Author: Aimee

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Sticks and Stones…

“I give you a lot of credit…if it was me, I would have already signed the adoption papers”.  Thanks.  We’ve all been there, among family, friends, acquaintances, when the words come out that sting like the nastiest little wasp.  Some comments aren’t as blatant as others, but when the words come from those closest to us, those who we think should be in tune with how sensitive a subject infertility is, especially after we’ve opened up to them, well, it just plain sucks.

“I give you a lot of credit…if it was me, I would have already signed the adoption papers”.

Over the summer I was hanging out with a few of my friends.  One innocently asked me what I thought about having children because she and I felt similar in the past – if it happens, it happens, but we didn’t have to be moms to be happy in life.  Obviously this changed as we settled into our marriages.  I could barely get half way through my sentence before the tears came.  This was at a bar; perhaps the earlier martinis and 100 degree weather pushed me closer to the brink of tears than usual, but the emotions flooded my head.  I tried to compose myself, afterall, I was in public and typically I don’t show vulnerability, but here it was.  The four of us talked briefly, each sharing our own personal stories and feelings about pregnancy – this was support – each giving advice and listening, having a few laughs along the way.  One wasn’t in a relationship and concerned because her clock was ticking, but she didn’t know if she wanted children, but felt like she should.  The other was scared to even start trying because she knows so many women who suffered miscarriages.  My other friend just start trying to conceive and expected that she may have to use some help to get pregnant which is quite alright by her.  And here I was, two years in, arms empty, pain throughout my soul, and fear that we may never have a child of our own.

There was no “Relax, it will just happen” or “You worry too much”.  No, this was just women sharing their thoughts, each offering the other something that we couldn’t give ourselves.

Turning into a wallflower

It’s true – every social occasion with family and friends I get a little nervous because I am scared the conversation will shift to family and starting one. I dread visiting my own parents at times, I feel myself tense up, especially if the conversation innocently enough starts shifting towards family or children (anybody’s). I’m sure you can relate.  The holidays are just around the corner and in my mind I play out the scenarios and how I will respond.  There are probably other people in the room who can relate.  Part of me feels like handing out promo pieces for this blog! I’ve gotten rather good at changing the topic of conversation when I’m asked if we want kids.  In my head I’m screaming “YES!  But we’ve been trying to no avail!”, but I’m saying “So, tell me more about your FILL IN THE BLANK”.  People love to talk about themselves

Many people can be insensitive – I don’t think it’s done on purpose, I don’t think most people are even aware when they are being hurtful.  I just accept it for what it is and let it roll.  I know who I can count on for support and who I can’t.

Yes, I get completely annoyed when I hear “It will happen” or the “I know a friend of a friend” story of encouragement.  Do most people mean well?  Probably.  Will I be telling any others about our struggle?  Umm…probably not.  I’m always on the fence about sharing our journey.  I don’t want to hear “encouraging” words or advice from anyone new, but I also don’t think it’s something I need to hide or feel ashamed of….and yet I still do.

I hope these feelings dissipate over time, with or without falling pregnant.  I think when I am truly comfortable with what life has handed us, then none of these words will matter.  When I truly believe it is not my fault and I am no less of a woman than any other, then the saying “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” will hold true.  Until then, I will put on my “happy” face at social functions and may even step outside of my comfort zone just to see someone else eat their words…well probably not, but I can still imagine Ally McBeal style.  Stay strong…stay well…and stand tall.

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More Tricks than Treats

October was a particularly hard month for me.   It was probably a combination of my prescribed hormone therapy (Clomid and Endometrin) and the parade of Halloween costume clad children marching up and down my Facebook newsfeed.  I was taken aback by the feelings that bubbled to the surface as I scrolled and saw parents and their children getting ready for Halloween.  I wondered if I too someday would get to make my daughter’s or son’s costume. As I watched ‘first halloweens’, a scary thought (no pun intended) entered my head “We may never get to experience this.”  I have so many plans of how my husband and I will celebrate the holidays with our own children and now I’m wondering if we’ll ever get to.  More tricks than treats…that was October.

Heading into October I had some very emotional days – one day I cried uncontrollably for most of the AM – luckily I worked from home that day.  I think this was a result of the Clomid, as this had never happened before.  The “weepiness” felt different, but I muddled through.  A small part of me thought perhaps I could be pregnant and this emotion was due to hormones.  I wasn’t. 

