Recovery: day 20

I'm having a hard time seeing the clearing through the storm. Sometimes, it just feels like I'm going to drown out here.

Cristy sent these socks to me when I was losing my last pregnancy. Not only did I feel the love when they arrived, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more. Remember those signs that hit me upside the head sometimes? I feel like this was one of them.

There is no place like home.

Cycle 19, CD 27 (10 DPO)

[Click here for more information about Emhart's September Photo Challenge]  

Prompt: Cozy

When my eyes first blink open in the morning and I see this, it almost makes the day ahead seem tolerable. It also makes it exceedingly hard to get out of bed. Ms. B and Hunter have a love affair that their respective species would not condone- but is oh so sweet at its very foundation.

PICTURE REMOVED

Things have been rather busy around these parts. There have been quite a few good days even. And then the walls start crumbling again. Mike and I are fighting and my libido is the culprit. Mainly because I just don't have one. Add it to the list of things infertility has taken from me. It's not good for our marriage though and I'm at a point I don't know what to do about it anymore. 

In other news, I'm now at the point that I'm ready to be put back into the game. No more bench warming for me. I'm traveling the next few days so this morning I had an u/s with Dr. D to make sure I was cleared to play. And I am. Lining is nice and thick, no cysts, and my ute is gearing up for a touchdown. 

I'll be harassed by TSA for carrying meds with me through security. I'll have to pull out my little letter explaining why I need to carry a bag with pointy things, tiny vials of liquid gold, and ice packs onto the plane with me. They'll yell at me from the end of the scanner and ask if I'm diabetic. Everyone will hear and I'll yell back, "No sir, I'm just infertile!" Sometimes I just like to see the looks on peoples faces. 

Which leads me to my newest little anecdotal gem. See, I'm in this weird stage where I feel like I have to out myself to anyone I talk with longer than 5 minutes. I'm not sure why because the conversations *never* leave me feeling good. But anyway, I was at the hairdresser last Friday and sometime after the scalp massage and sometime before the layers were shorn, I spilled the beans to my stylist. She's 34 and though she's little Ms. Edward Sissorhands and works magic with my shiny locks, she's not the sharpest tool. And you know her advice after I went though my spiel? She said, "Well, maybe you just don't want it enough. You know, you really have to want it in order for it to work." I sat there gap-mouthed staring at myself  in the mirror as she naively clipped away. 

"Which way are you going to go with this Tutti?" I asked myself as my hand slipped into my purse and wrapped around the handle of the sharp fork I always carry with me for situations such as this. 

Instead, I decided to challenge her logic and said, "Well, how do you explain my 2 miscarriages then? Did I only want it kinda bad so it only kinda worked or did I stop wanting it bad enough, and that's when I lost them?" 

She thought for a second, tilted her head and said, "I think to finally become pregnant you have to visualize holding your baby every day or it won't work." 

Stupid girl didn't even know I was fucking with her. 

Cycle 19, CD 13

[Click here for more information about Emhart's September Photo Challenge] 

Prompt: Blue

Growing up, my mother had life-threatening allergic reactions to cats. So despite my tears and incessant pleading, we were never were allowed to bring one home. When Mike and I moved in together, I saw my window of opportunity. After 30 years and a trip to our local animal shelter, (the mighty) Hunter joined our family. 

Back then, we had plenty of land for him to explore. But I was always worried for his safety. Because with that freedom, came the threat of harm in the form of vicious raccoons,  stealthy coyotes, and nasty possums. Despite Mike's constant assurances that he would be fine, I voiced my concern to the vet- allowing him to be the arbiter of truth. What he said was profound, "An outdoor cat lives a happy life. An indoor cat lives a long life." I used to hold my breath every night until he was snuggled back safe in my arms.  

PICTURE REMOVED

Hunter was a happy cat for a quite a few years. And then we moved into the city, where he could no longer roam free. Urban living was just too dangerous. He was automatically sentenced to life of imprisonment. Didn't even get his day in court. Relegated to live a long and monotonous life. 

I feel like I understand, in a sense, what it is like to be my cat. I know what freedom feels like. The unabashed happiness and naive belief that things will be wonderful forever. And I also know what it is like to have it all come to a screeching halt. I'm imprisoned too. I look longingly out the window and wish it was safe to go outside again. And I wonder if life will ever  go back to how it used to be. 

