A Break in the Clouds: Our Infertility Story (4)

In late September of 2016 we tried our first and only IUI procedure. Our favorite doctor recommended it to us as the next logical step after not having success with Clomid.

The whole thing was completely surreal. The medication. The scans. Standing in my kitchen and letting Bill administer a shot. The procedure itself. The cost. I’d only read about this sort of thing before but now it was actually our life. And it wasn’t an easy decision for us. I know an IUI seems like nothing compared to what some people have to put themselves through. I know that the $800 we spent out of pocket is a drop in the bucket compared to what some people spend trying to have a baby. But this was big for us.

It was invasive. It was $800 that we had to consciously take away from our existing child for something that might not even work the first time. And then there were our own personal morals and ethics that we had to talk through. Pray through. How far down this path were WE comfortable walking? It’s all highly personal and complicated. Every couple has to make the choices that are best for them.  I thought this has to be it. Because for us it was such a BIG DEAL. God has to be behind this decision. This will work. So we took the leap.

It failed.

In fact, my period came the Saturday morning of my best friend’s wedding. But thank God for that. Only watching her find the happiness she so completely deserved could have deferred that heartbreak. That and copious drinks and the open bar.

We opted not to do it again the following month. My heart couldn’t do it anymore. No more doctors. No more pills. The holidays were coming and we needed a break. We wouldn’t “not try” but we weren’t going to actively try anymore. At least not the diligent way we did before. When we felt ready to do it all again, we would. And just so you know “not trying” didn’t magically get us pregnant. Seven more months went by and towards the end of that time I went through a huge paradigm shift in our journey.

Near the end of May in 2017, about a month after my best friend and her husband became pregnant with their first baby, my period was late.

One day. Then two. Four days. A whole week. A normal woman would have taken a pregnancy test. But seriously. No. I was not taking a pregnancy test. What a joke. Poor Bill was losing his mind but I just thought it could not possibly be that. I can’t be late because we’re pregnant. It has to be something else. I thought I must have miscalculated when I’d ovulated. I’d done that before. Never by a week though…

So late one night before bed I let Bill talk me into it. I peed on the stick and ran back to the bed while he watched it process. I buried my face in my knees and squeezed my eyes shut so tight while my heart pounded in my ears. I heard him come back in and when he dropped to his knees beside the bed I knew. He showed me the test.


All we could do for several minutes was hold each other. No pills. No ovulation kits. No doctors. Just pregnant.

We were pregnant.



A disorganized, overly dramatic SAHM of two girls finding her center after secondary infertility. Caffeine queen. Romance fiend. Welcome to my nerd show.

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