a half later of wine {unless we are in the midst of a cycle} we will still be going on about what we’re dealing with.

There’s an understandable uncomfortableness when it comes to talking about infertility.  It’s a sensitive, and often seemingly private topic.  Avoiding it altogether, though, does nothing for us, the ones struggling, and you, the ones wanting to offer support.  If not acknowledging  it in conversation, a simple text, holding of the hand, or hug can help too.

Studies indicate that the levels of depression and anxiety in infertile women are the same as cancer patients. Am I here to compare the two? Am I saying they’re the same? Absolutely not. All I am saying is that there is a significant emotional component that infertility entails, much like any disease.  But your words can have such a phenomenal and lasting impact.

When I reflect back on my journey, I’ll never forget those in my life who’d remember an appointment or send an encouraging quote my way.  Even now, I appreciate when someone checks in to see how things are going and where we are at.  So thank you for being there then, thanks to those of you following along now, and thank you for those four simple words.

Back on the Infertility Train

So I apologize in advance because this was an overdue post in keeping you up-to-date in where we are on our journey (or should I say re-journey, journey Part II, journey to #2, re-mix journey 😂).  Regardless of what we want to call it , I already feel like I’m right back on the infertility train.

To refresh your memory, it took a little over a year of hormone therapy for my husband before we could proceed with TESE and align it with an IVF cycle. After getting pregnant with our son and then his glorious arrival, my husband stopped all medications and I never pressured him to follow-up or continue taking them because let’s face it-this shit sucks. And we were in a happy place with a well-deserved hiatus from needles, shots, bloodwork, doctors appointments, result phone calls, insurance appeals, and so on. Do I regret it-a little bit because now it’s like starting back at square one, but it’s what we ALL needed.

So here we are at square one. Last summer we began discussing when we’d take the big leap to hop back on the bandwagon. My husband casually told me he was going to make an appointment after his birthday. That was last July. His birthday came and went. Then so did mine. Our 8th anniversary passed and so did our son’s second birthday. He didn’t want to discuss it; I never knew the right time to revisit it and randomly I decided to make an appointment for him at the urologist in November to get the ball rolling. Well two cancelled appointments and five months later, he finally went the day after Easter.

I was pleased that rather than prolong the inevitable with analyses and bloodwork, they immediately started him back on his regimine. I figured last time they had to find the formula that worked and this time they knew that from the start so we are ahead of the game, right?!? 😳 Is there even such a thing in Infertility? I guess not because no sooner than the prescription was submitted, I was already running into issues. Three different medications were being prescribed from two different pharmacies. One was at a local pharmacy which I found odd because basically any controlled substance is foreign to them. But I assumed that the PA must’ve prescribed it there for a reason, possibly insurance-related. That was my first mistake-assuming.  Four physical attempts to get it, my husband’s word that he knew how to reconstitute it, the doctor’s confirmation that he could actually do it himself, and countless back and forth between the doctor’s office and the pharmacy later, we finally received the first med, HCG. It’s an 11-day supply mind you.  So last month I had to call to re-fill and pick it up 3 times.  Ya know, since I don’t have anything else to do.  About a week after, the pill, Arimidex, arrived by mail and I figured I’d give the follistim a little more time. I thought I’d demonstrate some patience and faith that it’d actually get here. Again, I realized that it could never actually work that way so I began the dreaded game of being transferred from one “patient advocate” to the next.

It’s being processed ➡️ We don’t have that patient’s name in our system ➡️ You can only get these meds through Freedom Pharmacy according to your insurance ➡️The doctor has resubmitted it to that pharmacy ➡️ Oh sorry ma’am this hasn’t been processsed because we couldn’t get ahold of you. The doctor gave us their # not yours. ➡️You should be all set. ➡️We need a a prior authorization from the doctor. ➡️The doctor faxed the prior authorization. ➡️We haven’t received anything from the doctor according to our notes. ➡️Your husband has to go for bloodwork in order for them to approve this. {👆🏼 Basically insert tears here because all of this time wasted and now the battle of getting him to quest for bloodwork} What the $&@”!? what? Like shouldn’t someone have known this 5 weeks ago when this was prescribed? Oh and ➡️ We need a separate prescription for the needles and syringes…and another co-pay of course 💸💸💸.

