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.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, July 11, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
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 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.
Friday, June 24, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, June 20, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Sweet tooth be gone
I spent most of last week in Chicago with some girlfriends. It was so good to see them and even though the weather wasn't the best, we ate a lot of fun food and drank some a ton of wine.
My stomach was not grateful for the indulgence.
It's kind of amazing how you don't even realize that you've broken a habit until faced with the very item your habit was based upon.
Cake.
We baked a chocolate cake and frosted it with vanilla buttercream, you know, just because. Totally normal.
Old Lauren would have absolutely had no less than a piece of cake (or two) a day. Easy peasy. Sweets were always my weakness. New Lauren somehow managed to have one piece of cake (OK... and a couple rounds of ice cream) and then pretty much forget it was there. Even though it was probably the best cake ever, I didn't even go back for a second piece in all the 4 days it was sitting there.
I guess the only real point of this post is to say I'm really proud of myself. Even though I haven't lost more weight and I'm almost the same size I was when I started this diet change, I feel so much better. I love that I can treat myself to some fries or ice cream and I stop after one serving or less because I don't need it or crave it anymore. Never in my life did I think I'd be thankful for an upset stomach until I realized it was my body totally pissed off at the amount of crap I was eating. It was a loud and clear reminder.
I don't judge people who can do that and still feel good -- more power to you! I wish I could. I just know myself and I honestly couldn't be trusted around cookies at one point in my life. Kind of scary. This is a huge change for me and I'm happy to know that even when I "throw my diet aside," some good habits still linger.
And just for clarity sake - I am NOT some sort of health nut. I will eat a chocolate on chocolate doughnut ::z snaps:: like no other. I love burgers and chips and ice cream. But I've come a long way and what used to be staples in my life are now the occasional treat enjoyed with good friends and I am more than OK with that.
My stomach was not grateful for the indulgence.
It's kind of amazing how you don't even realize that you've broken a habit until faced with the very item your habit was based upon.
Cake.
We baked a chocolate cake and frosted it with vanilla buttercream, you know, just because. Totally normal.
Old Lauren would have absolutely had no less than a piece of cake (or two) a day. Easy peasy. Sweets were always my weakness. New Lauren somehow managed to have one piece of cake (OK... and a couple rounds of ice cream) and then pretty much forget it was there. Even though it was probably the best cake ever, I didn't even go back for a second piece in all the 4 days it was sitting there.
I guess the only real point of this post is to say I'm really proud of myself. Even though I haven't lost more weight and I'm almost the same size I was when I started this diet change, I feel so much better. I love that I can treat myself to some fries or ice cream and I stop after one serving or less because I don't need it or crave it anymore. Never in my life did I think I'd be thankful for an upset stomach until I realized it was my body totally pissed off at the amount of crap I was eating. It was a loud and clear reminder.
I don't judge people who can do that and still feel good -- more power to you! I wish I could. I just know myself and I honestly couldn't be trusted around cookies at one point in my life. Kind of scary. This is a huge change for me and I'm happy to know that even when I "throw my diet aside," some good habits still linger.
And just for clarity sake - I am NOT some sort of health nut. I will eat a chocolate on chocolate doughnut ::z snaps:: like no other. I love burgers and chips and ice cream. But I've come a long way and what used to be staples in my life are now the occasional treat enjoyed with good friends and I am more than OK with that.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
A plan...on hold
I met with my RE last week. We came up with a plan. Yay!
Said plan included moving forward with a medicated cycle along with an IUI (intra-uterine insemination).
I was ecstatic! She wanted to give this every shot of working.
My husband, on the other hand, was completely freaked out. This suddenly just became real for him.
It's been real for me. Through all the blood draws, and appointments, and exams, and miscarriages, and tears. It's always been real.
He's been able to sit along side and attempt to be supportive.
So now we are at a stand off. He's not ready for that much intervention and I can't bear to go on the way we have been. I can't get pregnant again (on our own) knowing that the most likely result is another loss. He can't fathom spending another $2,000 on IF when we can't be promised it will work the way it's supposed to.
We've always been on the same side but at this moment I can't help but feel more alone than I ever have.
Said plan included moving forward with a medicated cycle along with an IUI (intra-uterine insemination).
I was ecstatic! She wanted to give this every shot of working.
My husband, on the other hand, was completely freaked out. This suddenly just became real for him.
It's been real for me. Through all the blood draws, and appointments, and exams, and miscarriages, and tears. It's always been real.
He's been able to sit along side and attempt to be supportive.
So now we are at a stand off. He's not ready for that much intervention and I can't bear to go on the way we have been. I can't get pregnant again (on our own) knowing that the most likely result is another loss. He can't fathom spending another $2,000 on IF when we can't be promised it will work the way it's supposed to.
We've always been on the same side but at this moment I can't help but feel more alone than I ever have.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
The elephant in the room
I've been pretty candid about this whole process with my close friends and family. This opens me up to innocent questions, not so innocent judgements, and everything in between. I knew this when I decided to share, and up until now, aside from the occasional back handed compliment (well at least you know you CAN get pregnant!), I've been pretty fortunate to have extremely gentle and loving people around me.
But I realized something this weekend that I hadn't even thought about before.
And now I can't get it out of my mind.
As a new-ish parent, you get accustomed to your parenting decisions being fodder for all types of criticism. From your own mother, your peers, complete strangers, pretty much anyone and everyone. It's par for the course especially for a first time mom. What I wasn't prepared for was the distinct shift those criticisms took once people found out we were TTC, and having trouble to boot.
No one would ever tell a mom of 2 who has just lost her temper with the older child, that she shouldn't have had the second one. That's a completely ridiculous, and actually pretty disgusting, statement.
When I'm in the midst of a battle of wills with my 2 year old, I can feel all eyes on me. Waiting for my reaction. Waiting to see if I raise my voice or loose my cool. And if I do, I can see their face change as they get ready to say something that would be completely inappropriate to say to anyone else.
There's still time to turn back.
See how hard even one is?
If I could do it over...
Are you sure you want another?
So now I can't even parent my child without knowing my IF is permeating every facet of my life. All of my relationships. How people view me. How people pity me.
How can you not let this define you when other people are constantly making that decision for you? I don't get a say in whether or not people use the elephant in the room to color the way they see me.
