Since I've gotten off the fertility drugs, I almost feel like a different person. Like my old, pre-infertility self. I can go a whole week without crying, and I'm even managing to go days without feeling the all-too-familiar feelings of guilt, shame, and failure. And it feels wonderful. At least it did until last week.
Last week I was an emotional mess. All I could focus on was babies, pregnancy, and my complete inability to attain either. I walked around feeling like a failure as both a woman and a wife. I cried. I snapped at the Mr. I was a bundle of raw nerves and emotions, and I could not understand why. I felt like I was on a Clo.mid cycle, but the only medicine in my system was Met.form.in.
Friday was my cousin's wedding. The wedding was over two hours from where I live and started at 6:30. The Mr. doesn't get off work until 3:30. Friday I was running around trying to get everything ready so that we could leave as soon as he got home, and trying my best not to cry, because crying is all I had felt like doing the past few days. He rushed home, we loaded the dogs and our bags, and off we went. We hadn't been on the road very long when I started cramping. I shrugged it off. After all, I'm used to cramping. Instead of easing up my cramping continually got worse. It got so bad I was moaning and squirming in my seat.
Mr.: What's wrong?
Me: My stomach is cramping sooo bad.
Mr.: Are you hungry?
Me: Yes, but it's not that kind of cramping.
Mr.: Then what kind of cramping is it?
Me: It almost feels like period cramping.
Which we all know is ridiculous. After all, I haven't had a period on my own in over two years. (Since before I got on birth control). But the longer we drove the worse it got. So I did something no self-respecting lady would do; I hiked up my skirt and took a look at my drawers.
Mr. (Eyes bugging out): What are you doing?
Me (Eyes equally as big I'm sure): I started my period!
Mr. (Leaning over to see for himself and nearly driving off the road): Let me see!
I guess he didn't believe me, so I proudly showed him the proof. I quickly dug my calendar out of my purse and began counting: 34 days. 34 days since my last period. That's like a normal cycle. And anyone familiar with PCOS knows what a huge deal this is.
As soon as I realized the Red Lady had made an appearance, I thought back to a few weeks ago. Both times I've ovulated I've had severe ovulation pains. A few weeks ago I felt a stabbing pain in my right side. It reminded me of the ovulation pains I'd had before, but I thought that either my ovary was a little sensitive from the previous cycle, or it was just wishful thinking. Now, I'm wondering if maybe I did ovulate on my own. (And I'm very relieved that the emotional wreck I was last week was just PMS and not a mini-breakdown).
It's almost sad how happy having a period made me. Just the thought that there was a possibility I ovulated on my own fills me with a hope I haven't felt in a very long time.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Saturday, May 19, 2012
I was sheltered as a child. Babied, spoiled, whatever you want to call it. My family was very religious and pretty much kept me hidden under a rock until I turned 18. At 18 I decided that I wanted more. I packed up and moved from my relatively small town to a big city hours away, where I had one friend I knew from high school, with a new car and my first driver's license I had gotten the month before. (No driving for me until I was 18).
I was so very innocent and naive, I could barely open my mouth to talk to people. I was also very scared and very ignorant. Everyone who knew me gave it a month. In a month's time I'd be back home with mamma and daddy. I would never make it all the way "down there." It was too big. Too scary. I didn't have what it took.
I proved them wrong. I slowly begin to break out of my shell. I begin to discover things about myself, my personality, that I didn't know. Like how gutsy I could be, or what an odd sense of humor I had. I soon discovered that I liked, for the most part, my new self.
Their tone changed when I didn't go running home that first month, or even that first year. I had been so sheltered, so protected, held to such high standards, I'd go crazy with the freedom. Get me in a coed dorm and I'd be into all kinds of trouble. Alcohol. Drugs. Boys. I'd end up getting pregnant and have to drop out of college. I'd forget and walk away from the way I had been raised, what I had been taught my whole life.
I proved them wrong. A couple of weeks after moving, I found a church. I got involved. I held strong to the things my parents and grandparents had taught me, and learned some new things for myself. About myself. My faith, my God, became more real to me than ever before. I never experimented with alcohol or drugs. Never slept with a boy, until my husband. I didn't drop out of college. I finished my Bachelor's in three and a half years, and then went on to finish a Master's in a year and a half.
When I met the Mr., they said it would never work. We were too young. We were moving too fast. It was a mistake we'd live to regret. His family put us through hell trying to break us up, trying to convince him, and me, that we were no good for each other. Making all kinds of threats and accusations.
Again, I proved them wrong. I refused to let them break us up. Because I loved him. And because I wanted to be with him. Because I went after what I wanted.