I did find it was possible to distract myself from the daily struggle in front of me, all it took was some sunshine from the West Coast.  We had a wonderful and much needed vacation to San Francisco.  I felt great – a full week and break from the craziness of what our lives were enduring.  We were happy.  Heck, it was possible to not think about having trouble conceiving – all that was needed was sightseeing, day tours, great food, and the sites of the Pacific coast.  It was wonderful to feel like my old self. 

We returned, another negative pregnancy test, another start of a new cycle.  I guess in my subconscious I was hoping the ever-so-popular saying from well-meaning individuals of “Just relax!” or “Take a vacation” would work wonders for our situation, it didn’t. 

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Clomid – Round 1

Last Monday I went in for my first monitoring session for Clomid.  I enter the lobby, give the guard my photo id and proceed up to the fourth floor.  I arrive at my doctor’s office, pull open the frosted glass doors, and am shocked to see the waiting room quite full.  Typically when I’ve come for other appointments there has only been a few individuals waiting to be seen.  Apparently the heavy foot traffic comes between the hours of 7:30am – 9:00am for fertility monitoring. 

A sadness washed over me as I sat there viewing the other “patients”.  I wondered how long they have been trying, what they were here for, how many tears they have shed.  Glancing around I thought these women all looked like they would be loving mothers.  The same thoughts probably running through all our heads, the feelings of shame, frustration, longing, and loneliness.  Here we were, a room full of strangers that could probably understand each other in an instant, more-so than our closest friends ever could.  I turned on my Kindle and waited for my name to be called.

The monitoring went quite quickly – an internal ultrasound followed by some blood work and then I’m out the door.  I like that my doctor has the monitor right where you can see it – she explains what is being looked at and answers any questions I have – including the question about taking Clomid at the wrong time (cycle day 1, instead of starting on cycle day 4).  No big deal she says and a script is written for just one extra tablet.  I make an appointment for the following Monday, same time, and off I go to work.

This cycle I feel quite hopeful – I feel good that we are trying something else and I feel a sense of reassurance.  I actually like that I am being monitored and feel confident that if something is amiss, we will find it this time.  Of course, in the back of my head I know the more hopeful I am the harder the disappointment may be in two weeks time.  I’m done with my round of Clomid this cycle and thankfully I had no side effects.  Tomorrow I will visit with my doctor to see how my body has responded to the medication. 

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A Shift?

You may have already experienced a shift in mood, perception, thought, call it what you will, but there is a time I think when the sting, the heartache, the hope, the emotions, at some point change – at least for me it did in a way.  Each of us is different – you may shift all the time, you may recall a “before”, an “after”, even a “back again”.  I’m talking about when you are trying to get pregnant, and instead of having a burning pain when you see a new pregnancy announced on Facebook, you are awed by the miracle in front of you.  You no longer cringe when people talk about their newfound parenthood (I’m not there just yet!), you can smile at a mother and her toddler fussing instead of having tears well up in your eyes.  You still long to cradle your baby, but you’ve come to a point where this trial before you is manageable.  You can do this.  I can do this.  We can do this.

I remember last summer my husband received a text from one of his best friends that he and his wife were expecting a baby.  We were in our bedroom, both standing on opposite sides of the bed and he made some noise (a sigh, maybe he actually said something?), and he held out his phone.  Our eyes met and at that moment I could see the disappointment, the sadness on his face.  We’ve all been here right?  Happy for your friend, but that sneaky little voice comes in and screams “What about us?!”  I’m sure I cried later that night – I lose track.  I remember seeing announcement after announcement on Facebook (I believe there is an app that can block this sort of thing if that’s your cup of tea) and just crying, feeling like a terrible wife, a failure, then feeling guilty for having those emotions.  “Like” it is and I move on.  A newsfeed of travelling abroad slowly evolved into baby on board.  I’ve had a front row to first steps, the vaccine debate, and second babies.  Have you checked out your partner’s newsfeed?  Yeah, looks totally different than yours!  I remember seeing my mom post to her friend’s wall, congratulating her on being a grandparent –said friend then responds “It’s the best feeling in the world – you’ll see!” – ugh, the guilt!  Social media is not a fertility challenged couple’s friend.

