Why I Can't Make Mom Friends

Being an introvert makes it hard enough to make friends.  Be an infertile introvert makes it nearly impossible to make mom friends.  There's a part of me that doesn't want to make mom friends. The infertile in me screams, "Why should your status as a mother define the kinds of friends you make?"  She's not off the mark, but the fact of the matter is, Chipmunk needs me to have mom friends.  She needs me to make friends with moms who have kids her age.  I need to be able to talk to another woman who is going through the same stuff I am right now with her toddler.  Since it took me so damned long to have kids, most of my friends have kids in elementary school.  I need to diversify my village.

Yet, the infertile makes diversification a continued challenge.  J and I took the day off work today to have family time.  The place was full of stay at home moms in their best Lululemon, with pods of strollers that looked like a convention of high school mean girls turned 20-somethings.  J was the only dude in the place and we were the only set of parents.  We are so dang thankful for our family time and we can't get enough of it, so we do crazy things like take time off of work to take our kid to a children's museum.  Anywho, Chipmunk was having a hard time warming up what with all the kids running around trying to take things out of her hands while their moms played on their phones.  So we found this little room that was just for toddlers and settled in there for a bit.  There were two Lululemon Ladies and their kids already in there playing, but it was much quieter than in the general play area. While we were trying to field the oldest of their broods taking things from Chipmunk's hands, we overheard the following gems:

LL1:  "So do you have a birth spacing plan?"
LL2: "Well my sister and I were 2 years and 10 months apart.  So when he is 2 I will get pregnant again because I think that's an optimal spacing."
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LL1: "I just feel like no one respected my birth plan.  I had to wait 10 minutes see her and just didn't feel like we got enough bonding time at that optimal period, ya know?"
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LL2: "And my next one will be a sweet little girl that I can cuddle with."
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LL2: "It's just too much to be a mom full time.  I mean, I can't even paint anymore."

I was trying not to be judgey, really I was.  I know every woman's experience is her own, but there was no way I could have had any sort of a conversation with these women.  Everything I heard was so contrary to my experience of motherhood that I couldn't see myself commiserating with them, which was obviously what they were doing with each other.  They used the term "birth spacing plan" like it was an actual thing.  A thing that I evidently have no concept of.  Birth plan?  Hilarious.  I still can't tell Chipmunk's birth story without crying.  I hallucinated through parts of her delivery, vomited multiple times, feared for her life, and didn't hold her for a couple of hours. I wouldn't even be able to tell this woman my experience because I would be thinking about all the women I know who had babies in the NICU or didn't get to take babies home ever.  Hoping for a girl?  Don't get me started.  And I would gladly give up my hobbies to stay at home and be a mom full time.  Hell, I gave up my hobbies to work full time and be a mom.  Fuck painting!  And I STILL think my life is awesome!

I took solace in the moment when Chipmunk gave them one of her world famous, soul searching stares.  She has this way of looking right into the center of your being.  It's a little unsettling and I love it.  She was staring them down, pulled her pacifier out and held it in her little hand for effect, and they told me how "wise" she looked.  I'd like to think she was trying to wise them up telepathically.

I didn't say anything to J in the moment, but I knew I wasn't off the mark when we walked out of the room and J muttered to me, "I don't think we'll ever be able to be friends with normal people."  I said, "Let's not say 'normal people.'  How about 'Fertiles?'"

We settled on Birthers. Liberal backhanding at its finest.

Oh For Pete's Sake!

I switched over to Feedly and became a moron.  I would check it on my phone, and couldn't for the life of me figure out why I wasn't getting new posts.  I would click on "all" and it would always be the same posts.  Turns out that "all" is still sorted by topics and it was just that blogs in my "adoption" folder hadn't been updating.  So, I apologize for my lack of commenting - I still have no idea what's going on in your lives.  I will catch up right after I post this nonsense.

Let me begin the nonsense by saying that I do understand how completely blessed we are.  Our little Hapa seems to be doing great.  She always measures right on the dot.  Her heart rate is perfect, and she has all of her parts in the appropriate location and number.  My immune system, on the other hand, sucks at being pregnant.  

Since I hit the second trimester, I have had two UTIs, a colposcopy because of the sudden appearance of high risk HPV, and my asthma has flared up (it had been so long since I'd had an asthma issue that I didn't even have an active inhaler prescription anymore).  Today I was sure I was going in with no issues.  I was happily sitting on the table, telling the OB I had just met that I was feeling so great.  Then, just before she left I remembered that I needed to show her the sore that I had gotten from my sports bra.  That silly over-protective husband of mine wanted me to bring it up. Well, silly over-protective husband is wiser than I thought.  It wasn't a sore.  I FUCKING HAVE SHINGLES!  