We were making a mistake when we got our first apartment. When we bought our first house. When we decided to move to a different city.
I've proven them all wrong.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Every decision I have every made has led me to this place in my life. Living in this house, with this man, in this city. And I wouldn't change it. I love my life. I love my husband. I love our house. At 18 I began to learn how to fight for what I wanted. I wanted freedom, to choose for myself. I had to fight for that, to defy the people around me, to prove them wrong. Same goes for my husband, and a lot of other decisions I've made. If I fight, and fight long enough and hard enough, I can achieve it.
Until now.
I want a baby. Badly. However, I know that it doesn't matter how long or how hard I fight to make that happen, there is no guarantee that at the end I'll have a baby in my arms. I can take all the medicine there is to take, try every procedure there is to try, spend every dollar I'll ever earn, and still end up with empty arms and a broken heart. The Mr. and I have been discussing the idea of adoption again. I'm all for adoption, I would love to adopt, regardless of how many biological children we have. However, there are no guarantees with adoption either. It's all just a big risk. A big gamble. A big, fat chance. So far, I've been lucky. Most of my "chances" have turned out to be in my favor. But what if that luck is about to change? What if, this time, I'm on the losing end of things?
It doesn't matter how long I fight. It doesn't matter how hard I fight. I could still lose. And that thought scares me. Because until I've held my child in my arms, I won't even realize how great that loss is.
I was so very innocent and naive, I could barely open my mouth to talk to people. I was also very scared and very ignorant. Everyone who knew me gave it a month. In a month's time I'd be back home with mamma and daddy. I would never make it all the way "down there." It was too big. Too scary. I didn't have what it took.
I proved them wrong. I slowly begin to break out of my shell. I begin to discover things about myself, my personality, that I didn't know. Like how gutsy I could be, or what an odd sense of humor I had. I soon discovered that I liked, for the most part, my new self.
Their tone changed when I didn't go running home that first month, or even that first year. I had been so sheltered, so protected, held to such high standards, I'd go crazy with the freedom. Get me in a coed dorm and I'd be into all kinds of trouble. Alcohol. Drugs. Boys. I'd end up getting pregnant and have to drop out of college. I'd forget and walk away from the way I had been raised, what I had been taught my whole life.
I proved them wrong. A couple of weeks after moving, I found a church. I got involved. I held strong to the things my parents and grandparents had taught me, and learned some new things for myself. About myself. My faith, my God, became more real to me than ever before. I never experimented with alcohol or drugs. Never slept with a boy, until my husband. I didn't drop out of college. I finished my Bachelor's in three and a half years, and then went on to finish a Master's in a year and a half.
When I met the Mr., they said it would never work. We were too young. We were moving too fast. It was a mistake we'd live to regret. His family put us through hell trying to break us up, trying to convince him, and me, that we were no good for each other. Making all kinds of threats and accusations.
Again, I proved them wrong. I refused to let them break us up. Because I loved him. And because I wanted to be with him. Because I went after what I wanted.
We were making a mistake when we got our first apartment. When we bought our first house. When we decided to move to a different city.
I've proven them all wrong.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Every decision I have every made has led me to this place in my life. Living in this house, with this man, in this city. And I wouldn't change it. I love my life. I love my husband. I love our house. At 18 I began to learn how to fight for what I wanted. I wanted freedom, to choose for myself. I had to fight for that, to defy the people around me, to prove them wrong. Same goes for my husband, and a lot of other decisions I've made. If I fight, and fight long enough and hard enough, I can achieve it.
Until now.
I want a baby. Badly. However, I know that it doesn't matter how long or how hard I fight to make that happen, there is no guarantee that at the end I'll have a baby in my arms. I can take all the medicine there is to take, try every procedure there is to try, spend every dollar I'll ever earn, and still end up with empty arms and a broken heart. The Mr. and I have been discussing the idea of adoption again. I'm all for adoption, I would love to adopt, regardless of how many biological children we have. However, there are no guarantees with adoption either. It's all just a big risk. A big gamble. A big, fat chance. So far, I've been lucky. Most of my "chances" have turned out to be in my favor. But what if that luck is about to change? What if, this time, I'm on the losing end of things?