Over time though, I started to approach this differently.  Maybe I got used to it, maybe I’m in denial and I’ve blocked out some emotions, I don’t know.  Seeing how fast my friends’ babies grow up, I like to think that my husband and I still have all this to look forward to.  Now, there are no guarantees in life, obviously, but it makes me feel better, even if it’s just for the time being.  When did this shift happen?  Maybe late spring this year – so it took awhile.  I got to a point where I couldn’t keep beating myself up over this.  I couldn’t keep crying, I couldn’t keep Googling any and all possible causes of what we were going through.  At one point, I estimated the number of days I cried (typically four or five days when I would start spotting and then another two when I got my period).  That was at minimum seven times a month (I assure you it has been many more days).  Seven days for each cycle for 1.5 years – 126 days!!!  Four months worth of tears.  No one should put themselves through that (easier said than done).  I guess I just had enough.  Yes, I am sad, yes I feel guilty, just not all the time.

Earlier this year my husband’s younger cousin announced he and his wife are expecting their first child (due November!)– immediately I was filled with guilt and a sickening feeling filled my stomach.  I felt really bad for my husband – afterall, each time we visited his 100 year old grandmother she would ask us about having a great grandbaby (we don’t see her that often as she lives out of state, and given her age she gets a free pass on baby questions).  I really wanted him to have the first great grandbaby – now, I know it’s not a competition, but it would have been nice.  I didn’t cry or anything – after the initial wave of heaviness lifted we were able to carry on.  There is still an unspoken sadness though, isn’t there?  I feel it every time my husband and I find out about another couple expecting.  You’re happy for the couple, you say things like “Oh, he is going to be a great dad” or “When are they due?”, but there is this awkwardness…the unspoken words…that fill the air. 

Over these two years I’ve come to really admire the resiliency of the human spirit – we’re still here and we’re still trying – doing the best we can.  My emotions each cycle aren’t as tumultuous as they once were and I thank God for that quite often.  I know I am exhausted, both physically and mentally, from these two years.  My husband and I have had quite a bit of stress, not only related to trying to conceive, but it definitely plays a big part.  It feels as if all the crying, anger, frustration, turmoil, is lifting from me…all that energy is leaving, and now in its place is a dull sadness (I would be lying if I said it wasn’t there) and dare I say, a bit of acceptance?  Now, acceptance doesn’t mean you give up and throw your hands in the air and call it day, no it’s simply acknowledging the situation for what it is and coping.

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Two Week Wait

And so it begins…the infamous two week wait.  Those two weeks where your hope begins to resurface, your dream becomes alive again, you think this could be that one cycle where it all happens.  If you’re like me and have been trying to conceive for quite some time, you may also be trying to quell these emotions.  You get excited thinking of the possibility of life growing inside you – excited that right now it’s just the two of you and in about 40 weeks there may be a new addition to your family.  You may also be just as quick to push these thoughts out of your mind, after all, you’ve been down this road before.

This is the first cycle of being on Clomid, so I feel extra hopeful – a sense of excitement that perhaps I didn’t feel a few months ago, but I also know how painful the disappointment is.  Yet, I still visit the due date predictor just to see.  I allow myself a bit of fantasizing about announcing our pregnancy to our parents.  I imagine how I will manage the third trimester riding the subway to work or perhaps by then we’ll be in the suburbs.  I imagine wonderful things, but I don’t allow it to go on for too long.  I am more cautious about the amount of caffeine I put in my body.  Just last night my husband and I had dinner and instead of ordering a mixed drink I went with a glass of wine.  I take precautions just in case – I’ve taken these precautions nearly every month since we started trying.  I don’t consume a lot of caffeine, nor do I drink much alcohol or eat unhealthy, so I’m not making huge adjustments, but during this time I won’t splurge for a pumpkin spice latte if I’ve already had my cup of coffee.

