When I start telling the girls about everything I’ve been through while trying to conceive, I get looks like I’m crazy. But deep down, who isn’t? Since I’m anxious about everything, I even did crazy things to find out if I was pregnant way before it was possible to have an accurate diagnosis.
I was, indeed, a fanatic, neurotic, even considered a little nuts during my glorious days as a TTC (trying to conceive). Don’t think I feel bad about it! On the contrary, it was in the midst of this madness that all my knowledge about trying to get pregnant came about. It was through reading, studying, talking to my friends and more experienced TTC mentors—simply those who had more time on the journey—that I learned. Psychologically speaking, they gave me emotional support and just knowing I wasn’t alone in this battle (which many women still face) made all the difference in the world. I learned everything, from this position, that position, raising my bum, sitz baths with baking soda and so on. These peculiar methods and TTC tricks, and other craziness, are, in a way, a comfort for the fertile days.
Being able to vent and have someone to talk to definitely helps, even in more severe cases where fertility is more compromised than expected after the first attempts. Well, I always say that when you start trying to get pregnant, preparing yourself psychologically is very important. Knowing it could take up to a year for pregnancy to happen is essential for staying calm. Only after a year of unsuccessful attempts should you seek a specialist for further investigation.
In reality, Marcos and I tried for a total of seven years, over three pregnancies: one year for the eldest (it wasn’t even really a TTC phase, but I count it anyway), three years with Dudu and a bit over three with Mel. I admit that in the last months before I got pregnant with Melissa, I was kind of numb from so many negatives. I would take a lot of tests each cycle and always ended up disappointed. Hope was always there, even after a menstrual cycle.
Our bodies are tricky! When we’re anxious, anything can happen, everything can look like a pregnancy sign, and that’s where the risk of disappointment lies. Only those who have gotten a negative result (as many hopeful TTC women have) know what it feels like to have the world crash down. Getting a cold shower is never fun.
It was through so many negatives that I came to the conclusion that a negative isn’t the end of the world and that waiting and letting days pass is essential. I learned that the hard way, my friends! I had to shed many tears of disappointment to learn that you should only test after your period is late. Before then, HCG might not have made it to your blood yet, which only happens after implantation.
Don’t expect your positive to show up two or three days after sex, it doesn’t work like that! As much as we wish a bright orange nose would light up right after fertilization, we know that nature isn’t that simple. So all that’s left is to wait, a hard reality. A woman’s life is about eternal waiting. It was funny, when the positive did finally come, I couldn’t believe it, I swear! I guess so many obstacles, so many trips to the lab, so many negatives made me grow a shell and doubt what I was seeing.
The first positive was different. I was scared because I didn’t want to be pregnant in that situation—it was like life was shaking me, saying: “Hey, you’re a woman! You slipped up and now you’re pregnant.”
But the second positive was actually wanted. Even though I was still young, I knew I’d be a good mother, so I don’t judge young girls who want to be moms. Of course, every woman should consider her own situation and relationship to provide a secure life for her baby. But why would a 20-year-old be less of a mom than a 35-year-old?
I remember that I had a decent job at the time, I was 21 and really skinny and cute—a real cutie—oh, those wonderful years! One day, my breasts hurt a lot and I thought my red (period) was coming. One day, without thinking too much, I didn’t even know how many days late I was. I just felt like I needed to take a test.
I simply walked into the pharmacy and asked for the cheapest test they had. I got home, it was around 5 p.m., and I just used that urine. I peed in the test cup and put the strip in. I swear I almost fainted when two lines appeared. The shock wasn’t as great as with the first positive, but I was still scared because I wasn’t expecting it, even though I wasn’t taking anything or using protection. I called my husband and showed him the test, and he, not understanding, asked for the instructions so he could read them. We had to interpret the result!
He sat on the bathroom doorway and stayed there for almost an hour, looking lost like a sad puppy. If I was scared, imagine him! Who wouldn’t be?! But at the same time, his reaction made total sense. Actually, Marcos’s reaction to my pregnancy news was never like those movie husbands. He’s the untouchable macho type, São Paulo’s own Chuck Norris. But deep down, I know he melts.
