When I was in my late teenage years, I just had this Feeling that something was wrong with me. I know what you’re thinking, half of teenagers in America think something was wrong with them. But mine was a little different. I felt like there was something wrong with ME. That something inside me was going to prohibit me from easily having children. Stuff just didn’t feel…right, even though I didn’t know how to describe it.

In fact, just a year ago, I sat in my doctor’s office (and I may have the world’s worst OBGYN) and told her I thought I had Endometriosis and told her several of the reasons why. She seriously scoffed at me and said, “No way. You do not have Endometriosis. You are just too worried about things and you need to R-E-L-A-X.”

My OB’s response for everything, I have noticed over the past two years, is to tell me that it’s just in my head, stop worrying and relax.

Well, following surgery she came up to tell us that, surprise!, she’d discovered I had a terrible case of Endo on top of everything else. I so wanted to yell I TOLD YOU DIDN’T I?! at her, but I was on so much Morphine at the time the best I could do was croak out, “Gosh.”

Things continue to seem suspicious. I think there’s something additionally up with me that my OB didn’t catch, and frankly I’m not OK with that. And so, five months after surgery, that’s why Joey and I have an appointment with an Infertility Specialist on Tuesday.

Back when we were first unsuccessfully trying to get pregnant and one of us would hesitantly suggest maybe we fit into the category of The I Word, the other would get angry. As if admitting that we were getting closer and closer to fitting the definition of an infertile couple was going to jinx us and make us infertile for sure. Nearly a year and a pregnancy loss later, it’s no longer a question: it’s reality. Coming to the place where we’re OK with admitting is is a huge step, and a pretty crappy one at that. It moved us from hopeful and naive to seasoned and weary.

Filling out the extensive new patient paperwork for the specialist terrified me. Simply scheduling the appointment and filling out the required paperwork was like stamping a big I Have A Problem stamp on my forehead. It made me feel like I have a reproductive system comprised entirely of spare parts (which actually isn’t too far off reality, unfortunately) and it made me feel kind of ashamed of myself.

But then I kicked myself in the shins and had a good old-fashioned yell at my insecurity.

Seriously? This is nothing to be ashamed of. This is nothing to wrap up tightly and tuck under the bed to hide from everyone. And so that’s why Joey and I have decided that we are going to give this whole experience a voice, and we’re going to do it for all the thousands of couples who don’t feel like they can. And we’re also doing it so that those of you who haven’t ever thought about it before can see what it is. How it feels. How it hurts.

Infertility sucks, and we’re not afraid to say it.

I am so thankful that Joey’s super supportive of this. Knowing that I am 100% of our reproductive problems is really upsetting, but having him right beside me makes it a lot easier. I’ve never once sensed from him that blames me for this, that he thinks it’s my fault. Joey is the one encouraging me to find out what’s wrong, and to figure out how to fix it. I don’t feel like he’s doing that with ulterior motives because fixing me may FINALLY give us children, but he’s supporting me because he loves me and he doesn’t want me to be hurt and broken inside. Joey is cheering me on, and building me up with his strength.

Without his support, I’m not sure if I could voluntarily submit to my ninth pelvic exam in 14 months. (Well, I guess it could be only the eighth, but honestly, after the fifth one who is counting?!)

So Internet, stay tuned. Joey and I are in for a crazy up-and-down journey.