As if the bars aren't all set fucking high enough.
But I realized something this weekend that I hadn't even thought about before.
And now I can't get it out of my mind.
As a new-ish parent, you get accustomed to your parenting decisions being fodder for all types of criticism. From your own mother, your peers, complete strangers, pretty much anyone and everyone. It's par for the course especially for a first time mom. What I wasn't prepared for was the distinct shift those criticisms took once people found out we were TTC, and having trouble to boot.
No one would ever tell a mom of 2 who has just lost her temper with the older child, that she shouldn't have had the second one. That's a completely ridiculous, and actually pretty disgusting, statement.
When I'm in the midst of a battle of wills with my 2 year old, I can feel all eyes on me. Waiting for my reaction. Waiting to see if I raise my voice or loose my cool. And if I do, I can see their face change as they get ready to say something that would be completely inappropriate to say to anyone else.
There's still time to turn back.
See how hard even one is?
If I could do it over...
Are you sure you want another?
So now I can't even parent my child without knowing my IF is permeating every facet of my life. All of my relationships. How people view me. How people pity me.
How can you not let this define you when other people are constantly making that decision for you? I don't get a say in whether or not people use the elephant in the room to color the way they see me.
As if the bars aren't all set fucking high enough.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
The problem is, you don't
"My friends struggled with infertility. I know how hard it is. That's why I decided to donate my eggs."
That's one of the tag lines for a commercial urging women to donate their eggs. And it totally made my blood boil.
Now let me clarify, I don't normally get irate over sympathy. In fact, I'd like to think that on the spectrum of those with IF, I fall more on the "she doesn't make me feel like shit for trying to support her." What made me angry was how the statement was used. Not only is it completely untrue, but it just felt so exploitative. It was belittling the fact that one of the biggest hurdles women with infertility face, is knowing their family and friends typically don't understand. It was using a healthy, fertile woman's point of view as a means of empowering egg donors. That's awesome. Egg donors help tons of women conceive healthy babies. But did you need to pretend like the reason she decided to donate was because she really gets it?
Because she doesn't.
This sort of led me to an internal dialogue about sympathy versus empathy, and how I really struggle when I think people aren't carefully distinguishing between the two.
I believe very firmly that, in order to stay on a healing path, you need to allow people to love you how they see fit. I've had this same discussion with so many friends struggling with their own losses and sorrows, even unrelated to IF. It's a pretty hard thing to do when the last thing you need is yet another "I'm so sorry" but part of opening your heart to change - good, healthy change - is understanding you can't control how people support you. You can't dictate the way someone feels comfortable loving you. You can only choose to embrace it knowing their intent, or ignore it if you feel it's disingenuous.
That all being said, I do put some onus on my friends to remember when they should offer sympathy and when they are capable of displaying empathy. It's a small but really important distinction and if you are sitting here wondering exactly what the difference is, I suggest you do a little research. It could really mean a world of difference to someone experiencing something painful, and it doesn't take much on your part.
The commercial made my skin crawl because you don't get the right to relate to IF just because you know someone who has been through it. And you certainly don't get to use that as a sales pitch without making some people think your marketing department is full of assholes.
I guess I am more susceptible to insensitivity than I previously thought. In this instance, I'm totally OK with that.
That's one of the tag lines for a commercial urging women to donate their eggs. And it totally made my blood boil.
Now let me clarify, I don't normally get irate over sympathy. In fact, I'd like to think that on the spectrum of those with IF, I fall more on the "she doesn't make me feel like shit for trying to support her." What made me angry was how the statement was used. Not only is it completely untrue, but it just felt so exploitative. It was belittling the fact that one of the biggest hurdles women with infertility face, is knowing their family and friends typically don't understand. It was using a healthy, fertile woman's point of view as a means of empowering egg donors. That's awesome. Egg donors help tons of women conceive healthy babies. But did you need to pretend like the reason she decided to donate was because she really gets it?
Because she doesn't.
This sort of led me to an internal dialogue about sympathy versus empathy, and how I really struggle when I think people aren't carefully distinguishing between the two.
I believe very firmly that, in order to stay on a healing path, you need to allow people to love you how they see fit. I've had this same discussion with so many friends struggling with their own losses and sorrows, even unrelated to IF. It's a pretty hard thing to do when the last thing you need is yet another "I'm so sorry" but part of opening your heart to change - good, healthy change - is understanding you can't control how people support you. You can't dictate the way someone feels comfortable loving you. You can only choose to embrace it knowing their intent, or ignore it if you feel it's disingenuous.
That all being said, I do put some onus on my friends to remember when they should offer sympathy and when they are capable of displaying empathy. It's a small but really important distinction and if you are sitting here wondering exactly what the difference is, I suggest you do a little research. It could really mean a world of difference to someone experiencing something painful, and it doesn't take much on your part.
The commercial made my skin crawl because you don't get the right to relate to IF just because you know someone who has been through it. And you certainly don't get to use that as a sales pitch without making some people think your marketing department is full of assholes.
I guess I am more susceptible to insensitivity than I previously thought. In this instance, I'm totally OK with that.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
I surprised myself
I haven't had a haircut since my first miscarriage. Partly because I didn't want to go back to the stylist I love so much, who -- the last time I saw her -- was excitedly talking about the joys of having 2 babies, and have to explain anything about what my life has been like over the last year. Mostly because I am busy and lazy all wrapped in to one person who can't make enough time for an hour long salon appointment.
Well I mentioned to D that I was thinking about getting a cut and he encouraged me to go. My normal stylist wasn't available so I decided to go with someone else, figuring it was just a trim and couldn't possibly go that horribly.
Well, I was wrong about the hair (mushroom hair!).
But this post isn't about the hair. The stylist did the usual "new hair client" banter of "where are you from?" and "are you married?" and within minutes of telling her all about A, I knew the inevitable "do you want any more?" was coming.
And it did.
And I didn't cry.
I felt my stomach start to tense as soon as the words left her mouth but something inside me was able to answer with a calm "we are working on it -- but yes, we want more....Desperately." And with a small forced smile, I knew in my heart that, even though she had no clue how powerful a question it was, and even though she (being a young mom of four kids) may not have thought twice about what sort of cold response I could have given, the intention isn't what hurts when people ask the question. It's knowing the answer isn't as simple as "Yes. We do."
