Doubt

A while back, when I first started to read infertility blogs and began to suspect that something was wrong with me, I read Jen's blog at Maybe if You Just Relax and almost peed my pants because that girl is hilarious. If you haven't read her blog before, and need a good laugh, please visit her - she's good times.

There is one post that resonated with me in those first few weeks. I don't know where it is now, or even how it was worded, but Jen said something along the lines of this:

Trying for a few months is better than:

A few rounds of clomid is better than:

A few rounds of IUI is better than:

A few rounds of IVF . . .

There was more to her post about the varying degrees of infertility and how they "rank", and I don't think that she meant it to offend or belittle those of us who haven't had to go all the way with IVF or other means of AR, but reading her opinion and knowing what she's been through made me feel like maybe I was overreacting. An infertility "poser", if you will.

I know that was not her intent, and this isn't a post about Maybe If You Just Relax. That poor woman has her share of nasty commenters and I certainly am not one of them. She busted her ass to get to where she is now and I'm not faulting her for opinion or ideas or anything. My feelings of doubt over my fertility status are purely my own. More often than not though, I feel like others think that I am making a bigger deal out of this than I should. Hell, in the beginning I thought that maybe I was making a mountain out of a mole hill. We had only tried for about a yearish, and even then, I thought maybe we weren't really really trying.

Then came charting and no baby.

Then came Dr. H and her "who cares?" attitude.

Then came clomid and still no baby. I'm pretty certain at this point that my issues are a little bigger than a mole hill.

Still, I feel like the people I know in real life think I'm being over dramatic when I talk about this. Mr. Joe tells me I need to relax on a regular basis. He's talked to Dr. Foreign Accent with me. He heard him say that he doesn't think we can do this on our own - and yet!! He tells me to just relax, a phrase which invokes the exact opposite in me. I worry that no one will take me seriously if I share my feelings of jealousy or depression or anger over what continues to elude me. The fact of the matter is, I'm not ill. I'm not dying. But truthfully, in those times when I don't recognize myself, I feel like I am.

I realized today that even though I haven't had to inject myself with all kinds of crap and I haven't moved on to IUI, I am infertile. I have infertility. I cry instead of rejoice at other people's announcements. My eyes dart away when I see a growing belly. I have a deep, aching desire to have a child and make my husband a father. It may not be like cancer, but the thoughts push through my mind like long tendrils of a tumor. It wraps around my lungs and steals my breath when I start to plan for the future. It manifests itself in my obsessive counting of days, my reluctance to plan vacations or outings for fear that I might be pregnant. It is an illness. And I am suffering from it. It has changed who I am - for better or for worse.

I don't want to be that person that gets all righteous and soapboxy with infertility as my "cause". We all have our crosses to bear. For some of us, it's an obvious hardship - poverty, disability, cancer. For others, it's more of a silent epidemic. I still don't plan on being obnoxious when I go to baby showers, or share with Mrs. B that I feel betrayed that the baby phone tree was activated without me. I know that those feelings and actions are irrational and unfair, no matter how badly I want to express them. I simply mean that I am no longer going to doubt myself.

This is my cross to bear. It's not in my head and I'm not being dramatic (well . . . .maybe a little dramatic, but that's only because I am a drama queen by nature). This shit sucks and even if there really is some hierarchy of infertility: IVF over IUI over injections over clomid over several months ttc over one month ttc over drunken accident over The Virgin Mary, I don't care. The feelings are the same. The longing and uncertainty over the future don't hurt any less for those of us who have never seen an RE in comparison to those of us who have practically shown the mailman their lady parts. So if you are a lurker like I once was, reading these posts and thinking that you have no business expressing your feelings because you haven't even mentioned infertility testing to your OB yet, please know that you have just as much right as I do. Don't add doubt to the pile of emotions that you are already feeling. It's only going to delay you. We need to roundhouse kick doubt in the face.

Which is precisely what I plan on doing to my husband the next time he tells me I need to relax.

