Relief

I haven't abandoned this blog. I promise! I've been so busy with work and home life that I just haven't made the time to post.

I have lots of updates on my care at Shady Grove that I'll share in a post sometime this week.

I wanted to make this post about how I've been, emotionally, over the last month leading up to our (hopefully) first cycle of actual fertility treatment.

July was our last unmedicated cycle and it was unmonitored and I didn't chart. We decided we would start Clomid, monitoring and and triggered ovulation with this August cycle.

I felt so free. It felt like I had laid down all the baggage of the last year when we finally decided we were ready for treatment. I had been ready. It took D a little longer to get there. But we were there. Finally.

So instead of worrying about whether or not I was doing the right things, I could put that burden on my RE and nurses. They could monitor my cycle. They could watch to see when I was ready to ovulate. They could tell me what my perfect fertile window would be. All I have to do is take the medication and do what they tell me.

It's a relief. Scary but still a relief. For such a serious control freak, it was sort of surreal to get ready for someone else to plan and control all aspects of my babymaking endeavors.

It also feels slightly kinky. But it's not. It's all very scientific and medical. Even the part where my nurse calls to tell me "so you'll have sex tonight and tomorrow night." So official y'all.

Another thing to never ask

Don't ask me "are you pregnant?"
Ever.
Especially if you read this blog or know my history.

Asking someone with IF if they are pregnant is like asking someone with cancer "are you better yet?" You would never pose your concern that way and could you possibly ask a more loaded question? You know there are delicate ways to inquire and that's not one of them. Same thing goes for IF and pregnancy.

Go ahead, ask how I'm feeling. Ask where I am in my treatment. Ask if I have any more information. Ask any of that. Because none of that is an indirect insult.

And if and when I do get pregnant, I will tell you when I'm ready to. I don't have control over any of this, the least you can do is allow me to share any news I might have on my time. Not yours.

So we were potty training and now we're kind of not

This post is only semi-IF related.

We decided to start potty training A last month. We wanted to take it slow, not force the issue, and keep her in pull ups at daycare and overnight. We just wanted to get her used to the idea of going potty.

Less than 2 weeks in, she wasn't having any accidents at home in the evenings or on the weekends. I figured it was just luck. We sent her to daycare in pull ups and eventually her daily reports were telling us she was staying dry most of the day. We took a leap of faith at the end of last week and sent her in underwear. She only had 1 accident the first and second days and today, no accidents! Last Thursday, D put her to bed in underwear and she stayed dry all through the night and woke up at 6:45am to tell me she had to go potty. This was AMAZING! Our little one had all but potty trained herself. I know, I know...I don't really consider her "trained" because she has woken up wet and she still had another accident over the weekend, but the hard part is over and she did it herself.

So when I said this was semi-IF related, I'm sure you were like "um what?" Let me explain.

If you've read this blog, you know I am forever struggling with my ability to stay balanced and thankful while on this roller coaster. Sometimes, it's just as hard to keep sight of all the beauty in my life as it is to stomach another failed cycle.

When things like this happen, after hearing about potty training nightmares and having everyone and their mother tell me how difficult it was going to be, it's a gentle reminder of my blessings.

So when all I want to do is feel sorry for myself or complain about how life is unfair, I'll remember that I didn't have to do anything more than offer some jelly beans to potty train my strong willed 2 year old. I'll take it.

Lonely

I've never had more support. I've never had more loving people surrounding me. I've never gotten more emails, texts, cards and phone calls from loved ones checking on me.

Why do I still feel so completely alone?

I recently made the choice to leave one of my TTTC support groups. Not because of anything that happened within the group, but it was time for me to move on from it. I made some really great friends but the environment in which we were created had become stale and toxic and I realized it just wasn't a good place for me anymore.

It took a long while for me to even acknowledge that I fell into the TTTC category. It felt like every time I even thought about it, I was already pregnant again and, in my mind, if I didn't have trouble actually getting pregnant, I had no business seeking out support from women who were really struggling. It felt wrong and misplaced.

So when I got comfortable with this group of women, I felt like I finally had friends who understood. I'll always be grateful to Emily, Kearsta, Jessi, Ali, Christie, Nikki, and all of the other ladies who lifted me up when I could barely catch my breath. There's nothing that can replace that and this post isn't at all meant to belittle that.

One by one, most of the girls got what we'd all been dying for -- a healthy pregnancy. Our numbers dwindled as you'd hope they would in a group like that. Being one of the last women standing did a number on me, emotionally. I know it's not a competition and my own sadness does not take the place of my love and happiness for all of them, but it's a tough thing to face. Being alone again.

So I started to pull back. I wasn't as available. I didn't have it in me to be faced with what I didn't have over and over. I just wasn't strong enough.

Then new women started joining in an effort to revive the spirit of the group. It was an honest attempt to grow our community and remember exactly why we started it in the first place. But it left me feeling resentful. I didn't want to share my group with these new women that I didn't know. I didn't want them to compare their journeys to mine. I didn't want to have to guide and support and love someone new. I didn't even want to still be a part of the group because of what it meant. It meant I still had to face my infertility as my friends were being relieved of (some of) the torture.

Now I've abandoned the women who welcomed me in, in my greatest time of need, because I can't bear to read about BFPs or complaints about not being pregnant after 4 or 5 cycles or posts about moronic REs. I just don't care to help or spit out the words I'm so sorry for the thousandth time. I feel insincere and I hate it.

I think I was most scared of being so bitter. But now I'm wondering if apathy is worse.

And I have to own the fact that while IF has made me lonely, I haven't done myself any favors either.

Why didn't I think of that?

