Maybe it's the Lupron talking, but today I can't stop the negative thoughts from playing a continuous loop in my head. I am trying, trying, trying to remain positive, hopeful, and upbeat about this cycle. But, in the back of my mind, hidden under all the "This is GOING to work"s are the fears:
* What if it doesn't?
* What if we don't get enough eggs?
* What if they stop growing?
* What if we don't make it to blast?
* What if we have nothing to freeze?
* What if we spend all this money -- and get a BFN?
And the most haunting of all:
* What if it works, just to lose it again?
I know that I am doing all that I can, everything possible in my power, to make this work. There is just so much I CAN'T control -- and I hate that part of it. I can do everything right, and it still might not take. I can eat right, exercise, eliminate caffeine, take all my meds, gamble all our money -- and still walk into that cold room and hear the worst.
I know that, no matter what happens, I will survive. The past ten years have taught me that I can survive almost anything. The thing is -- I'm TIRED of just surviving. I'm tired of feeling that heavy ache in my chest, of having these dark, negative thoughts swirling in my head. I'm tired of infertility, and all the baggage that comes with it. I'm tired of trying to find the good in a terrible situation.
I'm tired of being on this side of things, and my biggest fear of all is that I always will be.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
18 Months
I was looking over my blog today, and noticed something disturbing? sad? surprising? All three, really. It's been 18 months exactly today since I lost my first precious baby -- the one I really thought I'd be bringing home after all those years of disappointment.
In some ways it feels like it has been so much longer than just a year and a half. So much has changed....though superficially it may seem like we are still stuck in the same place (childless, infertile, gambling everything we've got on IVF) -- we are so not. My life today resembles nothing of my life then.
That day was a catalyst for me. It broke me, in a way that nothing that I've endured up until then could. It took several months for me to emerge enough from the blackness to take any sort of action, but that day was the beginning of our new life.
I've been toying with the idea of starting a new blog. I know most women do that once their infertility journey is over, and mine is far from it. But it does seem as though this blog doesn't fit the way it used to. Part of it is my fault -- in the year-long break we took after our second loss, I stopped commenting. I was still reading (mostly on my smartphone), but its so much harder to comment using that. And so it should not surprise me that my own comments have dropped off, in direct correlation with my posting.
But its more than that. My life -- as recorded in all its deliberately vague glory -- has changed so drastically from a year and a half ago. Mo is a different person, I am a different person. And while I don't want to lose any of my past (as it has contributed significantly to my present), it also bothers me to look back and see reminders of where we came from.
Those were dark days, darker than many people will ever realize. I never, ever, ever want to relive them. It's hard to even revisit them (as I've been doing a significant amount of navel-gazing and archive-reading lately) -- knowing, as I do, the subtext of all those posts, all the things I couldn't write then -- and yet will never be able to erase completely from my memories. It's funny how re-reading those posts can take me back so easily, and stir up emotions that I would rather keep locked away.
I've often said over the years that you can really never know a marriage unless you're in it. And that was so very true for so many years -- Mo and I put on the perfect facade. You would never believe how many women over the years have told me how lucky I am, how wonderful and funny and smart and sweet and genuinely GOOD my husband is. And all of that is true. But they never saw the darker side of our life, the raw emotions, the fury, the helplessness, all the dirty, ugly things that no one wants to talk about.
Ironically, that quote is still true today. You can't know how much Mo has grown, changed, back into the man I married over the past year. It's been a bumpy ride, for sure, but he is so different -- and thus WE are so different -- I can't even explain it. And no one will ever be able to see it the way I can, because they aren't in our marriage, and never have been.
This summer marks ten years since Mo and I began dating. In those ten years we've endured so much more than I ever thought possible. I've seen every side of Mo that there is, and he's seen all sides of me. That's the beauty of marriage -- it gives you a safe place to be your very worst self, and also your very best. I read a line many years ago that has stuck with me. I think it was from Scarlett, the sequel to Gone With the Wind, though Google fails me in this regard. Anyway, a philosopher was quoted there as saying something along the lines of "No woman can ever be considered truly beautiful, unless she is also sometimes truly ugly." And, for me, that's been my life, my marriage: sometimes brutally ugly, but also sometimes breathtakingly beautiful.
I am grateful today to be exactly where I am, though I would never have chosen the path that brought me here. And I hope that, in time, I can say the same thing about infertility as I have about marriage -- it's been a long, arduous, and bumpy road -- but in the end, it was all worth it.
In some ways it feels like it has been so much longer than just a year and a half. So much has changed....though superficially it may seem like we are still stuck in the same place (childless, infertile, gambling everything we've got on IVF) -- we are so not. My life today resembles nothing of my life then.
That day was a catalyst for me. It broke me, in a way that nothing that I've endured up until then could. It took several months for me to emerge enough from the blackness to take any sort of action, but that day was the beginning of our new life.
I've been toying with the idea of starting a new blog. I know most women do that once their infertility journey is over, and mine is far from it. But it does seem as though this blog doesn't fit the way it used to. Part of it is my fault -- in the year-long break we took after our second loss, I stopped commenting. I was still reading (mostly on my smartphone), but its so much harder to comment using that. And so it should not surprise me that my own comments have dropped off, in direct correlation with my posting.
But its more than that. My life -- as recorded in all its deliberately vague glory -- has changed so drastically from a year and a half ago. Mo is a different person, I am a different person. And while I don't want to lose any of my past (as it has contributed significantly to my present), it also bothers me to look back and see reminders of where we came from.