For the second pregnancy (my third positive) it was even nicer because this time we really wanted a baby, and it happened after a mishap. We had even done treatments to make pregnancy possible, and it was when we gave up that Dudu came. Mishap? Yes, a mishap, dear friend! There was a freezer in the way, and I almost lost my little right toe. I stubbed it so hard I broke it. It hurt so much that I went to the ER. That’s when we saw the on-duty orthopedist. He looked like He-Man but was very competent.
The doctor sent me for an X-ray. But first, he asked if I suspected pregnancy. It was February, and since I hadn’t had a period since December, he decided to request a qualitative beta. I had my blood drawn, and we waited fifteen minutes, then he called us back to his office.
Doctor: Patricia, congratulations!
Me: What?
Doctor: Yes, it’s positive. Go home and only use paracetamol for pain! You can schedule your prenatal care.
Marcos turned blue, lilac, pink, green, yellow—a rainbow of feelings or shock, who knows! Of course, as a good indestructible guy, he hid it, but I know my husband. I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. I went home, feeling like I was walking on eggshells. It had been so many years of waiting!
The third time was a roller coaster that left its mark on me forever. It was the TTC stage where I fought the hardest and learned the most. I know nothing is in vain, and that’s why I pass on, with great pleasure, all these lessons to other women trying to conceive. The positive came when I least expected it, like a soap opera scene.
I always took my temperature, checked my cervical mucus, did it all. After so long trying, I learned to know myself, and I know how helpful using these methods is. Then one day, I was at 15 DPO (days past ovulation), and I made ground beef with fresh rice and beans for dinner. I served myself, sat down to eat, but the beef felt like a rock, going down like a brick. I couldn’t eat that night, but I wasn’t alarmed yet. The next day, I was so hot that when I went to pick Joana up from school, my hands and feet felt like they were burning; not to mention I was so impatient. I wanted to kill anyone who looked at me for more than five seconds. Dudu’s voice annoyed me, poor thing, though he’d done nothing to deserve it.
I remember Marcos got home a little earlier that night, came into the kitchen, and put his lunchbox on the counter. I had already cleaned everything after dinner and started to cry, feeling unappreciated as a housewife. I say I’m a real telenovela drama queen, because that scene was worthy of a Televisa soap. As my husband jokes, mimicking the soap opera Maria Mercedes: “You’re the Brazilian Maria Kombi.” I don’t disagree with that title, because I really am dramatic when pregnant—fact!
He walked into the living room, saw me crying, and looked me in the eyes:
Marcos: Honey, did you get your period?
Me: No, why?
Marcos: You’re pregnant! I’m sure!
He turned around and went to the pharmacy to buy a test. He brought home a Clear Blue Compact, which is what gave me that positive that night. It was so emotional to see the positive line appearing! I knew I might never see that scene again because of hormones and age (30 and counting). Of course, I wasn’t old—far from it—but hope had worn thin after so many years trying.
Finally, the next day, I took another brand’s test because I could hardly contain my anxiety overnight—another clear positive! On Saturday, we went to the lab to take a quantitative beta HCG exam, which at most takes two hours to be ready. But, as luck would have it, it only came through after I complained to the clinic and only the next day. The result was 144 mIU, four weeks! Giving the news to family and friends was fun. I even got mom and dad’s reaction to having another grandchild—it was amazing! The pregnancy was more difficult this time. But that’s a topic for another book!
The truth is, my trying-to-conceive friend, after so much struggle, you can lose strength. It happened to me, as it does to so many women. Most of my TTC friends from the group were able to get pregnant; only two are still trying. Some are trying for their second child, others already have them in their arms. Anyway, the truth is that being a TTC-er is a state of mind, a philosophy of life. Once a TTC-er, always a TTC-er! Even if you forget the struggle to get that positive, the memories of the trying days will always be there.
