I remember waking up and bursting into tears after a diagnostic laparoscopy. My reproductive endocrinologist thought I was crazy.
All the news was good.
No signs of scar tissue.
Tubes were open.
No signs of current or previous infections.
Everything healthy and beautiful.
And still no answers.
No more information than we had before.
Undiagnosed infertility. Idiopathic infertility.
Not that nothing is wrong, just that they can’t figure out what’s wrong.
Burst into tears.
I wanted an answer.
Something to fix.
It was true, that in that moment, a bad answer was better than no answer.
And so we kept on.
No answer but lots of questions.
What can we do differently?
What other tests can we perform?
What treatments out there have worked for others in my situation?
Will my insurance cover anything given that we can’t identify the problem?
How long is it reasonable to keep trying without knowing the answer?
Do I need a better doctor?
What’s wrong with me?
What’s wrong with him?
What’s wrong with us?
Will this ever work?
Will I ever become pregnant?
Will I be the last one in the waiting room after everyone else becomes pregnant?
Will I be the only leaving without a baby?
What hope do I hold onto?
Will I ever become a mother?
My only answer was to hold on.
Hold on to light.
Hold on to hope.
Hold on to love.
Hold on to those I love.