Those were dark days, darker than many people will ever realize. I never, ever, ever want to relive them. It's hard to even revisit them (as I've been doing a significant amount of navel-gazing and archive-reading lately) -- knowing, as I do, the subtext of all those posts, all the things I couldn't write then -- and yet will never be able to erase completely from my memories. It's funny how re-reading those posts can take me back so easily, and stir up emotions that I would rather keep locked away.
I've often said over the years that you can really never know a marriage unless you're in it. And that was so very true for so many years -- Mo and I put on the perfect facade. You would never believe how many women over the years have told me how lucky I am, how wonderful and funny and smart and sweet and genuinely GOOD my husband is. And all of that is true. But they never saw the darker side of our life, the raw emotions, the fury, the helplessness, all the dirty, ugly things that no one wants to talk about.
Ironically, that quote is still true today. You can't know how much Mo has grown, changed, back into the man I married over the past year. It's been a bumpy ride, for sure, but he is so different -- and thus WE are so different -- I can't even explain it. And no one will ever be able to see it the way I can, because they aren't in our marriage, and never have been.
This summer marks ten years since Mo and I began dating. In those ten years we've endured so much more than I ever thought possible. I've seen every side of Mo that there is, and he's seen all sides of me. That's the beauty of marriage -- it gives you a safe place to be your very worst self, and also your very best. I read a line many years ago that has stuck with me. I think it was from Scarlett, the sequel to Gone With the Wind, though Google fails me in this regard. Anyway, a philosopher was quoted there as saying something along the lines of "No woman can ever be considered truly beautiful, unless she is also sometimes truly ugly." And, for me, that's been my life, my marriage: sometimes brutally ugly, but also sometimes breathtakingly beautiful.
I am grateful today to be exactly where I am, though I would never have chosen the path that brought me here. And I hope that, in time, I can say the same thing about infertility as I have about marriage -- it's been a long, arduous, and bumpy road -- but in the end, it was all worth it.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Kickoff Time
This week we officially kicked off IVF#2. It feels weird to call it that, even though it's technically accurate, because our FET was, in my mind anyway, our second REAL try at having a baby. So I feel as if this should be considered our third cycle, although it's technically only our 2nd fresh transfer.
Anyway, we returned to Dal.las this weekend for our second appointment with Dr. Down-to-Earth. We arrived on the 3rd, so that we could enjoy the 4th before our visit on the 5th. We stayed near downtown, and ventured into the We.st En.d for dinner. Yum!!! For the actual holiday we went to Fai.r Par.k and enjoyed the free museums, aquariums, and fireworks show.
As we watched the brightly-colored explosions overhead that night, I couldn't help but become a bit reflective. This was the 10th 4th of July that Mo and I have spent together, always in a different place, and yet always doing the same thing. How I hoped/prayed/wished upon a shooting star that this was the LAST 4th of July that we will celebrate as a family of two.
The appointment on Tuesday went exceptionally well. Mo thought it was interesting that we had to do a mock transfer, until I reminded him that our previous RE had seen my ute enough times (with all of our IUI's and monitoring appointments) that a mock really wasn't necessary. Everything looked quiet, and we were cleared to move ahead. We did some injection teaching, as this time we will be doing an intramuscular HCG shot (as opposed to Ovidrel) for trigger as well as progesterone in oil (POI) shots instead of the suppositories. I am very much NOT looking forward to those!!!! Mo also submitted to yet another SA -- but this time we were THRILLED with the results. After all the lifestyle changes Mo has made during the past year, it was nice to see the results. His counts more than TRIPLED from our last IVF attempt (post wash they increased even more)....and everything except morphology came back NORMAL. This has never, ever, ever happened before. Mo has had about 10 SA's over the years (when you include our IUI's and IVF), and we have never had such good results. We both are feeling very confident that this bodes well for our success this time.
So far, so good. Let's just hope things continue to go our way!
Anyway, we returned to Dal.las this weekend for our second appointment with Dr. Down-to-Earth. We arrived on the 3rd, so that we could enjoy the 4th before our visit on the 5th. We stayed near downtown, and ventured into the We.st En.d for dinner. Yum!!! For the actual holiday we went to Fai.r Par.k and enjoyed the free museums, aquariums, and fireworks show.
As we watched the brightly-colored explosions overhead that night, I couldn't help but become a bit reflective. This was the 10th 4th of July that Mo and I have spent together, always in a different place, and yet always doing the same thing. How I hoped/prayed/wished upon a shooting star that this was the LAST 4th of July that we will celebrate as a family of two.
The appointment on Tuesday went exceptionally well. Mo thought it was interesting that we had to do a mock transfer, until I reminded him that our previous RE had seen my ute enough times (with all of our IUI's and monitoring appointments) that a mock really wasn't necessary. Everything looked quiet, and we were cleared to move ahead. We did some injection teaching, as this time we will be doing an intramuscular HCG shot (as opposed to Ovidrel) for trigger as well as progesterone in oil (POI) shots instead of the suppositories. I am very much NOT looking forward to those!!!! Mo also submitted to yet another SA -- but this time we were THRILLED with the results. After all the lifestyle changes Mo has made during the past year, it was nice to see the results. His counts more than TRIPLED from our last IVF attempt (post wash they increased even more)....and everything except morphology came back NORMAL. This has never, ever, ever happened before. Mo has had about 10 SA's over the years (when you include our IUI's and IVF), and we have never had such good results. We both are feeling very confident that this bodes well for our success this time.
So far, so good. Let's just hope things continue to go our way!