Apparently this is rare in pregnancy.  Lucky me.  I have two areas of blister "chunks" and she could see more forming.  I'm on Valtrex so hopefully that will keep new ones from forming.  Chipmunk is fine and it shouldn't affect her at all.  I'm in some pain, but it's tolerable right now - except for a bra.  They are right where my bra strap hits (which it why I thought it was chub rub from my bra and not FUCKING SHINGLES).  I'm going to try to figure out how I can get by without wearing one because I just can't handle it.  I can work, I just can't see the little bitties who haven't been vaccinated yet.

The OB was playfully teasing me about all the random crap that has snuck up on me during pregnancy.  I said, "Well what other dormant viruses can I have pop back up?"  She said, "Shhh!  Don't say that out loud!" Truth is it does scare me.  I had a REALLY bad case of mono in high school.  Epstein Barr would not be a fun thing to see rear it's ugly head right now.

Like I said, I'm all too well aware of the horrible things that could be going on.  I know that we are so super lucky to have a healthy baby thriving and that anything that has happened to me has been benign as far as she's concerned.  But it's like I told J, "Why couldn't I be one of those people who had a happy-go-lucky pregnancy?"  His reply? "Because people who have happy-go-lucky pregnancies don't walk the kind of roads we walk."

Ah, my wise, over-protective husband.  I'm incredibly lucky to have him too.

Pregnancy Behaviors in the Male of the Human Species

There are anecdotal accounts in the literature of peculiar actions male humans exhibit when their female partners are in the process of gestation.  This case study presents an account of a male human whose partner is expecting a child following infertility and advanced reproductive techniques (ART).

Following confirmation of the pregnancy, the male partner's behaviors were not altered from the typical behaviors exhibited during the stimulation phase of treatment.  He continued to encourage his partner to eat nutritious food, drink plenty of water, and exercise when health allowed.  Following the Level II ultrasound, his habits began to change quite dramatically.

The first level of behavior observed involved mirroring of the symptoms in the female partner.  These may have been sympathetic responses, although most seemed to benefit the male rather than the female of the pair.  For example, the male partner craved chocolate milk and ice cream despite having a significant lactose intolerance.  He felt the need to indulge in these cravings despite the olfactory discomfort it brought his partner.  He also stopped using running as a form of cardiovascular exercise, instead choosing the accompany his wife on walks, citing fatigue as a confounding factor.  His midsection is now growing along with his wife's.  The male partner has also started itching, an ailment not noted prior to the pregnancy.

The second level of behavior was clearly protective.  The following have been noted:

• Changing the wife's sleeping position in the middle of the night, without her consent, in case she is uncomfortable.
• Using his hand as a human seat belt, even in unnecessary situations.
• Following behind her on the stairs at every opportunity.
• Insisting on pushing an empty shopping cart.
• Actually cleaning the bathroom.
• Bringing a night stick on evening walks in case there was a stray dog in the neighborhood.  When the wife noted that the water she carries would likely suffice should such a situation arise, he insisted on bringing the night stick "in case the dog is not a vampire."
• Changing dinner plans because he deemed the menu to be "different" than the wife's typical fare and hence a possible (if not imaginary) threat to the child.
• Refusing sex on the grounds of invading the child's space.  When reminded that the fetus was closed off in the uterus, he stated he saw the birth canal as a "demilitarized zone" and hence and inappropriate spot for his... member.

Since this is likely the only child for the couple and conception was an emotional, expensive, and difficult endeavor, it is the opinion of this author that the behaviors noted above are heightened from that of a typically fertile couple.  Patterns involving same sex couples should be examined in future studies.

The Room

We all have one.  Four walls, a closet, and a lot of hopes and dreams unfulfilled.  Some fill their Rooms with stuff, trying to find a way to cover up the empty space and pain.  Others leave it empty, a reminder of what could be.  The Room is very personal to all of us.  Whether we like it or not, it becomes a sacred space charged with emotion.

Our room is empty… and my mother-in-law is coming.

J has not been very forthcoming with his parents about our infertility, partly because of the language barrier.  He does not know, nor does he care to know, the word “uterus” in Korean.  The biggest reason he hasn’t shared a lot with her is because of his place in the family.  Being the oldest male is a big deal in Korean culture.  Not only is he the oldest male in his immediate family, he’s the oldest male for his whole generation.  He’s embarrassed and feels like we’ve let everyone down.  The Room has changed all of that.

She called for a weekly check-in and immediately went into some sort of strange tirade.  J switched to English for my benefit, but all I could hear was, Korean blah blah blah. “No mom!  You can’t tell me what to do in my own house.”  Louder babbling in Korean.  “Just drop it.  We’re not doing that.  It’s not about that.”  MoreKoreanmoreKoreanmoreKorean.  “Umma!  I’ve got bigger things to worry about right now.  Drop it.”

Obviously the switch to English did not help me much.

Apparently she wanted us to buy a bed to put in The Room for her.  J was angry, but I didn’t understand how he could be angry at her.  The only thing she knows is that we are seeing a doctor and my surgery this summer had something to do with the why we haven’t made her a grandmother.  How on earth would she know that The Room is intended to be a nursery and that buying a bed feels like crying uncle to the universe?  He agreed that it was time to talk with her… and he did.

