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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.