Good things only happen to some people. They don’t happen for people like us.

On Thursday, we received notice that my husband’s endocrinologist was leaving his practice at the end of September. Due to the rarity of my husband’s disorder, finding a replacement endo is going to be a huge challenge. Add to the challenge, we live in Alaska.

Our insurance company has yet again switched their prescription plan, so we have been spending several hours getting everything sorted out. On Friday, yet another script was denied, and we paid out of pocket, left to argue more with the insurance company more this upcoming week.

We have been gearing up for a natural embryo transfer for the end of this month. Friday before we left for the cabin, the transfer was canceled for this cycle. I know it is for the best; you want everything to be perfect so better chance of it being successful, but it is still disappointing (that is putting it mildly).

I honestly feel at this point that this is how our life is going to be. Good things happening to others, but we will never catch our break. No matter how hard we try. The title of this blog comes from a text I sent my husband when we was talking about “our children”. I felt bad being the downer when he was trying to be positive. I’m scraping the bottom of the hope barrel right now.

This morning, I found the journal I started on 07 August 2013 when we first began to try for a child. I think of all the heartache and struggle we’ve endured since then. My marriage is stronger than ever, a rare disorder and infertility will test your strength as a couple. Right before I found out my transfer was canceled, I had lunch with co-workers. One had a baby in May, and she was there with her baby. An adorable and happy baby. It made my heart hurt, while I’m happy for her, as much as I try, they simply remind me of what I cannot have. I have another friend coming into town this week. She is very happy and very pregnant. I’m very depressed and very not pregnant. I simply do not want to be around that. I want to be left alone, to cry my tears in peace in my garden with my animals.

My mother-in-law has mentioned how aloof I’ve become the past few years. Reading that journal to my baby started in 2013, I realize how much more jaded, cynical, and depressed I’ve become the past four years. I look at our wedding photos, the happy and hopeful couple that had no clue what the first few years of marriage were going to hold for them.

We appear to be a very average couple. Very few people have any idea how often I cry, how financially stressed we are, or how tired we are from arguing with the heath insurance companies. It is hard for me to be happy for others when I’m working through my never-ending grief. It is hard for me to want to go out with friends because I simply don’t want to hear about how wonderful their life is. I don’t want people to say things they think are comforting, but they aren’t, they make me angry and more likely never to go out of the house again.

It reminds me how naïve people are when it comes to infertility. They will never know how bad it truly hurts. This has been my life for longer than I care to admit. I’ve heard all the advice, received numerous pep talks, and have over thought it all. When I need or want to talk about it, I will. I’ll blog about it or I’ll talk to a friend of choosing. If I don’t bring it up in conversation with you, I don’t want to talk to you about it. Leaving my five-acre haven, I’m reminded constantly of what I cannot and do not have. So I hide away, separate myself from the rest of the world and watch from a distance as other live the life I wish I could have. Life looks a lot different on this side of the fence.

Perfect family


29 thoughts on “Good things only happen to some people. They don’t happen for people like us.

  1. It is truly truly brutal. So sorry you have to endure. The pain and agony is endless. I am glad your marriage is holding strong.


  2. I know the pain all too well….. I know what it’s like to cry all the time….I know what it’s like to feel empty. It’s hard to watch everyone live what appears to be a perfect life; one where they get everything they want. No one has it all, though. We all have our stuff. Sometimes, I just have to allow myself to not be okay for awhile. We were supposed to have our next FET cycle in March when suddenly, my RE’s office put all IVF cycles on a temporary hold. That was five months ago and we still have no idea if or when they will be back up and running. I have just had to let it go for now. Hugs… are not alone.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I would lose my shit if some place was holding my embryos hostage?!?!?! Though your way of coping is much more healthy. Yeah, like Tom Petty says “The waiting is the hardest part.” Yeah, I tell myself that we all have our struggles. After all we have gone through, I give others a lot more grace since I don’t know what they are up against. We are all so good about slapping on a happy face.


  3. I was just telling another blogger about how much of a homebody I’ve become since all of this kicked off for us. I know Netflix more than I should. My friends I trusted the most here in town ghosted me, so there’s nothing really for me to do in the evenings when my husband works the late shift. And for a recruiter, it’s very weird to tell people you go to few networking events, or aren’t interested in speaking to groups like you’ve done your whole career. I remember the last speaking engagement I had – spring 2014 – and the thought of doing something like that again scares the crap out of me, not for the being in front of people, but for having to put on a happy face for any extended amount of time.

    I’ve found that the “mommies” that seem to be coming out of the woodwork drive me the craziest – the ones walking their strollers together in the park with babies strapped to their chests as well. And the bellies – I think the bellies are the worst, to be honest. The you-have-life-in-you-that-I-will-never-have-and-therefore-I-can’t-look-at-you feeling. At least when it’s a little one I can tell myself mentally that maybe they adopted. I don’t even like to touch my belly. I almost roll my eyes when my husband does, remembering those weeks we had before our baby died, when he started talking in funny voices to my belly. Yesterday I started looking at my old blog posts, coincidentally, remembering how optimistic we were, remembering how worried we were that if we transferred two that we’d see Ethiopia go through at the same time and have three babies – only to tell that former me that it was all bullshit and neither avenue would work, that the stress of this all would take me up several pant sizes and contribute to fucking up my back and permanently destroying part of my vision.

    But worst is knowing that my husband’s side of the equation is fine, it’s all my fault – my lack of eggs, my uterus, my body that’s fucked it up, his sperm was fine. the other night we were watching a show and they had fast forwarded a few year and the lead character was a dad walking his little girl to school, and I looked at my husband and he was crying. Whenever we talk about our kiddos that we used to read to, his eyes start to tear up as he loved those kids so much. And I see his eyes get glassy and I lose it.