It doesn't matter how long I fight. It doesn't matter how hard I fight. I could still lose. And that thought scares me. Because until I've held my child in my arms, I won't even realize how great that loss is.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Blog Award
Big shout out to Emily for nominating me for the:
Here is how it works:
- Share who gave this award to you with a link back to their blog (above)
- Write down 7 random facts about yourself
- Give this award to 15 other bloggers
- Let them know they have won
- Pop the award on your blog
7 random facts:
1. When I was little I LOVED cats, and named every one I had Sassy. (Homeward Bound, anyone?)
2. If I type a word and it doesn't look right, I google it to double-check the spelling.
3. I am currently suffering from bronchitis and have never been so tired of coughing in my life.
4. The worst pain I've ever felt was when I had a kidney stone two years ago. I seriously thought I was dying.
5. My husband spoils me, and I love every minute of it.
6. I spoil my husband, and I love every minute of it.
7. I have a really difficult time thinking up random facts about myself. In case you haven't noticed.
If you want this blog award, consider this your nomination. :)
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Happy Infertile Awareness Day
When I was single I always referred to Valentine's Day as Single Awareness Day. I hated it. I hated the heart-shaped candy boxes, the sickening smell of roses the permeated the air, and the giant teddy bears that held big hearts that read I Love You. I was very much aware of how alone I was, I didn't need Wal.Mart rubbing it in my face.
Then I met the Mr. I remember our first Valentine's Day. I was so excited, so happy that I finally had someone to buy heart-shaped candy and giant teddy bears for. I still felt sorry for my single friends, but I'm not going to lie, I was glad I wasn't one of them. Then Valentine's Day was something to look forward to, not something to dread. We've been together nearly five years. We don't go to the extreme for V-day anymore. We'll get each other a card and some candy and go out to eat. But it's not a day I look forward to or dread. It's just another day.
Mother's Day has become my new dreaded holiday. With each year that passes, I feel the sting of it just a little more. This year I won't be one of the lucky ones to receive a construction paper card covered with too much glue and glitter, or a bouquet of weeds picked right out of our front yard. I won't be on the receiving end of any big bear hugs or sloppy, sticky kisses. This Mother's Day I'll be made very much aware, yet again, of what I don't have.
But I am hopeful. I'm hopeful that, like Valentine's Day, Mother's Day will become a holiday I look forward to. I will proudly display the glue and glitter card on my refrigerator. I'll put those weeds in the prettiest vase I can find and sit them on the kitchen table. And I will cherish every bear hug and sticky kiss I'm lucky enough to get.
Valentine's Day reminds me what it felt like to be single, and to say a prayer of thanks for my wonderful husband. There will come a time when Mother's Day will remind me what it was like to be childless, and to say a prayer of thanks for my children. I truly believe it is just a matter of time.
Then I met the Mr. I remember our first Valentine's Day. I was so excited, so happy that I finally had someone to buy heart-shaped candy and giant teddy bears for. I still felt sorry for my single friends, but I'm not going to lie, I was glad I wasn't one of them. Then Valentine's Day was something to look forward to, not something to dread. We've been together nearly five years. We don't go to the extreme for V-day anymore. We'll get each other a card and some candy and go out to eat. But it's not a day I look forward to or dread. It's just another day.
Mother's Day has become my new dreaded holiday. With each year that passes, I feel the sting of it just a little more. This year I won't be one of the lucky ones to receive a construction paper card covered with too much glue and glitter, or a bouquet of weeds picked right out of our front yard. I won't be on the receiving end of any big bear hugs or sloppy, sticky kisses. This Mother's Day I'll be made very much aware, yet again, of what I don't have.
But I am hopeful. I'm hopeful that, like Valentine's Day, Mother's Day will become a holiday I look forward to. I will proudly display the glue and glitter card on my refrigerator. I'll put those weeds in the prettiest vase I can find and sit them on the kitchen table. And I will cherish every bear hug and sticky kiss I'm lucky enough to get.
Valentine's Day reminds me what it felt like to be single, and to say a prayer of thanks for my wonderful husband. There will come a time when Mother's Day will remind me what it was like to be childless, and to say a prayer of thanks for my children. I truly believe it is just a matter of time.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
I Hate Pregnancy Dreams
I had another one last night. When we first started TTC, I was always happy when I dreamed about a pregnant belly or an unborn child. Now? I find it depressing. I always wake up to find myself excited and happy, and a bit confused. But as reality hits, the joy and the happiness disappear, to be replaced with sadness and regret. I'm proud that I was able to fight the urge to take a pregnancy test. It would be impossible for me to be pregnant right now anyway, even if a miracle did occur and I ovulated on my own this month.
This morning I woke up thinking about babies and Mother's Day. That's a holiday that's getting a little harder to deal with each year. I always try to suck it up and just focus on my mom and grandma, but each year it gets a little more tainted with sadness. I think about next Mother's Day and where I want to be in life. I know exactly where I want to be; I want to be standing next to my mom, holding my child in my arms. Now, it is just a matter of figuring out how that child is going to get there.