But I didn't respond poorly and I was able to separate a harmless conversation from my inner turmoil, and I was proud of myself for being strong enough to not project my hurt under the guise of standing up against insensitivity. She may have been insensitive but she wasn't mean spirited by any stretch, and really, isn't that what really matters?
Either way, I didn't cry.
Well I mentioned to D that I was thinking about getting a cut and he encouraged me to go. My normal stylist wasn't available so I decided to go with someone else, figuring it was just a trim and couldn't possibly go that horribly.
Well, I was wrong about the hair (mushroom hair!).
But this post isn't about the hair. The stylist did the usual "new hair client" banter of "where are you from?" and "are you married?" and within minutes of telling her all about A, I knew the inevitable "do you want any more?" was coming.
And it did.
And I didn't cry.
I felt my stomach start to tense as soon as the words left her mouth but something inside me was able to answer with a calm "we are working on it -- but yes, we want more....Desperately." And with a small forced smile, I knew in my heart that, even though she had no clue how powerful a question it was, and even though she (being a young mom of four kids) may not have thought twice about what sort of cold response I could have given, the intention isn't what hurts when people ask the question. It's knowing the answer isn't as simple as "Yes. We do."
But I didn't respond poorly and I was able to separate a harmless conversation from my inner turmoil, and I was proud of myself for being strong enough to not project my hurt under the guise of standing up against insensitivity. She may have been insensitive but she wasn't mean spirited by any stretch, and really, isn't that what really matters?
Either way, I didn't cry.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Uncomfortable
I have 4 blog posts that I don't have the guts to actually post.
I'm afraid I complain too much. I'm afraid I'll alienate even more people. I'm afraid that my bitterness has reached a new level. I'm afraid that it's defining me. I'm afraid of what people will think.
Sometimes the fear of what this is all doing to me is worse than the fear of never having another child. I'm uncomfortable in this new skin I've been forced in to. I don't know how to have real discussions with people about this. People who care enough to ask, all get a stock answer about how I'm "doing ok" or "surprisingly at peace."
I question everyone's sincerity and I've become even more cynical than I already was. I can't help but assume that people ask how I'm doing, not because they actually want to know, but because it's what you do. When someone is sick. When someone is going through something hard. When you don't know what else to say that conveys your concern or understanding.
So we do this dance where you care, and I don't open up, and you can probably tell I'm being dishonest, and I pretend that I have it in me to talk about this. Yet again.
I'm afraid I complain too much. I'm afraid I'll alienate even more people. I'm afraid that my bitterness has reached a new level. I'm afraid that it's defining me. I'm afraid of what people will think.
Sometimes the fear of what this is all doing to me is worse than the fear of never having another child. I'm uncomfortable in this new skin I've been forced in to. I don't know how to have real discussions with people about this. People who care enough to ask, all get a stock answer about how I'm "doing ok" or "surprisingly at peace."
I question everyone's sincerity and I've become even more cynical than I already was. I can't help but assume that people ask how I'm doing, not because they actually want to know, but because it's what you do. When someone is sick. When someone is going through something hard. When you don't know what else to say that conveys your concern or understanding.
So we do this dance where you care, and I don't open up, and you can probably tell I'm being dishonest, and I pretend that I have it in me to talk about this. Yet again.
Monday, May 16, 2011
My best friend's a doctor
D and I drove up to Connecticut for my friend's dental school graduation this past weekend. We were there less than 24 hours but it was nice to get away just the two of us and be able to support J as she finalized one of the greatest accomplishments of her life.
She's been through a hell of a year and without going in to too much detail, her getting her D.M.D. seemed, at times, nothing short of a miracle (obviously coupled with her insane work ethic, innate brilliance and overall awesomeness).
As her class of newly appointed Physicians and Dentists left the auditorium, grins plastered across their faces, it signified more than just the completion of medical and dental school for J. It was the beginning of her new life. Something she'd worked a hell of a lot harder for than most of the other graduates.
She scooped up her gorgeous 2 year old daughter, and with her head held high, marched out to her future.
She doesn't know this, but J is one of the most inspirational people in my life. It's nearly impossible for me to feel sorry for myself when I'm around her. She's hilarious and loving and soft spoken and strong all at once. She has fought back, quite literally, against adversity that no woman should have to face, and she's won. She's been the kind of parent to her daughter that we should all be so lucky to be. She's completed a program of study that over a thousand applicant are turned away from, year after year. There have been times she probably didn't even know how she was going to take her next breath, but somehow, she did.
I wouldn't normally encourage using your friend's tough times to make yourself feel better, and that's not exactly what I'm doing, but it definitely makes me realize my life doesn't end when things get hard. I see her accomplishments as motivation to keep going -- in whatever it is you are doing, whatever you are fighting for. You can do it. There's always a way. It might not be the way you'd envisioned or the easy way that seems to come for so many others, but it's there and it's yours to take. If you fight hard enough.
So basically, thank you J, for being the kind of friend that amazes me and loves me at the same time.
Congratulations bahahfahf! I'm so proud of you!
She's been through a hell of a year and without going in to too much detail, her getting her D.M.D. seemed, at times, nothing short of a miracle (obviously coupled with her insane work ethic, innate brilliance and overall awesomeness).
As her class of newly appointed Physicians and Dentists left the auditorium, grins plastered across their faces, it signified more than just the completion of medical and dental school for J. It was the beginning of her new life. Something she'd worked a hell of a lot harder for than most of the other graduates.
She scooped up her gorgeous 2 year old daughter, and with her head held high, marched out to her future.
She doesn't know this, but J is one of the most inspirational people in my life. It's nearly impossible for me to feel sorry for myself when I'm around her. She's hilarious and loving and soft spoken and strong all at once. She has fought back, quite literally, against adversity that no woman should have to face, and she's won. She's been the kind of parent to her daughter that we should all be so lucky to be. She's completed a program of study that over a thousand applicant are turned away from, year after year. There have been times she probably didn't even know how she was going to take her next breath, but somehow, she did.
