Chapter ??: Depression and Infertility

When I was eighteen, I was diagnosed with poly cystic ovarian syndrome. At the time, it meant very little too me. It gave me the advantage of rare periods, but that information was what clued my mum onto my possible health issues.When I was in year ten, I suffered from some severe pains in my reproductive organs area. Cramps, stabbing pains, the works. I was examined and had tests done, but at the time nothing was found. I believe though, that this was the time my condition started.My symptoms slowly crept up on me. Lack of menstruations isn’t uncommon in teenagers, so it didn’t bother me. I began to gain extra weight, but I wrote that off as being less physically active due to my HSC classes. I had gone from having two P.E. classes, playing school sports, doing swimming club in the summer and netball in the winter, to just netball. P.E. was no longer sports but sitting in a classroom basically studying biology and sports science. Doing school sports was traded in for TAFE on Wednesday afternoons. And so, my physical activity declined, leaving me with a reasonable assumption for that being the reason for gaining extra weight.During my time as an exchange student, I gained even more weight and had a total of one period the whole time. I started to notice dark hair on my face and other awkward places. After I arrived home, I was talking with a friend and told her I hadn’t had a period in six months. My mum overheard and booked me in to see a gynecologist.After blood tests and several ultrasounds, I was diagnosed. My left ovary looked like honeycomb it had become so bad. The gynecologist explained to me that I could be treated by taking the pill, but one of the side effects could be trouble conceiving in the future.I was eighteen, so I didn’t think much about that issue then. For the moment, I focused on getting my other symptoms under control; regular periods, reducing the hair issues, and losing the extra weight. I did, however, suffer from some severe pains during the early medication period. I felt my body trying to extract the cysts, and one occasion I curled up in my bed and cried from the pain.Eventually, my body settled. Time passed and I got married. My first child came along quickly. I hadn’t been off the pill a month and I was pregnant! This shocked me because I had assumed I would struggle to have children, but, here I was, pregnant without any effort. I wasn’t terribly overweight then and I had been careful to maintain the PCOS. I think those factors helped with the quick conception.What a happy and exciting time! Although my husband had said he didn’t want kids yet, he was excited along with me. Even when I projectile vomited on him in bed! He tended to me carefully and lovingly. He would make up songs about how much he loved me and laughed when I called him in tears over spilling ramen.Her delivery was traumatic on my body. I had just turned twenty-four when I gave birth to her. My waters broke at two in the morning, but I didn’t go into labor. It turns out, my body likes to do that; dump all the fluid then do nothing. The nurses didn’t believe me because I had no contractions and said I’d peed my pants. I insisted that I hadn’t, and when they tested the fluids, they found that I had, indeed, broken my waters. This meant I needed to be admitted and labor would need to be induced asap.Pitocin is not a friendly drug. It gave me these double, extremely painful contractions. I had wanted to avoid an epidural, so I was given medication through the IV. They made me loopy and apparently, I said some strange things. I saw bizarre images of pink bubbles that contained my pain, but I couldn’t make them pop and go away.Eventually, the pain meds wore off and I asked for an epidural. The Pitocin induced contractions hurt worse than anything I could recall. In fact, my contractions with my second daughter weren’t half as painful. With the epidural in, I relaxed enough to get some rest. I slept for an hour or two. When the nurse came in to check me, she immediately called for the doctor to arrive and told me not to push. I wasn’t pushing. She said she could see the baby’s head. The epidural had made me relax enough to go from five centimeters dilation to engaging the baby’s head and unintentionally pushing her out in a very short amount of time. We had to wait for the doctor though, which didn’t help anything. In fact, I believe being told to wait was what caused the problems that followed. The baby came out fast when the doctor arrived and tore me from the inside out. I bled like crazy while my doctor worked to stitch me up and the nurses took care of my screaming newborn. I ended up with forty-five stitches. I was ordered to be on twenty-four-hour bedrest and was treated like a cesarean patient.It soon became apparent that I had latching problems. Nursing required several hands on deck just to get my baby to latch on. With so many people looking at and touching my private areas due to the tearing and nursing, I began to feel no shame regarding my body.The nursing issues meant