A New Theory?

Clearly I don’t know my body. At all.

I never did start my period. I stopped spotting on Friday, and my general discomfort went away then too. I swear to you, I was so convinced I was starting. My ovaries even hurt, and they always ached when I got my period before (because they too were shedding from the endometriosis). It was just so bizarre, but I don’t even kind of feel like I’m about to start now. It has all passed.

Which brings me to another theory. What if I was ovulating? I was never a woman to spot when I was ovulating before (or to have any real signs at all), but I know it happens to a lot of women. The spotting was so light and only lasted two days; could that have been what was going on?

Because if it was, in theory I should start my period on my own in the next two weeks. Right?

Except that, my doctors want me to go in tomorrow to bring it on medically.

On Friday I mentioned waiting it out to them, to see if it comes on its own. I was pretty effectively shut down. Basically, I was told that it could be months before I start on my own and we might as well just get things going. They said at the very least, I need to call to discuss it further if I still haven't started (and at this point, I have no reason to believe I will start by tomorrow).

I’m not sure how I feel about that though. Theoretically, the hormones wouldn’t even have been out of my body until the 22nd (exactly 3 months after my last shot), so how much sense does it make to jump the gun less than two weeks after that? I know that women don’t typically start on their own after Lupron, but is it completely crazy for me to want to try?

I feel like I’ve been pumped full of hormones already, and I’m about to pump myself up with even more for this IVF round. I just want to be able to do one thing without help. I want to give my body the chance to do that.

And I know that something was up last week. Is it so crazy to think it could have been ovulation?

I’m not sure what’s going to happen tomorrow. I do want to get this show on the road, but I also just want to give my body the chance to do what it’s supposed to do without intervention. I know that nothing can move forward until I get my period, but would it really be the end of the world to give it two more weeks?

Plus, is it completely unreasonable to assume that my all over the place emotions the past few days could actually be PMS?

I have a feeling I’m going to have to fight for that extra two weeks tomorrow, and I’m not sure I’m going to win. I don't even really know what winning means, or why I want it. But I don’t think it’s totally insane to believe that my body could do this one thing.

Is it?

Of course, I’m not sure much is really lost by allowing medicine to intervene here either. I’m already accepting medical help to achieve everything else, so what would this one more thing hurt? It’s just one more round of hormones; miniscule compared to what I’ve already put in my body and nothing next to what I am about to do.

I will say that if I was ovulating, I’m kind of kicking myself for not going out for one last roll-in-the-hay attempt to actually get pregnant on my own. The chances of it working would be practically non-existent, but I kind of hate that I’ve never even tried to get pregnant on my own. It feels weird to jump straight to IVF with no real prior attempts.

Which means that if I was ovulating, it’s probably best that I didn’t realize it at the time.

That’s a mistake I likely didn’t need to make.

Just One of Those Days

I am in a crap mood.

There’s no real explanation for it, I just am. Ever since I woke up this morning I have felt… morose.

Just down.

Not even really sure why.

OK, maybe I kind of know why. But it’s not one thing at all. It’s just a lot of things. All weighing on me. All up in the air. All without any real explanations or solutions beyond waiting and seeing.

And I hate waiting and seeing.

The ex has been home for over a week now, and I have yet to see him. We have spoken, and things seem fine, but I’m still anxiously waiting for that moment when I actually lay my eyes on him for the first time in 6 months. He’s had the kids since he got home so I totally understand why we haven’t gotten together, but that doesn’t change the fact that I still want to see him. They went up to his cabin this weekend, and I think (no, I know) that part of me was hoping he would invite me along. It was silly. He hasn’t wanted us interacting around the kids since we broke up because he hasn’t wanted to get their hopes up, so I don’t know why I expected anything to be different now.

I guess I was just hoping.

And I wanted to see him.

I’ve also been fretting a lot about what I will do if July doesn’t work. I don’t know why I’m allowing myself to worry about this, but I am. It is crushing to imagine. I'm afraid that I won't be able to pull myself back up if I take that blow. My heart hurts when I think about it. It… well it just isn’t fathomable to me right now.

There is something else too though. Something I haven’t talked about at all here because it isn’t really my story to tell, but something that I have to get out at some point because it is weighing on me. Because it is kind of this huge thing that changes the future and almost changes how I'm allowed to feel about the past.

My dad is getting a divorce. It is no secret that my stepmother was vile to me. Abusive even. She tore me down for years before finally kicking me out at 18. She packed up all my belongings when my dad was driving me to college, and when he returned she said I was never welcome in “her” home again. I haven’t been there since.

When my dad chose to stay with her, it killed me. I completely spiraled out at that point and it was admittedly a period of horrible decisions for me. I wasn’t in a good place, and eventually I cut off my relationship with my dad as a result. We went three years without talking at all.

These last few years though, my dad and I have really repaired our relationship and he has become one of my biggest sources of support. I had to recognize that my dad was not a man who believed in divorce and try to understand that he would have stayed with her no matter what - that it had nothing to do with me. He believed in those vows that deeply. He was crushed when my mom left him, and I know he swore to himself he would never go through a divorce again. I had to realize that there is actually honor in that… even though I was never able to understand it. We rebuilt our relationship with her out of the context. He visits me, we talk on the phone, and we rarely (if ever) even touch on the subject of her. The plan for the future was that things would remain much the same. My relationship with my dad would function away from her. She would never be near my children (or me) ever again. It was unconventional, but it was the best solution given the circumstances. It was how my dad and I had chosen to make our relationship work - and it was working.