I wouldn't normally encourage using your friend's tough times to make yourself feel better, and that's not exactly what I'm doing, but it definitely makes me realize my life doesn't end when things get hard. I see her accomplishments as motivation to keep going -- in whatever it is you are doing, whatever you are fighting for. You can do it. There's always a way. It might not be the way you'd envisioned or the easy way that seems to come for so many others, but it's there and it's yours to take. If you fight hard enough.
So basically, thank you J, for being the kind of friend that amazes me and loves me at the same time.
Congratulations bahahfahf! I'm so proud of you!
The vitamins
I said I'd dedicate another post wholly to the vitamin supplements I've started taking. I need to start this off by saying, I am not a doctor (by any stretch of the imagination), my research has all been done online (I'm not looking to get this plan published or signed off on by a medical team), and I would advise you discuss this with your physician or RE prior to starting the supplements (I didn't, but I'm crazy like that).
I picked apart some retail "fertility enhancing" products and these are the components that seem to be come up over and over:
Coenzyme Q10 (100mg): Antioxidant. Protects against free radicals.
Maca Root (500mg): Works on the endocrine system and helps stabilize hormone levels, promote egg health and help lower FSH levels. I've seen this one referred to as "fertility superfood" on more than one occassion.
L-arginine (500mg): Helps in the metabolism of proteins and sugars. Promotes circulatory and cardiovascular health. Speeds healing time in bones and muscles. Has been shown to increase ovarian response and promote the secretion of cervical fluid.
I've also added the following to my vitamin regimen based on the benefits I've read about in regards to IVF and general reproductive health:
Royal Jelly (1,000mg): Bees feed it to the queen to stimulate ovarian response. If you didn't already think I was crazy, you do now. I'm ok with that.
Pomegranate (250mg 3 times a day): To help build uterine lining to optimize implantation when the time comes. I only take this after ovulation and I stop as soon as my period arrives.
Grapeseed Extract (60mg): Another antioxidant.
Spirulina (500mg): Superfood algae - much like wheatgrass.
I've continued taking my prenatal vitamin as well as an additional 200mg of Folic Acid a day.
Just this week D and I started growing our own wheatgrass that we'll incorporate into smoothies. Spirulina tastes bad enough and that's just a pill. No way am I doing a shot of wheatgrass, straight up, on top of that.
I don't think there is any way for me to know what the reproductive benefits might actually be, but I feel better so we'll go with it for now. Plus, I obviously spent a small fortune on what now takes up an entire shelf in my medicine cabinet, so I'm kind of committed at this point.
My friend M suggested I get one of those Days of the Week pill dispensers. She thinks I'm 85. Which I pretty much am.
I picked apart some retail "fertility enhancing" products and these are the components that seem to be come up over and over:
Coenzyme Q10 (100mg): Antioxidant. Protects against free radicals.
Maca Root (500mg): Works on the endocrine system and helps stabilize hormone levels, promote egg health and help lower FSH levels. I've seen this one referred to as "fertility superfood" on more than one occassion.
L-arginine (500mg): Helps in the metabolism of proteins and sugars. Promotes circulatory and cardiovascular health. Speeds healing time in bones and muscles. Has been shown to increase ovarian response and promote the secretion of cervical fluid.
I've also added the following to my vitamin regimen based on the benefits I've read about in regards to IVF and general reproductive health:
Royal Jelly (1,000mg): Bees feed it to the queen to stimulate ovarian response. If you didn't already think I was crazy, you do now. I'm ok with that.
Pomegranate (250mg 3 times a day): To help build uterine lining to optimize implantation when the time comes. I only take this after ovulation and I stop as soon as my period arrives.
Grapeseed Extract (60mg): Another antioxidant.
Spirulina (500mg): Superfood algae - much like wheatgrass.
I've continued taking my prenatal vitamin as well as an additional 200mg of Folic Acid a day.
Just this week D and I started growing our own wheatgrass that we'll incorporate into smoothies. Spirulina tastes bad enough and that's just a pill. No way am I doing a shot of wheatgrass, straight up, on top of that.
I don't think there is any way for me to know what the reproductive benefits might actually be, but I feel better so we'll go with it for now. Plus, I obviously spent a small fortune on what now takes up an entire shelf in my medicine cabinet, so I'm kind of committed at this point.
My friend M suggested I get one of those Days of the Week pill dispensers. She thinks I'm 85. Which I pretty much am.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Yesterday was Mother's Day
And it was bittersweet.
I've been blessed in more ways that I can count when it comes to A. She's always been a great sleeper, She's one of the healthiest kids I know, and she's just an amazing little girl. I'm lucky to be her mother and I thank God for her every single day.
2009 was my first Mother's Day and I was beaming with pride as my husband gave me a card and flowers from our little peanut. I was filled with joy and it was all because of my daughter.
Mother's Day 2010 was just a couple of months after my first miscarriage and it was hard. I was "ok" for the most part and did my duty by traveling around to each Mom, Mother-in-Law and Grandmother's house for the obligatory holiday visits. But a piece was missing. A little bit of my heart was taken away when I had my first miscarriage and as we celebrated with family members (many of which had 2, 3, 4 children), I felt like I was being punished. Why was I the one having to endure that? Why did everyone else get to enjoy their Mother's Day while I silently cried over what had been taken away from me? What did my daughter do to deserve a mother who couldn't be fulfilled by just her? Why did my husband have to pick up the pieces of an epic meltdown after a long day of smiling for everyone else? We didn't deserve any of it.
Naturally, I was having anxiety about what Mother's Day would hold for me this year. Emotionally, I knew I wouldn't be able to spend the day driving to each house and putting on the act of being just OHSOEXCITED for everyone else. I didn't care that it was my friend's first Mother's Day. I didn't care that my cousin was a new mommy-to-be this year. I didn't care to visit our moms and shower them with flowers and gifts and be thankful for everything they've done for us. I just didn't. Of course I couldn't tell them that, and I had hoped they would infer on their own (knowing our history) why we were choosing to stay home this year. They may have, but it didn't stop the disappointed sigh that inevitably came when we told them we wouldn't be visiting this year.
So we stayed home and ate breakfast in bed and watched cartoons and snuggled and opened gifts A made at daycare and snuggled some more and just savored it.
On Mother's Day, no one acknowledges the moms who have lost their babies. They just get thrown back in the not-a-mom category with everyone else. I can't even imagine that pain. I'm lucky enough to have A to shield me from the ignorant, hurtful exclusion that typically comes from people who are none the wiser.
