'It's not about you': A letter to my husband while we're going through IVF.

Dear husband, 

I am writing this to you at the end of our third round of IVF. Our eighth round of fertility treatment for our second baby. 12 rounds in total. 

And the results aren’t great. 

The hormones are starting to wear off, whatever has been leaning so heavily on your shoulders seems to have been removed, the sun is shining, and we have space to feel… something real for the first time in months. Something that isn’t grief, pain or fear. 

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But this is today. These days are few and far between at the moment. How weird is this feeling of relief when our latest news has been so devastating, babe? It is such a confusing proposition that, if you feel like me, it is almost too tiring to contemplate. People may wonder why we feel relief when everything landed so far from what we dreamed of. 

But babe, they are unlikely to realise the day-to-day process of fertility treatment and what an absolute beast it is. I don’t believe we acknowledge it enough. This may help us remind ourselves that our marriage isn’t as broken as it so often feels. 

Maybe it would help to calculate the 120 injections I have taken so far. Or be mindful of the gazillion camera dildo internal ultrasounds before 9am? The many “initial” conversations with doctors we have seen numerous times who have forgotten our names, our stories, our pain. Not to mention our savings put away for our dream home up north in time for Bryny to start school slip away not so slowly.

This may help us remember what we are faced with. Because being in it, it’s mostly about survival. And we barely have an opportunity to understand the type of challenge this truly is. 

Survival can look ugly. I am sorry that you may receive an extra spikey snipe in the morning when the dishwasher isn’t emptied to “start the day” right by me. I am not proud of the breakdown of communication that doesn’t end with a simple cuddle and a nod of understanding; more like the world is going to end, with two sad souls at separate ends of the couch. It is the arguments about money and what is the next right step in front of our toddler, as the nurses need an answer NOW. Not when he is in bed and when it would be better to have this conversation away from him. 

I am so sorry that you sometimes felt too scared to even speak.

We both know this road is tougher for me. It often feels very isolating. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have it tough too. This is hard on both of us. And whilst you can’t inject yourself, the hormones running through my bloodstream ensure that you aren’t any less affected by their cyclonic temperament. I am sorry that this process only allows me to say these things to you out of the cycle. 

Listen to Get Me Pregnant, This season is all about the mental toll of infertility, how to manage it, and what support is out there. Post continues below.

I do not claim to be my ideal self in these times. And devastatingly for us, this time has spanned four years. You are not a perfect partner and I remind you regularly through these intense fertility-filled weeks. But what I may not tell you enough is I am not a perfect partner either. 

It may take years of therapy and a whole lot of forgiveness to release the shame of what this period of our lives has done to our relationship. What I have contributed to our scars. Hormones or otherwise, my actions will always be my actions. 

I want you to know, babe, we will get through these times because I choose you first.

Without you, there is no baby. And our marriage, whilst it feels a little broken and raw, is our original treasure. I will always remind myself of this. 

(Well, at least when I am off the hormones!) 

Loving each other through this may be one of the greatest tests of our lives. But I choose you again, and again, and again and again. 

We’ve got this babe.

Your wife, 

Stacey 

Feature Image: Supplied