I came home from work the other day and he seemed rather peaceful.  He told me he had a really good conversation with his mom.  He told her everything.  He told her we were doing IVF, how many failed cycles we’d already had, what the surgery was for, and he told her that this was our last shot.  There would be no more egg making for us when this was done.  Thankfully, she knew what IVF was, so he didn't have to get into that.  She was also morally fine with it which was a relief.  She was very sweet to him and wants to be sure we are as stress free as possible over the next few weeks.  She offered to send us to Seoul for treatment, and when J piped in with, “I don’t think that’s necessary, but we have a Korean doctor!” she was nonplussed.  “Of course you have a Korean doctor, what other option is there?”

Most days I'm grateful that The Room is in the back of the house and I don't have to walk by it every day.  Right now I'm thankful for The Room.  It helped my husband see how much his mother needed to know about our journey.  I so hope we can make her a halmoni.

*Update on rent:  I got a check and it cleared!  I am very proud of myself for my assertiveness in getting this cleared up… for now.”

**Update on cycle: Baseline was fine, although I was surprised my estrogen was as high as it was (68… really?) but I was given the green light to start stims tomorrow.  Oh, and my right ovary was deemed “a good lookin’ ovary” by my RE. 

The Year of Betterness - A Guest Post

For some reason, we thought that tossing out the BCPs ceremoniously on New Years was a great idea.  Now it just gives us a very obvious marker of how long we've been trying.  It's been two years.  I know many people have been on this road for much longer, and I can't imagine how doing this year after year would wear on a person and a marriage.  I do know that we went through so much in 2012 alone.  Three IUIs, two fresh IVFs, one FET, one laproscopy/hysteroscopy/D&C, and two months of Lupron Depot therapy.  We are determined to grab 2013 by horns and make it "The Year of Betterness."  After all, we will find resolution this year.  Whether it's the ending we're hoping for or an unforeseen path, it will still be a resolution and we are excited about that.  My husband is much better about talking about this than I am, so I'll let him do it...

My wife casually mentioned the other day, “Will you write about our Year of Betterness?” For a brief moment, I was confused. In my defense, I was watching Iron Chef and pondering how Mortadella, a strange amalgam of pork slurry with pistachios extruded into person sized logs, constituted fine cuisine. As my daze lifted, I agreed with a half-hearted yet enthusiastic, “Uh, okay.”

A day removed, I sit in my office and try to write, yet remain confused. Allow me to explain.

Go and ask your loved one or co-worker the question, “Define better.” Chances are the most common response will go something like this, “What do you mean, better?” or a simple confused look. If the other person responds by using the word better to define better, than call it a day and send the person away.

Dictionary.com defines better as “of superior quality or excellence” which would in turn lead to the justified conclusion that 2012 was of lesser quality. By all accounts, this is a fair and true assessment because 2012 has been a disappointment. No champagne wishes and caviar dreams here. Let’s be honest, it was crap-tastic. Time wasn’t measured in days and months. It was measured in IVF cycles, injections, appointments, and a lot of wait and see. The wait and see was the worst part. It served as a reminder that as time moved forward, our collective feet were mired in concrete.

The casual reader would and rightly so interpret this to mean that it would have been better if 2012 never happened. This is where we would part company. As crazy as it may sound, I learned a lot about life, friends, and the relationship I have with my wife. Some of these lessons were bitter-sweet, but in the end I learned that my marriage can withstand anything. Love you babe.

This leads to the whole point of my inconsistent ramblings. Will 2013 be better than 2012?

1. Nothing today is promised tomorrow. So make the most of today.
2. Choose the happy. Whether we like it or not, it’s up to us.
3. More bacon. Rumors of a price increase have been dispelled. So let them eat bacon.
4. Three Little Birds by Bob Marley. Listen to it once every day and I dare you not to smile.

I have no idea what 2013 holds for us as a family, but it should be interesting. In closing, I want to leave everyone with one of my favorite quotes and true words to live by from Coach Jimmy Valvano:

“To me, there are three things we all should do every day. We should do this every day of our lives. Number one is laugh. You should laugh every day. Number two is think. You should spend some time in thought. And number three is, you should have your emotions moved to tears, could be happiness or joy. But think about it. If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that's a full day. That's a heck of a day. You do that seven days a week, you're going to have something special.”

Let There Be Ice Cream!

It's our Date-iversary!

Let me 'splain.

I met J through a very popular online dating site.  I had been doing online dating for years and years and years and years.  Yeah - a lot of time, I'm ashamed to say.  I had pretty much given up on the whole thing.  My profile was still on the site, but I wasn't actively searching or anything thing.  One September day, I felt compelled to check my account.  There was an email from a guy who did not fit any of my snooty parameters (ie, he wasn't a tall white dude with at least a graduate degree).  It was an easy, casual email and I noticed his profile said he was from Chicago.  I always get along with fellow mid-westerners, so I figured what the heck.  He asked me out for coffee the following weekend... his first (and last) online date ever.