So even though my heart is still broken about what Mother's Day 2011 should have been, I realized I have more to be grateful for than most. I know the pain of loss but I have a beautiful little girl who reminds me daily that miracles do happen and I can't ever take that for granted.
I've been blessed in more ways that I can count when it comes to A. She's always been a great sleeper, She's one of the healthiest kids I know, and she's just an amazing little girl. I'm lucky to be her mother and I thank God for her every single day.
2009 was my first Mother's Day and I was beaming with pride as my husband gave me a card and flowers from our little peanut. I was filled with joy and it was all because of my daughter.
Mother's Day 2010 was just a couple of months after my first miscarriage and it was hard. I was "ok" for the most part and did my duty by traveling around to each Mom, Mother-in-Law and Grandmother's house for the obligatory holiday visits. But a piece was missing. A little bit of my heart was taken away when I had my first miscarriage and as we celebrated with family members (many of which had 2, 3, 4 children), I felt like I was being punished. Why was I the one having to endure that? Why did everyone else get to enjoy their Mother's Day while I silently cried over what had been taken away from me? What did my daughter do to deserve a mother who couldn't be fulfilled by just her? Why did my husband have to pick up the pieces of an epic meltdown after a long day of smiling for everyone else? We didn't deserve any of it.
Naturally, I was having anxiety about what Mother's Day would hold for me this year. Emotionally, I knew I wouldn't be able to spend the day driving to each house and putting on the act of being just OHSOEXCITED for everyone else. I didn't care that it was my friend's first Mother's Day. I didn't care that my cousin was a new mommy-to-be this year. I didn't care to visit our moms and shower them with flowers and gifts and be thankful for everything they've done for us. I just didn't. Of course I couldn't tell them that, and I had hoped they would infer on their own (knowing our history) why we were choosing to stay home this year. They may have, but it didn't stop the disappointed sigh that inevitably came when we told them we wouldn't be visiting this year.
So we stayed home and ate breakfast in bed and watched cartoons and snuggled and opened gifts A made at daycare and snuggled some more and just savored it.
On Mother's Day, no one acknowledges the moms who have lost their babies. They just get thrown back in the not-a-mom category with everyone else. I can't even imagine that pain. I'm lucky enough to have A to shield me from the ignorant, hurtful exclusion that typically comes from people who are none the wiser.
So even though my heart is still broken about what Mother's Day 2011 should have been, I realized I have more to be grateful for than most. I know the pain of loss but I have a beautiful little girl who reminds me daily that miracles do happen and I can't ever take that for granted.
Friday, May 6, 2011
I still think you're fat
If there's one thing I am, it's hilarious. Ask me, I'll tell you. I'm also very humble. Clearly.
Even in the midst of all the heaviness, I can't ever deny my propensity for making fun of my friends and usually creating extremely awkward situations when faced with discussing pregnancy.
So while I might be crying 70% of the time, the other 30% I'm having conversations like these....
Hugely Pregnant Friend: Why does your face have to get fat when you're pregnant? I hate it!
Me: Why did you just qualify your fat face with your pregnancy?
HPF: STFU LOL
Me: Seriously.
AWKWARD (texting) SILENCE.
Newly First Time Pregnant Friend: The morning sickness is the worst.
Me: I'm pretty sure the ring of fire is actually the worst.
NFTPF: The what?
Me: You'll see.
Non-pregnant Friend with IF: This technically enhanced babymaking stuff is such bullshit.
Me: Total bullshit.
NPFWIF: Is there anything more bullshitty that being dildocammed in one room while your husband hands over a little cup of sperm to a stranger in another?
Me: Probably the only thing more bullshitty than that is having a husband who ISN'T required to be humiliated with you.
NPFWIF: Yeah your husband really left you out to dry on that one.
Even in the midst of all the heaviness, I can't ever deny my propensity for making fun of my friends and usually creating extremely awkward situations when faced with discussing pregnancy.
So while I might be crying 70% of the time, the other 30% I'm having conversations like these....
Hugely Pregnant Friend: Why does your face have to get fat when you're pregnant? I hate it!
Me: Why did you just qualify your fat face with your pregnancy?
HPF: STFU LOL
Me: Seriously.
AWKWARD (texting) SILENCE.
Newly First Time Pregnant Friend: The morning sickness is the worst.
Me: I'm pretty sure the ring of fire is actually the worst.
NFTPF: The what?
Me: You'll see.
Non-pregnant Friend with IF: This technically enhanced babymaking stuff is such bullshit.
Me: Total bullshit.
NPFWIF: Is there anything more bullshitty that being dildocammed in one room while your husband hands over a little cup of sperm to a stranger in another?
Me: Probably the only thing more bullshitty than that is having a husband who ISN'T required to be humiliated with you.
NPFWIF: Yeah your husband really left you out to dry on that one.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Jealous
Today the jealousy is the hardest part.
I'm jealous of every single pregnant woman I see. I'm jealous of my overabundance of friends who are newly pregnant, about to pop, or have recently welcomed new little babies in to their families. I'm jealous of women who are just now starting to TTC their first or second and won't have any trouble at all. I'm jealous of their blissful ignorance.
That was all supposed to be my life. At multiple different points last year, I should have been experiencing all those things instead of pining over them.
I feel left behind.
I never could have anticipated what a vastly different direction my life would go in because of all this. In May 2009, so many of my friends were at the exact same place in life. We had all given birth to our first babies just a few months before. We were chatting over baby smiles, discussions about breastfeeding and sleep schedules, and bonding over our new found mommyhood. Two years later, I couldn't have less in common with most of my friends. It's alienating and it takes more away from you than the obvious. It takes away how I relate to those I hold dearest. Those same friends have now had a second, even third, child and they don't understand me and I can't bear to look at them.
So they secretly call me jealous and think I'm too consumed by this and it goes from being pathetic to unhealthy to tolerable, and I not-so-secretly know they are mostly right.
I'm jealous of every single pregnant woman I see. I'm jealous of my overabundance of friends who are newly pregnant, about to pop, or have recently welcomed new little babies in to their families. I'm jealous of women who are just now starting to TTC their first or second and won't have any trouble at all. I'm jealous of their blissful ignorance.