    Glad to have connected with you, my friend, but I fucking hate this is what brought us together.

    PS – So it looks like you are holding a bra in the middle photo of your wedding. Since I doubt this was a trick that your fella did during the ceremony, care to share?? 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Ah we always seem to have lots in common EcoFeminist. Everything is great on my husbands side, all the issues are on my side. Easy for others to say it’s not our fault, but when everything’s stacked on us it sure feels like it is! Xo


      1. EcoFeminist and Slidingdoorsnz – our roles are reversed. I’m the one that things are pretty okay except for thyroid and some polyps – both easily treated. Speaking for the person that is watching their spouse blame themselves for it all, makes my heart hurt. I want to have a child with him. I want to parent with him. It may be easier with another partner, but I don’t want that, ever. This path is really challenging, but I wouldn’t change it if it meant not having him by my side. I always say we are our infertile. We are in this together. It would be no different it was any other medical ailment. So be kind to your self, you spouses know it isn’t your fault and it is out of your control but they want to be with you and they want to parent with you.


    2. Yeah, I have no life anymore. Well, I have a life, a very different life than I had 4 years ago. I think it is precisely what you said – having to put on a happy face for an extended amount of time. It is exhausting.

      Right now, I can’t handle anyone from 5 weeks to 15 years old. It goes in waves which group of mommies and kids I have problems with. Depending on what shit is going wrong with us. My past optimism I feel has gotten me nowhere except having to fall further when it doesn’t work out. Again. I’m having a tough time feeling happy for anyone right now.

      I’ll say the same sentiment I said down below – I wouldn’t want to be on this shitty journey with anyone but my husband and you. 🙂 Though can’t we get our babies already???

      In the wedding photo – it is a tie. We were doing some Irish thing of tieing of the knot. I forgot the rope that I was supposed to bring down the aisle. Bo who is a good friend of Shane’s and our officiant, off the cuff, pulled off his tie and did it with that. That is his tie after we officially tied the knot. 🙂


  4. Your words are so familiar that reading them puts tears in my eyes. We’re in a very similar position, having tried and failed to get pregnant for more than 7 years now. It hurts more than one can really explain, doesn’t it? You reach a point where another let down always is expected, because from experience you have learned that -as you say- good things never happen to us. Only others, never us. :/

    Hugs from the other side of the world!


    1. Even when you expect the letdowns, it still hurts more than you think it should. I always think next time, I’ll handle it more gracefully and be more prepared but I never do. It is always a kick in the gut.

      Thank you for the longdistance hug! Much needed and much appreciated!

      Liked by 1 person

      1. It always hurts, even when you know it’s coming, yeah. Oh yeah. My last failed attempt even sent me to the psychiatric emergency, I crashed completely. >.< Oh well. I wish you luck with future attempts!


        1. Ugh. That is miserable. And I bet ignorant people simply mutter “get over it”. Would they say that if you lost a leg? Or had cancer? I have no idea why the treat infertility like a hangnail when it is a serious medical condition (and yes, a hangnail can develop into one if left untreated). I’ve seen floating around about Infertility PTSD and I do believe it. I wish you also future luck in all aspects of life.


  5. I hear you. You describe the feels I feel too. My psychologist described it as being battle weary, which sounds right to me, so emotionally, mentally & physically exhausted. It’s so hard, infertility impacts all aspects of our lives, it’s a heavy load to carry. Xo

    Liked by 2 people

    1. I like that term – battle weary. Illnesses of any kind is a huge load that a lot of people do not get. You look fine, you must be fine. It is really hard to suck it up for years.


  6. Infertility traumatises you, it changes you and it’s shit. 10 years down the track and I look back and think how did I even get through some days. Somehow we have to find the strength to keep going eventhough we dont quite know where we will end up. You have been through alot and the main thing is that you put yourselves first, sod anyone else. Sending you much love xx


    1. The not knowing where you are going to end up that is hard. I had a map, I had a plan. As much as I hate to admit it, this has forced me to grow as a person. The various challenges in my life really have been what has shaped me as a person. It hasn’t been the things that work out right, but things that have derailed the plans. Though I’m tired of being strong. It is nice to see those that have been at it longer and to see that they are okay. That it really will be okay. Maybe not perfect or what was planned, but it will be okay. Eventually. Thank you for the encouragment and warm wishes – they are much needed.

      Liked by 1 person

  7. I find it hard to look at our wedding photos too – that was ‘before’. Childlessness not through choice is one of the hardest things imaginable. I often say to my husband that it’s like we’re grieving with no grave and no other mourners. It’s the loneliest journey and no one can understand it unless they’ve been through it.
    Sending you so much love. xxx

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I think that is why it is so lonely – lot of people don’t think we have lost anything. They think you can’t loose something you never have.

      Yeah, I look at our wedding photos and think how short lived that wedding bliss really was. Though I also look at them and think “damn, I picked me a good one!”

      Liked by 1 person

  8. What a crappy week – I’m sorry this is happening. My transfer was cancelled twice this year and it does take it’s toll.. I hope you can get to transfer next time round – do you have to wait long? I agree that others are very naïve when it comes to infertility – unless they’ve walked in your shoes they don’t really understand.


    1. I hope for a transfer next round too because if we can’t figure out this natural cycle, I have to do more progesterone in oil shots. cringe* It is a natural cycle so waiting for my next period to start to give it a go.

      I’m always amazed though at how many people who have actually walked in these shoes. Funny that we all feel so alone yet there seems to be so many of us.

      Liked by 1 person

  9. My heart hurts for you after reading this. I’m sorry you have so many struggles in your life. I despise insurance stuff, so having to deal with that would be enough to send me over the edge all by itself. We struggled with infertility for 14 years before we finally brought home our babies. I remember the pain well. Sending love and hugs your way.


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