A letter to my husband.

My dearest husband (he would roll his eyes SO HARD that they’d get stuck in the back of his head if he knew I called him this by the way):

The last 6 weeks of our life have been arguably the most intense and emotional days of our life together so far. Later this month will be 6 years since our first date that marked the moment we basically became attached at the hip. In December we will celebrate 5 years of marriage. Nothing in that time prepared us for the shitstorm that would be infertility.

You have handled this whole process the way that I can only dream of. Every piece of bad news we’ve gotten, you shrug and say that we’ll figure it out. You rarely voice the worst possible outcomes, and when you do you somehow manage to spin it in a positive way (side note: I simultaneously love and hate you for this character trait).

When I learned how to give myself injections, you were there making Pulp Fiction jokes. The night I gave myself the first injection, you were there with a bandaid and a hug. You mixed the menopur for me when my hands were shaking too badly to do it myself. And you would do it every night after that for the next 9 days because you wanted to feel a part of the process and you hated that I had to go through all this for something that was technically caused by a problem in your body. You were my biggest cheerleader.

You helped me through the retrieval process and catered to my every stupid whim that day. You picked me up off the floor where I lay crying a few days later when the full effects of the embryo hunger games were being felt and our 12 perfect eggs dwindled down to 1 (later 2) blasts worth anything. “We only need 1 to work,” you reminded me. You held my hand at the transfer because dammit if we were going to conceive a child, you were going to at least be touching me in some way when it happened.

You took it well when I teased you for freezing up when you had to give me my first PIO injection. You were so scared of hurting me, but you did great. You got used to it as the nights went on and by the last one, I barely even felt it.

You held my sobbing, mentally destroyed self 9 days later when we were told it was a failure. You said we would do whatever I wanted for however long as I wanted to make this happen.

I always knew you were this amazing man. I knew you would be the one to stick around. But the last 6 weeks have basically shown me the man that you are and I have never been so fucking proud to be your wife than I am now. You will be an amazing father, no matter how that happens. I wish I could give you a whole team of science babies, but I’ll settle for one.

There are not enough words in the universe to explain how lucky I am that you “winked” at me on Match.com 6 years ago and I said sure, let’s give this guy a shot. I love you so fucking much, SB. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.


7 thoughts on “A letter to my husband.

  1. He sounds like a keeper!! Thank you for sharing this – I feel like our husbands sometimes get left out during the ups and downs of infertility, it’s important to remember that they are going through this too and this is a lovely written thank you to him.


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