I had to pump and supplement my newborn with a bottle. She also developed jaundice. So, I had to deal with fighting to get her to latch, a bilirubin blanket, and the pain of my recovery. The jaundice soon passed and, slowly, after the pain of cracking and swelling, I began to get her to nurse. Except, my healing didn’t seem to be going so well. I still had pain when I sat. My mother-in-law told me to stop complaining because I should be fine by that time. I felt bad, like I had done something wrong. At my eight-week check, I told my doctor about my pain. She took a look and found there was something wrong. The scar tissue had overhealed and was too thick which was causing the pain. With a quick, sharp snip, she solved the problem. I smarted for the next few hours, but the pain vanished.After all that had settled, my baby developed colic, then reflux, then she started to cut teeth. In a letter I wrote to my former sister-in-law, which I will use since my journal entries weren’t well kept during this time, I wrote of these struggles by saying, “She would wake up at midnight like clockwork and scream for a solid two hours every night. I was exhausted and exasperated.” I sunk into a deep hole, a hole I soon learned was postpartum depression. I didn’t know what was happening at the time. I just thought my lack of sleep, my baby’s constant need to nurse, and all her sicknesses had driven me a little bonkers. Because postpartum depression can often make me feel a bit like I’m going insane. My temper gets short and I lose a lot of control over my emotions. It turned me into a person I didn’t recognize. I was definitely not myself anymore. In the letter, I explained, “My depression with (my oldest), looking back, was quite bad. I struggled to function in so many ways. I couldn’t keep up the house, there were even days when I wouldn’t shower and I’d lie in bed for hours. I even told (my husband) that I didn’t like (our daughter). I was in a dark place, and I wish I could have seen what was happening, or even someone else see it. Instead, I was criticized for a messy house and not making dinner every night.”I had married into a family who considered mental illnesses something that could be brushed away by a simple decision. I wished I could brush my feelings away! Finally, I was medicated and the meds took the edge of my depression. It still lingered, however. My postpartum depression lasted between eighteen months to two years for both my girls.After getting out of the depression, I began to think about having another baby. With my PCOS and weight gain, I was in no denial that a second child would not come as easily. The months turned into a year and still no baby. I began to grow disheartened, especially with so many women around me making “I’m pregnant!” announcements. Especially the teenagers who only recently married. There were times at work or at church I would slip away to the bathroom to have a cry. I tried not to make a big deal out of it because, as my husband kept telling me, we were blessed to have one pretty great kid. Still, my heart ached for the life that never seemed to come.My husband’s younger brother was the perfect and favorite child. When he married, his wife could not be more perfect and I couldn’t be more ostracized. Even things we said and did the same, I was criticized for and she was praised. When, during my time of grieving for my infertility, they announced they were pregnant, I was crushed. Of this occasion, I said in the letter, “I said to (my husband) on the way, “If they announce they’re pregnant, I’m going to break.” He understood and agreed we would leave if need be. And you did announce it. My soul died. Although, I couldn’t cry there. I turned to (my husband), and he understood. We packed our things to leave and (my mother-in-law) pulled (my husband) aside to tell him that I was being selfish and needed to stay and be happy for you. I couldn’t stay, and (my husband) knew it. So, we left. At home, I put (our daughter) to bed and locked myself in our back room. I cried and ached and prayed. All I wanted was children, and I couldn’t even do that. (My husband) eventually came in and held me, letting me cry. He understood even if no one else did.”This pain was only compounded by my struggles with my daughter. “Meanwhile, (my daughter) had become a demon child. She would beat me almost daily. I had to lock her in her room and hold the door shut while she rampaged and screamed inside. Once, she even unbuckled and attacked me while I was driving. I had to pull over and hold her down until she was done. I have no idea even now where any of this came from. She only ever did it to me. Unfortunately, this was used as more proof that I was a terrible mother. I couldn’t control my child, so obviously I was doing something wrong.”My in-laws always seemed to make my feelings worse. Instead of letting me grieve, they told me I was selfish. Instead of understanding, they told me to shut up and stop complaining. “All of this pain, grief, feelings of failure, all swelled and mixed and drove me back into