That was all supposed to be my life. At multiple different points last year, I should have been experiencing all those things instead of pining over them.
I feel left behind.
I never could have anticipated what a vastly different direction my life would go in because of all this. In May 2009, so many of my friends were at the exact same place in life. We had all given birth to our first babies just a few months before. We were chatting over baby smiles, discussions about breastfeeding and sleep schedules, and bonding over our new found mommyhood. Two years later, I couldn't have less in common with most of my friends. It's alienating and it takes more away from you than the obvious. It takes away how I relate to those I hold dearest. Those same friends have now had a second, even third, child and they don't understand me and I can't bear to look at them.
So they secretly call me jealous and think I'm too consumed by this and it goes from being pathetic to unhealthy to tolerable, and I not-so-secretly know they are mostly right.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Nothing tastes as good as pregnant feels
I started a super crunchy, super holistic "diet" on Sunday. In theory, it's meant to help with fertility. The idea behind it is that a woman's eggs are fragile and, thus, highly affected by their environment. If toxins can create unhealthy eggs, there's a school of thought that says the opposite should hold true -- the cleansing of toxins can help promote more healthy eggs.
It's not science, and I'm pretty sure my RE would smile politely (in a total "bless your heart" sort of way) and then explain to me how ridiculous it is, but I don't care. The bottom line is, it can't HURT and that's kind of all I'm shooting for at this point.
So phase 1 was cleaning up my actual diet. I went grocery shopping and for the first time, like...um...ever?, I didn't buy a single pre-made or highly shelf stable food item (except for quinoa which I'll get in to in a minute). It was the most expensive grocery trip in the history of grocery trips but I came home with tons of fresh fruit and vegetables, free range antibiotic free chicken, Greek yogurt, organic eggs, and basically just a whole lot of whole foods.
One tenant I came across over and over in my research was that protein is HUGELY important to egg growth and quality. I scoured my diet to find that, outside of the typical "dinner meat" and my obsession with Greek yogurt, I was actually pretty lacking in the protein department. Cue the entrance of quinoa. I actually introduced this gluten free staple to our rotation when my husband started The Paleo Diet last year, but didn't think too much of it other than "oh yay! a replacement for rice!" Turns out, quinoa is high in protein. WIN. So I've essentially replaced all rice and pasta products with Quinoa. Doesn't work every single time (Carbonara Quinoa? no dice ladies and gents), but it's a pretty stellar competitor.
I needed to get more antioxidants in my life. Research is split on this since commonly consumed products like green tea that are high in antioxidants, also contain some caffeine or tannins that maybe aren't favorable for this. Some experts say too much is counterproductive to TTC, others say that, in the right proportions and from the right sources, it's a good thing. So I'm munching on red bell peppers, eating pomegranate everything and pretty much ODing on blueberries. And that's just to name a few of the items I'm currently keeping on hand.
I also switched back to full fat, organic dairy. Going along with the whole food mentality, full fat is the way to go. I'm not trying to lose weight from this, so I'm totally ok with full fat cheeses and yogurt. Milk is another story. I cannot do whole milk. No, ew, I can't. So 1% is good enough for what I need it for and then I use whole in cooking and baking (yum).
A few basics for my day:
Eat MUFAs (mono unsaturated fatty acids) and dark greens, in some form, everyday. So I eat avocado or nuts, plus spinach at every meal. Breakfast is about to get really interesting when omelets lose their luster.
Drink more water than you think is humanly possible. Yes. And then subsequently spend the rest of the day peeing it out.
Make every meal fiber heavy. This *feels* difficult since I'm not eating sugars and extraneous grains because so many fiber enriched items can be carb heavy. The one plus side to this? Fiber cancels out carbohydrate, in an almost equal proportion (favoring carbs...of course...little bitches). I don't feel it's an even trade when there are tons of other options for fiber, but it's something.
There's also a vitamin regimen that could warrant a whole new post, so I'll save that for another day.
And now for the "DO NOT" list....
I've given up refined sugars as best I can. I refuse to stress myself out further by investigating every ingredient of every.single.thing I eat. The things I prepare don't have refined sugar in them and I steer clear of menu items that *seem* to be sugar laden. I've successfully replaced white sugar with Truvia, real maple syrup and agave nectar in the past and I think I can do it again.
No more alcohol. Well. Yeah. This one is going to be a really relaxed rule because let's face it? I need my wine. End of story.
No more caffeine. It huuuurt to do that Sunday, Monday and today but I'm still alive.
So that's the gist of the diet. And since an egg's life cycle is about 90 days to maturation, I had to start immediately for even the hope of a positive effect. I know pomegranate won't save a baby, and I know giving up sugar won't promise a pregnancy that sticks, but I have to do every single thing humanly possible to HELP. That's all I can do.
It's not science, and I'm pretty sure my RE would smile politely (in a total "bless your heart" sort of way) and then explain to me how ridiculous it is, but I don't care. The bottom line is, it can't HURT and that's kind of all I'm shooting for at this point.
So phase 1 was cleaning up my actual diet. I went grocery shopping and for the first time, like...um...ever?, I didn't buy a single pre-made or highly shelf stable food item (except for quinoa which I'll get in to in a minute). It was the most expensive grocery trip in the history of grocery trips but I came home with tons of fresh fruit and vegetables, free range antibiotic free chicken, Greek yogurt, organic eggs, and basically just a whole lot of whole foods.
One tenant I came across over and over in my research was that protein is HUGELY important to egg growth and quality. I scoured my diet to find that, outside of the typical "dinner meat" and my obsession with Greek yogurt, I was actually pretty lacking in the protein department. Cue the entrance of quinoa. I actually introduced this gluten free staple to our rotation when my husband started The Paleo Diet last year, but didn't think too much of it other than "oh yay! a replacement for rice!" Turns out, quinoa is high in protein. WIN. So I've essentially replaced all rice and pasta products with Quinoa. Doesn't work every single time (Carbonara Quinoa? no dice ladies and gents), but it's a pretty stellar competitor.
I needed to get more antioxidants in my life. Research is split on this since commonly consumed products like green tea that are high in antioxidants, also contain some caffeine or tannins that maybe aren't favorable for this. Some experts say too much is counterproductive to TTC, others say that, in the right proportions and from the right sources, it's a good thing. So I'm munching on red bell peppers, eating pomegranate everything and pretty much ODing on blueberries. And that's just to name a few of the items I'm currently keeping on hand.