So basically more than halfway to our next follow up appointment, hours upon hours of time gone from my life waiting on the other end of a doctor/pharmacy/insurance call and we are still one medication short.  This is what infertility looks like. On top of dealing with all of the other facets of infertility, there’s always this. I was on the verge of losing my shit and breaking down into tears on the phone with the last phone call. So much so that she asked to put me on hold because she felt badly and didn’t know what to say. Patient advocate? Nobody seems to be advocating for the patient or even remotely helping to make any of this process any easier. I said it the first time around and this very early onset has proven once again that it’s like a part-time job calling/dealing/following-up with the pharmacy/insurance/doctors 24/7. On a positive note, my two and a half year old can now spell the first half of our last name from hearing me repeat it so many times.

This ain’t for the weak is right. You have to be so efficient, so on top of your (and everyone else’s) game all the time in order to keep things together, when physically and emotionally you can barely keep the lid on the pot. And that -all in addition to everything else thrown your way-life, pregnancy announcements, the latest fertility diet trends, AF arrivals.

As we have re-boarded the train I feel so grateful that there are so many others aboard with us. The head nods, comments, other raw stories about what this experience entails are validating and somehow knowing you’re far from alone in this makes it a little easier. So far, I’ve laughed, gotten angry, and even shed a tear that it has to be this difficult, but I know firsthand how worth it the final destination is.


The Day We Put the Crib Away


//disclaimer: don’t worry, I never put him in there with the bumpers//

By now you’re familiar with the crazy deadlines and plans that are unavoidable in my head and in being open about this I’ve come to learn I’m not alone.  So it should come as no surprise that getting rid of Mikie’s betrothed “wuby” and saying goodbye to the “cribby” was imminent. Awhile back I had decided that we would do this simultaneously. Call me insane. Maybe ruthless. Or possibly guilty of lazy parenting. Hear me out before you decide. My rationale was both of our sleep was going to be effected so why deal with that on two separate occasions. Call it what you may, but it seemed logical to me. I spent weeks upon weeks prepping him for the departure from his pacifier and when the time finally came it really was heart wrenching to see him take a little suckle of the three remaining”wubys”before parting with them. He changed into his new PJ’s, became acclimated with his big boy boat bed and even gave it a few test runs while our immediate families were over. When it came to finally going to sleep for the night, he didn’t make any mention of the wuby.  It turned out  it was transitioning out of the crib that was a lot harder than anticipated…for us both.

We reminded him of the new Paw Patrol toy he got for going in his big boy bed, gave gave some extra minutes for playing with some toys now relocated in his room, and a few reassuring hugs, but the tears continued to be shed for his “cribby”. It wasn’t until I went into a long rambling to explain how he was still sleeping on the same mattress as his crib that he could be consoled. I explained what the crib meant to us before he was born, when he was just born, as he grew and now outgrew it. As he became reassured that he was still safe, he drifted off to sleep all while my head became flooded with what it meant that today was the day we put the crib away. The tears poured uncontrollably from my eyes, in a way I’ve never experienced since becoming a mom.

Before the crib, I thought of the countless nights spent sobbing silently at the edge of the bed while still dreaming of what that room would look like as a nursery. I had picked out the crib during one of the many sessions I spent scouring nursery designs and envisioned how it would be the focal point of the room.  Picking out the crib and its adornments somehow kept me hopeful that someday it’d come into fruition.

When we eventually got pregnant, the crib was the first real purchase we made for baby. It was so symbolic that this was actually happening for us-that it was actually our time. It was the first piece set up in the nursery and Mike used to read to my belly as we rocked and stared at the wrought iron frame. There was something so pure, something so relieving about seeing a crib finally in there.

After coming home with our son, the crib became even more meaningful. We had our first scare, the initial night we put him in there to sleep.  Once we were all ready for him to permanently sleep in there, we began our nightly rituals.  Frequently, when he was sound asleep, we’d tip-toe back in there to hold him in our arms in complete adoration.  He resembled an angel as he slept so peacefully, coolie up, each night.

He grew and grew and grew until he would try and lift one leg over the side and we knew the end of the crib was soon.  Eventually, as he became a toddler, it became filled with blankets and snuggly stuffed animals rather than that bare space when he was just an infant.  It became his place, a safe-space to cool-down, unwind, and regroup from time to time.  I’d open the door to give him one last peak before bed and seeing him in there would remind me of my abundant blessings.  I would think back to those days when I longed to see a sleeping baby in there and how those dreams I had so long ago, had come true.