If you’ve read a few of my posts, you’re already familiar with my disdain for the baby boards.  Sometimes I still visit based on my search results in Google, after all, for all the back and forth and nonsensical information posted, there are still some gems of experience available and success stories loaded with helpful and accurate information.  One thing early on I noticed across these boards was reference to the two-week-wait and women clocking their day by day symptoms – literally a list of all 14 days of “symptoms”.  It is hard not to get wrapped up in the “early pregnancy symptom” phenomenon and read into every little change in your body.  The truth is, most women don’t experience pregnancy symptoms until their missed period.  Now, I do believe however that some women “just know”.  Especially those who have been trying to conceive quite some time– I think you start monitoring and getting to know your body better than you ever have and are probably more inclined to know when something is different.

As I enter this two week window I find myself filled with some trepidation.  Excited to see if Clomid and preseed did the trick (preseed is “sperm-friendly” – it does not affect actual conception, but I’m hoping it helped get things where they are supposed to go), but also scared that it didn’t change anything.  My husband and I are using ‘when’ instead of ‘if’ – I tend to use a combination “when/if” just in case, you know, not trying to count my chicks before they hatch. In the back of my head, which slowly makes its way front and center as these two weeks progress, I think ‘what happens if I’m still not pregnant?’  I try to stay positive and think for the best, or not think about it at all, but we all know how hard that can be.  I will also take my progesterone supplement during these two weeks as recommended by the nurse.  In my appointment a few weeks back with my fertility specialist she said we would just try Clomid, but I am scared that if the Clomid works and I fall pregnant, that the lining of my uterus will not sustain a pregnancy.  I’ve only had a few cycles where I had no luteal phase spotting and that was when I was on the progesterone.  Had the nurse recommended otherwise, then I would not have taken the supplement. 

So over these next two weeks I will need to surely find some other things to take my attention away from “possible symptoms” and counting down the days.  Let’s try and change the ‘two-week-wait’ to the ‘two-week-takeback’ – do you even remember what these two weeks in your cycle were like before you tried conceiving?  I would love to hear about the things you do during this time frame to help you focus on all the other things outside the realm of fertility. 

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Don’t ask, Don’t tell?

Well before we started trying to get pregnant, I remember having a slight anxiety creep over me whenever someone else announced they were expecting – it always seemed to be followed by some well-meaning individual who felt the need to turn to me and announce to the group “Uh oh, you’re next!”.  I never understood that – why, particularly women – get the idea to start asking others “When are you going to have children?” Maybe it has to do with some sort of biological bonding need…I don’t really know.

Now, this same feeling is ten-fold.  I am 34, my husband is 38, we’ve been married for three years, and now we carry the weight of being fertility challenged.  We have my mother’s 60th birthday party coming up and this thought, of being asked by several family members, “How about kids for you?”, is starting to lurk its head.  I know this party is not about me, I know the exciting news of coworkers expecting is not about me, I get that people mean no harm when they ask, but the dread is there.  Where is the line of letting people into this ever so personal aspect of your life?  It took me a year before I even told my mom, nearly the full two years before we told my mother-in-law.  Sometimes I fantasize of yelling at the next person who asks us – telling them it’s been two years and has taken a toll – just to see the look on their face.  I think I would get some satisfaction out of that.

The first person I told of our “woes” was my brother.  He’s absolutely safe – I knew he was the one person who wouldn’t fall into the championing “It will happen to you – just RELAX” camp.  I told him via email.  It felt good – just to let a bit out, we no longer held the secret alone. 

In May of 2014 I told my mom.  I was away at a conference, my period came a week early and it was heavy, lasted only about a day or two.  I thought it was odd, even to this day.  While on the phone, my mother gave me the “wonderful” advice of “Just have a baby already, that will fix your cycle” – after rolling my eyes I told her that we were trying and that it had been nearly 10 months.  I told her I did not want to discuss it further, unless I brought it up, and she obliged for a good part of that year.  The cat was out of the bag.  Again, it felt as if a bit of the weight had been lifted. Once we hit the one year mark some of my friends knew – now, not everyone knew the whole story, nor did they know how it really made me feel, I often downplayed the whole situation and kept that damn fake smile on and quickly changed the subject. 