Recovery: day 20

In the week since I last posted, the moments where I feel ok are getting longer. I know that it takes time and it's normal to have so many ups and downs- but going through it, feeling every minute of it it, is harder than those words sound. Before infertility and loss I never met a roller coaster I didn't love. I want off this one.

Sass touched on something in her post today that I've been thinking about a lot lately. The link between memories and place. How just being somewhere or seeing something can turn you upside down. To have those old memories come smashing back seemingly out of nowhere.

Last week I had my post-op checkup. Sitting quietly in the waiting room of my RE's office I was overwhelmed with memories. I have experienced the highest moments of my life there. And the lowest. The disparity between the two is daunting. It's amazing that one place can hold so much. So much that it's hard to filter through those feelings logically.

Last weekend I found myself at the local pharmacy. I needed a new headband because my dog mistook my old one for something good to eat. The store was crowded so I walked along the parimeter trying to make my way over to where I needed to be. Without realizing it until I was there, the family planning section attacked me. A place I'd spent so much time and money in the past, but also where I bought my last HPT. I was in a good mood until then.

Yesterday my husband and I went swimming in the ocean. Summer is officially over and we had the beach to ourselves. It felt good to have the sun touch my skin again. To let the waves crash over me. To taste the salt on my lips. The water was cold but exhilarating. And then a shocking realization flooded over me; the last time we were there, I was pregnant.

Today I'm going out with an old friend after work. One that I'd lost track of for the last 13 years. Through chance and good luck, we found ourselves living in the same city again- thousands of miles from where we'd parted. When we reunited last month, I attempted to blame the hot weather and long car ride home for my inability to drink the wine she had so neatly set on the table. It didn't work and she quickly guessed the real reason. So later today as we are sitting out in the sun, chatting easily like we always do, the wine that I sip will be bitter.

We are rooted in our sense of place. It's where memories are stored. The events from last week to time that has not even happened yet, paralyze me. I know my wounds are still fresh, but will the emotions ever be less poignant?

Recovery: day 8

I had a talk with Zsa Zsa about my anger. I felt justified with it; she felt like it was very unhealthy. She had some valid points, but I'm so much more comfortable with it than any other emotion, that it is hard to control. But I'm trying. I'm trying not to be so mad. Trying not to be angry at others. Trying not to hate myself. Just... trying.

The last week has been filled with bouts of sadness. Times when I lay in bed full of rage. Flanked by times when I'm able to (ever so) briefly concentrate on work, lose myself in a movie, or cuddle with my husband at night. I'm attempting to return to some kind of normalcy. Whatever that means. I know it'll just take time, but I wish I could just fast forward three months. I want this part to be over with.

It took me a solid two weeks to talk to one of my closest friends about the miscarriage. Strange because she's a processor like me and typically very comforting with her words. When I originally texted her my bad news (I was in no shape for a phone call at that point) I got a return voicemail that just seemed a little off. She said all the right things and on the surface it all seemed valid, but something wasn't right. Was it the tone of sadness that was missing? I didn't know and decided that I needed to keep my distance. However, eventually I knew that phone call had to happen or the fallout of not doing so might permanently hurt our friendship. So I finally called.

She and her partner have been trying to get pregnant (starting a solid year+ after us) and since the IUI is one of the first options for a gay couple, she understands roughly what its like. She has also been privy to our struggle with infertility and our first miscarriage. So when I told her the details of what had happened, she was genuinely sympathetic. I talked as things entered my head and didn't use a filter, vomiting the events of the past two weeks. An hour into my diatribe, there was a lull. I knew I shouldn't have asked, but I also couldn't stop myself. Her partner had an IUI just two weeks prior and somehow, in my gut, I already knew the answer. I forced my friend into an impossible situation: if she told me the truth, it would send daggers into my heart and if she lied, our friendship would suffer a deep betrayal.

Hearing that one of my closest friends was newly pregnant after talking for over an hour about how mine was prematurely taken, was infuriating. I felt embarrassed that I'd let my guard down and spoke the gruesome truth. I felt angry that while she listened to my pain she held a secret so wonderful that involuntary smiles spread across her face throughout the day. I hate that the voicemail she left me may have been the same day she found out she was expecting- and was unable to hide the joy in her voice. The same day I lost mine.

I know my feelings are irrational. I know that she is just an innocent target for my anger. I know that my jealousy is only adding to this pool of muck. I know that she loves me and feels horrible about everything that has happened; that the timing is just cruel. I hate that she keeps trying to reach out and that all I can do is sting her with my silence. I feel so guilty for feeling like this. It's so hard to consciously know what you feel isn't real, yet at the same time it is so real that you can hold it in your hand. I'm ashamed of this, but I can't seem to let it go.