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Another Year Has Passed
A year ago today, I walked into a hospital with all shreds of hope for a happy ending, gone. I walked in quietly, stoic and silent. I don't know how I even managed to do it, except that I did. Isn't it like that for all things you imagine you could not bear? You simply cannot fathom how you will possibly do it, until you have to. And then you do.
A year ago today, Mo held my hand and cried, his heart so definitively broken. My mother flitted around me, wanting so very much to help, and unsure of how to do so. My sister sent texts, and waited for me to be ready to talk. My stepfather just sat there, supporting me with his simple presence. Despite all the people surrounding me, loving me, caring for me -- I was alone. So very, very alone.
A year later, so much has changed. Superficially, things seem eerily similar as they did 12 months ago. We are living in the same house, with our pups, and no children to call our own. We've spent the year hanging out with friends and family, working, living.
Surviving.
And yet.
I cannot even put into words how very different things are today. Not only in my marriage, but in ME. I doubt most people who know me would even notice a difference -- and yet I do. I am stronger. I am softer. I am more vocal, and yet more gentle, with my ideas and beliefs. I judge less, and I comfort more.
I am not the same.
I have survived.
WE have survived.
And for that tiny miracle, today I am grateful.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Different Perspectives
It has struck me, on occasion, how differently some of us handle our IF than others. All of us are facing the same uphill battle (no matter the diagnosis) to build our families. And I'm not just talking about different choices of treatments, or adoption, but of completely different outlooks on why this is happening and how it will all play out.
On the one hand you have the perpetually-optimistic, "it will all work out in time" and "trusting in God's plan" women. These are the blogs that I tend to avoid, as they differ so drastically from my own, personal outlook. It's not that they are wrong -- in fact, I have much respect and admiration for women whose faith is not shaken by infertility. I envy their confidence and assurance that everything will, eventually, work out for the best.
On the other end of the spectrum you have, well, me. I (and others like me) have had our faith shaken to the very core. We see no rhyme or reason to infertility, and have no confidence in any greater good that may come out of it. I see procreation as a simple biological fact, and not a part of any plan for my life.
I say all this because just tonight I had dinner with a woman who falls on the far opposite of the spectrum from me. She is a fellow IF-er, and our hostess for our trip to Dr. Down-to-Earth. She and her husband have done multiple IUI's and two IVF's with no luck. They are currently on a break, and she has been a fantastic sounding board for all things infertility: from meds to doctors to hormone upheavals, we've bitched and moaned together. She is an amazing, strong, and brave woman and I have the utmost respect for her. And while I know we differ on our own personal belief systems (she is religious, I am decidedly-not), I didn't realize how very opposite she and I fell on the IF spectrum until a conversation we had at dinner. I mentioned that a friend of mine from high school had FB'd me and asked to meet for lunch while I was in town, and how I probably wouldn't because she had two young kids and I just wasn't up for it. My hostess seemed very shocked by this, and told me not to be like that. It's a choice, she said. Don't be bitter.
The thing is, I AM bitter. And I didn't tell her this, because she is a wonderful hostess and a good friend and the time wasn't right for me to just blast out with my feelings in the middle of the restaurant (after all, that's what blogs are for). But IF has had a much different effect on me than it has on her. She still believes in God, and his hand in reproduction. She still believes that, in time, it will be her turn and that everything will work out for the best.
And I just -- don't. While I am very hopeful for our upcoming cycle (I honestly think that we stand a great chance of success), I DON'T believe 100% that everything will work out eventually. I don't see children as a foregone conclusion any more. I have (quite clearly) begun to picture what my life would be like without children. I want them desperately, and I think I will never be as happy without them as I would be with them. But they are no longer a given for me, or for others like me.
And that got me wondering. How can two women go through so many similar life experiences, and end up with such very different outlooks? Am I a weaker person because my faith wasn't able to withstand the "tests" of infertility? Is she a better person than me? I tend to think I'm a pretty strong individual, as I've dealt with my fair share of trials the past ten years. And yet I question whether its strength or just stubbornness that has kept me on this path.
I don't have any answers. I don't know why she clings to her faith or why I have so decidedly discarded mine. I don't know why this "great divide" exists, nor how to bridge it, nor if its even necessary to do so. I don't know if I will always feel this way, or if, some day in the distant future, I will be able to somehow begin to make sense of all of this and find my way back to the person I was before.
I do know this: twice I have found myself lying in bed, begging with every single fiber of my being for the life of my unborn child. For whatever reason, those lives were taken from me. And that experience changed me, fundamentally, and to the core. I can't go back -- I will never, ever, ever be the same. And I know hundreds of other women who feel the same.
Happy endings are not a guarantee, and I can't pretend that they are. The fact of the matter is babies die, and it fucking sucks. Does that make me bitter? It sure as hell does. Is that a choice that I make? Maybe. But it's also real -- and painful -- and worth acknowledging.
Two women. Two very similar paths. Two very different perspectives.
I wonder how each of our stories will end?
On the one hand you have the perpetually-optimistic, "it will all work out in time" and "trusting in God's plan" women. These are the blogs that I tend to avoid, as they differ so drastically from my own, personal outlook. It's not that they are wrong -- in fact, I have much respect and admiration for women whose faith is not shaken by infertility. I envy their confidence and assurance that everything will, eventually, work out for the best.
On the other end of the spectrum you have, well, me. I (and others like me) have had our faith shaken to the very core. We see no rhyme or reason to infertility, and have no confidence in any greater good that may come out of it. I see procreation as a simple biological fact, and not a part of any plan for my life.