I met him at the designated meeting place (every online dater knows that you don't let them pick you up and you make the first date short, sweet, and in public!).  We quickly figured out that neither of us were actual coffee drinkers.  Thankfully, there was a Ben and Jerry's next to the Starbucks, so we got something we both really love... ICE CREAM!  I was charmed by his easy smile and relaxed demeanor.  We just talked and it was so easy.  I don't know how to explain it other than to say it just... was!  I know I should say there were unicorns farting rainbows and galloping around us, but that wasn't what happened.  It just felt warm.  Like I had known him forever and this was what was supposed to be.  On some level, I just knew this was it.  Like the billion years of prayers had been simply answered in this wonderful man in front of me.  In fact, on our wedding day, a friend played me a voicemail I had sent her a few days after this date saying that I had found my lobster.

Since that first cone of Chunky Monkey with J, not a day has gone by where I haven't heard his voice and I love it that way.

Today is the anniversary of our first date, and every year we celebrate it by heading back to the Ben and Jerry's and having us some ice cream.  We love this day.  We get to celebrate us and happiness.  It's all about the happy today.  Not the mushy, not the the trials and tribulations, just the happy.

And just for the record, he says I was late on our first date, but I saved the text message exchange five minutes before our scheduled meeting time that says I was parking, so he can bite me on that one.  AND he only lived in Chicago for the first five minutes or so of his life.  Online daters are liars.  I lied about my height. :)

Pain and Decisions

Right now I'm full of anger, hinged with a tint of sadness. What the hell happened? We had so much hope. Everything went so much better this cycle, we didn't think it was possible to have another failure. It seemed like the lap "fixed" the root of the problem, but I suppose we were wrong on that. There's more to the story it seems. How can there be more? For shit's sake!

How did we get here? I always knew in the back of my mind that we wouldn't get pregnant right away. I thought it may take us awhile or we may need a pill, but I didn't think it would come to this! Three failed IUIs, surgery, and two failed IVFs. They had to force my husband's sperm in my eggs because it couldn't happen on its own. Our gametes couldn't play nicely together. The love of my life and my best friend. I feel like we've been robbed. Worst of all, I feel like I've stolen a chance at fatherhood from him. That eats at me like nothing else.

I told him before we even got engaged that I might have a hard time having children, but like I said, I didn't think it would be this difficult. He's meant to be a father. I know that we would be good at it, dammit! Not perfect by any means, but good. Whenever I see the pain in his eyes after another failed cycle, I feel a part of my heart fall out of my chest. He deserves so much more than what I can give him, and yet he still loves me. It's hard to feel deserving of that when my body keeps failing him.

I feel like I'm one of "those" people. The woman who can't get pregnant. What everyone fears and yet feels free to judge at the same time. "Give up and 'just' adopt." "Why do you keep doing that to your body?" "Maybe it just isn't meant to be." "I'm sure you can give all of your love to the children you work with." That last one came to my brother. I know he meant well, he's young, and he doesn't know what else to say, but if you could bitch slap someone through a text, I would have done that last night.

Yes, the snothead who leaves broken toys strewn all over my office, launches a block at me when I tell him "no," and somehow gives me ringworm in the 60 minute visit we have every 6 months is definitely benefiting from my childlessness.

We've decided to go to a different clinic. I know I can find a clinic that doesn't require me to leave a message for a nurse every time I call. I can see from reading everyone else's posts that there are clinics with accessible staff. The turnover is eating at me. I'm tired of being half naked on an examining table only for someone new to walk in and have a look at my lady parts. I'm sick of fellows and residents making decisions about my care all of the time. I hate that they only do three day transfers. I feel like we could get a lot of information by trying to culture a couple more days. The new clinic director used to run his own clinic - it bore his name. The stats at that place were abominable. 29% for women under 35. I wouldn't have stepped foot in that clinic and that dude isn't coming near my embryos again. Our transfer was full of tension because the old guy couldn't find where everything was. I can't shake the feeling that something went wrong that day. And you know what else? He put the speculum in and TWICE he let go of it when he was searching for buttons on the ultrasound machine. That effing hurts! The nurse actually made a little gasp and looked up at me the first time he let go.

Yes it's right across the street from my office, yes they had great stats in the past, yes I've bonded with some of the staff, and yes they are a big name, but my gut is telling me to run. J and I agreed in the beginning of this journey to go by the rule of threes. We did the three inseminations and we've now completed two fresh cycles. We intend to do a frozen, but if we need to do another fresh and it doesn't work out, we don't want to look back and wonder if we should have gotten another opinion. It's time for fresh eyes.

Which brings me to my questions. Have any of you ever had to move frozen embryos to another clinic in the area? How did that work? We're likely going to end up in a clinic 30 minutes from our current one. J is really anxious about this part. So is my mother for that matter. I'm pretty sure there is a solution. People must do this all of the time. We're pretty set on a clinic, but if you have any recommendations in the Triangle area I'd love to hear them. My final question is how to tell your clinic you're transferring care and how best to make sure all of your records get transferred. I'm one of those idiots who doesn't like to hurt feelings. I know - get over it. I don't mind when my patients get a second opinion, but they are usually passive aggressive about it and just end up disappearing. I'm going to have to say something and I don't know what to say!