I talk a lot about perspective but generally I'm being all preachy about it. Telling people that they should have a little perspective when it comes to IF. I don't spend much time reflecting on times when I could use a fresh one.

Yesterday a co-worker was talking my ear off about my IF struggles. It's the same conversation every time. She asks me if I have a lot of stress in my life that could be "causing" my miscarriages, I try to gently explain that she is completely talking out of her ass. She asks what the next steps are, I tell her "we don't know" because I don't need her to know the exact status of my reproductive organs. You know, standard water cooler talk, for sure.

She always manages to throw in the dreaded "at least you have one child already" and up until yesterday, I always took it as such an insult. I mean, it is still an insult but I started thinking more about it afterwards.

I constantly mention that I'm thankful to have A and I can't begin to imagine how it feels to battle IF when you don't have any children at all, but I don't think I truly appreciate the perspective of women with primary infertility. Even though we didn't get pregnant with A right away, I know full well I was at a point in my life where it wasn't life altering to get a BFN. Sure it was sad but we weren't completely engulfed in TTC and so I easily reasoned myself out of the sadness. This month wasn't good anyway and Oh I knew our timing was bad weren't as tough to swallow. I meant it then.

So after she reiterated the whole "at least you have one" spiel, I thought about it and came to the conclusion that it's not such a bad thing to be reminded of. Sure, I'd prefer it didn't come from someone so ridiculous and condescending, but there's truth to it, regardless. So while I'm busy feeling sorry for myself and expecting everyone else to be sensitive to that, I would do well to remember to live up to the same expectations.

Thankful

I think I'm struggling a lot with thankfulness these days. Not only my own, but what I think other people should be thankful for.

I sometimes forget to really look at my life and remember all that I've been blessed with. I have days where I'm anything but grateful and I have to remember that there's more to me, my life, my family, than IF.

It's really difficult for me to interact with women who seemingly don't appreciate what they have. It's not my right to decide for someone else what they should be thankful for and my perception is admittedly skewed. But even still, how can I not take it personally when a friend complains about morning sickness to me? How am I supposed to hand hold and coddle a new mom who complains about lack of sleep all of the time? I know that it's not rational and that someone else's experience has nothing to do with mine and who in their right mind would be thankful for those things, but that doesn't make it any easier for me to listen to it. I am expected to be a good friend who says "oh man that sucks" over and over when I really want to say "Oh my fucking God. We GET IT already. You just can't stand all these completely-expected-and-normal things."

So I guess I should take this moment to appreciate what I already have and what I will (hopefully) one day be thankful for.

I am thankful for my beautiful daughter.
I am thankful for my loving husband.
I am thankful for my home, my job, my health.
I am thankful for my friends and family.
I will be thankful for every single bout of queasyness.
I will be thankful for all of the stretching and pain and swelling and uncomfortable clothes.
I will be thankful for the sleepless nights.
I will be thankful for a new kind of tears.
I will be thankful for the overwhelming feeling of life with more than one child because the alternative, my reality now, isn't something I'd wish on anyone.

Sometimes the pap smear isn't the awkward part

I haven't had a well woman exam in about 2 years. I was getting pregnant just often enough that I never even thought to make an appointment for an annual visit. I figured they couldn't possibly get more acquainted with my inner workings until I was reminded that they hadn't done a pap since just after I had A.

So I made my appointment and thought "this will be quick and painless."

Each exam room has a computer for the midwives to pull up your medical records as they are talking to you. It's all very high-tech, what with the Windows 99 and such. As she silently studies my ridiculously detailed and long history, I know this appointment is about to be very different than I expected.

So you are going to Shady Grove?

Panic. How did they know? Was that disdain in her voice? Oh wait. I think I filled that out on my medical records request form. Why do I feel like this is leading in to a conversation I don't want to have?

How is that going?

Silence. *Don't make this awkward, Lauren. She's a medical professional. She's not some nosey person you've just met.* Only, I had just met her and she did seem kind of nosey. OK, answer her. It's not going well - Obviously. It's been rough - Look at your screen, you'll see. We're still trucking along - Sadly.

I only see 2 miscarriages noted on your chart. You said you've had 4 total losses? I want to enter them in here.

You, ma'am, are the slowest typer on the face on the planet. If I have to repeat for a 4th time "I had...a miscarriage....on December 31st 2010" I might shove this weird cervix scrapey thing right up your nose.

That must be so hard.

And you are certainly making it so much easier.

I could transcribe the 46 other questions she asked me about my fertility but, really, who has the time? I didn't and when I realized I had been in that room with her for 40 minutes and she still hadn't examined me, I wanted to get up and go home without so much as changing out of my ill-fitting peek-a-boo gown.

Here are some pointers though, because if a seasoned certified nurse midwife still thinks it's ok to ask these questions, I might as well tell you not to and save you from the inevitable shit show you might create.

1. If a woman is seeing an RE and tells you she has "gone through the entire gamut of testing," don't also ask her if she has seen her ovaries lately. She has. And I bet you haven't. Ever, actually.
2. It's not ever ok to ask "are you sure you will keep trying?" Ever. If someone wants your input on that personal of a decision, they will tell you.
3. "Does the 4th loss even count? Medically?" will put you square in my target area for death stares and under-the-breath expletives. And you'll probably stay there for-like fucking-ever.
4. If you don't know what an HSG is or what Day 3 testing is or why low FSH is good or if a trigger shot makes sense for IUI, that's OK. It really is. What's not OK is belittling the importance of those sorts of things because you don't "put much stock in a lot of treatments for undiagnosed infertility." You don't need to "agree with" or worry about artificial insemination until the day I hold you down with one hand and steady a fucking turkey baster in the other. I'd never do that though because I'm not that invested in your uterus. You are welcome in advance.