Cycle 18, CD 41 (31 DPIUI)

My delay in posting was not intentional. I got my beta #2 results back late 6/21 and I was on a flight out of town early the next morning. I only just got back and with a free minute to post . The good thing is, all that blood, sweat, and crazy hours I've been putting in for the last 4 months is finally... over. Now we're back to regularly scheduled programming folks!

Rewinding a bit, I left off with a pretty low first beta. I sobbed myself to sleep for 4 days leading up to my second test. And if I'm really being honest here, I sobbed through the actual blood draw too. I worked myself into a complete frenzy and was convinced something was wrong. Nagging in the back of my mind was the idea that nothing as wonderful as being pregnant could possibly happen to me. But the 2nd test came back with strong doubling numbers. And that, from what they tell me, is all that matters.

It was tough knowing that instead of retesting in 2-3 days, I had to wait 11 full days because I was headed out of town again. I was fine for the first few, then I worked myself into a tizzy again. Not just normal fretting, but full on anxiety and certainty that something wasn't right. I woke up thinking about it. I fell asleep thinking about it. I glared at where I estimated my uterus to be and cursed it for making my life so miserable.

Beta #3 came back yesterday. HCG = 3967. Progesterone = 32.92. TSH = .591. It felt like I took my first gulp of air in over a week and a half.

I've always hated reading blogs of recently pregnant women that were consumed with fear. I'd think to myself, "Shut up! I'd cut off my left arm just to be where you are right now." But right now, that's where I am. Absolutely and completely consumed by fear. Fear that I've been given a tiny taste of what it feels like to be pregnant and it is going to be ripped from me. Fear that my body will reject this tiny human that I so desperately want to grow. Fear of having to return to fertility treatments. I never used to be like this; infertility has seriously fucked me up.

I toggle between elation and anxiety every 5 minutes. I feel like the luckiest girl alive yet cursed because the fear is eating me alive. Somehow, I have to figure out how to just... breath.

I've also been hesitant to write this post because I know that every person struggling with infertility that is reading this right now just got kicked in the gut. I don't care how long we've been following each other or how hard we've been rooting for each other, I just hurt you with my news. I feel absolutely horrible for that. I know how it feels and it's devastating. Even though having a child is what we all are shooting for, the last thing I want to do is to make any of you hurt any more than you already do. My stomach is in knots over it.

Cycle 18, CD 27 (17 DPIUI)

Thanks for all the comments and encouragements. You gals are my biggest cheerleaders.

And I know I should step away from Google- but I can't sit here like a dolt and think things are ok when they aren't. I had to research. And what I've found, is pretty damn depressing. I really don't think this is going to work. 

Beta #2 Thursday AM.

Cycle 16 (in limbo)

Every day I think about posting. And every day I realize I don't have much to say. So I don't.

It's been 32 days since I last saw my doctor. If I didn't know better, I'd think we were breaking up. I'm due in for b/w this Thursday. I wonder if I'll remember how to get there. They very well could have moved offices by now.

I'm fairly certain that I'm gearing up to ovulate. EWCM showed yesterday. OPK was decently dark last night. That said, I've never been so unenthusiastic to ovulate. I guess it's because I know that I could have sex with my husband every 15 minutes for the next 7 days and there is no way it will work. So, I'll have to wait for my next cycle to start before we're back on the bandwagon. That is, provided my thyroid is willing to cooperate. And we know he's a fickle one.

I wish I could say this was a welcomed break. Even emotionally. But it's not been. I think I tried to convince myself that this would give me a chance to regroup and be that much stronger when it was time to go back. I tried to organize my life and attack a few things that had been left 1/2 done around the house. I tried not to think about anything fertility related. I even taught myself how to rewire an electrical outlet and make keylime pie from scratch. But when it comes down to it, I'm in the exact same place.

I think Trisha said it best today: "Life is the same as it always is, me hurting and un-pregnant trying to get through life pretending like I am ok".

My sister called my yesterday. There was a lull in the conversation and I knew what was coming (in that horrible, hushed voice she uses), "So, how are you doing with everything?"

