Where have you been?

Boy, is that a loaded question. The short answer is "To hell and back." The long answer is....

About a year ago, my husband and I embarked on a very long, very emotional, and ultimately devastating journey of in-vitro fertilization (IVF). I became pregnant last July after the successful transfer of the only embryo that was created in the process. After a few weeks of ignorant bliss, I got knocked down with hyperemesis gravidarum, which I think translates in English to "really crappy luck." I couldn't even keep ice chips down, and ended up hospitalized a few times. I was sure that I would lose the baby because he wasn't getting what he needed. But, strong like his parents, he pulled through it. Things progressed normally, my belly swelled and I felt him moving; I was certain he was doing some kickboxing in there.

On Thanksgiving morning, excited to spend the day with family and reveal our little guy's gender with cupcakes filled with blue frosting, I woke up very sick. We went to the hospital where we learned that our son's heart had stopped beating. Stunned and devastated doesn't even begin to describe the feelings we had, and still do today. I was admitted to labor and delivery and began the long induction process that would ultimately end in the still birth of a beautiful baby boy. We held him, kissed him, and told him how much we wanted him. Our parents had the privilege of doing the same. And finally, we all said goodbye. He was buried with my husband's grandmother, fondly known as "Grandma Bach." She herself could never have children of her own and made her family through adoption. She was an amazing woman, and I know she will care for him, wherever they are.

You might be asking yourself, "Why is she telling us all of this? I just want to find a good recipe for kale and a new exercise to strengthen my core..." And the truth has two answers. First, because I'm tired of feeling ashamed. Infertility is not something that you choose; it chooses you. It chews you up, and then it spits you out. Second, because being labeled "infertile" can make you feel totally and completely isolated. The fact that so many people are afraid to talk about it contributes to this isolation and shame. To lose a baby is heartbreaking on its own; to know that you can't just "try again" is another level of despair. There is no shame in having to resort to IVF, or any other method of starting a family. The people who should be ashamed and embarrassed are the ones who have children they never even wanted, and then don't take care of them. The other people who should reframe their thoughts are the ones who look at couples without kids and think, "They must be really selfish or not like children." If you know us personally, you'll never know anyone who wants them more.

Don't worry, I'm not going to start using this blog as a platform for infertility; this is the only post you'll ever read about it from me. But, I'm in a place where I'm ready to start writing again, and I have a strong desire to shed some light on a very dark subject. Maybe you think I should get a gold medal in the Oversharing Olympics, and I respect your opinion. But, if this post can help make even one person feel less alone, then my journey has had even more purpose.

Through this experience, writing about healthy eating and exercise felt like a lie. I couldn't stand the foods I was used to eating, and even though I exercised daily, I was so limited I could barely work up a sweat. I had to eat packaged garbage because the smell of any food cooking was enough to send me into dry heaves. I gained 20 pounds (15 pounds of water and 5 pounds of cheese) and couldn't even wear my wedding rings anymore. I wasn't telling many people because I was in the land of "this is too good to be true." So, I just looked like I'd let myself go. That was a part of pregnancy I wasn't prepared for. I was fit and strong from the gates, and I was going to be that pregnant lady others hated - cute bump in my spandex at the gym hearing things like, "You just look like there's a basketball under your shirt!" I was prepared to give birth at the gym, joking that there's even an OB who takes my Spin class. A lot of those feelings changed when my body started hoarding water and the only food I could tolerate was cheese.

In my recovery, I have turned to exercise for the kind of therapy no amount of money can buy. I have cried through runs and left blood and tears on punching bags. Every time has proven to show me that I am strong and my body is capable of doing anything. I think I feel a post coming on about the mental and emotional impact exercise can have on the body...

I don't know where this journey will take me, but I know that taking care of myself is what is getting me through it. Something I like to say to motivate people to work out feels really applicable to the rest of my life right now: don't stop when you're tired, stop when you're done. And I'm not done yet.

In Good Health,
Gym Junkie Katie