Bummed

Clomid didn't work for us this month. I took a test this morning, and there was a little speck above the horizontal line that maybe could have been a vertical line, so I over analyzed for a little bit this morning, before I decided that at 14DPO, there would be a definite line if I was knocked up. And so I am not.
Maybe I wouldn't be as disappointed if I didn't give up certain things this month "just in case". Like P90X or drinking heavily or heroin. So now I am slightly fatter and sober instead of all glowy and preggo.
Thankfully, today's meal in the cafe is mac and cheese, so I am drowning my sorrows in melted cheese. We leave for vacation to Hilton Head in 3 days, so hopefully after that we can start fresh. Sorry to be boring and all debbie downer.

Another Recap Post, because that's all I seem to do . . .

This weekend, Mr. Joe and I joined Chrissy and her boyfriend on a trip to our nation's capital. You'll be glad to know your tax dollars are hard at work there. I promise. We were also hard at work, as is evidenced by this photo of Chrissy and I holding up the capital building. We took a very long day trip to the city, and then later that night we went to my favorite piano bar in Georgetown, Mr. Smith's. It was a much needed break from my lame-o job and such.

I was brought back to reality Monday morning, when on my way into work I tripped on the stairs and skinned my knee in front of about 5 suited, profesh looking people. Awesome. Then, at breakfast, I dropped my bagel on the floor of the cafe. I thought about eating it for a hot second, and then decided that it was not a good idea. I really wanted to call it at day at that point.

Today, I came in to the preggo at work talking about touring the hospital and planning for the birth and I was trying my best not to vomit jealousy all over my keyboard. I hate being jealous of her, because apart from the whole "being knocked up" part, she doesn't really have a glamorous life. It's the other preggo I work with whose life I'd like to take over . . . she is very quiet thought and doesn't seem to bother me as much as the first one does.
08/18 is 14dpo, so we'll see what happens then. And what will happen next.

Part of me wants this time to be it, so I can quit thinking about when it will happen for us and move on with our lives. The other part of me will probably be terrified if it is. This whole "living life" business would be so much easier if we were just told when things would happen!

I'm not fine

Most every call I take in this call center starts off the same:

"Hi this is {someone annoying}, I'm calling because {something unimportant}, how are you?"

Lately, it is taking everything in my being not scream "I'M REALLY FREAKING UNHAPPY, THANKS FOR ASKING!"

Today is not a good day friends.

First, I was late to work. Because of traffic. Traffic in which I had plenty of time to ponder the meaning of my life, and how I feel like I am going nowhere. Time to ponder the meaning of my dreams, including the most recent one where I was watching ultrasounds until I woke up. It occurred to me on my way into work today that the crazy coworker is having her big ultrasound today. That's how crazy I am. I subconsciously think about other people's big ultrasounds. Ultimately, my drive to work ended in tears. I really loathe my job and I'm tired of feeling as though I add no value to society whatsoever. Sadly, Mr. Joe and I rely heavily on my income, so I cannot leave without the promise of equal or greater pay. So, into the office I went, drying my tears and silently willing myself to SUCK IT UP.

Then, naturally, I was yelled at by clients all day. No one is happy with their retirement funds. Its inevitable that you will one day call in and yell at someone about your retirement account. When you do, think of me and be kind. All the while, I answered the H.A.Y. question with, "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine." I am not fine. I am hanging on by a thread here.
My teammates talk about how crazy coworker said she would be out of work for the rest of the week if she finds out she's having a boy, because she would be so upset. Of course, she texts us later to announce, "It's a girl!" Snip! went the thread I was hanging on. Of course. Of course this girl gets everything she wants.

I realize I am fortunate to have a job, which has provided me with infertility treatments, if I was not in denial of my obvious lack of baby making skills. I am fortunate to be married to Mr. Joe, who loves him some psychopath and puts up with my whining and bitching.