Yet, as I laid there that night beside him it wasn’t just the memories that had me overcome with emotions.  It was also what putting the crib away meant.  In the same way I hadn’t prepped Mikie for the transition, I hadn’t prepared myself.  I wasn’t sure if disassembling and storing the crib that day was an “I’ll see you again soon” or “goodbye forever”.  I’d imagine for any parent this is a hard nut to swallow, but it can be even more upsetting when it’s not your call to make.  Would we ever again be setting that crib up to welcome another baby into our home and hearts?    Would I ever again be holding onto the crib bars, swaying  while carrying a new child in my womb?  Would I ever again spend sleepless nights consoling an infant, gently rubbing his or her back as I hummed a familiar tune?  Would we ever have the chance to pick up a baby from that crib again in the middle of the night just because we craved his or her touch?

The day we put the crib away was not just closing a chapter in Mikie’s life. It may also have been closing the door for good to ever having those experiences again.  Like my innocent two-year old, the impact of what putting the crib away meant was unforeseen.  However his resiliency has left me in awe.   Never knowing if you’ll have this time again, makes you cherish every precious moment as they come, and might possibly be why I am laying down in his big boy bed every night to put him to sleep 😉.


Listen Up

//this post is dedicated to my aunt and my way of thanking you for my life lesson//

April marks National Infertility Awareness Week //April 23-29, 2017// and as part of it’s movement to rid the stigma that one in eight of us faces, Resolve spearheads a theme every year. If you remember, On Prayers and Needles was nominated in 2016 for the Hope Blog of the Year based on last year’s submission to “Start Asking” //linked here http://onprayersandneedles.org/2016/04/startasking/ //. This year’s theme “Listen Up” is an effort to get our voices heard, to impact legislation to provide sufficient and universal insurance coverage, and to breakdown the barriers of infertility.

When I first glanced at this year’s theme, “Listen Up”, I could’t help but retreat back to when I was in middle school.  At the time, my aunt had introduced my parents to essentially some life-coach organization that offered seminars for adolescents.  I never really understood the point or gave the experience much thought; however something did resonate with me that I even reference now as a thirty-something-year-old in my own life experiences. I remember a long, drawn-out discussion of how we all have rackets in our life, be whatever they may, significant or insignificant, and that we tend to have expectations of how others should behave within these certain instances. The point that I’ve carried with me all this time is that while we may assume that somebody should respond in a certain manner, that is completely out of our jurisdiction. We can only control our own actions and reactions; not the actions of others.

It got me thinking of this year’s theme. In a perfect world, I’d expect that everyone would “Listen Up” when it comes to infertility. If everyone were to “Listen Up” they would understand the loss and devastation an infertile couple faces in being unable to have a baby the most natural way. They’d think before they said something like “Why don’t you just adopt?” and be more conscientious of their actions. If people were to “Listen Up”, they’d empathize with the pain pregnancy announcements, baby showers, and ‘Reserved for Expectant Mothers’ signs can inflict. They’d acknowledge that miscarriages, failed cycles, infertility diagnoses, chemical pregnancies, and stillbirths all require grieving time. If the world would “Listen Up” they’d recognize that surrogacy should be legal and insurance coverage for infertility should be available for all couples regardless of their sexual orientation or where they reside. They’d respond in a way that would cause a monumental shift in how infertility is perceived and the shame and isolation associated with this disease would be dissolved.

In essence, my expectation would be that as a whole, the realm outside of infertility would understand, think, empathize, acknowledge, recognize as if they were 1-in-8 and they’d respond. Yet, that life lesson I was given almost two decades ago has taught me that I cannot control the actions of others; only my own actions and reactions. So while I cannot force them to “Listen Up”, I can “Speak Up”. I must use social media platforms to “Speak Up” and get my success story out there so people can realize the struggle infertile couples face and the need for change. When at work or out for happy-hour, I must “speak Up” by sharing our journey openly so that infertility becomes a socially acceptable topic of conversation. I must participate in walks, advocacy nights, and other events to spread awareness and “Speak Up” within my own community.