Well, she has left him. No options, no discussion, no working things out. She has just left. After 15 years. Her excuse is that she feels so much guilt over the things she did to me that she thinks it is best that she just leave now. Ten years after everything actually happened.

And I am livid. And hurt. And sad.

My dad is a good man. Honestly, he is probably one of the best men I know. He has his faults (don’t we all?) but he is honorable and good and warm. He deserves better than this. He deserves better than what my mother did to him (using him as a beard for years of marriage and two kids until she was finally capable of coming out of the closet as a lesbian), and he deserves better than this.

I wanted the demise of this relationship for years. I used to wish for it; beg for it; pray for it. And now I feel guilty for ever wanting something that has hurt him so much. And I hate that she used me as her reason. I hate that she gets to lay this one last thing out on me.

I know my dad doesn't see it that way. That no one who really knows the situation sees it that way. But to me; I'm just really hurt by it. Especially since, for someone with so much guilt she certainly hasn't expressed an ounce of remorse to me... ever.

I don’t actually think that is really the reason at all, but I think I make a nice scape goat for her. I’m just frustrated over the whole thing. I want my dad to be happy. To have better.

To never have married this person in the first place.

It’s just a long list of things that I have absolutely no control over, so why am I allowing them to weigh on me? Why can’t I step back and give it all to God? Fully and completely? Trust in His plan and His timeline? Trust that if the ex and I are meant to be together, we will be. Trust that the plan ahead does involve me being a mother; somehow and some way. Trust that my dad is a grown man who will find his way, and that none of this is my fault. Why can't I just trust in God right now?

Well, it’s probably because I’m in a crap mood.

Or maybe I’m in a crap mood, because I’m not trusting enough.

On My Own

I have a dirty little secret to admit.

I might have been addicted to the show Alias for the last few months.

You see, I like to watch old series on Netflix. Ones that people seemed to like, but that I just never got into for one reason or another. I like it, because you can choose a series that is already over and watch it start to finish without any of the annoying summer or winter breaks. I don't handle the suspense of waiting well, so it works for me!

But Alias really drew me in for some reason. I’m not sure why, but I think part of it is that I secretly wish I was as cool as Sydney Bristow. That chick managed to get herself out of all kinds of crazy circumstances. Let’s be real: she was pretty bad ass.

I am a lot of things, but bad ass isn’t so much one of them. The other night (for reasons I can’t explain), I was walking through my living room and I tried to pull off a jump-in-the-air spy kick.

I landed on my butt.

Hard.

Bad ass I am not. And I could clearly never be a spy. Spies have to be able to fight people without falling. Some days I can’t even walk without falling.

So, as silly as it was (and really, any series that has so many people die and mysteriously come back to life is silly), I got sucked in to Alias. This last few weeks I have been watching the final season, and Sydney is pregnant (hopefully I don’t need to give a spoiler alert seeing as the series has been over for a few years now, but if I do: Spoiler Alert!) Vaughn (her hottie spy boyfriend) is presumed dead (she saw him get shot and code with her own two eyes) and she is now moving forward into motherhood, by herself.

Yes, it took until the final season before I finally related (somewhat) to Sydney. She actually stopped being a superhero in my mind and became a real person.

Still cooler than I could ever be, but at least about to walk a path similar to my own.

In one episode in particular, she was talking to her sister (her spy sister, who she didn’t even know she had until like season 3) about how weird it was to be entering this next phase of life on her own. She was discussing how she always pictured motherhood would be, and it was never without a husband by her side.

Granted, she still continued to be bad ass. The woman was fighting bad guy’s right up into her 8th month. I’ll be lucky if I’m still managing to go to the grocery store in my 8th month! Heck, even after she had the baby she had these two crazy cool spy nannies who came over when she had to go on missions. They could change a diaper, make a bottle, and kill you with two fingers.

Let’s just say that Sydney Bristow had one or two up on me.

But she still got me thinking. This isn’t how I ever pictured it either. I certainly never thought I would be pursuing motherhood on my own. I can absolutely recognize that having a partner in this would make things easier; more ideal.

I want that husband. That partner. That father to my children.

That’s life though, and life doesn’t always work out how you pictured it would. Sometimes you have to be a little bad ass. Sometimes you have to find another way to work things out. To get what you want; what you need.

I know I am not in this completely on my own, and that in time that partner will appear. It was just weird to have something in common with Sydney Bristow. To be watching and think “Hey! I totally hear her on that!”

Of course, a few episodes later Vaughn reappeared (not really dead at all, just hiding away with some monks thousands of miles away) and the two of them went on to save the world and then raise their daughter (and later a son) together happily ever after.

So, you know, they kind of burst my bubble there.

Not Real Yet

I was looking at the calendar today when I realized that it was almost June.

Almost June. Which means that in a little over a month, I will be trying to get pregnant.

Does that strike anyone else as totally bizarre? In just a few weeks I will start hormone injections. Then I will be flying to Seattle, having my eggs taken out of me, fertilized with donor sperm, and put back into me.

Sometime in the next two months I will be peeing on a stick to find out if I am going to be a mommy.

WHOA!

When did this happen?

It is just so weird to really think about. I know I have obviously been working towards this, but it’s almost like I’ve just been going through the motions. Doing what needs to be done. Following the checklist in my head to completion, while completely forgetting what the final steps should look like.

When will this become real to me?