I don't want to be this bitter, nasty frostybox. I don't want to ache and yearn for something that comes seemingly easy to everyone but me. I wish I could wake up and be happy with my lot in life. Believe me, I am trying to find a job in which I am allowed to choose what time I go to lunch or when I can get up to pee. I've been looking, I promise. I know that I will not be here in this place in my life forever. For this day and this moment though, I am and it sucks.

McFatty Monday

It's my favorite day again!
Not really - but I figure if I keep saying it every week, one day I will come to love Monday as I love Saturdays. I have a feeling that might mean a change in career, but we'll keep working at it until then.
So here is my McFatty update: I am still at 150lbs after the plague, which gives me a pretty decent chance to make my 145 lbs goal by Florida, so I will maybe not look like a giant next to my tiny sister. Today is day 58 of P90X. I am already planning my next round after this one is finished. I will either do the classic version of P90X (there's a Classic, Lean and Doubles round. Lean is less lifting and weights and Doubles is double workouts for crazy people) or this new program that Beachbody is putting out, Turbofire. I think I just like the video they put together for it. The slow-mo gladiator music in infomercials always reels me in. It looks like it could be fun. Then I could do P90X again after that . . . and go on that way for the rest of my life. Or I could get really fat again and then start from scratch! OR . . .and how about this one - I could actually get KNOCKED UP and not be able to do crazy workouts for 9 months! I know crazy idea right?
Blair's post today made me hungry already. This is a good sign seeing as my appetite was gone when I was in the throes of the plague. I'm going to go eat breakfast now. Good luck everyone this week!

Pictures - sorta

Remember when I said I would post a pictures with my weight? Well . . . I still haven't taken the pictures yet! Truth be told, you can't see whole huge difference yet. The p90x boards all say that the biggest change came around day 60, and I'm just on day 36 today. You can see a difference in my arms, in that there is now a muscle where there used to be hamminess. It's hard to take a picture of my arms and whatnot in the mirror, and so I will have to enlist Mr. Joe to help. He's been hanging out at his part time job the last couple of nights though so we haven't been able to schedule a photo shoot :-) . . . I know - excuses, excuses. I swear it's coming though. I promised, so all two of you that are interested, fear not. You will see my meaty (not as hammy) arms soon enough. In the meantime, here is a picture of my new haircut:

It's a dark picture, but you kinda get the idea. My hair is shorter. I really think the headset makes the look complete, don't you? And here's picture of my brand spankin' new bracelet that came in the mail yesterday from my bloggy friend Mrs. S:

It's a handmade IF common thread bracelet. The idea started here, and Mrs. S wrote about it here. I love the idea of having a secret sign to let other infertiles know that we are in the same boat. My bracelet came with a really sweet card, which I think made Mr. Joe jealous because he was really interested in where the card came from, and why I was getting a card in the mail. I told him it was because I am cheating on him with my bloggy friends. Anytime I say the word "blog" he rolls his eyes at me. If he only knew of the headache writing this blog and reading your blogs saves him, I'm sure you would all get cards in the mail too. I really appreciate the support and friendships I have found through writing here and I would like to pay it forward as well, so if anyone is interested in a bracelet from me, shoot me an email and I'll send one out to you. I know many of the 4 people that read my blog are not infertile, so if you shoot me an email, I'll send you some cookies or something. Maybe we should make a bracelet for fertiles that lets infertiles know that they promise not to tell them to relax or ask when they will start having babies! What do you think? Talk it out.

Also: Today is CD1! AF made her very own appearance after just 45 days, which is an improvement over 99 days before I had the hysteroscopy. . . I will consider this progress!

Hopefully, I've successfully distracted you from the fact that I am lame and have not (yet) followed through on my promise. Soon!

Wannabe

This week is National Infertility Awareness Week, and since I am pretending that there is nothing wrong, I had no idea. Until I read this post, and this one, and was mentioned in this one as a wannabe mommy blogger. It's ironic, that all of this NIAW business would come out today, because today's temp made Fertility Frenemy an indian giver and took away my cross hairs. Bitch.