Bootylicious

Last night, I caught a glimpse of my large, dimply hiney in the mirror as I was getting out of the shower. 

It was not pretty, friends.

All I could think of is how I bend over and bear it every night without a thought while my husband oh so carefully gives me my PIO shot.  He has never said, "Eww."  He has never said, "Lay off the Cheetos."  In fact, he makes sure to spend special attention giving the site a rub down so that I don't end up in pain.  The man is amazing.  If his butt looked like my butt, I don't know if I would be so kind.

So to all the partners who silently and carefully jam a 1.5 inch needle full of oil into our bloated, barren, beastly booties each night with nary a mention of a dimple, I salute you.  If you follow it up with a rump rub down, I salute you with two hands... unless I'm using one of them to shove food into my face in a progesterone induced binge.

Laparoscopy and Marriage Intervention

Sex and infertility are hard.  We all know this.  We all know it's complicated.  When you have endometriosis, it also hurts.  So here you are, having painful sex, but pretending that you aren't because a) you've already spent a better part of a decade believing that you are over reacting about your pelvic pain and b) don't want your husband to feel bad about your grimacing.

Then a doctor comes along and recommends a lap.

It's a Jasmine moment.  "A whole new world....."

On top of the newly discovered sex life, we brought this hideous brown stained lounge chair down from the crap room/would be future nursery for me to recuperate on post surgery.  Our couches are not comfortable or lounge worthy.  Six weeks later and the crappy chair still in the living room.  Why is that?  Because it's a perfect snuggle depth!  I must admit, my slacking in the commenting department has mostly been because I'm snuggling with my husband rather than hanging out on the laptop.

So there you go.  Not only did the lap save my sex life, it managed to get me a snuggle couch.

So Do I Stick This On My Car or Not? A Poll.

My husband, being the darling thoughtful man that he is, bought me a present.  He has been so excited about this present and when it arrived in the mail today, he about peed himself.

Photo credit

I think it's funny, but I'm kind of worried about being rammed by some crazy soccer mom.  Do I stick it on my car or not?

A Lesson On Trips To The Pool

I wish I could figure out how to be happy and truly be satisfied with what I have right here and now.

We have an awesome neighborhood pool.  I will never again live in a development that doesn't have a pool because I love having a pool around so much.  The area is growing quickly and of course this means new, young families hanging out at the pool.  The pool opened last weekend, but it was rainy, so we were really psyched to hit it up this weekend.  Apparently, so was everyone else.

When we got there, we could not find a place to lounge.  All the lounge chairs were taken, many with just a folded towel sitting on them (Which pisses me off!  If you are planning to spend the whole time in the pool, please don't reserve 10 spots for yourself and all of your pals.).  We finally found a set of chairs by a table and figured we'd hang out there until we saw a couple of lounge chairs open up.  I hate sitting in regular chairs when I'm in a swim suit.  Especially when I'm still trying to get my post IVF pounds off.  You ladies know the deal.  A 45 degree angle is crucial.

I was looking down at my ginormous, white thighs and sat back to try and relax.  As I was getting comfortable, I noticed the sounds around me.  Giggling, nervous laughter, squeals, some tears.  I opened my eyes and right in front of me were a plethora of babies.  Little one's toes being dipped into the pool for the first time, eyes wide with worry.  Babies being tossed into the air by their daddies, with their little hats flopping around while their moms stood nearby ready to catch them in case dad missed.  Toddlers seated on mom's lap, squealing their way down the big slide.  Big sisters helping little brothers wade into the shallow end while they tiptoed tentatively under the bucket dump station.

I completely lost it.  I started to ugly cry right there at the pool.

We gathered our belongings as quickly as possible and started the trek home.  We got as far as the sidewalk outside the gate when I couldn't hold it back anymore.  J held me and I bawled and snotted all over his shirt.  I just said, "I'm sorry.  I couldn't do it.  All of those babies.  I'm sorry," over and over.  I felt swallowed by pain.  I knew people were staring, but I really didn't care.  I was mad at them.  Mad because their everyday state of being was happy.  Jealous that they didn't have to fight for their happiness.  I wanted them to be uncomfortable.  I wanted my pain to rub off on them in hopes that they would appreciate the many blessings they had.  It was rational, but it was what swept over me in a torrent.

On our walk home, I thought about my many blessings.  I thought about how much I prayed for J and how badly I wanted a good man in my life.  So much of my life has been spent wanting what I don't have.  An education, a job, a happy family, a husband.  I have most of those things now.  Why can't I be grateful for that?  I think J said it best.  We're still going through this.  We're still fighting and we aren't ready to stop.  So for today, I don't have to be okay with it.  I can still fight.  I can still be sad.

