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Rochester Local

Running From the Unknown: Life As a Struggling Baby Maker

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Hi, my name is Mallory and I’m a Struggling Baby Maker… As I type this sentence, I almost feel like I should be standing at a podium, and announcing my addiction. Almost as if, it’s embarrassing or scary to admit you’re struggling with infertility. But it’s not embarrassing to admit things- it means you’re strong and have a lot of fight in you.

For many of us as young girls, we thought being a mom was the definition of being a woman. In my world, I  learned that girls grow up to be moms and wives… I could do other things, but most importantly I would be a mom. We played with dolls and played ‘house’, we planned our weddings to a New Kid on the Block at age 9, and picked out baby names in high school. Growing up, it was Love, Marriage, Baby.

I had always dreamed of being a mom, and knew Matt would make a great dad. I had it in the back of my head that I’d be a stay-at-home mom, I’d make a calendar of activities, and celebrate weird holidays like Talk like a Pirate Day or Watermelon Day. I had hoped we’d live in Rochester and I’d be able to send our kids to RCLS, because I loved it there and wanted my kids to have that experience. I wanted to go on a family vacation to Disney World to celebrate their 5th birthday, with our entire family, and we’d all wear matching shirts. I had a whole big plan of how my life would be…and then I had to make adjustments and changes and maybe have to give it all up.

I assumed getting pregnant would be easy, that it would maybe take a couple of months but eventually we’d get pregnant. At first, I didn’t think anything of not getting pregnant and was a little relieved for a while. Matt was still in school so I figured it just wasn’t the right time.  There continued to be situations that arose where having kids didn’t fit into the plan at the moment, and I was glad we somehow in 5 years had yet to get pregnant. When we moved back to MN and finally settled down, it was time to get serious and figure out what was going on; but even with all the poking, prodding, and tests, we didn’t have any answers. In the back of my mind, I was hoping there was something wrong so it could be fixed, or at least there was a reason for our infertility. We had been consulting with the Mayo Clinic in the Endocrinology department to figure out what steps to take next, but we had no answers. Since nothing was ‘wrong’, the next probable step was IUI (Intrauterine Insemination).

I remember the day I found out the IUI didn’t work. It was a Thursday in February. It had already been a trying week, finding out a family friend had passed away. With my emotions already at a high, I tried not to be upset that morning, because it wasn’t like it was the first time we’d been disappointed. I went to work hoping I could just get through the day- until one of my co-workers announced her pregnancy. I felt my heart completely break, my world crumble, and I tried as hard as I could to keep it together. This wasn’t the first time someone I knew had been pregnant, but on the day our best chance had failed, it felt like a kick in the gut. Dealing with infertility up until this point, I had gotten really good at pretending, and acting like everything was fine. After work I got in the car and all the emotions came rushing out and I knew I was at my breaking point. I knew I wasn’t strong enough to continue, I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle any more failed attempts, I was done.

The thing about infertility is that you are in continuous cycle of grief. Anything can be a trigger: your period, pregnancy announcements, family gatherings, holidays, Mother’s Day, TV commercials, even walking near the baby section in Target.

I’ve always been a pretty positive and outgoing person. I like to see the best in situations, but infertility tested me to the core and I changed into a completely different person. I hated people…mostly pregnant people. I was consumed with jealousy. I was so mad at the world for my misfortune. I felt like a monster because I didn’t find the joy in other people’s happiness. I was just too consumed in my own self loathing that I no longer cared, I lost my will to fight and lost my will to feel.

Because I didn’t want people to know I was angry or sad, I chose to shelter myself from everything. I didn’t want to spend time with anyone for fear of saying the wrong thing, or bursting into tears. It’s not necessarily that I didn’t want to spend time with people, it was more that most interactions reminded me that I couldn’t have kids. I remember going to brunch with some friends from college and hating every minute of it, and wishing I could leave. Every single one of them had at least one child, and they were all around the same age, so naturally that’s the way they conversation went…kids, parenting, potty training, getting ready for kindergarten, etc. I sat silent, not contributing, and wondering how many times I could excuse myself to the bathroom so I didn’t have to feel so left out. When it came time to schedule another gathering, I made an excuse for why I couldn’t go. That’s what my life came down to for quite a while, a list of excuses.

When I did have to socialize, I became really good at pretending. I acted happy when family members announced a pregnancy, I said the appropriate things and held babies when they were shoved at me. I held in my tears and kept my facial expression neutral every time someone inquired about our future children. I kept a straight face when people were ignorant and said the wrong thing. But I was getting tired; tired of holding in my emotions, being someone I knew I wasn’t, keeping it together, and using every ounce of strength to not completely breakdown.

Something needed to change, I didn’t want to be hateful, jealous, angry, and sad. I didn’t want to resent others, and push those closest to me away. I wanted my life back, I wanted to be happy. I knew I could move on, if I’d just let myself. I had to find a way to stop worrying about things I couldn’t control and focus on what I could.

Running is what changed everything for me.  It never seemed like an enjoyable activity, it seemed silly to just run for a long period of time. The first time I decided to try running was when our family decided to participate in a race as a relay team. It was fun and I liked it, but it still didn’t seem all that exciting. About a year later, my sister decided we were going to run the Disney World Half Marathon. I remember hating the training and not feeling all that confident in my abilities to finish, but I kept going.

Crossing a finish line is such an experience, the high from knowing what you just did, seeing all the people cheering, getting the medal, and immediately wanting to do it all over again. Once I was comfortable with more miles and the act of running didn’t feel like work or training, I began to crave that high. I loved the way I felt when I was done, realizing that after a hard day a good run was all I needed to feel better.

I began running to have the goal of finishing a half marathon, but after struggling with infertility, it quickly became my therapy and respite from the real world. Every time I was feeling down, I’d go for a run. I pounded my feelings into the pavement and left them there. It’s out on a run where I’m able to process my emotions, talk it out, and reflect. Out on the open road is where I’ve learned I can’t control everything that happens in life, but I can control how I react to them.

After that failed IUI, my husband and I sat down and talked about what we wanted to do next. We discussed IVF and adoption, and at the time neither seemed like an option we wanted to try. We were at our limit for let downs and heartbreak and decided we’d take a break for a a couple of years. When we decided to let that dream go, I needed something to do, so I signed up for a marathon. I needed something to identify with, to feel like I was doing something with my life. Running is what keeps me from breaking down and going through the cycle of grief more often than I can bear. I need those miles. And it gives my husband and I something to do together. Through running, I’ve met all kinds of people, all on their own journey, who understand the need for a run.

Accepting what life has handed us, took a while, but we eventually got there. The day we decided to stop trying, I felt relief, like a huge weight had been lifted. Some days are harder than others. So, I take it one day at a time. I have a choice to make every day of what I’m going to let bother me. It’s not easy, and I still get jealous, sad and depressed. For my mental health, sometimes avoiding situations is the right thing for me.  There are just some days where a run isn’t going to make everything better.

This year we plan on starting our journey to become parents again. We know we might experience disappointment again, but we’ll survive. As long as I can run, and I have my friends and family by my side we’ll be ok.

The stages of grief vary from person to person, and it’s ugly but in the end there’s beauty. I think Dumbeldore said it best “Happiness can be found in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light”

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