How the fuck am I supposed to be doing? I'm 35, I have no baby, I cry daily, I'm not living my life, I fight with my husband because he just doesn't seem to get it, I hate how I look, I have lost faith that this will ever happen for me, I cannot relate to anyone anymore, I have no energy, no drive, no passion, I feel abandoned by everyone, I look forward to bedtime so I can escape myself for at least 8 hours, and I fell and sprained my ankle 2 weeks ago and think that is the universe's way of laughing even harder at me.

Instead, I said "Oh pretty good".

Cycle 15, CD 39 (26 DPIUI)

I can't say that I wasn't a little nervous when the nurse called me back with my beta numbers. I've been trying to remain zen-like in the face of this, but we're in uncharted territory here folks.

My HCG on Friday was 377 and progesterone was 7.16.

What does this mean?

1) I am definitely pregnant, however-
2) 377 is much too low when taking into account when I had my IUI however-
3) Beta numbers are tricky and I need to come in on Monday for a second beta.

The nurse went on to say that there is a very slight chance that I ovulated late- in which case, 377 is a good number. But have any of you ever heard of this? I thought the trigger guaranteed ovulation within 36 hours of taking the injection? I don't get it. Could 1 or 2 follies have popped out and one hung around for a little longer? And then met up with some swimmers from our sexual escapade the night after the IUI? Maybe that is why I had a negative HPT on 13DPIUI, because it was still 'technically' early? I feel like this is a far stretch, so I really don't want to get caught up in it. But it's kinda hard not to.

The bleeding has all but stopped now (thanks to the progesterone) and my boobs are, eh hem, very sore. I'm use to sore boobs, but this is a pretty dramatic change from even a few days ago. When I went in for acupuncture on Thursday, they were only a little sore (and I was warned that the estrogen would cause that) but in the last 2 days, I've gone back to wearing a bra 24-7.

Again, I don't want to go down that rabbit hole because no matter how you look at it, bleeding for 11 days in the first few weeks is... really not good. And the only way to make the numbers "work" is if we make a pretty big exception to the rule. I've always been taught that we are never the exception to the rule.

So I'm in limbo. Mostly thinking that this is not going to end well but trying to keep in mind that regardless, this is a huge step for me. I might be able to get pregnant in the future after all! That idea alone has rocked my world. But then there are these tiny flashes where I allow myself to ask, "what if it works this time?"

Cycle 14, CD 14 (11 DPO)

Holy shit.

I just deleted my Facebook account.

I feel 1,000,000,000 pounds lighter already.

Cycle 14, CD 14 (5 DPO)

You know, after reading so many other blogs, I've come to realize that I've *got* to get a sense of humor about this infertility thing. My blog has been nothing but doom and gloom since I started it. And that directly relates to how I've felt this last year. But from here on out I'm going to make a concerted effort to add a little sunshine here and there. At least when I can, because I think it's important. I'm also going to start seeing a therapist. I've found one that has experience dealing with infertility, so I feel good about that. Maybe I'll even plant a tree. Just kidding. I live in the city- and there is no room for trees. Good and bad with everything, right?

If I could drink right now, I'd raise my glass to you all and toast to 'Laughter while creating babies'.

Boo-yeah.

Cycle 14, CD 13

Fuck it. I'm drinking tonight.

If there is one thing that IF has done to me (and come on, there are 5001 horrible things that it has done to me) is make me a binge drinker. I take too much advantage of that week and a half that I'm allowed alcohol. Give me that bottle; it's mine. And don't try to take it away from me because I'll freak out. That said, I'll usually end up in tears at some point during the night because even the alcohol can't take this pain away.

Last month, my friend told me that she thought it best if I take a break from all the meds/procedures. I tried to explain that 'taking a break' is almost more stressful than continuing with treatment. If I weren't in this situation myself, I probably wouldn't understand either.

And even though Dr. D put us on a forced natural cycle this month, I'm just a psychotic as ever. Good days and bad, as always. But I haven't stopped watching my CM, I haven't stopped with the chronic OPKs, I haven't stopped thinking endlessly... about 'what if this is the month'. I guess you just can't understand that kind of thing unless you've experienced it for yourself.

I thought I was crazy that I've come to hate Facebook. With a passion. However, after I started reading other infertility blogs, I discovered I wasn't alone. There were other women that were suffering the same horrifying experiences when they logged on to that godforsaken site! Preganacy announcements at 8 weeks, swollen bellies, and first steps. Just last week I posted an official "goodbye" post. I couldn't deal with it anymore and though I thought I was being strong by doing that, I think I really wanted people to ask "why?". "Why are you stopping posting on Facebook, Tutti?" But only my sister posted saying something maddening like, "Thinking of you." Which made me even more angry.

