The journey began here and here.
It ends here.
This week was the week we were to know if it was a yes or a no. If we would be on the trek to having a child. The answer my body gave me was no.
I've never been one to look forward to my cycle and this time was no different. Except that I dreaded it. I spent the last two weeks pretending that I wasn't spending every moment dreading what I knew would come. Hoping, against hope, that it wouldn't.
Life's a bitch.
When the answer came, I fell apart. I wish I could say that I met it with a stoic bracing of my shoulders, a nod to the whimsy that is the reproductive system, and a knowledge that something else was meant to be. I wish I could say that I didn't curl into the fetal position and sob.
I can't.
Luckily, The Guy was home on a rare extra day off. He took care of me while my world -- the one I had planned in my head -- crumbled around me. He brought me tea, held my hand, did what good men do. He felt helpless because he couldn't fix it. But, who could?
I slept a few hours and then moved to lay motionless on the couch. We watched TV and just waited. A few hours later, I fell apart again, dissolving into a boneless pile on the floor. The Guy picked me up, got me to bed and waited with me while I grieved.
I am grieving. I didn't expect that. I didn't expect the similar pain to a death of a loved one. The pain in my heart where I knew a hole had been bored and could never be filled in the same way again. I am grieving the loss the children I have already named. The children I have waited for since I was a teenager. The ones I have saved things for with the thought that I will share them with my daughter, read them to my son, experience them with my children.
I am grieving the daughter with my mother's eyes. I am grieving the son who copies the behaviours of my husband because he wants to be just like him. I am grieving hours of diaper changes, late nights, fighting over homework, learning to ride a bike, and playing with the dog in the park.
We don't know what the future will bring. Maybe we will be the couple who travels the globe and experiences everything and who cannot say their life is not as full. Maybe we will be the dog hoarders who behave as though the 4 legged creatures are children and act as though that fills the void.
Maybe we will try again when we can afford it and when The Guy doesn't live in terror thinking that I will fall apart again.
Showing posts with label fertility. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fertility. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 09, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
Fertility waiting game
It has been a whirlwind few months since we started the fertility process. More people have been up in my lady business in the last three months than ever before. Sometimes, they've brought people to watch.
That's right. My lady business gets spectators.
There have been doctor appointments, specialist appointments, ultra sounds, shots, counting, waiting, catheters, lights, cameras, and action.
Not quite the action I was hoping for when trying to conceive.
The Guy has been with me every step of the way. He even comes to the doctor's office when the proceedure is going on. I keep telling him I want him to wait in the hallway so I can say I got pregnant when he wasn't in the room, but he stays anyway. So it's just him and me, with my legs up in the air waiting for time to pass.
The first month, I tried to follow the rules -- no caffeine, no Coke, no suishi, no stress. When the time came, my cycle was right on time. I was disappointed, but not heartbroken. We had three tries, after all.
This month, I said to heck with the rules. I still didn't drink Coke, but I had coffee every other day. We got a rush on the proceedure because it looked like my body was ready.
Turns out, it wasn't.
So, Monday we got the call that we had to do it all over again. The second try was a wash, so the third would be ahead of schedule. In we went for another bout of "don't bother being gentle, just shove it in there" with the sadistic nurse practitioner and a quick "Hope all goes well" as we head out the door.
Now we wait. I'm trying to have no expectations while I wait because I don't want to be excited only to be disappointed. When the time comes, if it isn't what we hoped, then we come up with a new plan. We have options. They just cost a ton of money. From $3000 for the simple, to $15000 for the complicated, to $50000 for the adopted.
Thank God kids are free once you birth them, right?
That's right. My lady business gets spectators.
There have been doctor appointments, specialist appointments, ultra sounds, shots, counting, waiting, catheters, lights, cameras, and action.
Not quite the action I was hoping for when trying to conceive.
The Guy has been with me every step of the way. He even comes to the doctor's office when the proceedure is going on. I keep telling him I want him to wait in the hallway so I can say I got pregnant when he wasn't in the room, but he stays anyway. So it's just him and me, with my legs up in the air waiting for time to pass.
The first month, I tried to follow the rules -- no caffeine, no Coke, no suishi, no stress. When the time came, my cycle was right on time. I was disappointed, but not heartbroken. We had three tries, after all.
This month, I said to heck with the rules. I still didn't drink Coke, but I had coffee every other day. We got a rush on the proceedure because it looked like my body was ready.
Turns out, it wasn't.
So, Monday we got the call that we had to do it all over again. The second try was a wash, so the third would be ahead of schedule. In we went for another bout of "don't bother being gentle, just shove it in there" with the sadistic nurse practitioner and a quick "Hope all goes well" as we head out the door.
Now we wait. I'm trying to have no expectations while I wait because I don't want to be excited only to be disappointed. When the time comes, if it isn't what we hoped, then we come up with a new plan. We have options. They just cost a ton of money. From $3000 for the simple, to $15000 for the complicated, to $50000 for the adopted.
Thank God kids are free once you birth them, right?