I say all this because just tonight I had dinner with a woman who falls on the far opposite of the spectrum from me. She is a fellow IF-er, and our hostess for our trip to Dr. Down-to-Earth. She and her husband have done multiple IUI's and two IVF's with no luck. They are currently on a break, and she has been a fantastic sounding board for all things infertility: from meds to doctors to hormone upheavals, we've bitched and moaned together. She is an amazing, strong, and brave woman and I have the utmost respect for her. And while I know we differ on our own personal belief systems (she is religious, I am decidedly-not), I didn't realize how very opposite she and I fell on the IF spectrum until a conversation we had at dinner. I mentioned that a friend of mine from high school had FB'd me and asked to meet for lunch while I was in town, and how I probably wouldn't because she had two young kids and I just wasn't up for it. My hostess seemed very shocked by this, and told me not to be like that. It's a choice, she said. Don't be bitter.
The thing is, I AM bitter. And I didn't tell her this, because she is a wonderful hostess and a good friend and the time wasn't right for me to just blast out with my feelings in the middle of the restaurant (after all, that's what blogs are for). But IF has had a much different effect on me than it has on her. She still believes in God, and his hand in reproduction. She still believes that, in time, it will be her turn and that everything will work out for the best.
And I just -- don't. While I am very hopeful for our upcoming cycle (I honestly think that we stand a great chance of success), I DON'T believe 100% that everything will work out eventually. I don't see children as a foregone conclusion any more. I have (quite clearly) begun to picture what my life would be like without children. I want them desperately, and I think I will never be as happy without them as I would be with them. But they are no longer a given for me, or for others like me.
And that got me wondering. How can two women go through so many similar life experiences, and end up with such very different outlooks? Am I a weaker person because my faith wasn't able to withstand the "tests" of infertility? Is she a better person than me? I tend to think I'm a pretty strong individual, as I've dealt with my fair share of trials the past ten years. And yet I question whether its strength or just stubbornness that has kept me on this path.
I don't have any answers. I don't know why she clings to her faith or why I have so decidedly discarded mine. I don't know why this "great divide" exists, nor how to bridge it, nor if its even necessary to do so. I don't know if I will always feel this way, or if, some day in the distant future, I will be able to somehow begin to make sense of all of this and find my way back to the person I was before.
I do know this: twice I have found myself lying in bed, begging with every single fiber of my being for the life of my unborn child. For whatever reason, those lives were taken from me. And that experience changed me, fundamentally, and to the core. I can't go back -- I will never, ever, ever be the same. And I know hundreds of other women who feel the same.
Happy endings are not a guarantee, and I can't pretend that they are. The fact of the matter is babies die, and it fucking sucks. Does that make me bitter? It sure as hell does. Is that a choice that I make? Maybe. But it's also real -- and painful -- and worth acknowledging.
Two women. Two very similar paths. Two very different perspectives.
I wonder how each of our stories will end?
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Still Here
And still infertile. Nothing really new to report, hence the quiet lately. We are still waiting on our consult (next week!) and to make a plan to move forward. Everything here is....quiet? Good? Dare I say it? (Knock on wood!) Other than the whole can't make a baby thing, I've really got nothing to complain about. School is officially out for the kids, and I've got two more days of PD to endure before I am home free (until August anyway). I've got a load of summer projects to work on, and am excited to start preparing for my room for next year. I've got a great bunch of kids and am looking forward to much less stressful year. I will miss a few of my gems from this year, though! They are full of great little tidbits. Consider this actual conversation that I had with a group of students on a field trip about a month ago:
Presenter: It is very important that a dairy cow has a calf every year so that she will continue to produce milk.
Student: Mrs. Jo, how does a cow have a calf every year?
Me: Well, that's a really great question for your parents.
Student: (rolling his eyes) I KNOW where human babies come from!
Me: Well, with cows, it's pretty much the same.
Student: But, what if there are no boy cows around?
Me: Well, nowadays, they have a lot more technology. They can take what they need from a boy cow and give it to the girl cow and she will have a calf.
(The group of students who were listening ponder this for a few minutes.)
Different Student: Mrs. Jo, do you want to have kids?
Me: (clearly not thinking) Yes. (In my defense, it's my standard answer to this question!)
Student: Does that mean....I mean, you and Mr. Mo....uh....never mind!!!!!!
Me: (turning all shades of purple) Oh, look, Mrs. Other Teacher needs me! (make a speedy exit)
Yes, folks, that really happened. I gave an impromptu lesson on animal inseminations AND basically admitted to my students that I have S-E-X with my husband. Am I up for teacher of the year or what?!?
Presenter: It is very important that a dairy cow has a calf every year so that she will continue to produce milk.
Student: Mrs. Jo, how does a cow have a calf every year?
Me: Well, that's a really great question for your parents.
Student: (rolling his eyes) I KNOW where human babies come from!
Me: Well, with cows, it's pretty much the same.
Student: But, what if there are no boy cows around?
Me: Well, nowadays, they have a lot more technology. They can take what they need from a boy cow and give it to the girl cow and she will have a calf.
(The group of students who were listening ponder this for a few minutes.)
Different Student: Mrs. Jo, do you want to have kids?
Me: (clearly not thinking) Yes. (In my defense, it's my standard answer to this question!)
Student: Does that mean....I mean, you and Mr. Mo....uh....never mind!!!!!!