And next time we will get to the pool EARLY so we can have a guaranteed spot near the deep end.

A Year Ago Today

A year ago today I walked down the aisle towards my future with the most incredible man I've ever known.  After a lifetime of dates requiring rescue calls from roommates, and way too many nights at home alone with Ben & Jerry, I'd finally found my prince.  It was a beautiful day that I will never forget, spent with our nearest and dearest.  A day full of love, light, and comfort.

Our first year of marriage hasn't been what we expected, but I don't think we would change it.  We've had a crash course in communication, trust, compassion.  We're learning what we're made of before some couples have figured out where to keep the Kitchen-Aid.  We have many more wonderful years ahead of us.

We were on a swing.  I know you thought we were magically suspended in mid-air.

The Real Reason I'm Not Getting/Giving Any

One of the blogs I like to follow is from The Infertility Therapist.  She recently made a post on sex and infertility and I was really excited to read it.  I miss what my sex life used to be like, and while I know we will get it back at some point, I hate what it is now.  I realize that it all stems from me.  So when I read her article, I was a little disappointed.  She hit the highlights.  The stuff everyone says is the cause for the deplete-o libido, but it didn't really resonate with me.  I know I've posted on this subject before, and I even submitted that post to Mel's Analogy Project. I've been thinking about it a lot lately, though, and for me at least I think there's another reason for my lack of excitement about sex.  So I'm gunna bare it all here, ladies.  I'm sorry if this post puts my blog into the "high" category of your internet smut-o-meter.  I'll try to keep it classy.

Infertility has tried to take the mystery and intimacy out of sex for us.  Between wandings, charting, IUIs, discussions, semen profiles, and endless stirrup encounters, my lady parts and what is done with them has been under intense scrutiny.  Even with all of the intimacy infiltrations, the actual act of sex is between J and I.  Just us.  We don't have to be in the same room to attempt to make a baby, but when the lights go out at night, it's just us.  It's our time to be husband and wife.  That's when my guard comes down.  That's when I can shed the shell of normalcy I built to get through the day.  J is the only person I do this with.  The only person I trust with this.  I'm the only person he trusts to hold his armor.  I'm honored to be that person and I'm filled with gratitude that I have such an amazing man to hold on to mine.  But when our armor is off, we are at our most vulnerable. Sex amplifies that vulnerability, a billion-fold. 

When everything is said and done, I will cry.  I will lose control and I will cry that cry that I know you all know.  That cry that comes with sounds you didn't know you could make... that comes from a place you didn't know existed.  That cry. I hate that cry.  I hate making J see that cry.  I hate what I feel when that cry comes on.  I don't want to do it.  I don't want to get to that place.  I don't want to lose the only semblance of control I have in this mess.  I don't want that kind of sadness to be constantly entwined with intimacy.

So our sex life suffers.  I'm afraid to enjoy it because I don't want to get to the crying part, but I don't want to lay there like a dead fish either. (So much for the classy!)  Instead, I avoid it, which isn't helping anything or anyone.

I'm putting myself out there, sisters. Please tell me this resonates with someone else.

Drugs and Dates and Dudettes

First thing to note - whatever BCP I'm on - IT BLOWS!!! My boobs hurt so badly I have a sports bra on and last night I had a dream that was entirely about eating.  Plus, I have a headache.  C'est la vie, because...

We have a lift off date, people!!!

I finally have a dosage for my Follistim (200 iu in case you're dying to know) and we have a start date... which is an interesting day.

I'll start my Follistim two weeks from today.  I'll also turn 34 that day.

I'm choosing to see it as a good omen rather than a "What a shitty way to spend my birthday" thing.  What's really weird, though, is how transfer day potentially falls.  That puts us for a potential transfer day that falls on our first wedding anniversary.  I have mixed thoughts.  First, what a cool story to tell if it works.  Second, what a shitty thing to remember if it doesn't.  J says, "Who cares.  That day will forever be the day I married you and that's it."  He's so awesome.  I think I'll keep him.

I'm still scared shitless.  I'm afraid of all the hormones I'll be pumping into my body and I'm afraid it won't work.  I hate failing, and I've done nothing but fail since we started this whole thing.  But I'm trying to be positive.  Let's face it - I'm going to be a super disappointed shriveled mess if it doesn't work, so there's no use doing the "try not to get your hopes up" thing.  Might as well surround myself with positive, hopeful thoughts.

I'm giving a podium presentation at an international symposium (thankfully only 5 hours away from me this year) right after when transfer will fall.  Obviously - I have to go.  I was asking a coworker if she thought I should ask another coworker, who will be going with us and has done IVF, if she would do my PIO shots.  Now, this first coworker, we'll call her Anne, is a dear friend and someone I see as my cool aunt or something.  She jumped right in and yelled, "I wanna do it!" 

Me:  "Seriously?  You wanna shoot me in the ass?"
Anne:  "Hell yeah!  Hey, can I sign your butt too so J can find it?"