I was this close to thinking maybe it was all in my head and that I had miraculously ovulated on my own. Denial is not just a river in Egypt my friends.

I thought about joining in on the project that Mrs. S addressed in her post. I read through the questions that were posted and thought about how I would answer them. Then I became all weepy and whiny at my desk and decided against joining in this go around. I know that this week will come around again. Maybe the next time it does, I will be on the other side and will have the words to offer strength or comfort to someone still stuck on this side of "what if". For now, I just don't know what to say. I'm still trying to process exactly where we are on the "infertility scale". Will we need more than a few rounds of Clomid? Will we need marriage counseling as a result of the stress of TTC? Will I ever be satisfied with what we have? Will I be able to keep my composure as the crazy girl I work with complains about being knocked up by her loser baby daddy? I don't have the answers and I HATE it. In an effort to not annoy the pants off of the people that read about my life, I try not to piss and moan too much about it, but it's there - always right under the surface of every sarcastic comment I make :-)
The journey so far has not been fruitless. I've learned alot, and met many "wannabes" in the same spot we are. I've been more sensitive with my words, because I know how much a harmless comment can cut to the core. I've formed close bonds with people I would have not known as well otherwise.
Many of my teenage years were spent looking for a group to belong to - a place where I fit in. While I wish that we belonged to a group that dealt with happier things, part of me is grateful for the opportunity to bond with any group. It's like I'm finally super cool! And I have cool friends! (not counting you Ronnie, you were always cooler than me anyway)
This is kind of rambling and not going anywhere. I guess the bottom line is that IF sucks, mostly because of the uncertainty of it all, but the little community I've found here is pretty awesome. Please know that if you need someone to listen, I can always be reached at jenny72982@gmail.com, and I'm a pretty good listener - since I get paid to do it all day long :-)

A Confession

There's a topic I have been avoiding on here lately.
At my pre-op appointment for the hysteroscopy, Dr. Foreign Accent asked us when we wanted to start in on IUI. He was all ready to get this show on the road.
We were not.
It's not that we aren't ready to be pregnant and have children - we're more than ready, it's something Mr. Joe and I have been discussing alot lately.
I think the problem is that are not ready to admit defeat. Right now, I have all these theories about how fixing my heart shaped box (making my ute triangle and normal shaped) is going to improve our chances of naturally conceiving, despite the fact that Dr. Foreign Accent says that one has nothing to do with the other. I am still convinced that this can happen without having to involve a third party, even though I invited that third party in the first place. That maybe now that I'll have a lining all the way around my ute that it will magically rebalance my hormones and I'll have normal cycles again.
Dr. FA was pretty surprised when we told him we just wanted to try Clomid for now. In fact, he flat out said he didn't think it would work, but he wrote out an Rx anyway and handed it to me, saying "Good luck . . ." in his thick Argentinian accent.
I filled it the next day, and have been staring at the bottle for weeks. I can't bring myself to take it. Why? I don't know. I think if I take it and it doesn't work, then I will have to admit that there is no magical fix. That there is something wrong with me. With Mr. Joe. With us.
Instead, I have been charting. I'm on CD20, 4DPO according to Fertility Frenemy, but who knows if this will work this time. Maybe, maybe not.
I find myself falling into the same tired excuses - maybe it's not our time, maybe it's because we were too early or too late in getting it on, maybe I DO need to relax! Maybe it's because we don't have mood lighting and candles in our bedroom! Maybe we need to do it upside down!
All of this makes me depressed. Sad that one more thing is not going my way. Then the sadness brings on memories of my brother, and the fact that I hate my job, and Mr. Joe has been busting his ass at his job and isn't getting the recognition he deserves, and that yet ANOTHER person on my team at work is knocked up, bringing it to a grand total of 3 people I know getting KU in a month's time. Then I become envious and bitter and I turn into someone I don't like. I used to be happy(ish) with what I had. I hate where we live, but I was happy with owning a home. My dog was my baby. I was content. Now, I turn into a bitter frostybox beeotch at work because everyone has babies on the brain. I get aggrivated when I see Facebook status about bringing awareness to cancer (BTW, WHO THE FUCK DOESN'T KNOW ABOUT CANCER, OR KNOW SOMEONE WHO HAS IT, OR LOST SOMEONE TO IT? HOW IS POSTING THAT ON YOUR FACEBOOK PAGE GOING TO HELP?? see? complete frostybox). I sob on the way home from work because life is so unfair that crazy people can have babies and assholes survive cancer and people that are awful and mean get ahead and POOR MRS. JOE wah wah wah. I make myself sick over the person I become when I let it take over.
So I avoid the topic altogether. I focus on McFatty Mondays. Most of the people I comment on are mommy bloggers, which can sometimes be hard, but I like them. I feel better when they encourage me on MM. I pretend to not be thinking about TTC constantly - but it's there, right on my sleeve.
So, in case you've been wondering, that's why I haven't mentioned it.

