It’s April again. And that means it’s the beginning of spring, the Easter season, and Infertility Awareness Month. While there are so many aspects of infertility to bring awareness to, the one that I want to focus on today is the pain of infertility from my perspective as  a healthcare provider. As a NaPro Technology nurse practitioner, I have a unique glimpse into this cross, as well as the privilege of walking  alongside these women and couples. While I do not personally know the pain of infertility, just as many of your friends and family do not either, still I hope you know that I see you, love you, and my heart breaks with and for you. It can be hard to communicate to those around you the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual pain you experience as you walk the path of infertility,  so do not hesitate to send this post to someone in your life who you want to share that pain with. And also know that it is impossible for me in this short post to touch on all aspects of this pain and as Michelangelo famously said, “I am still learning.”

I’m not naïve to think that as a medical provider I do not inflict some of the pain associated with infertility. As the one who orders serial ultrasounds to track ovulation (which involves a probe inserted into the vagina for up to 15 minutes, as many as 10 days in a cycle) and orders bloodwork every other day during that same cycle (in order to have an accurate depiction of the hormonal events of the cycle), and as I  the one who inserts a pipelle through the cervix into the uterus to collect and culture a sample from the lining of the uterus (women have likened this pain to somewhere between strong menstrual cramps and labor contractions), I understand that I am in a sense inflicting some of the physical pain of infertility.

I have also had  patients tell me after they have birthed a child that their endometriosis pain was pretty similar to their labor pain. This is not normal and yet women have been told that it is. Many times women have been suffering with the conditions that are now causing or contributing to the infertility since their teens and twenties. Conditions they were told were in their heads, normal, and/or Band-Aided with birth control. Conditions that left them curled up in the fetal position, vomiting, chronically exhausted, hormonally imbalanced, or hemorrhaging – just to name a few (sadly) not uncommon symptoms.

Besides watching the physical pain my patients experience I also see the mental, emotional, and spiritual pain they suffer. The comments  they endure regarding the treatment options they are pursuing or not pursuing, their family size, or discounting the pain they endure break my heart. Some of these comments have even come from those who love them most or medical professionals who should know better (although most of the time they do not have bad intentions). I couldn’t stop myself from crying in a visit when one of my long-time patients who suffers  recurrent miscarriage detailed her experience with the sonographer of the ultrasound I ordered. The tech  nonchalantly asked my patient r if her five pregnancies were live births, miscarriages, or abortions and called my patient’s unborn child “mush” who she was going to miscarry. 

The pain of infertility doesn’t just come through others’ comments, but the emotional burden of it all. Anxiety and depression are brought on or triggered through  feelings  of “brokenness,” the exhaustion of keeping up with what feels like a full time job of trying to get pregnant, the endless cycles of hope and disappointment, feeling like God has forgotten or punished them, or that they don’t have a place in their family, Church, or friendship circles. I have also  seen patients who have conceived and given birth, but who feel guilty when they’re not as excited as they think they should be when their nausea and vomiting is debilitating, or when they experience postpartum anxiety and depression. 

I recently saw one of my patients postpartum, whom I had previously helped through infertility treatment, who was struggling with postpartum anxiety and depression. I told her that her symptoms were completely understandable as for a lot of her life she had already struggled with anxiety and depression, experienced the years-long trauma of infertility, a difficult pregnancy, and now the difficult postpartum period where hormones have dropped off a cliff, she is not sleeping, learning how to take care of a new human, and navigating her relationship with her husband who she was used to spending a lot more one-on-one time with. 

In my practice I take care of women from their teens to their nineties, and I unfortunately see that the pain of infertility doesn’t end after a child is born or even when menopause is reached, whether or not children came before menses ended. This comment isn’t to bring lack of hope or doom and gloom– God can and does bring much fruitfulness and hidden joy from physical infertility if we allow Him to, as with any cross. It is, rather,  my desire to bring awareness to many who do not realize that the cross of infertility – while sometimes more acute than other times – can and does last a lifetime.

A few weeks ago I was performing the painful biopsy of the lining of the uterus I described above on one of my long-standing patients with infertility. The image that kept coming to my mind was of Christ crucified,enduring extreme physical pain for His children. That is the pain I see. That is the pain I hope you recognize. That is the pain Christ wants to carry with you. That is the pain that someday will lead to the Resurrection.

Please know that I am praying for you and rooting for you on this crazy journey to Heaven.

Caroline Gindhart is a nurse practitioner at Divine Mercy Women’s Health in Camp Hill/Carlisle, Pennsylvania. She received her nursing degrees from Penn State University. In her professional work, she diagnoses the root causes of infertility and treats in a way that cooperates with the woman’s cycle using her training in the Creighton Model and NaPro Technology.