Two Years

Two years ago, I walked across campus in a daze. I repeated the facts to my husband and my mother over the phone. I entered the chapel, avoided eye contact with the attendant, and made my way down the stairs of the crypt. I summoned the associate pastor, who was leading the youth in a reflection exercise after the morning's service activities. Fighting back tears, I informed him that I had gotten some bad news and asked if he could handle the youth the rest of the day so I could go home. He agreed and gave me a hug. I sobbed the whole drive home. Two years ago today, the doctor gave me a new title: Infertile.

I remember the above very clearly, and yet my appointment at student health is a bit of a blur. I was in the midst of leading the congregation's youth in a week of service. The associate pastor agreed to take charge of the kids while I followed up with the doctor I had first seen back in May. Thanks to 9 months of charting, I knew I wasn't ovulating. What I didn't know was why. At least, I didn't know for sure. Something was obviously not working right with my body; plus, I gained 25 lbs. as soon as I stopped taking the birth control pill, even though I was still exercising and eating right. All signs pointed to PCOS, no matter how much I wished I could explain them away. Nevertheless, it's one thing to suspect and another thing entirely to have your fears confirmed and be told you will most likely be unable to have children without medical assistance.

After making this declaration, the doctor recommended Metformin as the first step towards fertility. Thankfully, that's the only step it took, and 5 months later, I saw the second pink line that would become my son. The worries were no where near over, though, since miscarriage occurs in over 45% of PCOS pregnancies (compared to 10-20% of total pregnancies). As a result, I stayed on Metformin throughout the first trimester. Women with PCOS are also more likely to develop gestational diabetes and pre-eclampsia, both of which I thankfully avoided.

Two years ago today, I received news that seemed absolutely devastating at the time. But in just a few weeks, my son will turn one. He's a thousand answered prayers and a testament to modern medicine in one. And he makes all the anxiety, fears, and heartache well worth it.