a dark place. During this time, (my husband) caught me contemplating self-harm. I think it was the first time he really saw how bad things were for me. He took me to the bishop who immediately sent me for therapy. The therapy helped me a great deal and I began to climb out of my hole. Still, I struggled to be around pregnant women without a wave of grief creeping up, and I’m pretty sure you saw me avoiding you during this time. Know that it wasn’t you, I just wanted to avoid the pain. But, again, this avoidance was taken as a massive offense. I was told by (mother-in-law) to stop being so selfish and be happy for you. More salt in that wound…“However, I was beginning to feel more like myself again. I was happy and having fun, and even went on a trip to Vegas with some writer friends. We were having a great time, until my phone started to buzz. Over and over. I looked at it and it was like a slap to the face. You’d had the baby. I tried to ignore it, but the messages kept coming, slapping me over and over. I felt sick, and left to return to my room, having the great excuse that I didn’t want to join my friends with their drinking. In my room I lost it. I collapsed in sobs, struggling to call (my husband). He knew right away what was wrong and hung up to tell (his brother) to take me off the text. Before he even called me back, I received an angry text saying how dare I ask to be removed from the group text. When (my husband) called me back, he let me cry as I said over and over, “I can’t do this.” The grief was back worse than ever. I hadn’t felt so much sadness and loneliness since I’d been persecuted in high school.”Infertility is a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Sometimes, you feel on top of it, and other times it slaps you across the face and paralyzes you. During this time, I was blessed to have wonderful friends who knew the same pain as me. One friend in particular I had long and heartfelt conversations with as we both worked together in an office full of pregnant teenage brides. She had a harder time than me because she had also suffered from a string of miscarriages, but we both knew one another’s pain and consoled together. Having gone through that pain has given me the power to be empathetic to those who suffer from the lost hopes and dreams of infertility. As hard as it was, I am so grateful for it.Unbeknownst to me, I conceived my second either before or after my trip to Vegas. I have no doubt the Lord saw my agony, knew I had learned what I needed to learn, and sent me my little daughter. My daughter who would be so much like me. By the time she was born, my older daughter was almost five years old. It’s hard to be grateful for something so painful, especially when the people around you seem to compound the pain and drive a knife deeper at each turn, but I am grateful for it. My sister and my brother’s wife both struggle with infertility and miscarriages, so it has helped me love and appreciate their strength through their trials. It also helps me appreciate other women who, despite the cultural expectations placed upon young couples in our church, don’t have children. I never ask them why. I know what it feels like to be asked, “When will you be having another?” and the answer is, “I’m trying and failing!” I know what it feels like to have people treat me like that failure is some sort of sin that means I deserve to be treated like garbage, and if I feel pain, I need to get over it.When my second daughter was almost two, I began thinking about having another baby. However, I was wary. The pain of the struggle to conceive was still sharp in my memory. On July 2nd, 2017, I wrote, “I want to have one more child… I prayed about having another child because I’d been having doubts about having more kids. I felt very strongly impressed there’s a little boy waiting to join us… I also felt he would arrive very soon. I hope so… the toll the whole preconception takes on me emotionally and the post delivery problems I have with my body and PPD (worry me). We’ll see how it goes. When I prayed, I felt the promise of the Lord that He would help ease the struggles I face when having children and I have faith in that. He’s the only person I believe will always follow through and understand all of it completely.”This was more than two years ago, and I have not had another child. However, the grief of not conceiving has never come. The Lord promised to ease my struggles, and He has. He still tells me another child is waiting, even though I no longer have a husband. But, I’m at peace with it. I trust the Lord, and I know His “soon” is different to my “soon”. When the time is right, my child will come. The Lord took away my grief as promised, and so I know His promise to send me a child will also come.I know that I’m not alone with these feelings and struggles. I’m grateful for the friends and family who lent me their support and empathy, even when other family members used it against me. The Lord has a purpose for everything, and I have no doubt He had a purpose for me struggling with infertility.