The same page - and the one with a bible quote

Mr. Joe and I had a long talk last night and we are finally on the same page. These talks tend to happen when we're on the drive home from his mother's house. The majority of his family lives about an hour away, and since Mr. Joe has no where to go we're together, we usually end up discussing important matters. Or arguing about whether he pronounces certain words correctly. One time, we fought the entire way about whether on not the phrase "play it by ear" was really "play it by year". His example for arguing the latter was:
Mrs. Joe: "Mr. Joe, can we go to Disney World for the millionth time this summer?"
Mr. Joe: " I don't know, let's play it by year."
I know that makes no sense, hence the argument. But I digress.

The discussion started when we heard a commercial for a urologist on the radio (I wish I could find it online and play it for you here, it was probably the dumbest advertisement I have ever heard in my entire life. It involved a crazy urologist giving vasectomies to a basketball player and a cheerleader during a basketball game, and the cheerleader ends up being a transvestite - hence the vasectomy - and it's "so quick and painless" that the basketball player didn't notice it. Really, really dumb). Mr. Joe was wondering how a guy finds his way into that area of medicine because he "couldn't imagine staring at wieners all day". Yes, he actually said 'wieners'. We are so mature. While we were both laughing about this weirdo urologist guy, I quietly slipped in that Dr. Foreign Accent wants him to see one. <>

He was pretty somber when he said, "ABSOLUTELY NOT".

It's not that he isn't supportive, or as anxious to have children, in fact as soon as the words left his lips, he was apologizing for sounding so caustic. He's just not as willing as I am to have people all up in his business. I completely understand that. We did an SA once, and that's as far as he is willing to go at this point in the game. We already confirmed that the only thing off on his SA was the motility, and even then it wasn't that low. The problem is definitely me at this point. From this, we have decided upon a TTC Action Plan:

Step one - I will have the hysteroscopy and hopefully live through it (I will have to post all of the various disaster scenarios that I have come up with in my head)
Step two - Find a way to regulate my cycles with medication so we can pinpoint when I ovulate
Step three - do the deed at those times

If after several cycles of this not succeeding, we will reevaluate where we are and if we are ready to try a more invasive route. It doesn't look like much, but it feels really good to have a set plan in place for the next couple of months. I think we both felt like TTC was getting away from us, like a crazy runaway train. I think we're more in control of the train now and I can already feel less tension between us.

Basically, what this boils down to for us is patience and faith. I have faith that we will have children. We all know the bible verses that promise us prosperity and purpose (specifically, Jeremiah 29:11 where those same words are basically used). I believe that. The patience part is not really as easy to come by. This is just going to be a really hard lesson in patience I think. I know at the end, all of this indecision and uncertainty is going to make it all worth it, but I really, really, really want to get to the "worth it" part already! How do you wait for something to happen when you don't know when (or how, but I'm not focusing on that) it's happening?