So, here’s the thing – I was at the point where I was comfortable giving away just a bit of information, it made me feel better, it was still a hopeful phase, right before the one year mark really isn’t terrible because yes, it’s taking longer than expected, but statistically, one would think it just means the following cycle could be THE ONE – because 98% of women will conceive in their first year of trying.  We may have even had the timing off a few times, so okay, it will happen.  But, now what?  Another year later, 12 more cycles of disappointment.  I didn’t think this far ahead.  As upset as I have gotten with each cycle, I thought I would fall pregnant.  I wouldn’t say I’m embarrassed, because no one should feel embarrassed over this, but I feel a certain way that other people know of our struggle. 

So, should we share this information with others?  Emotions aside, I think the answer is yes, I think we just need to choose wisely who we tell. 

Part of me, actually a very large part of me, feels like a failure, a disappointment.  Before, when only my husband and I knew of our challenge, at least I only felt like a disappointment to us – now I have a mother, father, and mother-in-law to add to this list. For me, it didn’t feel right not telling our parents – I knew they were wondering if we planned to have children – I know they want to be grandparents. 

Do I regret saying anything to anyone?  Should I have just kept it inside and repeatedly said I didn’t want kids?  At times, knowing what I know now, I probably would have not said a word, other times I’m glad I did.  I read a quote the other day, I don’t know if it’s truly from Marilyn Monroe or not, but it said something along the lines of we shouldn’t regret what we’ve done in the past, because at that exact moment we did what we wanted.  My advice, if you want it, is to tell who you will be comfortable sharing good news with when your moment arrives, but more importantly, share it with someone you will be comfortable crying to if your moment does not happen.

So…what am I going to do at my mom’s party?  DANCE.

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A la natural

What would it have been like if we conceived naturally within months?  Two years in and believe it or not, I’m only now just beginning to think of that scenario.  I don’t feel sadness, anger, or really any emotion.  I just know it would have been different.  We would not have known the struggle of having a child, I certainly would not be as educated as I am now about our reproductive systems.  I never would have known the sensitivity of others who are fertility challenged when talking about babies.  We would have already made it through the newborn phase, witnessed a first tooth, had countless sleepless nights, we would be parents.

Friday, August 22nd, my husband and I visited with our fertility specialist.  Three cycles ago I was put on Endometrin to help sustain my uterine lining in the luteal phase.  Right after ovulation every month I would spot until my period arrived.  The first cycle on Endometrin I had no spotting – I was ecstatic!  I had been requesting a progesterone supplement for a few years, but my doctors would not budge (yes, I saw multiple doctors in search for an answer to the spotting).  Second cycle, the spotting started on cycle day 10 – this had never happened before and I was devastated.  Was my body playing some type of cruel joke on me?  Third cycle, no spotting again!  On this fourth cycle, the spotting started right when my LH surge was directed – amazingly, I didn’t have any strong emotions about this, but rather intrigued – my body was like dysfunctional clockwork, but at least there was a pattern here.

Sitting in the doctor’s office my mind starts to wander.  There are times that this seems like a foggy “dream” – we’re just wading in this abyss, looking for that ray of light that will lead us out.  I long for that day when I get to show my husband a positive test – when we get to announce to our family and friends that we are expecting – when I get to hold my son or daughter and when I am tired from nightly feedings or the baby won’t stop crying, I’ll be able to look back on these times and appreciate all that comes with being a parent.

My doctor is a quirky, cool, chic New Yorker – I wouldn’t go as far as to say she’s entertaining, but when she calls my uterus “beautiful” and says my lining is “gorgeous” one can’t help but snicker, no matter how painful this journey is.  I’m thankful for that – my husband and I can laugh at some parts of our visit and it helps elevate the mood.  Three months ago my doctor briefly mentioned IUI, but first we wanted to try a few cycles on progesterone.  This visit, IUI was mentioned again – I like my doctor a lot because she does not pressure and really tries to do the least invasive treatments first.  Next cycle, just a week or so from today, I’ll start Clomid for five days and go in for monitoring – we’ll try to conceive naturally first, which makes me happy.  I’m also happy about the monitoring of my uterus – I’ve been telling my husband that I wish I had a private doctor who could do an ultrasound every day to see what in the world is going on with the spotting.  So, I’ll take this as the next best thing. 

I think my husband is much more comfortable with IUI than I am – I really don’t want to have to conceive that way.  There isn’t anything wrong with it, but for me personally, and I think for most other women who are fertility challenged, I want to conceive as naturally as possible.  We haven’t reached that bridge yet…I’m hoping the Clomid helps, but IUI seems to be creeping on the horizon. 