For all the bitching I've done lately, I do realize how lucky I am.  I was talking with a friend the other day who said, "I just want you to have a baby.  I want to wave a magic wand and make it all go away."  If there were ever a perfect thing to say, that would be it.  That's just the kind of girl she is.  She gets it.  I could have told her I was part alien and wanted to get back to my home planet of Gramork and she would know the right thing to say.  She just puts herself in someone else's shoes.  I could take a lesson or 12 from her.

I also get to meet a bloggy friend in real life for the first time tomorrow, so I'm way excited about that too! :)

Onward and upward.

Grateful Remorse

Sometimes I think that I've already called in all of my favors or used all of my wishes.  I can't ask for anything else when I already have so much.

I woke up in the middle of the night, rolled over, and saw my husband's back facing me.  I watched his side rise up and down as he breathed in and out and was suddenly overwhelmed.  The tears just started to flow and I left them roll down my cheeks.

I was gripped with guilt and gratitude all at the same time.  Guilt for what I can't give him and what I don't give him.  Gratitude for everything he gives me.  He is truly a calm in any storm.  The kind, gentle, and steadfast spirit in this man is something I can only hope to emulate.  I spend so much time gripped with anxiety and too often I take it out on him.  I don't give back what he gives me.

He rolled over and put his hand on my arm.  A simple touch from him always feels like a balm.  My cracks and crevices are filled and I can relax for a bit.  I whispered an "I love you" and went back to sleep, promising myself to show him more gratitude during the day and not just think about it while he's sleeping.

Feeling Lonely

My husband is out of town on business.  This is the first time this has happened!  I'm usually the one who has some conference to go to.  Now he's the one out being all fancy pants and I DO NOT LIKE IT!  At first, I was kind of psyched.  I thought, "Yay!  I can eat what I want when I want.  I don't have to do the dishes if I don't feel like it.  I can sleep in the middle of the bed.  I will make my dog be happy eating dinner without a treat on top again.  This will be swell!"  Then, the first night I came home I was so dang lonely!  Damned him and his fancy pants meeting!

I didn't eat his cookie even though it was tempting.  I did the dishes AND put them away.  I stayed on my side of the bed.  And the dog got a treat in her bowl.

I'm addicted to life with my dude.  And I can't say that I mind it one bit.

I still might eat that cookie, though.

Why I Hate Valentine's Day

First of all let me say that one of my biggest pet peeves in the whole world is when people say "Valentimes."  Don't do it, people.  Don't do it.

Valentine's day has so many negative things attached to it for me that I purposefully adopted my dog on Valentine's day.  I needed a happy thought.  Now I get to celebrate Scout's "birthday" instead of thinking about the yuckies.

No, I didn't have too many lonely nights or a few too many broken hearts.  Perhaps the easiest reason that I hate V-Day is that we buried my grandmother on Valentine's Day.  Yeah.  The real reason I hate V-Day is actually worse than that.

I grew up in an abusive household.  My father would make a big stink out of V-Day.  He would do "special" things for my sister and I.  Send us each a pink rose to school, have balloons for us in the morning, make a special breakfast.  You would think this would be an awesome dad way to behave, right?  Well, he made V-Day as grandiose as he could for us in order to point out the things he wasn't doing for his wife... my mother.  He would do nothing for her and make sure we were all aware of it.  We would end up feeling guilty about the gifts we got, but if we expressed that we were ungrateful and spoiled and in big trouble.  So every year, we put up with the gifts we didn't want and swallowed the guilt and the pity.  Well, I did at least.  My father managed to convince my sister that my mother deserved it.

As I got older, I tried to get ballsier.  When I moved out, I would refuse delivery of any flowers or anything, but he found a way around that.  The worst V-Day came when I was in graduate school.  My father came to my apartment to hand deliver his annual ridiculous gift.  He then sat at my kitchen table and told me he had something to talk to me about.  He started sobbing, telling me a story about his time in Vietnam.  He told me he saved a man's life and watched him die.  He told me he had shrapnel in his knee and his butt from the attack.  He told me he earned a purple heart.

I never knew my father was in Vietnam.  In fact, I thought he was in high school at the time.  Our understanding was always that he got kicked out of boot camp and never actually joined the Marines.  My first thought when I heard this story?  I wondered how he got through metal detectors if he had shrapnel in his ass.  So I guess you could say that I knew right off the bat that it was a big lie.

The purple heart?  My brother has seen it, but I don't know how he managed to get his hands on one.  A private investigator heard our story and offered to pull his military history for us.  He really did get kicked out of boot camp.  There was no active duty for him, although he says it's a military cover up... and my sister believes him.

That V-Day was the day my life started to unravel.  We learned about 20 years of affairs, years of unemployment he somehow managed to fake, multiple mortgages my mother's signature was forged on... the list goes on.  That was when I started to realize that not everyone's mom gets yelled at constantly and that most girls aren't afraid of their fathers.  It's the day my father stopped being dad.