I would have thought that it would start feeling more real after buying the sperm. (The sperm that has officially now cost me almost $1000. That’s right, I thought it was done with the $640 vial and $170 shipping, but then yesterday I got a bill from the clinic for $150 for “handling” it. Apparently it cost money just to touch my sperm.) After all the excitement faded though, that was just one more thing to check off my list. It didn’t really make it any more real at all.

I guess maybe I assumed the reality would have at least started to seep in after my first IVF appointment, but that didn’t really happen either. I mean, sure, the financial reality set in, but not really the “I’m working my butt off to be a mommy in the very near future” reality.

Sure, I say the words. I say them almost every day. “I am doing IVF in July.” “I am going to be a mommy soon.” “All I want is a baby in my belly in the next few months.” I say them. They roll off my tongue. They have practically become my very own little mantras.

But when I stop and think about what they really mean?

WHOA.

Logically, I know exactly what is going on. Emotionally though? I have to remind myself regularly of the events of the last year. It’s like they fade. Like I forget I’m not living the same life anymore. I have to consciously remind myself about the endometriosis, and the surgeries, and the prognosis. I have to remind myself that I will never conceive naturally, and that IVF is in my very near future.

I have to have these conversations with myself daily. As if I was some head trauma patient with short term memory loss.

Someone please tell me it’s normal to feel this way. To know what you want and what you need to do to get it, but to still catch yourself off guard when you really think about what’s about to happen.

When does it become real? When will this feel like a totally normal thing that I’m doing, instead of this bizarre alternate reality universe?

Will it be when I start the hormone injections? Or when I fly to Seattle? Will it start when I go in for my first procedure? Or as I’m leaving the second?

Or will none of this start to feel real until I am actually peeing on a stick? Until I am facing the grief of it not working, or the elation of the life growing inside of me.

When will what I’m doing (fully and completely) sink in?

Because it’s not real yet.

I Googled Live Birth Videos

A few weeks ago I was reading a blog detailing a baby/birth story. In the series of posts the blogger  mentioned that she had made the mistake of googling live birth a few weeks before she went into labor.

She was trying to make the point that doing so was a bad idea. I however, missed the point.

You see, I have never witnessed a birth. Not really anyway. I have seen dramatized television and movies replicate the act and I've seen TLC versions where the baby comes out all wet and slimy, but you still don't see any action.

That's it.

I have never been in the room when a friend’s child has been born, nor have I ever seen any close up video of what is actually going on.

I've never even seen hamsters born.

And growing up, our hamsters had a lot of babies!

I guess I just never happened to be around for the big event, and so my experience with childbirth is limited.

As in; nonexistent.

Reading about this blogger googling live birth, I immediately thought "Why have I never done that?!?" I could barely finish reading her post before my new idea was driving me to get to Google as fast as I could.

Five minutes later, I wanted to die.

Why would anyone do that to themselves?!? It was awful. It was horrific. It was violent.

The human vagina should simply not stretch like that. It's unnatural!

Not to mention, I have never seen a sexual organ so desexualized in all my life.

For a brief moment, sheer panic set in. I'm pretty sure that no matter what, my cootchie could not do what those cootchies were doing.

And even if it could, I'm not sure I would want it to. Can it even work after that? How is it that you aren't tripping over your own vagina after it stretches out that bad? I mean, how can it possibly bounce back from that kind of trauma?

One video turned into two, which turned into three. Well... you know how this worked out.

I've been watching live birth videos almost every day for the last 3 weeks.

That's not healthy, is it?

I am officially addicted to studying what the vagina can do. I kind of dig how after all that trauma, mama gets to hold her baby and all is well. Even for me, those last few minutes of the videos completely erase the horror that precedes.

Until I watch the next one.

I want this. I have no idea why. I can't explain why anyone would choose to do this to themselves. I'm not sure that anyone should look at a live birth video and think "I can't wait!" It's masochistic. It's asinine.

It's just plain stupid.

But I can't wait.

Call me crazy, but I think I could handle it. I've even convinced myself I could be one of the rare few who wouldn't need an episiotomy and wouldn't tear at all. Live birth videos have become like my pep talk. I find myself thinking "I'll be just like her!" or "I could totally out-birth that lady any day."

This fascination has become that sick.

I googled live birth videos.

And I liked it.

Needles and Miracles

I spent the day on Period Watch: 2010.

It was pretty intense. Every time I went to the bathroom, I left slightly defeated to realize that I was still only spotting. And I was barely doing that.

Forget the fact that I wasn’t having any cramps so I should have known better before I even got there.

I was still holding out hope.

When I got to Teeny this afternoon, she practically glowed when I told her I was spotting though. She asked me to tell her if I've had any period symptoms in the last few days.

Well… I have been starving. Like disturbingly so.

I am not proud to admit that I ate 4 slices of pizza at a work event yesterday. For lunch.

The other night, it’s possible I popped in a yoga DVD only to sit back and watch it as I devoured a gigantic piece of fudge.

And last night I may have had ice cream for dinner. Skinny cow ice cream, but still ice cream.

I swear I do not usually crave sweets the way I have been.

But being that I haven’t had a period in quite some time, I wasn’t really putting two and two together on any of that. I just thought I was on a one-track mission to get fat.

And I couldn’t even be mad at myself, because on top of all that; I’ve been exhausted.

Yes. Teeny was radiating at all this news. She is convinced Aunt Flo is trying to break through. When I told her I cramped for about 24 hours after our last session, she said that had been the entire point. Then she said “let’s do it again.”

So here I sit; cramping mildly and wondering if Teeny has the power to ignite my period.