About six months into trying to conceive I started looking more heavily into my spotting and the whole menstrual cycle.  Prior to trying to conceive, I would Google, rather frequently, looking for answers as to why I was spotting.  At this point, I can say it was borderline obsessive.  Inevitably, my searches led me to the baby boards and I remember seeing all these acronyms and references to “trigger shots”, “Clomid”, “HSG”, and a world of other fertility treatment jargon.  I remember thinking “Holy crap, these poor women and what they do to themselves”.  Now, here I am, two years later, going down a similar path.  I equate this to wading into the ocean, or really any body of water, your choice.  You take little steps at a time, slowly easing yourself into the cold water, and before you know it, you’re so far out that you can’t even see the shoreline anymore.  I wonder how far out we’ll go, how far until we swim back ashore, with a baby or not.  Will we even realize how far out we’ve gone?  What happens when one of us wants to keep swimming out and the other thinks it’s time to head in? 

I’m looking forward to our next cycle – I’m pretty sure I’m out this cycle as I started spotting so early.  My doctor said this still should not impair pregnancy, but after two years of this, I can’t say I’m exactly hopeful.  I’m curious to see what the ultrasound shows in the different stages, how many eggs I’ll produce, and whether the ovulation predictor kits have been right.  I’m hoping to find an answer that I’ve been after for years.

So, what is the spectrum of “Natural” – is taking hormone therapy anymore natural than trying IUI or IVF?  Where do you draw the line for yourself?  Maybe you don’t know until the time arrives.  A year ago I was sure that I would be adamantly against IUI – yet yesterday, I called my insurance to see what they would cover, you know, “just in case”.

Maybe the whole “fertility challenged” process is actually natural once we strip out the details and break it down to the simplest measure – our biological desire to procreate.  We, as lifeforms, have an innate calling to reproduce – whether that happens through conceiving in your bed at home or through treatment in your doctor’s office – we are trying to fulfill a biological destiny and it doesn’t get any more natural than that.

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Little One – where are you?

For most of my life I would say I’ve been a pessimist, or as I like to call it, a realist.  After meeting my husband my perspective on life started to change and I became much more aware of the blessings that were all around me.  I think this pulls me through every month, focusing on all we do have – but it still doesn’t take away the pain and hurt I feel for the one blessing we long for.

Earlier this week, Tuesday I think, I saw on Facebook my cousin 7 years my junior is expecting…TWINS!  This was the very first ‘news story’ that popped up on my newsfeed (funny how that works huh?).  I thought how unbelievably lucky she and her fiancé are – do they even know how blessed they are?  This is the week my period is due – two negative home pregnancy tests later and nearly 19 days post ovulation, I am still waiting.  I am taking a progesterone supplement that I start four days after my ovulation test is positive – this has stopped my luteal phase spotting for two of three cycles now – I also read online that it can delay your cycle.  Since taking the supplement my period has come on the dot 17dpo.  Feeling nauseas this week, I thought there may be a slight chance I could be pregnant, but I absolutely refused to allow myself to get any type of excited over this prospect.  I did take a test earlier in the week and it was negative, but according to those oh-so accurate baby boards, some women don’t have a positive test until well after their period is late.  I guess there was a voice in the back of my head that said “You still have a chance”.

I don’t know why I thought suppressing these hopeful feelings would make a negative test less painful – it wasn’t.  I came home from work and struggled with the idea of taking the test “just to see” or waiting until my husband got home, because if the test was positive, I wanted to be in that moment with him.  Then I thought, if it was negative, I’d rather not ruin a good evening.  No, let me be completely honest here, if it was negative I didn’t want to disappoint him.

The test was negative and the wave of disappointment washed over me, knocking me down and pulling me out to a sea of despair.  I sat on my bed and had a brief moment where no tears came, just this ache within my heart.  Shaking my head and sadly repeating the words “I can’t have children, I can’t have children”.  Now grant you, my doctors have found no other issues with my reproductive or endocrinology systems, but of course when you’re in the sea of despair you don’t think straight and your emotions take over.  I laid down to take a nap and just sobbed.  I hugged my pillow, tears falling all over, and cried.  This lasted a few minutes – at least the crying sessions have gotten shorter – and I eventually fell asleep.