This morning I woke up thinking about babies and Mother's Day. That's a holiday that's getting a little harder to deal with each year. I always try to suck it up and just focus on my mom and grandma, but each year it gets a little more tainted with sadness. I think about next Mother's Day and where I want to be in life. I know exactly where I want to be; I want to be standing next to my mom, holding my child in my arms. Now, it is just a matter of figuring out how that child is going to get there.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Waiting
I am not a patient woman. I hate to wait...for anything. I hate waiting in line at the grocery store. I hate waiting to get a call back from my doctor's office. I hate waiting for my husband to get home from work at the end of the day. I've always been the kind that when I wanted something, I wanted what I wanted, how I wanted, and when I wanted. And the when was usually right now.
This wait, for the day my baby(ies) are placed in my arms, has been the hardest I have ever endured. I've always been a woman with a plan. When I wanted something, I made a plan and went after it. Granted, not one single time have my plans actually turned out the way I had planned. But I would wrap those plans tight around me like a security blanket and hold onto them for dear life. Having those plans gave me an illusion (because that's all it was) of control.
For the very first time, I'm a woman without a plan. I have no idea what our next move is toward bringing our babies home. Will it be adoption? Possibly. More fertility treatments? I honestly don't know. I have accepted the fact that I have no control (not even an illusion of control) over this situation. I can't heal my body and make it work right. If I could I would, in a minute. I can't hope enough for a baby to miraculously appear on my doorstep that it actually happens.
I am at a complete loss as to what our next steps in this process are. This morning I was in prayer, repenting for the attitude I have had towards my infertility (that is a post in and of itself) and asking God for His wisdom and guidance in our next steps. He gave me the answer I hate hearing most of all: WAIT. So that's what we're doing, waiting. I don't know how long we'll have to wait. I don't even know what it is we're waiting for. But we're waiting, and we'll continue to wait. Because, right now, waiting is the only thing I can do, even if I do it poorly.
This wait, for the day my baby(ies) are placed in my arms, has been the hardest I have ever endured. I've always been a woman with a plan. When I wanted something, I made a plan and went after it. Granted, not one single time have my plans actually turned out the way I had planned. But I would wrap those plans tight around me like a security blanket and hold onto them for dear life. Having those plans gave me an illusion (because that's all it was) of control.
For the very first time, I'm a woman without a plan. I have no idea what our next move is toward bringing our babies home. Will it be adoption? Possibly. More fertility treatments? I honestly don't know. I have accepted the fact that I have no control (not even an illusion of control) over this situation. I can't heal my body and make it work right. If I could I would, in a minute. I can't hope enough for a baby to miraculously appear on my doorstep that it actually happens.
I am at a complete loss as to what our next steps in this process are. This morning I was in prayer, repenting for the attitude I have had towards my infertility (that is a post in and of itself) and asking God for His wisdom and guidance in our next steps. He gave me the answer I hate hearing most of all: WAIT. So that's what we're doing, waiting. I don't know how long we'll have to wait. I don't even know what it is we're waiting for. But we're waiting, and we'll continue to wait. Because, right now, waiting is the only thing I can do, even if I do it poorly.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Break Time
I'm behind on this post but my last cycle proved to be a BFN. I knew I was ready for a break by how disappointed I wasn't. I didn't cry when my period showed up. I didn't feel the usual feelings of guilt, failure, anger, and sadness.
I was prepared for it, and I was ok with it. And I'm tired. Physically, emotionally, financially. I'm just at a point where I don't want to put any more into TTC right now. And I'm ok about that. So it's a break for us. No more weekly ultrasounds or giving myself shots in the stomach. Oh, and I get to have sex with my husband just because I want to. I plan on enjoying the next couple of months and am going to try and spoil my husband and myself a little bit.
(If, by chance, I were to conceive during this break the irony would not be lost on me. I'm not going to hold my breath, but I'm totally ok with a surprise BFP.)
I was prepared for it, and I was ok with it. And I'm tired. Physically, emotionally, financially. I'm just at a point where I don't want to put any more into TTC right now. And I'm ok about that. So it's a break for us. No more weekly ultrasounds or giving myself shots in the stomach. Oh, and I get to have sex with my husband just because I want to. I plan on enjoying the next couple of months and am going to try and spoil my husband and myself a little bit.
(If, by chance, I were to conceive during this break the irony would not be lost on me. I'm not going to hold my breath, but I'm totally ok with a surprise BFP.)
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