Scratch that. I’m not wondering for a second. I believe deep down inside of me that if anyone can get this bad boy started up without another onslaught of hormones, Teeny can.

That is right. I am a full fledged believer in acupuncture, and in Teeny. I have been completely sold on this process after seeing everything she has been able to do for me.

I'm sorry, but how weird is it that a few properly placed needles can even get me cramping in the first place? That is pretty crazy when you think about it! If she can do that, why couldn't she get my period going naturally?

Let’s not forget that I had horribly off track periods even before the Lupron. I went 3 months without bleeding at one point; all on my own. Dr. RE told me that when women come off Lupron there is no telling when their bodies may get back to bleeding on their own again, which is why they wanted to induce my period sooner than later. Why wait? It’s not going to start on its own anyways.

Or will it?

If my period does start on its own before next Tuesday, I really and truly believe it will be nothing short of a miracle. A miracle of needles.

And I will have Teeny to thank.

When we were in the middle of our session today, she said "Wouldn't it be great if you got your period and it was just normal? No bad cramps at all?"

I didn't tell her this, but if that happens I may try to figure out how to get Teeny to marry me. I think we could figure out a way to make it work.

As I sit here (cramping, spotting, and trying to convince myself to make something healthy for dinner) I am remembering that there are a few male readers out there (my dad being one of them) and I’m realizing that I have now officially written about my period 3 times in the matter of just a few days.

A period that has yet to even begin.

Poor boys. How unfortunate for you to have to follow along with Period Watch: 2010! To you I have to say only this:

Suck it up! Let’s not forget why we’re here boys. If you think period talk is rough to read, just wait until we get to the mucus plug portion of this journey.

Keep your eye on the prize! This is what we’re here for!

So I want every last one of you testosterone filled men hoping for my period as if I was your high school girlfriend who you just lost your V-card to. (NOT you Dad... That's just gross.)

You got that?

Good. Now let the games begin!

We Have a Bleeder

Kind of.

Sort of.

Maybe.

I’m spotting, but there is no real flow and not much in the way of cramps either, which is the part that has me skeptical that anything real is about to happen.

But my body is trying. It is trying really hard. It wants to do this on its own.

Good body!

I’m going to give it a few hours and then call the doctor’s office and see if this counts. Doubtful, but she did say I had a barely there lining last week (3mm - not uncommon when coming off 6 months of Lupron), so maybe? I’ve got an appointment with Teeny today too, so maybe she can pump up the volume here.

I’m throwing some painkillers in my purse.

Just in case.

Hedging My Bets

I broke down and called the birthing center today.

I have been wondering/worrying/fussing about the conversation I had with Teeny a few months back. I kept telling myself that it was silly to call and ask when I’m not even pregnant. That it was kind of a moot point until I actually saw those two lines.

But suddenly today, I just had to know.

I was stumbling over my words when I called. There is something embarrassing about asking if you will be allowed to labor someplace when technically you aren’t even carrying a child.

That’s kind of putting the cart before the horse, right?

But eventually I spit out my words “I have stage IV endometriosis. Would I still be able to labor at your birthing center?”

After all that buildup, the woman on the other end of the line couldn’t answer me. She was incredibly sweet and upbeat, but she said she would have to consult with a doctor and call me back.

We spoke for a few more minutes though, and she answered a couple other questions for me. When I would need to start treatment with them; what the process involved; how the midwives worked. Through the course of the conversation I mentioned that I would be doing IVF and she asked how many embryos I would be implanting.

I explained that I still hadn’t really decided, but that I was considering doing two. I asked if they saw women carrying multiples.

And the resounding answer was “no”. She said for repeat patients it was sometimes allowed, but never with first time mothers. She explained that if I were to have twins or triplets (wait a minute… when did anyone say anything about triplets?!?) that it would have to be a hospital birth. She also said that she believes there is only one doctor in the state of Alaska who even allows a mother to attempt a vaginal birth with twins.

One.

In this entire state.

So those are things to know. Clearly I need to be informed, and I would rather have that information now than months from now.

It still made me sad though. I have this picture in my head of how having a baby is supposed to go. So far that picture has already been pretty completely destroyed except for this one pristine corner that has been left untouched. Most of how I dreamed making a baby would be has been taken away. I can’t do it on my own; I need incredible intervention just to get pregnant in the first place. But that one area, where I get the natural birth in the tub surrounded by friends and with a midwife by my side, has remained as I dreamed it. Now picturing myself in a hospital with a scheduled c-section? I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.

I would just really like to do this on my own. This one thing I would like to do without Western medicine having to step in.

Of course, if there are two healthy babies at the end of the day; will it even really matter how I got there? Of course not. But would I prefer to do it my way? Of course.

She did reassure me that the chances of actually having twins aren’t that much greater than having a single baby. So even with a double yolk it’s possible (even probable) that I would only have one and the birthing center would still be an option.

That is of course if endo didn’t prevent me from birthing there.

After about 10 minutes of talking (she seriously was just incredibly sweet in answering all of the questions from a woman still a ways away from labor… or even pregnancy) I thanked her for her help. She promised to call me back as soon as she had a more definitive answer about whether or not my endometriosis could be deemed a risk factor preventing me from an out of hospital labor.

The promise was that I would be getting a call tomorrow, but 15 minutes later; my phone was ringing.

I answered hesitantly; preparing myself for the final ax on this last part of the dream.

But it didn’t come. She was calling with good news. She was calling to tell me that my endometriosis would not be a deterrent at all to my birthing there. That I should call them as soon as I find out I’m pregnant, and we can get me in as a new patient right away.