J tries really hard to make V-Day special and I could not be luckier to have him as a full time Valentine.  I can play along with the day now, but deep down, I'm still scarred by V-Day's past.  I feel like it's a day where people are primed to be disappointed and hurt.  I don't like days like that.

Finding A Place

Before starting to read this post, you should know about the insanity that is swirling around me.  My husband is a die hard UNC basketball fan.  He hates Duke with a passion.  Right now, we are watching the game.  This is what watching the game in my house is like.  J stands two feet from the TV and yells at it.  He also sometimes throws small objects and for some reason, he hits himself in the head when something doesn't go his way.  I don't understand that part at all.  When things go well, he claps loudly and rhythmically four times in a row... waits 20 seconds... and does it again.  The dog does not like it when he gets mad (this is the only time he ever gets remotely angry) and she jumps all over him and whines and barks.  I promised I would not retreat to my bedroom if he bought me chocolate.  So I'm blogging, eating cookies, and enjoying the entertainment.

Now for the real post.

J and I have been talking more lately about how this whole thing is affecting us as a family.  He said something that was really eye opening.  He said that at this point, he would look back on our first year of marriage as a year of sadness.  That broke my heart, but I can't say it's entirely untrue.  I hope that eventually, whenever we find a resolution to this mess, we will look back on it as the year we really built our marriage, grew together, and saw what we were made of.  Right now, I hate that he is sad.  I hate that we are sad.  I hate that all of these memories are attached to our newlywed time.

So we've been trying two things.  One, we're choosing to be more joyful.  Could I sit around and focus on the sad things?  Sure.  That's pretty easy to do most of the time.  But couldn't we focus more on the happy things?  Even if it's something little, can't we concentrate on celebrating those things?  That's been the challenge this week and so far, so good!  It probably helps that we're in a futile TWW, I'll admit, but better to start at a less trying time than an emotionally charged one.

The other is to focus on the life we have now rather than the life we wish we had.  The life we have now is one that doesn't have kids.  Right now, we're a family of two with a giant black hole of uncertainty that continues to grow. It feels really awful. It's like a big question mark that keeps us from settling in to our life together.  The real turning point came for us when I brought up a trip I may be making to Germany in 2014.  We were talking about saving up so J could come with.  We realized we'd lost our shit when we were actually talking about the possibility of there being a baby he had to stay home with.  We seriously thought about not saving money for a trip because of a hypothetical baby.  Wouldn't it suck for 2014 to come around, there's no baby, AND we don't have the money for him to come with me?  Would we really want that infertility reminder?  Wouldn't it be better to be in a position where we had a pot of money AND a baby?

This is how we live our lives!  I actually have an real budget and a budget for when we have a baby and I change the dates on it every month we aren't successful.  We have two guest rooms and one is completely without decoration because it's meant to be a baby's room.  When we bought my car last year, we bought an SUV because we were planning on in being a mom-mobile.  We don't plan trips because what if I get pregnant and can't travel or there's a baby on the way and we need that money to get ready?  I stress out at the dog when she barks at night because worry she'll bark when there's a sleeping baby.  I feel uncomfortable about trying to lose weight because what if I get pregnant and haven't been eating enough?

All neurotic, I know.  Obviously, we haven't found a way to be happy with our lives as a twosome. We've skipped that.  So now, we're tying to find a place where we can see a future with just the two of us.  Maybe we will have a biological child.  Maybe we will decide to adopt.  Maybe we will live without children.  Right now, we don't have any children and we need to live like it. 

We will continue trying to get pregnant and pursuing treatment with everything we have in us while somehow balancing happiness with what we have right now.  We most certainly have to also find a way to be comfortable as a family of two.  I have to find peace with what our lives are now and embrace what may be our future.

Things We've Learned From IF

A couple of lazy Sunday mornings ago, J and I were all snuggled up, trying to find a silver lining.  We started talking about what our IF journey has taught us so far.  If you think about it, it really is a crazy nutty ride that makes you think about things you've never even considered before.

For J, the big one was patience.  He thinks he's learned how to wait for things he wants.  I can't say I totally agree with him on this, but okay!  He also said he's learned what despair feels like, which is probably not a silver lining.

For me, it's more about empathy.  If there is one thing I know now, it's that I can't predict how I'm going to respond in a situation.  I'll admit it - I was once one of those people who thought that if you can't get pregnant you should just adopt.  Now that I can't get pregnant, adoption is the farthest thing from my mind right now.  It might be something I consider later, but I'm not there yet.  Since I saw this, I've realized that I can't judge people for their actions or lack thereof.  I have no idea what else is going on in their life.  I have no idea what it feels like to be in their shoes.  I can take a minute to try, but unless I am that person in that moment, I just can't judge.

What lessons are you learning?  And no, it doesn't have to be positive.

Thanks

Thanks for all of your comments on my earlier post.  I think it really has opened up a big dialogue between us about how each of us feels about this whole thing and how far we're willing to go.  I'm grateful for that, but it would have been nicer if it didn't come out of a crap cycle!

Hugs!