The thing with the progesterone is that you have to make sure you are not pregnant before you stop it – so every month I need to either wait for my period to show or take a test (possibly reliving the disappointment all over again).  This morning, August 7, I took my last pregnancy test, thinking perhaps my sample was too diluted yesterday.  It was negative.  So, now I will stop the progesterone and start over next cycle.

Still to this day I can’t believe my husband and I are in this situation.  We are both disappointed – we are problem solvers, I sometimes have been accused of being a control freak, my husband is very logical and analyzes quite a bit – yet regardless of our strengths to find solutions and make things happen, this is something we are having a really hard time solving.  Why have we still not conceived after nearly two years of trying?  We are going to make a follow up appointment with our fertility specialist – I guess to explore our other options.  Do I want to use Artificial Reproductive Technology to have a biological child?  No, not really.  Do I feel like I am letting my husband down?  You bet.  Why do I put this on me?  I don’t know.  Maybe it’s because that is my way of controlling the answer to our question – unexplained infertility won’t suit my reasoning, but pointing the finger at myself, as illogical as that may be, will.

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The Big Blue Coaster

I don’t know what it was – a bad dream that I couldn’t remember, the feeling of cramps and knowing I was due in the next few days, or perhaps it’s the fact that this month marks nearly two years of trying to conceive.  The words sting – it makes my brow furrow, an uneasy swell in the pit of my stomach, kind of like the tip over the first big drop in a roller coaster – only the three minute ride is lasting much longer than anticipated and I cannot wait to get off.

I woke so blue Sunday morning – as soon as I opened my eyes the sinking feeling was already there.  I was so quiet, eating my breakfast while watching HGTV, but I could just feel it on my face…in my soul.  I knew I was going to work out and no matter how much I wanted to crawl back into my sheets and shut my eyes, I made sure I got my butt to the gym.  On my way out I told my husband that he didn’t have to stay.  He pulled me close, told me it was his pleasure to stay (yes, his exact words) and we had a brief laugh.  I know this hurts him – I know he wants a child – I also know he loves me.  My husband has a way about him that warms me and can bring me out of my moods (which is ever so difficult at times) – it’s the same corniness that gets him out of doing the dishes (sometimes), but I digress.  Off I trudge to the gym – trying to force a smile, take in the sun – apparently if you’re feeling sad and you fake smile it tricks your mind – that has still yet to work for me.

Off to the gym I go and it isn’t until an hour into my workout and a few Whitney Houston songs later (I highly recommend ‘Step by Step’) that I can finally feel the weight lift (no pun intended).  That’s the thing, sometimes the feeling comes from nowhere, sometimes I feel it seep in after seeing the 10th baby announcement on my Facebook feed, sometimes it’s when we’re shopping and I see baby bumps or moms losing their patience with their children.  Some days I am struck with guilt, other days I genuinely enjoy seeing a pregnant woman or child singing to their parent on the subway and I think “I get to look forward to that”.  Perhaps two years ago I myself didn’t know what a blessing a child is…maybe I never really gave it all that much thought because with a booming population, I had no idea getting pregnant was even a challenge (they don’t tell you that in health education do they?).

So here I am, on this “amusement” park of a ride…it seems I have a ‘ride all month’ pass.  The beginning of the month I think ‘OK, we’ll try again and start new’ – mid cycle and after the lovely smiley face makes its appearance on my ovulation test we get excited…WEEEEEEEE…then comes the wait…still hopeful…and then put your arms up, here we go again!  Maybe you’re more of a tilt-a-whirl gal – each month you go around in the same circle, or the scrambler – being jerked forward towards hope, only to get pulled back again.  Whether it’s push and pull, up and down, this is no fun ride.  I’ve had my fair share of emotions, but I never knew the human body could go through so many in such a short amount of time.  Perhaps that’s the silver lining- the resiliency of the human spirit.  I’ve been in this amusement park for so long, seemingly stuck in a house of horrors, that I know for each of these bad days, there will be plenty of good days.  For each tear I cry (Lord knows it’s been plenty!) I will also have laughter, and I won’t have to fake that smile.