My dream of laboring in that beautiful birthing center rather than in a cold and sterile hospital is not gone. It is still there; the last piece of the picture that is still hanging on.

Endometriosis does not get to take this. I can still have my natural birth.

That is, of course, assuming I don’t end up with twins.

And I'd better not end up with triplets!

Wounded

I’ve been trying to remember the anger I felt over my past even just a few months ago.

The hurt. The betrayal. The abandonment.

The general sense of being let down.

Something has changed though. Something has shifted. My anger has subsided, and all I feel lately regarding my past is sadness.

Sadness over the things that little girl had to endure, and sadness for the people who simply could not be enough to care for her.

But the anger is gone.

And I don’t even really remember when that happened.

The hurt that was there started young and only increased with age. Themes of abandonment and emotional warfare no child should have to survive played throughout. Adults who were hurting, and who in turn inflicting their pain upon children; upon a child; upon me. A feeling that no one was listening; the no one believed; that no one heard the cries.

So instead, I held them in. I harbored them. I allowed myself to feel like less than. As though I would always be unwanted and unloved. Believing that no one would ever rescue me.

There is a chapter in Captivating titled Wounded that brought most of this back to the surface for me in the last few weeks. Had I read this book even 6 months ago this chapter would have torn me apart. I would have seen myself in every page. I would have read my own wounds in those of every woman described.

But reading it last week made me acknowledge that I no longer feel that way. That I am no longer wearing my scars on my sleeves as proof of where I have been.

That anger over my past used to be palpable. I couldn’t even talk about it without the rage seeping through. The tears would well up even after years had passed. The anger ruled.

But the anger I directed towards myself was almost worse.

For a long time I really did blame myself. I was always trying to present a version of me that was strong and capable and accomplished because I believed that I needed to be more in order to have people love me. I believed I needed to prove myself. I worked harder than most anyone I knew and I excelled at everything I did; either that or I quit before it became evident that I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t willing to not be good at something. I had to be capable. I had to be more. I had to earn love; because I certainly didn’t deserve it on my own.

“Many women feel that, by the way. We can’t put words to it, but down deep we fear there is something terribly wrong with us. If we were the princess, then our prince would have come. If we were the daughter of a king, he would have fought for us. We can’t help but believe that if we were different, if we were better, then we would have been loved as we so longed to be. It must be us." ~ Captivating - Page 69

Is that true? Do all women feel this on some level? Do we all spend at least some moments in our life wondering if we simply aren’t enough? If we have nowhere to go but down in the eyes of those who love us?

I care a great deal about what people think of me. I probably shouldn’t, but I do. I am a people pleaser. A peacemaker. A woman who is desperate for something to soothe those wounds; desperate to prove that I am better than I was.

But I also have to fight that voice in my head that tells me I am not enough. When I feel someone has put me on a pedestal, I fear the inevitable moment when I will fall. I fight so hard to be seen as something in people’s eyes (good, kind, loving, warm, intelligent… the list goes on), but the minute I am there I feel as though I should warn them of all my faults. As though I should let them in on all my dirty little secrets so that they don’t think too highly of me.

Because if they think too highly of me, surely I will let them down.

This is something I am still working on. And I wonder often how I can help any daughters of mine avoid the same traps. How I can help them to realize how worthy they are without making any changes at all.

How I can help them to survive in ways that I couldn't.

As a parent to daughters, how do you teach them to love themselves first? How do you raise them to know how special they are? How wonderful, and deserving, and whole they are.

How do you save them from the pitfalls of life?

Because wounded hearts are everywhere. Even if they manage to leave your home un-afflicted, there is still plenty of heartbreak to be found.

So how do you protect them?

I’m still working on my ability to see the worthiness in myself. I know I am still battling the scars left over from my wounds. I know it will likely be something that will take a long time to truly navigate through.

But I also know that the anger that was so recently tangible is no longer present. It is no longer permeating my every thought and move. It has ceased to have the power over me it once did.

The anger has been replaced with sadness. And not just for me, but also for the people who couldn’t be what I needed them to be.

And there is something to be said for that.

Something to be said for the fact that maybe someone actually did rescue me.

Maybe someone has healed my heart when I wasn’t even paying attention.

Maybe He swooped in and saved the day; easing that burden for me.

All because I asked him to.

We are all wounded.

But if we let Him, God can heal our hearts.

And all we have to do is ask.

I Just Want To Bleed

This is so backwards.

So wrong.

So completely and totally too much information.

But I have woken up every day for the last 4 days irritated that I wasn’t cramping.

Angry that my period wasn’t here.

Frustrated that I wasn’t in pain.

And really, what kind of a person wishes for pain?

I just want to start my period. I want it to start on its own. I want this to be one thing my body can do without assistance. Without drugs. Without intervention.

And I want it to start, so that we can get this show on the road. I feel like I am at an IVF standstill until I bleed.

About two hours after my last acu appointment I started to cramp. Nothing bad or crazy, but enough that I was convinced I would be starting soon. I was convinced that Teeny had managed to work my period out of me.

After about 24 hours though, the cramps went away. They stopped. Just like that. No period. No blood. Nothing.

It’s been almost a year since I’ve had a period. That last one was so horrific it landed me in the ER begging for drugs above and beyond the Percocet’s I had been popping like candy. Nothing brought me relief. I was miserable. In pain. In tears. Unable to eat or sleep. Just hurting.

Even two weeks ago I was terrified of a repeat of that performance. I was anxious about what this period would bring, and combative about why I even needed to go there at all.