Monday, September 26, 2011
Shooting up, passing out
I have a feel of needles. Not the sewing kind, but the kind you stick into your arm or other areas of the body. It's not the blood or the pain, as one would expect.
It's the invasion.
I don't like the idea of something like that being forced into my arm against it's will. The initial pressure of the needle into the skin just before it gives way is enough to make me hurl my cookies.
Imagine my unadulterated horror then when the nurse from the fertility clinic announced that I would be giving myself an injection twice during each procedure cycle.
Two shots. Into my stomach or thigh. (Luck me, I got a choice!) Two times a month. For up to three months.
Once she picked me up off the floor, she assured me I would be fine. Okay, maybe I didn't faint, but I did turn a whiter shade of pale and felt my stomach making loops.
I explained that I really wasn't comfortable with giving myself a needle, but that The Guy had offered to shoot me if it came to that, so I might let him do it. However, since he wasn't with me that day, the nurse announced she was going to teach me and I could teach him. I would just give myself a shot of saline while I was with her so I could practice.
Thankfully, my heart remained in my chest and my breakfast in my stomach.
The more the nurse talked about the needles, the drug mixture, the alcohol swabs, the sharps container, etc., the more panicked I became. I breathed deeply and didn't let it show. I was determined to be brave. I heard her voice like Charlie Brown's teacher and hoped some of it would stick when it came time.
Finally, I injected myself with the saline and squealed in terror as I could feel the liquid spread. I ripped the needle out only half emptied and announced I had gotten the hang of it. I packed up all the supplies and high tailed it out of the office.
I managed to make my way to the elevator before the panic overwhelmed me. I took deep breaths and ordered myself to be calm. Instead, I burst into tears and hyperventilated. The elevator opened as I tried to compose myself.
Taking a step into the hallway, I saw a sign pointing to the right hand side doorway. It was directing me to the mental health ward.
After a quick conversation with my sister, I managed to settle and drive home. I kept the fear of the injection in the back of my mind until the time came to do it.
When the doctor's office called and told me the time I would need to shoot myself by, I knew I couldn't do it. I took my needles, swabs, drugs, and sharps container with me to church where a family friend (and peds nurse) took pity on me and gave me the shot.
The fact that some of my clients do this daily is not lost on me. At least, when they do it, they get to have a high afterwards. I have to wait 9 months for mine.
It's the invasion.
I don't like the idea of something like that being forced into my arm against it's will. The initial pressure of the needle into the skin just before it gives way is enough to make me hurl my cookies.
Imagine my unadulterated horror then when the nurse from the fertility clinic announced that I would be giving myself an injection twice during each procedure cycle.
Two shots. Into my stomach or thigh. (Luck me, I got a choice!) Two times a month. For up to three months.
Once she picked me up off the floor, she assured me I would be fine. Okay, maybe I didn't faint, but I did turn a whiter shade of pale and felt my stomach making loops.
I explained that I really wasn't comfortable with giving myself a needle, but that The Guy had offered to shoot me if it came to that, so I might let him do it. However, since he wasn't with me that day, the nurse announced she was going to teach me and I could teach him. I would just give myself a shot of saline while I was with her so I could practice.
Thankfully, my heart remained in my chest and my breakfast in my stomach.
The more the nurse talked about the needles, the drug mixture, the alcohol swabs, the sharps container, etc., the more panicked I became. I breathed deeply and didn't let it show. I was determined to be brave. I heard her voice like Charlie Brown's teacher and hoped some of it would stick when it came time.
Finally, I injected myself with the saline and squealed in terror as I could feel the liquid spread. I ripped the needle out only half emptied and announced I had gotten the hang of it. I packed up all the supplies and high tailed it out of the office.
I managed to make my way to the elevator before the panic overwhelmed me. I took deep breaths and ordered myself to be calm. Instead, I burst into tears and hyperventilated. The elevator opened as I tried to compose myself.
Taking a step into the hallway, I saw a sign pointing to the right hand side doorway. It was directing me to the mental health ward.
After a quick conversation with my sister, I managed to settle and drive home. I kept the fear of the injection in the back of my mind until the time came to do it.
When the doctor's office called and told me the time I would need to shoot myself by, I knew I couldn't do it. I took my needles, swabs, drugs, and sharps container with me to church where a family friend (and peds nurse) took pity on me and gave me the shot.
The fact that some of my clients do this daily is not lost on me. At least, when they do it, they get to have a high afterwards. I have to wait 9 months for mine.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Fertile monkies
I've heard it said that most women spend the early part of their 20s doing everything in their power to prevent pregnancy and their late 20s terrified they will never get pregnant.
Well, here I am in my mid 30s.
People don't often think about the complications of becoming pregnant. A couple decides they want to be pregnant. They stop using birth control and eventually become pregnant.
Unless they don't.
In some ways, we're lucky. We knew right from the beginning we would need medical assistance in procreation. We didn't have to do the weeks, months, and years of trying and failing and trying again. We knew that when we wanted to have children, it would take magic. I mean... science.