Way back in the beginning of my obsession with babies and blogging, I found a blog of a waiting adoptive mom (who has since had a successful open adoption with her son AND birthed a "surprise" baby boy). The majority of blogs I found had all of the "standard" waiting mother bible verses and other various quotes, but this woman had a verse I had never heard before:

Habakkuk 2:3
"But these things I plan won't happen right away. Slowly, steadily, surely, the time approaches when the vision will be fulfilled. If it seems slow, do not despair, for these things will surely come to pass. Just be patient! They will not be overdue a single day!"

My first thought was, "What the heck is a Habakkuk?" I still need to google that one. Now, I read this passage everyday. I repeat it to myself as I listen to the trolls who call in and complain to me at work. I know it by heart. It was no accident that I stumbled upon these words and the blogs that I read. All of this is comforting to me because I know that eventually, the patience I'm supposed to learn will come.

I just wish it would come right now.

Calling all infertiles . . .

So today was super exciting.

For those of you just joining us, when we last left off, our heroine (not the bad kind kids) was on her way to an appointment with an RE to determine why she was not knocked up. Unbeknownst to her, the evil Dr. H had sent her to a teaching hospital type place to have this done . . .

First of all, it took me 5 - 10 minutes to find the place, and it wasn't until I was lost that I realized that I had NO IDEA what the name of my doctor was. I was forced to ask people for directions to the fertility center, which was super awkward for me. Lesson learned friends: WRITE DOWN THE NAME OF YOUR DOCTOR or you will be forced to share your business with even MORE strangers.

When I finally found the place and made it back the exam room, I was just about ready to puke from all the nerves. I was sweatier than a whore in church. The nurse noticed this and tried her best to be nice and make me feel better, and by the end of our brief conversation, I did feel a little better. The throwups had left, and I was a little less sweaty. I was maybe even a little excited to see my ute and finally get this show on the road. As I sat with the sheet around my waist (they're so fancy there! No paper crap for me to rip while attempting to put it on!), waiting for my new nurse friend to return with the doctor, I almost laughed at myself for being so nervous. Oh, was I fooled friends!

That nurse was a tricky bitch. I had been lulled into a false sense of security. Not because I was waiting for a long time, mind you. She came right back with the doctor as promised. She also brought about 4 friends. FOUR. PLUS the doctor. All of them waiting for my lady parts to put on a show. EEEEEK!!! I did what I do when I get into any awkward situation:

I brought the jokes. AND I COULD. NOT. STOP.

"It's a full house tonight! It's like we're in a telephone booth! Can everyone see my uterus? Who's going next??" All the while in my head, I'm screaming at myself to STOP WITH THE JOKES. I sound like Kathy Griffin! ENOUGH ALREADY!

The jokes stopped when Dr. Foreign Accent started pointing to my lady parts on the screen. Apparently, they were putting on enough of a show that I didn't have to continue with my one -liners to captivate the audience. After alot of pointing and moving the wand around, Dr. Foreign Accent finally turned to me and said, "Has anyone ever mentioned to you that you have a heart shape for a uterus?"

Now, when the hell would my doctor had the time to do that? I'm sure there was no time for her to share this with me over the hundreds many times that I went to see her.

Bottom line is this: He thinks I have PCOS (which is what I have suspected for a little while now) and that I may have a heart shaped uterus. There is a more medical term for this, but I don't remember it and "heart shaped" just sounds so . . .pretty. He also thinks that Mr. Joe and I will not get knocked up on our own, and that we should start right with IUI. First, I have to have an HSG to confirm that I am indeed, deformed. I have the Quasimodo of uteruses (uteri?). I am going for this on Friday. So any infertiles out there that have had this done: should I be worried about the HSG? Is it painful? I have been doing lots of googling, but I would really like to hear from anyone who has actually done this.

I have decided I am not going to worry about the IUI stuff or any infertility crap until after this HSG business. I am really nervous and barfy over it because this is totally uncharted territory for me. There is one thing I am CERTAIN of though.

I do NOT have enough jokes to get me through an HSG.