Now though? I just want to get it over with. I just want it to start already so that I can get my IVF dates and calendar and move forward.

I just want to bleed.

I’m wondering if that is how most pregnant women feel? Going through an entire pregnancy dreading the labor. Worrying and fearing for 9 straight months. And then all of a sudden something shifts and they are ready. They welcome it. They practically beg for it.

Because that shift has happened for me and I am ready. I just want it to start already. I want to stop waking up disappointed that it hasn’t.

I have 8 more days for it to start on its own. Technically, yesterday was 3 full months since my last Lupron shot. Technically that drug should be all out of my body and I should be free to bleed now.

But if I don’t start in 8 days, this will be just one more thing I’ll need help doing. One more thing that will require intervention to make my body do what it is supposed to.

8 days.

I just want to bleed.

Starting Over

Moving to Alaska is probably one of the coolest things I have done in the last few years.

I was living in San Diego and pretty much loving my life. I had amazing roommates, a good job, and I lived just a few blocks from the beach.

It was a good life.

But I was also living in the middle of a party town and it was starting to get old… fast. If you are ever looking for a good time, Pacific Beach California is the place to be. Garnet Avenue is packed with bars and there is something going on every night of the week. Between my job working at one of the busiest of those bars, and my life outside of work; I spent almost every night in a drinking establishment.

That was the norm there. My friends and roommates were all the exact same way. It was rare for us to spend nights in and we were all always pretty much up for a good time.

Plus, dating in San Diego was a blast because you were always meeting new people. A lack of guys to hang out with was a pretty odd occurrence.

But around the point I turned 25, I started to realize that this was not what I wanted from my life. I started to really think about settling down. About having a real relationship and eventually having kids.

And neither of those things seemed like they were going to happen in San Diego. Have you ever heard the theory that you should surround yourself with people who have the things you want? Well, I tend to believe in that theory to an extent, and none of my friends in San Diego had what I wanted. None of them even wanted what I wanted. Most of them were pretty content to keep living young and free for as long as possible.

I was working in a bar and I knew I would never be able to leave the money I was making there either. It was too easy, but that lifestyle wasn’t what I wanted anymore. The sad thing was that I knew that I would never get a “real job” in San Diego that would pay what my bar job did, so how would I ever leave it as long as the promise of that kind of money and flexibility was there?

I knew I needed a change. My best friend from college was from Alaska, and I had started visiting her in Anchorage when her son was born. I loved the town. She and I had actually moved to San Diego together, and when she left after less than a year because she was missing home; I thought she was nuts. It was funny though, because as soon as I started to visit I discovered how much I loved it. I had never seen such beautiful scenery. Sure, I loved my beach; but this was different. On top of that, I really fell in love with her son; with this settled down life she was living. I wanted to be here to watch him grow up and I was ready for my life to change too.

So I made the decision to move.

Most of my San Diego friends thought I had lost my mind. We really did have a good life there. The sun was always out and we had managed to snag condos all right next door to each other. It was rare that any of us ever fought or argued (in fact, it almost never happened). We were like a bunch of sorority sister’s just loving life and supporting each other. I’m not sure there will ever be a point in my life again where I will be surrounded so closely by such a large group of amazing women.

But I knew it couldn’t last forever. I knew that we would all eventually grow up and move on. I knew there would be husbands and children and that we wouldn’t always be our little tight-knit group spending every night together.

It just so happened that I was the first one who found herself ready for more.

I sold everything I owned. At one point I had been able to furnish an entire apartment, but I got rid of it all (including my bed) on Craigslist. I knew that shipping would be ridiculous, and I reasoned that I would buy whatever I needed once I got to Alaska. It was actually kind of freeing. By the time I left, all of my belongings fit into one (very large) duffle bag. There was something about that that just felt right. I loved the idea of completely starting over.

Of course, I hadn't considered the fact that everything in Alaska costs more... Were I ever to make that move again, I would definitely have shipped all my belongings! Buying new up here almost killed me.

Against my father’s pleas, I further made the decision that I wanted to drive. It was actually going to be a little more expensive to do so (this was when gas prices were at their highest), but I just knew it would be an incredible adventure. A good friend of mine signed on to do the trip with me, and we started planning. We were going to take our time and see everything. It was going to be life changing.

Unfortunately, about a week before I was originally supposed to leave; my best friend’s mom got very ill. She wasn’t expected to survive, and my heart was aching for my friend. I just wanted to be there for her; no matter what happened.

My traveling partner wasn’t able to get the time off work early, and I knew I had to go. So I set off on my own a week early, with the plans of getting there as quickly as humanly possible.

My poor father about had a heart attack.

That first day I drove for 34 hours straight. I made it all the way from San Diego to Canada in one shot.

I was living off of those 5 hour energy drinks. Sucking them down every two hours or so.

I also didn’t stop for food once. Instead, I had picked up green apples, fiber one bars, trail mix, and a case of water before leaving.

You can imagine how good I was feeling after just 2 days.

But I powered through. I tried to stop in Calgary to sleep, but all the hotels I stopped at were booked. I drove another 50 miles and got my first hotel in a smaller town. I slept about 10 hours, and then I took off again.

Throughout the drive, Montana was probably my favorite spot. It was beautiful. Rolling hills, water, and everything green. I could definitely see myself living there one day.

Canada meanwhile didn’t impress me much until I started to get further up north. Once I started driving again, I did another 32 hour stretch until I wound up in White horse.