Not only must my actions “Speak Up”, but so too should my reactions. When receiving push-back about undergoing In Vitro Fertilization , I must “Speak Up” and let it be known that no matter what my nationality or religious belief, my God wanted me to be a mom and everyone is deserving of that opportunity if they so chose. When someone asks when I’m going to have another, I must “Speak Up” and say “we struggle with infertility” and “our first is an IVF baby”. When an acquaintance advises that I should be content with the one child I’ve been given, I must agree that I am blessed and then “Speak Up” to remind them that they wouldn’t say that to a fertile couple wanting to grow their family.

I’ve come to learn, infertility happens to be a racket in my life. I cannot change the circumstance, only the way I react to it. I cannot expect you to react in the same way; nor can I force you to “Speak Up.” I can only hope that in choosing to “Speak Up” the world will “Listen Up”.


I’ve admittently had writer’s block recently. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to blog; it is just that I’m not quite sure what you need to hear. Being “out of the game” so to speak makes it a little more challenging to journal. So I reached out and am so appreciative of the response I’ve gotten. I even started to draft on a few of the topics suggested to me, but then it happened…I was unblocked.

Let me start off by saying, for those of you already blessed, two is magic. At least for us, it has been. Since he’s turned two, Mikie has slown down a bit. Everything I used to cram into two hours of nap time I can sometimes tackle while he’s “reading” or playing independently in his toy room. Two also means there’s a lot more activities we can participate in on weekends. Discover the Dinosaurs came to the Convention Center in Hartford, CT last weekend and just happened to be the best experience yet. There was so much for him to do and explore and he was old (tall) enough to enjoy all there was to offer.

I couldn’t have been more impressed with the event…or more unblocked. I was surrounded by pregnant people. Literally every female there was pregnant in some capacity, new little bump to full-fledged this baby might fall out if I have to run after my kid in that Dino-jumpy. No matter where I turned there was another pregnant mom. So much so, that my pregnant sister-in-law who went with us turned to me and said “Literally everyone here is pregnant.”

Literally everyone except me. It’s not that I’m even completely at that point of bump envy. I swear, I’d be the first to admit if I was. I am currently awaiting the arrival of my niece and nephew just months apart and know that will be the “fix” I need. Yet, that’s all I needed to spiral back into the midst of infertility. Just being surrounded by pregnant ladies was enough to make my head start spinning. My mind started racing and analyzing…her first looks so much younger than Mikie…oh my God she’s on her third in the same time I’ve had one…should I already be pregnant?…have I let too much time gone by? The plan in my head started to get the best of me. Where I thought I’d be and where I am are different. And I am wholeheartedly okay with that until I’m physically reminded. Moments like that can bring me back to infertility in an instant. So much of infertility is letting the plan in our head affect our present. For minutes, I let that happen.

Then, I had to reel it back in. Infertility has robbed me of so much. I wasn’t about to let it rob me of living in the moment and enjoying this experience through my son’s eyes. I had to consciously take in what was around me and react differently. Don’t get me wrong-it took looking for other parents of only children and seeing expectant moms of 4+ year olds to remind me it’s all going to work out. But I was able to do it. I was able to rid myself of the anxiety that surrounded me and enjoy the day with my miracle child.

In that moment, I was reminded why infertility never escapes us even when we’ve overcome it. I recognized why secondary infertility must come with so many layers and how sometimes the plan in our head is our own worst enemy. I also realized how strong I am and how far I’ve come. Granted I have my son, but a year ago I started feeling the angst of infertility. My brain started trying to dictate to my life once again, to no avail. This might sound crazy, but instead of going church week after week (or most weeks-church going with a two-year old aint easy) and praying for another miracle baby, I started to dialogue with God differently. Rather than ask for another child, I started to ask that my heart be full with the one I’ve been blessed with. It is not that there aren’t daily reminders of this; it’s moreso that my heart had been unsettled. I’d say that at least the last 8 months or so I have felt that fulfillment-that my heart is at peace . While I would love nothing more than to grow our family, I am grateful for our son and so excited for the anticipated gift of our niece and nephew-which will be the closest thing to me having a newborn if I never get to experience it firsthand again. I’d be lying to you, or more importantly myself, if I said I didn’t still drift into nursery design and christening planning daydreaming. Something in my inner-core tells me it will happen again for us. I am faithful and am positive. Yet, just like last Sunday at the Dinosaur Experience there are times when I am tested. There are times when I feel weak and vulnerable and let infertility get the best of me.

In the end it’s about finding the balance. There are times when I’m blocked because I am so busy enjoying the infertility baby I’ve been given. Then there are moments, in which, I am reminded all too well that we are one in eight and I’m suddenly unblocked.