Me: (turning all shades of purple) Oh, look, Mrs. Other Teacher needs me! (make a speedy exit)
Yes, folks, that really happened. I gave an impromptu lesson on animal inseminations AND basically admitted to my students that I have S-E-X with my husband. Am I up for teacher of the year or what?!?
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Advice? Opinions? Anyone?
We made an appointment today.
It's just a consult, another chance to sit down with a different doctor. We aren't at ALL happy with the ONLY fertility clinic in our state, so we have decided to travel to a nearby state for our next cycle. I don't really have any questions for him, as our last protocol worked fairly well and I assume we'll do something similar again. Our diagnosis hasn't changed, but with Mo's major lifestyle changes over the past year, I am hoping we will have better results.
We will be traveling to Dallas for this appointment, which apparently is the infertility capital of the world. Or, you would think anyway, given that there are no less than 6 IVF clinics in the Dallas area alone. SIX!!!! There might be something in the water there -- I counted no less than 30 IVF clinics in Texas altogether (according to the SART website). And our state can only muster one? Really?
Anyway, I'd like to hear if anyone out in blogland (helloooo?) has used this particular clinic in the past. Their success rates are phenomenal, and they offer the Att.ain program, which we are hoping to qualify for. I am very excited to go down there, see our fellow IF friends, and meet this guy.
So, what are your thoughts/opinions on Dallas IVF / Dr. Barnett? Anyone?
It's just a consult, another chance to sit down with a different doctor. We aren't at ALL happy with the ONLY fertility clinic in our state, so we have decided to travel to a nearby state for our next cycle. I don't really have any questions for him, as our last protocol worked fairly well and I assume we'll do something similar again. Our diagnosis hasn't changed, but with Mo's major lifestyle changes over the past year, I am hoping we will have better results.
We will be traveling to Dallas for this appointment, which apparently is the infertility capital of the world. Or, you would think anyway, given that there are no less than 6 IVF clinics in the Dallas area alone. SIX!!!! There might be something in the water there -- I counted no less than 30 IVF clinics in Texas altogether (according to the SART website). And our state can only muster one? Really?
Anyway, I'd like to hear if anyone out in blogland (helloooo?) has used this particular clinic in the past. Their success rates are phenomenal, and they offer the Att.ain program, which we are hoping to qualify for. I am very excited to go down there, see our fellow IF friends, and meet this guy.
So, what are your thoughts/opinions on Dallas IVF / Dr. Barnett? Anyone?
Monday, May 16, 2011
Role Reversal
Mo has really gotten on the baby bandwagon as of late. He is spending most of his afternoons and evenings researching clinics, IVF financing, procedures, success rates, you name it.
He even found us an insurance policy that will (eventually) cover at least two rounds of IVF. It's part of a maternity rider that has a 12-month waiting period, so we will have to spend about $3000 on it before it kicks in. Then there's a $1000 deductible. But, all said, if we use it within 24 months of purchasing it, it will be like getting $15,000 worth of coverage for $6000. WAY AWESOME.
Because of the waiting period, we are shelving it temporarily and plan on using it either as A) a back-up plan if this summer's attempts are unsuccessful or B) for a sibling if we get so lucky as to conceive and carry to term.
I hesitate to even write our "plans" as the universe often seems to laugh in my face when presented with such notions.
Still, it's nice to think about.
Which is about all I can do. Mo is busy as a bee, making phone calls, emailing people, applying for Att.ain and A.R.C. and anyone else who offers IVF financing or refund programs. I haven't done a thing.
Except, of course, bemoan my childless existence and the unfairness of the universe.
When did this happen? When did Mo become the productive one and I became the one unable to put one foot in front of the other? When did I become "too busy" to make a phone call or schedule an appointment? When did TTC and IVF become persona non grata -- words I luuurve (in theory) and yet avoid with startling regularity?
While I have a lot of (contained) excitement for another attempt, I am also filled with trepidation. With anxiety, and fear. With....panic?
I told Mo that it was so much easier two years ago. Two years ago, I had no idea how much it would hurt to be unsuccessful. Or half-successful, if you will. I had no idea how much it would hurt to learn that my baby -- our baby -- had died within my womb. I mean, I thought I knew. But I didn't know.
Now, I know. I know exactly what we are risking. And it scares me beyond words.
ART is, always, a gamble. We risk our money, our hearts, on a 50-50 chance at happiness. We blindly close our eyes and leap, hoping that we soar instead of sink. Praying that there's some sort of pillow to cushion our fall.
Before, I had no idea how much it would hurt to go crashing into the cement sidewalk. Now, a year after our second loss, I'm still bruised, still broken. And still wanting -- desperately wanting -- to take that leap again.
It's just much, much harder than I ever thought it would be.
He even found us an insurance policy that will (eventually) cover at least two rounds of IVF. It's part of a maternity rider that has a 12-month waiting period, so we will have to spend about $3000 on it before it kicks in. Then there's a $1000 deductible. But, all said, if we use it within 24 months of purchasing it, it will be like getting $15,000 worth of coverage for $6000. WAY AWESOME.
Because of the waiting period, we are shelving it temporarily and plan on using it either as A) a back-up plan if this summer's attempts are unsuccessful or B) for a sibling if we get so lucky as to conceive and carry to term.
I hesitate to even write our "plans" as the universe often seems to laugh in my face when presented with such notions.
Still, it's nice to think about.
Which is about all I can do. Mo is busy as a bee, making phone calls, emailing people, applying for Att.ain and A.R.C. and anyone else who offers IVF financing or refund programs. I haven't done a thing.