The Alcan was an interesting drive. It was beautiful, but also a little sketchy. My last two days of traveling I had zero cell phone reception. That actually really scared me. I was exhausted (and possibly delirious), in a foreign country (kind of), and I wasn’t able to communicate with anyone. I would drive for hours without seeing a single other person.

I realized at one point that something could happen to me, and no one who loved me would ever find me.

I could end up in my very own version of The Hills Have Eyes, and that would be it.

Suddenly my plan to drive alone seemed idiotic. As the exhaustion crept up on me I started to think I should stop to sleep, but for over 900 miles all I ever saw were these extremely small towns. I attempted to stop one night, but the only motel I found had a sign at the front that said “Go into a room and close the door. Pay in the morning.” There were no locks on the doors.

That wasn’t about to happen.

So I powered through and just kept driving.

Luckily it was just before Summer Solstice, so the higher up I got the more sunlight I had. That last “night” of driving the sun really only went down for about 3 hours.

And the things I saw were unbelievable. Bison hanging out on the side of the road.

Bear roadblocks.

Scenery that would take your breath away.

It wasn’t all beautiful.

But it was definitely an adventure.

When I came into Canada they barely looked at my driver’s license and didn’t ask for my passport. The Alaskan border was another story though.

They asked if I was carrying a weapon, and when I told them "no" they asked me to get out of the car. They didn’t believe me. They didn’t believe that a young woman would drive the Alcan by herself without a gun. They thought I was lying.

So there I was: a blond girl in San Diego State University sweats, driving a Honda CRV with California plates, a valid passport and a California ID being held at the U.S. border in Alaska.

It would have been comical if I hadn’t been so tired.

Eventually they let me pass though, and then it was only about 10 more hours of driving until I was finally “home”. Seeing the girl who had been my best friend for years and her little boy waving at the window let me know that everything had just changed; that I was about to start the next chapter of my life.

I made the entire trip in 4 days. I was exhausted and delirious and passed out almost as soon as I walked into the house. It took me almost a week before I felt “normal” again. I assumed that was how long it took for the hundred energy shots I drank to work their way out of my system!

We went out one of my first nights in town to celebrate my arrival, and at the bar I took this picture:

It made me laugh, because it signified everything I thought I had left behind.

I started over though. I got a great 9-5 job and bought a home. I dated and fell in love with a man. I explored Alaska and I made new friends.

I was also diagnosed with endometriosis and told it was time to consider my options when it came to having children.

It’s funny how life works out, because in San Diego I had no health insurance. I was living a pretty chaotic lifestyle and loved my roommates and my college ways. I’m not sure I would have even been able to seek help had my issues started there; I know I couldn't have afforded treating my endo without coverage. I also know I never would have been in a position to make the decisions I’m making now. My life was just so different.

(community discussion: What is the biggest move you've ever made?)

I believe that everything happens for a reason. I believe that my change of heart and desire for something new were all necessary to get me to the point I needed to be today.

I believe that God was getting me prepared for what was about to come.

I believe that everything fell into place, so that I could face this now.

I Don’t Speak Infertile

The world of infertility has its own language.

A language I have yet to become fluent in.

I should fess up to the fact that I have always done poorly with foreign languages. I was an excellent student who consistently pulled good grades in high school and college, but foreign language was where I always faltered. I could set the curve in O-Chem. and be at the head of my class in Creative Writing, but I could not for the life of me master other languages.

My high school Spanish teacher was a bit of a perve, and I’m pretty convinced that was the only reason I passed those two semesters. In College I took sign language (thinking that because it was visual, it would be easier to pick up – wrong) and my only saving grace there was that my professor was a fan of my facial expressions. She said (or signed) that I had it all in my face; I just had to learn how to get it into my hands.

I’m still not sure how I passed those three semesters. If I tried to sign today, I could muster up nothing more than a few signs to use with your toddler.

That would be it.

Unfortunately, the language of infertility is equally failing at permeating into my brain. I have a printout of terms that I keep by my bed so that when I am blog reading I can at least attempt to understand my infertility sisters.

And I still have to look at it at least once a night.

Let me give you an example of how a paragraph could theoretically look written by someone fluent in infertile:

I woke up in the morning to discover that my CM was EW. I took an OPK with my FMU and it did in fact confirm I was in O. I grabbed my DP and started the BD for the rest of the day. After the 2WW though, the HPT showed a BFN. AF appeared a few days later. Since we had been trying for 12 months to no avail, we officially fell into the diagnosis of IF and went in for testing. My doctor initially thought I could have PCOS, but that turned out not to be the case. Instead, DP’s S/A came back bad. We struggled with what to do at first, but eventually decided to pursue DI through IUI. After one CY and another 2WW, the HPT finally showed a BFP, and now I am PG!

You don’t have any idea what I just said, do you?

Good. Because neither do I.

Of course no one ever reverts to the infertile language that completely (that's a lie - I have totally seen profiles on fertility boards that look just like that), but it gives you an idea of what is out there.

And a small sampling of how much looking up I do on a day to day basis.

To some extent I do understand how easily you could become fluent. When I told someone recently about my plans to pursue IVF, they stopped me and asked what IVF was. I was floored. To me this is common knowledge. In my world, IVF is the easiest acronym there is.

But that is because I am living it. Those who have never been exposed to the land of infertility don’t have the same knowledge base that I do.

I’m more fluent than I thought!

I highly doubt I’ll revert to speaking in acronyms any time soon (at least not on a regular basis), but if I ever throw one out there that you guys don’t know please don’t hesitate to ask me what it means.