Why a Support Group is For You!

If you’re just tuning in, this whole baby blog of mine originated because my main purpose is to get a local support group up and running in Connecticut. No matter where I go, there are flyers for every type of support //addiction, grief, breastfeeding, divorce, raising multiples//. Yet, not even in my OB office or RE clinic, have I ever seen a flyer offering infertility support. Why is that?

The answer is two-fold. First, it’s because there’s shame, embarrassment, possibly religious reasons, but essentially an abounding stigma regarding infertility. Second but why? Why when 1-in-8 couples are struggling does this need to continue to exist? Why are we any less in need of support? Is infertility not a grief or loss? Is it not quantified as a disease?

I often struggled with this myself because I’d say “it could always be worse.” But could it? For me, becoming a mom was my notion of a fulfilled life for as long as I could remember. So while it’s a different battle than something like cancer or death, living a childless life, for me, felt like worst case scenario. There’s still an undeniable pain, a grieving process that comes with infertility, like any diagnosis. I think the more we accept and acknowledge that, the more open we’ll become to receiving support.

Here are 🔟 reasons why a support group is for you:

1️⃣. You can share as little or as much as you’d like.

This is your group, your support system. You can choose to open up as little or as much as you’d like about your infertility. You choose your level of comfort, no questions asked.  And it doesn’t matter where in your journey you are because we can all relate.

2️⃣. Nobody knows what your experiencing other than someone who has or is going through it themselves.

There’s something about infertility that binds us as women. Not even our spouses can fully grasp the daily inner dialogue we struggle with. It’s consuming and exhausting. Hearing that someone else is experiencing the same emotions and anxieties as we are is so validating. A support group would offer you this opportunity.

3️⃣. Your hope can be restored by the success stories of others.

I love to preface our story by saying we had a 0% chance of having a baby without interventions. It makes the girl on the other end think 💭”Hmmm. If they were able to have a baby, so could we.” Success stories are what kept my faith alive that it’d be our turn sometime. I’d google every possible combination ‘success with MFI’ ‘BFP after TESE’ ‘IVF with ICSI success rate” I’d go on an on. I want to be that success story for YOU!

4️⃣. The answers will be there for you.

You won’t have to use Google or an online group of women in the UK as your answer guide. You’ll have a table full of women with a) either the same questions or b) an answer to your question.

Did you do gonal or follistim? Do I have to change the gage on this needle? Where did you do your injections? Did you do them yourself? How many follicles did you get? What were your side effects?

Imagine the satisfaction of being able to ask all and get an answer, without having to wait for a typed reply.

5️⃣. Consider it a ‘girl’s night’ & ‘me-time’

We all agree we need at least monthly ‘girl’s nights’ and ‘me-time’, right? What a better excuse than attending an infertility support group. It’s a win-win in my opinion.

6️⃣. It’s completely confidential.

One of the common excuses I hear is we are keeping this private. You can do this while still participating in a support group.

There’s no exchange of emails, phone numbers, even real names if you don’t want there to be. Your attendance and what you share is completely confidential. I promise I won’t set up a banner saying “Resevered for the Infertile Girls”. This makes me think, we probably could’ve had our own table in high school. #allgirlhighschoolproblems #yourtableislife #wheremySHAgirlsat

7️⃣. The best advertisement is word-of-mouth.

I know my RE is saying ‘amen’ 🙌🏼🙌🏼🙌🏼 to this. Seriously, though, this is one of, if not the most, important choices in your life. What better way to decide on a fertility clinic, urologist, oR OBGYN than to hear first-hand experiences? Maybe you already have an RE but are not sure if it’s the best fit. Connecticut is small and there’s just a handful of fertility clinic options. Someone’s personal referral might just be the ticket to your destiny.

8️⃣. It takes a village.

Build up your village by increasing your circle. There’s such a sense of relief in knowing there are many there for you when you fall. Use them.

9️⃣. Be part of the movement to spread infertility awareness.

If it’s right for you, we could use our support group to increase awareness and advocate for better infertility insurance statewide. We could become the voice of infertility in CT and a small part of the bigger mission of RESOLVE, our national infertility awareness organization.

🔟.  You could make a difference in someone else’s life.

You could be ‘that’ person for someone just by showing up.  Enough said.

So where my CT girls at & who is with me for a first official support group meeting in March?!