Except, of course, bemoan my childless existence and the unfairness of the universe.
When did this happen? When did Mo become the productive one and I became the one unable to put one foot in front of the other? When did I become "too busy" to make a phone call or schedule an appointment? When did TTC and IVF become persona non grata -- words I luuurve (in theory) and yet avoid with startling regularity?
While I have a lot of (contained) excitement for another attempt, I am also filled with trepidation. With anxiety, and fear. With....panic?
I told Mo that it was so much easier two years ago. Two years ago, I had no idea how much it would hurt to be unsuccessful. Or half-successful, if you will. I had no idea how much it would hurt to learn that my baby -- our baby -- had died within my womb. I mean, I thought I knew. But I didn't know.
Now, I know. I know exactly what we are risking. And it scares me beyond words.
ART is, always, a gamble. We risk our money, our hearts, on a 50-50 chance at happiness. We blindly close our eyes and leap, hoping that we soar instead of sink. Praying that there's some sort of pillow to cushion our fall.
Before, I had no idea how much it would hurt to go crashing into the cement sidewalk. Now, a year after our second loss, I'm still bruised, still broken. And still wanting -- desperately wanting -- to take that leap again.
It's just much, much harder than I ever thought it would be.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Hope
Last night, Mo found a comrade in arms.
He was so filled with awe to find an old friend who also is experiencing infertility. Who understands the pain and frustration of IVF. Whose wife also bursts into tears over apparently nothing and whose raging hormones often leave him feeling bewildered, powerless, and frustrated.
He was sharing a phone conversation he had with this friend when he said the WRONG THING.
"They know exactly what we're going through!"
Gently (or so I thought), I disagreed.
"No." I said. "They do not."
An argument followed, in which Mo told me that I built up walls (true), that I lacked sincerity (not true), and that I was determined to feel alone in this journey (somewhat true).
I tried to explain it to him, but we're in such different places. I read a quote somewhere that men are about three years behind us women on this whole IF emotional rollercoaster, and I find that to be true. Two years ago, Mo was still thinking it might still happen naturally and was in no hurry to move forward. Now, he is researching clinics and insurance plans and anxious to get the ball rolling as soon as possible.
I think his feelings were hurt, because he said at one point, "This thing hurts me, too, you know." And I know it does. He is just as childless as I am. He has had to endure just as many annoying fertiles and pretend happiness at just as many (if not more) surprise pregnancy announcements. When I say that no one gets it, I don't mean HIM.
I do mean that very, very few people do. I know this is an unpopular belief in our circles, and I'm not trying for the pain Olympics here. Some women who have been trying much less time have endured much more heartache. I tried to explain to Mo last night that what it boiled down to was a matter of hope.
I know quite well how frustrating ANY length of infertility is. I also know how it feels to be two years into the process. While hope is greatly diminished at that point, there still remains a flicker that someday, somehow, you will cross to the other side. By five years, your flicker is much less bright. At five years TTC, often with failed interventions under your belt, your hope at conceiving and carrying a child to term seems much less of a reality.
And by ten years? Its virtually non-existent.
That's not to say I don't have my moments. I do. I have moments where I think that maybe, just maybe, my miracle is waiting.
But most of the time, I'm quite skeptical. I don't believe that God has been "withholding" my blessing until the "perfect moment." I believe that, biologically, our chances at conception are small, and it will take great medical interventions to make it happen.
I don't believe that, after ten years, I will magically get pregnant all on my own.
At two years in, that's still a possibility for many.
At five, it's less so.
By ten? It's just not realistic.
Now, I know everyone has an infertility urban legend that can prove me wrong. I'm not looking for those, so please don't post them here. I'm simply trying to explain (to Mo, to myself), my inability to feel like any other IF veteran TRULY gets my experience. That's not to say they don't understand almost all of what I feel. I know that you, especially, do understand the heartache, the frustration, the anger. Anyone who has undergone IVF, had a miscarriage, or spent any length of time TTC gets all of that.
What someone who has only been trying for two years, or even five, doesn't completely get is where my head is, after ten years at this game. Only someone who has spent just as much time on THIS side, waiting, can get that.
And, in all reality, that number of people is very small. Most people will try interventions much sooner than we did. Most people will not wait five years to see a specialist, nor another two to start treatments. Most people don't take year-long breaks in the midst of treatments. I know that our story is not the norm. And, in all honesty, I'm as okay with that as I can be.
Just don't try to tell me that you know EXACTLY how I feel. Because you don't, and your friends don't, and the fact is that they CAN'T. They can understand most of it, they can be a support system, and someone to lean on and commiserate with. They can sympathize (or is it empathize? I always get those confused).
They can do and say all the right things, and they can be a wonderful source of comfort.
But they will never understand, until they've been there.
He was so filled with awe to find an old friend who also is experiencing infertility. Who understands the pain and frustration of IVF. Whose wife also bursts into tears over apparently nothing and whose raging hormones often leave him feeling bewildered, powerless, and frustrated.
He was sharing a phone conversation he had with this friend when he said the WRONG THING.
"They know exactly what we're going through!"
Gently (or so I thought), I disagreed.
"No." I said. "They do not."
An argument followed, in which Mo told me that I built up walls (true), that I lacked sincerity (not true), and that I was determined to feel alone in this journey (somewhat true).
I tried to explain it to him, but we're in such different places. I read a quote somewhere that men are about three years behind us women on this whole IF emotional rollercoaster, and I find that to be true. Two years ago, Mo was still thinking it might still happen naturally and was in no hurry to move forward. Now, he is researching clinics and insurance plans and anxious to get the ball rolling as soon as possible.