I also switched back to full fat, organic dairy. Going along with the whole food mentality, full fat is the way to go. I'm not trying to lose weight from this, so I'm totally ok with full fat cheeses and yogurt. Milk is another story. I cannot do whole milk. No, ew, I can't. So 1% is good enough for what I need it for and then I use whole in cooking and baking (yum).
A few basics for my day:
Eat MUFAs (mono unsaturated fatty acids) and dark greens, in some form, everyday. So I eat avocado or nuts, plus spinach at every meal. Breakfast is about to get really interesting when omelets lose their luster.
Drink more water than you think is humanly possible. Yes. And then subsequently spend the rest of the day peeing it out.
Make every meal fiber heavy. This *feels* difficult since I'm not eating sugars and extraneous grains because so many fiber enriched items can be carb heavy. The one plus side to this? Fiber cancels out carbohydrate, in an almost equal proportion (favoring carbs...of course...little bitches). I don't feel it's an even trade when there are tons of other options for fiber, but it's something.
There's also a vitamin regimen that could warrant a whole new post, so I'll save that for another day.
And now for the "DO NOT" list....
I've given up refined sugars as best I can. I refuse to stress myself out further by investigating every ingredient of every.single.thing I eat. The things I prepare don't have refined sugar in them and I steer clear of menu items that *seem* to be sugar laden. I've successfully replaced white sugar with Truvia, real maple syrup and agave nectar in the past and I think I can do it again.
No more alcohol. Well. Yeah. This one is going to be a really relaxed rule because let's face it? I need my wine. End of story.
No more caffeine. It huuuurt to do that Sunday, Monday and today but I'm still alive.
So that's the gist of the diet. And since an egg's life cycle is about 90 days to maturation, I had to start immediately for even the hope of a positive effect. I know pomegranate won't save a baby, and I know giving up sugar won't promise a pregnancy that sticks, but I have to do every single thing humanly possible to HELP. That's all I can do.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Grasping at straws
I just spent the better part of the last 2 hours looking at books on Amazon. Books about miscarriage.
How to prevent it - yeah right. How to move past it - not likely. How to deal with it - ok, maybe. How to understand it - only if you've never asked your doctor any questions at all and if you don't know what Google is.
I guess I'm just looking for more. I have friends who have been through an eerily similar battle and offer me more insight and support than you can even imagine. I have an RE who is gentle and brilliant. I know how to research like only a true academia addict does. And still, I'm left wanting more answers.
I find myself irrationally hoping that eventually Amazon will intuitively suggest (after searching for every combination of the words miscarriage, recurrent, repeat, loss, and causes) a book for me titled Lauren, Here Are All The Answers You've Ever Wanted About Your Fucked Up Body Even Though, To Date, No Legitimate Medical Test Has Discovered Any of The Aforementioned Answers.
And even then, I probably still would spend hours searching Amazon for books that won't ever exist.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
A new perspective
I'm the oldest of 5 siblings. A big family is all I know - and I love it. I love having a sister who is one of my best friends. I love having 3 brothers who all dote on and fawn all over their neice. I love big family dinners, holidays and celebrations. I love knowing that I will always have someone(s) that I love, that loves me, closeby.
My husband comes from a smaller family and while it has its advantages, I still wanted a big family.
In the midst of all of this trouble, we had to come to a point where we decided we couldn't have more than 2 children. Not only because this battle has been the hardest thing either of us has ever faced and the thought of possibly having to go through it again makes us sick, but because we simply can't afford it. Infertility testing and treatment is enormously expensive and we pay for all of it out of pocket. We have already burned through a good chunk of our health care savings and we haven't even started real treatments yet.
Coming to terms with the fact that I'd never have the big family I had always dreamed of, was difficult to say the least. As if the other ongoing struggles weren't consuming enough, as if we hadn't already had enough taken away from us, I was now having my idea of a complete family taken away as well.
As I was driving to work the other day, I had a bit of an epiphany. I only call it that because it felt like a huge weight had been lifted and for the first time, in a long time, I cried happy, relieved tears.
The family I've always wanted, the family that we can't have here, that family is still a reality. Because there are 4 babies waiting in heaven that I get to meet one day. That day might not come for a very long time, and it doesn't erase the pain of losing them, but they aren't gone forever and that makes me feel a little better.
My husband comes from a smaller family and while it has its advantages, I still wanted a big family.
In the midst of all of this trouble, we had to come to a point where we decided we couldn't have more than 2 children. Not only because this battle has been the hardest thing either of us has ever faced and the thought of possibly having to go through it again makes us sick, but because we simply can't afford it. Infertility testing and treatment is enormously expensive and we pay for all of it out of pocket. We have already burned through a good chunk of our health care savings and we haven't even started real treatments yet.
Coming to terms with the fact that I'd never have the big family I had always dreamed of, was difficult to say the least. As if the other ongoing struggles weren't consuming enough, as if we hadn't already had enough taken away from us, I was now having my idea of a complete family taken away as well.
As I was driving to work the other day, I had a bit of an epiphany. I only call it that because it felt like a huge weight had been lifted and for the first time, in a long time, I cried happy, relieved tears.
The family I've always wanted, the family that we can't have here, that family is still a reality. Because there are 4 babies waiting in heaven that I get to meet one day. That day might not come for a very long time, and it doesn't erase the pain of losing them, but they aren't gone forever and that makes me feel a little better.
Monday, April 25, 2011
It feels like a hole
I probably get asked "when are you giving A a sibling?" on a weekly basis.
At first, I'd laugh it off and casually re-direct the conversation because, while it was only a slightly presumptuous question, it was still something we were working on and didn't have an answer to. Now the question can send me in to a tailspin where I say inappropriate things or cause an incredibly awkward silence because at this point, I don't even know how to respond. At all.
After my first miscarriage, the pain of having to "un-tell" family and friends was a sadness I'd never felt before. While I was trying to make sense of what had happened, and grieve the loss of our baby, I was getting excited calls and emails asking about a due date, giving congratulations and generally just receiving lots of happiness from unaware loved ones. Just when I thought it couldn't hurt more, I'd be reminded of another excited friend who had heard the news, and I'd have to tell her what happened.