Enter the doctor's appointments, the testing, the consults, the bills, the plans.
It's a strange and awkward place to be when creating a life is less about coming together in a physical expression of love (I totally gagged writing that, but did it just for my sisters who will both die in horror) and more about a medical proceedure when both parties don't even need to be in the same room.
Romantic!
As we trudge through this, it is hard not to resent the fertile. Those who can get pregnant at the drop of a hat. For someone with infertility issues, the resentment will rear it's head. Especially, when you are sitting in a hospital waiting room in a backless gown, no underwear, and your running shoes, waiting for someone to tell you if you're broken or just complicated. I admit, at that moment, I resented the heck out of the fertile.
For us, just becoming pregnant is going to be a huge process -- so far involving 2 doctors, 1 nurse practitioner, 1 ultrasound tech, a whole lotta hormones, and a steady hand with a needle. The process is overwhelming and interesting, exciting, and terrifying.
And, if all works well, it will result in a baby.
If it doesn't, The Guy has promised we can get another dog.
Well, here I am in my mid 30s.
People don't often think about the complications of becoming pregnant. A couple decides they want to be pregnant. They stop using birth control and eventually become pregnant.
Unless they don't.
In some ways, we're lucky. We knew right from the beginning we would need medical assistance in procreation. We didn't have to do the weeks, months, and years of trying and failing and trying again. We knew that when we wanted to have children, it would take magic. I mean... science.
Enter the doctor's appointments, the testing, the consults, the bills, the plans.
It's a strange and awkward place to be when creating a life is less about coming together in a physical expression of love (I totally gagged writing that, but did it just for my sisters who will both die in horror) and more about a medical proceedure when both parties don't even need to be in the same room.
Romantic!
As we trudge through this, it is hard not to resent the fertile. Those who can get pregnant at the drop of a hat. For someone with infertility issues, the resentment will rear it's head. Especially, when you are sitting in a hospital waiting room in a backless gown, no underwear, and your running shoes, waiting for someone to tell you if you're broken or just complicated. I admit, at that moment, I resented the heck out of the fertile.
For us, just becoming pregnant is going to be a huge process -- so far involving 2 doctors, 1 nurse practitioner, 1 ultrasound tech, a whole lotta hormones, and a steady hand with a needle. The process is overwhelming and interesting, exciting, and terrifying.
And, if all works well, it will result in a baby.
If it doesn't, The Guy has promised we can get another dog.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Babies, babies, babies: the baby boom of my generation
Everyone and their dogs are having babies right now. I'm sure it's just the age that I'm at, (gruesomely close to 35) but it seems like everyone I know and love are spitting out mini replicas of their combined DNA. In a 2 year span, we counted about 15 babies and there are more to come.
Then there the chosen handful of those of us not spurting forth from our wombs. The BARREN.
Okay, okay. We're not barren. Necessarily. I mean, nothing's confirmed. But the possibilities are endless.
When you're watching all your peers with their precious little bundles of drool and boogers or you're seeing your friends about ready to burst, it's a little disconcerting knowing it's not you.
I am thrilled to spend time with my friends and their babies. I love to steal the little imps from the warmth of their parent's arms so I can kiss and snuggle and zerburt their cheeks. I love to talk about babies, plan about babies, hear stories about babies. However, it all just makes one thing abundantly clear:
I NEED A BABY.
Now, the world will not end if I don't have one. I will still have the love of The Guy and the dog. That's pretty cool. Also, I'm pretty sure if I don't get babies, I will get more dogs! How can this be a bad thing?
Our chances of procreation are along the lines of the "It's Complicated" option on Facebook. It will be an interesting and bizarre journey (a word I hate unless it's talking about the awesome 80s band, but I am lacking for an alternative) which may or may not end up with a rug rat or two.
In the meantime, I will play with other people's babies and secretly judge their parenting skills.
Okay, maybe not so secretly.
Then there the chosen handful of those of us not spurting forth from our wombs. The BARREN.
Okay, okay. We're not barren. Necessarily. I mean, nothing's confirmed. But the possibilities are endless.
When you're watching all your peers with their precious little bundles of drool and boogers or you're seeing your friends about ready to burst, it's a little disconcerting knowing it's not you.
I am thrilled to spend time with my friends and their babies. I love to steal the little imps from the warmth of their parent's arms so I can kiss and snuggle and zerburt their cheeks. I love to talk about babies, plan about babies, hear stories about babies. However, it all just makes one thing abundantly clear:
I NEED A BABY.
Now, the world will not end if I don't have one. I will still have the love of The Guy and the dog. That's pretty cool. Also, I'm pretty sure if I don't get babies, I will get more dogs! How can this be a bad thing?
Our chances of procreation are along the lines of the "It's Complicated" option on Facebook. It will be an interesting and bizarre journey (a word I hate unless it's talking about the awesome 80s band, but I am lacking for an alternative) which may or may not end up with a rug rat or two.
In the meantime, I will play with other people's babies and secretly judge their parenting skills.
Okay, maybe not so secretly.
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