I think his feelings were hurt, because he said at one point, "This thing hurts me, too, you know." And I know it does. He is just as childless as I am. He has had to endure just as many annoying fertiles and pretend happiness at just as many (if not more) surprise pregnancy announcements. When I say that no one gets it, I don't mean HIM.
I do mean that very, very few people do. I know this is an unpopular belief in our circles, and I'm not trying for the pain Olympics here. Some women who have been trying much less time have endured much more heartache. I tried to explain to Mo last night that what it boiled down to was a matter of hope.
I know quite well how frustrating ANY length of infertility is. I also know how it feels to be two years into the process. While hope is greatly diminished at that point, there still remains a flicker that someday, somehow, you will cross to the other side. By five years, your flicker is much less bright. At five years TTC, often with failed interventions under your belt, your hope at conceiving and carrying a child to term seems much less of a reality.
And by ten years? Its virtually non-existent.
That's not to say I don't have my moments. I do. I have moments where I think that maybe, just maybe, my miracle is waiting.
But most of the time, I'm quite skeptical. I don't believe that God has been "withholding" my blessing until the "perfect moment." I believe that, biologically, our chances at conception are small, and it will take great medical interventions to make it happen.
I don't believe that, after ten years, I will magically get pregnant all on my own.
At two years in, that's still a possibility for many.
At five, it's less so.
By ten? It's just not realistic.
Now, I know everyone has an infertility urban legend that can prove me wrong. I'm not looking for those, so please don't post them here. I'm simply trying to explain (to Mo, to myself), my inability to feel like any other IF veteran TRULY gets my experience. That's not to say they don't understand almost all of what I feel. I know that you, especially, do understand the heartache, the frustration, the anger. Anyone who has undergone IVF, had a miscarriage, or spent any length of time TTC gets all of that.
What someone who has only been trying for two years, or even five, doesn't completely get is where my head is, after ten years at this game. Only someone who has spent just as much time on THIS side, waiting, can get that.
And, in all reality, that number of people is very small. Most people will try interventions much sooner than we did. Most people will not wait five years to see a specialist, nor another two to start treatments. Most people don't take year-long breaks in the midst of treatments. I know that our story is not the norm. And, in all honesty, I'm as okay with that as I can be.
Just don't try to tell me that you know EXACTLY how I feel. Because you don't, and your friends don't, and the fact is that they CAN'T. They can understand most of it, they can be a support system, and someone to lean on and commiserate with. They can sympathize (or is it empathize? I always get those confused).
They can do and say all the right things, and they can be a wonderful source of comfort.
But they will never understand, until they've been there.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
F*cking Perfect
So, once again, my picture-perfect plans have not turned out so picture-perfect after all. We were slightly derailed by some bad storms in our neck of the woods (which hindered some posting), and, to be honest, I was a little offput by the reaction (or lack thereof) that I received when I posted on FB. Now, I know that FB is a social utility, and a pretty surface-level one at that. But, still. I had hopes that I might “educate” a few fertiles by sharing my thoughts on NIAW. Instead, I get the feeling that I am engendering a lot of eye-rolling and a not-so-subtle turning away in an if we ignore it it will go away sort of fashion.
Which, after all this time, shouldn’t hurt. And yet it does.
Anyway, today is a particularly angsty day for me as it is, being the anniversary of our last transfer which (as we all know) resulted in my second pregnancy and, soon after, my second miscarriage. That, on top of my BIG birthday being just 5 days away, and Mot.her’s Day right after that -- well, let’s just say I am feeling particularly useless and frustrated these days. And, perhaps a little sensitive to the reactions (or non-reactions) of others. So, in an effort to get my feelings on paper and make ME feel better, I’m continuing my NIAW post series with my second song selection: F*ing Perfect by Pink.
You know how sometimes it takes seeing yourself in a photograph to really SEE yourself? That song is like that for me. My sister, whom I love dearly, told me that this song made her think of me. When I listened to the lyrics, I started bawling, for so many reasons. Knowing that, deep down, my sister loves me. Knowing that someone gets what I’m feeling, even when I don’t feel like I’m able to express it very clearly. This song, like my previous post, reminds me that I am still a whole person, despite feeling like an utter failure in the reproductive department.
So many of us know that feeling. So many of us are hit with it, over and over again, in our daily lives. And so many of us need to be reminded that we are NOT defined by our “girlie” parts, or our ability to produce miniature versions of ourselves. Our internal dialogues are “filled with hate” instead of appreciation for what we CAN do, for the strength that is imminent in every one of us. We face critics every day -- not only internally, but externally in the forms of friends, family, and co-workers who think that they know the solution to our problems.
What we need to remember is that we are JUST FINE the way we are, thank you very much. It’s so easy to hate our bodies for failing us, over and over again. It’s so easy to believe that we are somehow LESS THAN because we cannot achieve a successful pregnancy. It’s so much harder to accept that we are perfect, despite our bodies’ imperfections.
I am making a concerted effort to do things lately that make me feel GOOD about myself. I am trying to focus on what my body CAN do, instead of what it can’t. I am reminding myself (daily? hourly?) of the many accomplishments I have achieved and the myriad ways I am successful in life. I am being kind to myself, in as many small ways as possible, in an effort to change the voices in my head. It is my hope that, someday, all IF veterans can do the same.
So, for all my IF friends, IRL and in blogland -- here’s to you. YOU ARE PERFECT -- just the way you are.