I feel pretty confident saying that the grief of miscarriage and infertility is unlike any other grief in that time doesn't heal the wounds. Not even a little bit. Quite the opposite. The more time that passes, the more painful it becomes. That hole in your heart that started off sad and small, grows larger and more ominous with each failed cycle, with each new loss. It doesn't go away, it's not something you even learn to cope with very well because the cause of that hole is still very present and more aggressive than even 2, 6, 13 months ago.
Someone asked me today when we'd be giving A a little brother or sister.
I started crying.
At first, I'd laugh it off and casually re-direct the conversation because, while it was only a slightly presumptuous question, it was still something we were working on and didn't have an answer to. Now the question can send me in to a tailspin where I say inappropriate things or cause an incredibly awkward silence because at this point, I don't even know how to respond. At all.
After my first miscarriage, the pain of having to "un-tell" family and friends was a sadness I'd never felt before. While I was trying to make sense of what had happened, and grieve the loss of our baby, I was getting excited calls and emails asking about a due date, giving congratulations and generally just receiving lots of happiness from unaware loved ones. Just when I thought it couldn't hurt more, I'd be reminded of another excited friend who had heard the news, and I'd have to tell her what happened.
I feel pretty confident saying that the grief of miscarriage and infertility is unlike any other grief in that time doesn't heal the wounds. Not even a little bit. Quite the opposite. The more time that passes, the more painful it becomes. That hole in your heart that started off sad and small, grows larger and more ominous with each failed cycle, with each new loss. It doesn't go away, it's not something you even learn to cope with very well because the cause of that hole is still very present and more aggressive than even 2, 6, 13 months ago.
Someone asked me today when we'd be giving A a little brother or sister.
I started crying.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Four
I found out on Thursday that my fourth pregnancy in the last 15 months, would not be a viable one.
A positive pregnancy test Monday, a low HCG beta result on Tuesday and the news of a dropping hormone level by late Thursday.
I knew in my heart that something wasn't right when that first HCG came back at only 8.5. I went through the motions of trying to hang on -- progesterone supplements, upping my folic acid intake, no more caffeine, all of it -- but I didn't get attached and by Thursday I was hearing what I already knew to be true. That this one wouldn't stick. Just like the others.
I had come to a crossroads. I needed to make a decision about how I was going to handle this. And that was just it...I realized I had a choice. That had never been clear to me with my previous losses. I always felt so overwhelmed with sadness that the thought of taking control of my emotions wasn't even on my radar. I was busy grieving, but even more so, feeling sorry for myself... feeling entitled. Life's not fair, why me, the standard bullshit of mourning. Not this time.
Of course I'm still sad, mostly disappointed, but I know that my body can do this. I just have to remember that and keep fighting for my baby.
A positive pregnancy test Monday, a low HCG beta result on Tuesday and the news of a dropping hormone level by late Thursday.
I knew in my heart that something wasn't right when that first HCG came back at only 8.5. I went through the motions of trying to hang on -- progesterone supplements, upping my folic acid intake, no more caffeine, all of it -- but I didn't get attached and by Thursday I was hearing what I already knew to be true. That this one wouldn't stick. Just like the others.
I had come to a crossroads. I needed to make a decision about how I was going to handle this. And that was just it...I realized I had a choice. That had never been clear to me with my previous losses. I always felt so overwhelmed with sadness that the thought of taking control of my emotions wasn't even on my radar. I was busy grieving, but even more so, feeling sorry for myself... feeling entitled. Life's not fair, why me, the standard bullshit of mourning. Not this time.
Of course I'm still sad, mostly disappointed, but I know that my body can do this. I just have to remember that and keep fighting for my baby.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Testing...testing...1..2..3...
I just did the math on the number of vials of blood I've had drawn over the last year.
For each miscarriage, it was generally at least 3 vials. One to test for my hormone level, another to make sure it was dropping and one more to make sure it had dropped low enough/went back to zero. For the first one, it was 6. The second, 3. For this last loss, it was 5 vials for the HCG testing alone.
For my first round of fertility testing, they took 13 small vials.
My second round took 7 large and 3 small. 10.
For my day 3 testing it was 1 more.
And I'm going to go ahead and make a guess that there were about 3 or 4 other blood draws for testing that I can't even remember right off the top of my head.
40. That brings my total to 40. 40 vials of blood. About a pint. The same amount as a donation. I feel woozy thinking about it. What's more crazy than the number of vials is realizing how many visits to LabCorp it took to rack it all up. I'm well known there by now. Old friends, the phlebotomists and me.
For each miscarriage, it was generally at least 3 vials. One to test for my hormone level, another to make sure it was dropping and one more to make sure it had dropped low enough/went back to zero. For the first one, it was 6. The second, 3. For this last loss, it was 5 vials for the HCG testing alone.
For my first round of fertility testing, they took 13 small vials.
My second round took 7 large and 3 small. 10.
For my day 3 testing it was 1 more.
And I'm going to go ahead and make a guess that there were about 3 or 4 other blood draws for testing that I can't even remember right off the top of my head.
40. That brings my total to 40. 40 vials of blood. About a pint. The same amount as a donation. I feel woozy thinking about it. What's more crazy than the number of vials is realizing how many visits to LabCorp it took to rack it all up. I'm well known there by now. Old friends, the phlebotomists and me.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
My Accidental Fertility
You are probably wondering what kind of blog title this is. It's simple really.
Almost 3 years ago, I stumbled upon what I recently found out what the most amazing accident of my life. After over a year of unassisted, half-assed attempts at making a baby, we were blessed with a big glaring positive pregnancy test. Little did I know, that positive pregnancy test (and subsequent perfect, mostly uneventful pregnancy) would be my only experience with unencumbered fertility.
People often use the term miracle baby after they've been given the gift of a child, at the end of a long, torturous battle with infertility and the likes. Retrospectively, I now know my miracle baby was the result of my fluke, accidental fertility. Like I said, most amazing accident ever.
Why am I writing this blog now? Because after 3 failed pregnancies, it's time for me to find out what has been the cause of the most painful year I've ever had and it's time to take cathartic action to get these emotions out.
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