However, I'm not sure there is anything that doesn't make me mad anymore. I'm not sure there is anything you can say to me anymore that I won't take the wrong way. I think that infertility has damaged me. And I'm desperately afraid I won't get that part of me back.

Fuck it. Maybe I'll have sex with my husband just for the sake of having sex tonight. Or maybe,  I'll just pass out.

Cycle 13, CD 16 (2 DPO)

I feel compelled to write at this very moment. The stockings are hung, the condo is clean, our bellies are fully and... I am too. I'm full. At least for this moment. I love my husband more than ever, I'm excited Christmas is only a few hours away, I'm proud of the Christmas Eve meal I cooked up tonight and the creative budget-friendly gifts stashed under the tree. We are in love with each other and are focusing on the right-now. That doesn't happen (at least on my part) very often. And it feels good.

Today I am at peace with Christmas. For the most part. There's just been so much buildup. So many regrets and anticipations. This time last year we started trying for a baby. I had very real dreams of being pregnant within the year. I mean, that's not unrealistic to hope for right? Being pregnant within a year of trying? Unless of course, you are infertile. I just never dreamed it would be like this. One year of trying and no baby. A devastating one at that.

There is a considerable amount of mourning that needs to take place for all that lost time. But when it comes down to it, I'm happy at THIS VERY MOMENT  and it's Christmas and I'm here with my husband (who is fast asleep in front of a a movie and spooning our pooch) and thankful for what I have now, and looking forward to tomorrow. This feeling doesn't happen often... if ever... so it's nice to embrace while it's here. Tomorrow is sometimes really hard. Especially during the holidays.

I only wish that I could hold onto this feeling. Because I know how fleeting it is.

P.S. Tried my hand at making onion soup for the first time from scratch tonight. And besides burning the first four rounds of bread under the broiler (what is wrong with me?)- I had total and complete success. Recipe has made the official list.

Cycle 13, CD 14

We were supposed fly out to visit my family for Christmas and then stop on the way back to spend New Years with Mike's parents. My reproductive schedule messed that up. So instead of being with family, or friends, or at least in a place where it FEELS like Christmas- we are stuck in a very un-Christmasy feeling location, totally broke (damn infertility medications and treatments), and without a baby that I was so sure that we would have by now.

I told Mike how sad I was about this Christmas. How depressing it was that we were probably just going to sit on the couch and watch TV alone instead of ripping open gifts and sitting down to a big festive meal with family. He's not that big into these kind of celebrations, but I am. So when he said, "Let's just order Dominos and maybe there will be something new on Netflix" I burst into tears. I'd rather sick a fork in my eye.

Then I started thinking that we should have just dealt with it and gone home for Christmas- at least we wouldn't be alone. But then I realized that I'd be forced to sit there with my adorable nephews as a constant reminder of what we don't have. 

It's lose-lose situation.  

Cycle 13, CD 5

I sadly realized recently that I haven't lived for the last year. I've been too consumed with my fertility (or lack thereof) to enjoy the things I used to. To enjoy life. To remember to have fun and be spontaneous. To make plans. To grow with my husband. No, everything has been on hold because either I'm waiting for my next doctors appointment, waiting for pregnancy symptoms to show, waiting... for that baby that I want so badly.

Last week, my two best friends (one is halfway through her 1st pregnancy and the other has just started trying to conceive with her partner) both told me that they think I need a break. That I'm too consumed with everything and I'm forgetting to take care of myself. I know they are right. My body probably does need a rest. It's been so pumped up on hormones and stress that it needs a vacation in a bad way. But, even though I know their advice came from a place of love and wisdom- I can't make them understand what this is like. How consuming this process is. How life revolves around mourning the past and being anxious about the future.

Living your life on hold is no way to live. But I'm not sure how to do anything else right now.

I read so many blogs and forums where IF girls are so caught up in God's plan. They have so much faith that He will make it right and take care of them. I'm not very religious and I don't think God has a plan for me. Or if he does, and this is it- maybe that's not a God I want to worship. But I am envious of those that have that faith. Something to believe in besides biology and doctors. Maybe that's my missing element. Or could it be acupuncture? Or an all organic diet?  Searching for answers is all consuming.

I don't know how to stop. I wish I did. I wish I could. But every waking minute, is consumed with questions, sadness, anxiety, anger, and a whole lot of being scared.