F*ing Perfect by Pink
Made a wrong turn, once or twice
Dug my way out, blood and fire
Bad decisions, that's alright
Welcome to my silly life
Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood
Miss 'No way, it's all good', it didn't slow me down
Mistaken, always second guessing, underestimated
Look, I'm still around
Pretty pretty please, don't you ever ever feel
Like you're less than f*ckin' perfect
Pretty pretty please, if you ever ever feel like you're nothing
You're f*ckin' perfect to me!
You're so mean, when you talk about yourself, you were wrong
Change the voices in your head, make them like you instead
So complicated, look happy, you'll make it!
Filled with so much hatred... such a tired game
It's enough! I've done all I can think of
Chased down all my demons, I've seen you do the same
Oh, pretty pretty please, don't you ever ever feel
Like you're less than f*ckin' perfect
Pretty pretty please, if you ever ever feel like you're nothing
You're f*ckin' perfect to me
The whole world's scared so I swallow the fear
The only thing I should be drinking is an ice cold beer
So cool in line, and we try try try, but we try too hard and it's a waste of my time
Done looking for the critics, cause they're everywhere
They don't like my jeans, they don't get my hair
Exchange ourselves, and we do it all the time
Why do we do that? Why do I do that?
Why do I do that... ?
Yeah, oh, oh baby, pretty baby... !
Pretty pretty please, don't you ever ever feel
Like you're less than f*ckin' perfect
Pretty pretty please, if you ever ever feel
Like you're nothing, you're fucking perfect to me
You're perfect, you're perfect!
Pretty pretty please, if you ever ever feel like you're nothing
You're fuckin' perfect to me...
Which, after all this time, shouldn’t hurt. And yet it does.
Anyway, today is a particularly angsty day for me as it is, being the anniversary of our last transfer which (as we all know) resulted in my second pregnancy and, soon after, my second miscarriage. That, on top of my BIG birthday being just 5 days away, and Mot.her’s Day right after that -- well, let’s just say I am feeling particularly useless and frustrated these days. And, perhaps a little sensitive to the reactions (or non-reactions) of others. So, in an effort to get my feelings on paper and make ME feel better, I’m continuing my NIAW post series with my second song selection: F*ing Perfect by Pink.
You know how sometimes it takes seeing yourself in a photograph to really SEE yourself? That song is like that for me. My sister, whom I love dearly, told me that this song made her think of me. When I listened to the lyrics, I started bawling, for so many reasons. Knowing that, deep down, my sister loves me. Knowing that someone gets what I’m feeling, even when I don’t feel like I’m able to express it very clearly. This song, like my previous post, reminds me that I am still a whole person, despite feeling like an utter failure in the reproductive department.
So many of us know that feeling. So many of us are hit with it, over and over again, in our daily lives. And so many of us need to be reminded that we are NOT defined by our “girlie” parts, or our ability to produce miniature versions of ourselves. Our internal dialogues are “filled with hate” instead of appreciation for what we CAN do, for the strength that is imminent in every one of us. We face critics every day -- not only internally, but externally in the forms of friends, family, and co-workers who think that they know the solution to our problems.
What we need to remember is that we are JUST FINE the way we are, thank you very much. It’s so easy to hate our bodies for failing us, over and over again. It’s so easy to believe that we are somehow LESS THAN because we cannot achieve a successful pregnancy. It’s so much harder to accept that we are perfect, despite our bodies’ imperfections.
I am making a concerted effort to do things lately that make me feel GOOD about myself. I am trying to focus on what my body CAN do, instead of what it can’t. I am reminding myself (daily? hourly?) of the many accomplishments I have achieved and the myriad ways I am successful in life. I am being kind to myself, in as many small ways as possible, in an effort to change the voices in my head. It is my hope that, someday, all IF veterans can do the same.
So, for all my IF friends, IRL and in blogland -- here’s to you. YOU ARE PERFECT -- just the way you are.
F*ing Perfect by Pink
Made a wrong turn, once or twice
Dug my way out, blood and fire
Bad decisions, that's alright
Welcome to my silly life
Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood
Miss 'No way, it's all good', it didn't slow me down
Mistaken, always second guessing, underestimated
Look, I'm still around
Pretty pretty please, don't you ever ever feel
Like you're less than f*ckin' perfect
Pretty pretty please, if you ever ever feel like you're nothing
You're f*ckin' perfect to me!
You're so mean, when you talk about yourself, you were wrong
Change the voices in your head, make them like you instead
So complicated, look happy, you'll make it!
Filled with so much hatred... such a tired game
It's enough! I've done all I can think of
Chased down all my demons, I've seen you do the same
Oh, pretty pretty please, don't you ever ever feel
Like you're less than f*ckin' perfect
Pretty pretty please, if you ever ever feel like you're nothing
You're f*ckin' perfect to me
The whole world's scared so I swallow the fear
The only thing I should be drinking is an ice cold beer
So cool in line, and we try try try, but we try too hard and it's a waste of my time
Done looking for the critics, cause they're everywhere
They don't like my jeans, they don't get my hair
Exchange ourselves, and we do it all the time
Why do we do that? Why do I do that?
Why do I do that... ?
Yeah, oh, oh baby, pretty baby... !
Pretty pretty please, don't you ever ever feel
Like you're less than f*ckin' perfect
Pretty pretty please, if you ever ever feel
Like you're nothing, you're fucking perfect to me
You're perfect, you're perfect!
Pretty pretty please, if you ever ever feel like you're nothing
You're fuckin' perfect to me...
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