Because really? I might take some sort of sick pleasure out of knowing I typed a term with ease that is not readily known to all.

It might mean my brain isn’t as shut down to foreign languages as I once thought.

FTTA (fertile thoughts to all).

Change of Plans

I am not typically a girl who makes decisions based on fear. In the heat of the moment I can be an emotional train wreck, but once the waves settle I am usually logical; methodical. My planning is well thought out and executed.

I make decisions I can live with.

Seattle Reproductive Medicine offers insurance plans against failure. They are multi-cycle plans where you pay more, but you walk away with guarantees. The first costs approximately what two and a half single cycles would cost, and with it you are guaranteed 3 fresh cycles and 3 frozen cycles until you take home a baby. If after all 6 cycles you still haven’t conceived, you get a partial refund of your money. The second plan costs about $7000 more than a single cycle would cost, and with it you are guaranteed 2 fresh cycles and 2 frozen cycles until you take home a baby. There are no refunds with that plan.

A single cycle costs a little over $11,000, but that is not including drugs, sperm, or any of the testing and monitoring that I have to have here.

Months ago I had decided I was going to go with the second plan. The idea of putting all of my hope into one cycle just scared me far too much. Plus, I liked the concept of this. The thought process is that everyone pays more, but that extra money from women who do get pregnant on the first try can then go towards additional cycles for women who don’t. I like that. It just seems right in a way.

Women helping each other to achieve a shared dream.

And really, I doubt I would ever complain about the extra money spent if I took a little bundle of love home on the first try.

I didn’t opt for the refund plan, mostly because I felt like if I went through 6 cycles without succeeding; a refund would be the last thing I would be concerned about.

My decision on this has been made for months. I was literally just waiting for approval (in order to qualify you have to meet a few basic fertility criteria), which can’t come until my day 3 FSH levels are taken once I get my period (my period that has still yet to appear).

That decision all changed after my appointment on Monday though.

I have a confession to make. A confession I am in no way proud of. I have been overextending myself paying these medical bills. When this first started, I was under the impression I could finance the entire thing under one umbrella, and then just make one reasonable payment a month. When that turned out not to be the case, I started paying my medical bills on my credit card (which before last year, I had always paid off every single month. My surgeries put an end to that though.) When I maxed out my credit card, I started paying for everything on my line of credit through my bank.

I was ending up with debt in multiple pockets instead of the one manageable bill I had been hoping for.

You have to understand, I have never in my life been so financially irresponsible. And really, I haven’t spent a dime on anything personal or unnecessary in months. It has all gone to this endeavor.

All of it.

But those dollar signs were starting to add up and give me anxiety. This month alone I have spent over $2000 on this process. When you set out to do IVF you are given one lump sum amount, but there is really so much more to it then that; especially if you are coordinating with a clinic out of state. When I did the math after that appointment and figured out how much I was still going to need to come up with on my own, I realized that I was going to have to max out my line of credit in order to complete this cycle.

Which would mean that I wouldn’t have any safety net funds.

Anywhere.

I panicked. And I called my grandmother.

My grandma has been offering to help me with this since the beginning. I think she has almost been hurt that I haven’t accepted her assistance. I just really felt strongly that I needed to be able to do this myself.

That if I couldn’t pay for my own baby, I didn’t deserve a baby.

But I realized this week that my pride was hurting me. That I needed my grandmother. That I needed some help.

If I haven’t said it before, my grandmother (my dad’s mom) is the only mom I’ve ever known as far as I am concerned. She is the only female figure who remained a consistent and present source of love and encouragement throughout my childhood. She has always been there for me. She has never judged me. She has stood by me through everything.

She is and always has been my biggest source of support.

I have borrowed money from her in the past (she actually funded my trip to Australia years ago), but I have always paid it back fairly quickly and with interest. My concern with borrowing from her now is that I know I will not be able to pay her back nearly as fast as I have in the past. I know it is going to take me much longer to pay off this debt because if it works, so many other expenses will follow.

And in realizing that, I also realized that I simply cannot continue to hemorrhage money as long as it is no longer just my money on the line.

Let’s say this cycle doesn’t work and I had the multi plan option. I could go into a second cycle, but I would still have to pay for all the extras I am paying for now. Only the cycle itself would be covered; all the rest would still be on me. Between flights, hotel, drugs, and monitoring appointments here; I would be looking at needing to come up with an additional $5000+.

How many times can I continue to do that to myself? How many times can I continue to add to the debt?

I hadn’t expected to change my mind on this at all (I really liked the idea of that safety net), but borrowing from my grandmother changed everything.

I will only be doing one cycle.

I am still going to be financing $7500 to fund this round, and I’ll use the money from my grandmother to clear out the debt I have already accumulated and to help pay for the remainder of the cycle costs.

But this is it. This is going to be my only attempt at IVF. I just can’t spend the rest of my life building up debt as a result of my drive to be a mother. I have been extremely selfish and self-involved this last 6 months – this process has taken over my thoughts, my conversations, and my focus. I have not been a great friend, daughter, or employee. I know that those who love me understand, but I can’t do it anymore. I can’t allow my world to be controlled by this desire. I can’t allow my urge to carry a child poison my relationships, my finances, and my life.

I will not spend the next 10 years under the stress induced cloud that is trying to conceive.

I am going to throw everything I have into this for the next 2 months. But if this cycle does not work, I am going to have to come to terms with that. I am going to have to realize that there is another plan, and not lose myself in the grief.

I honestly don’t know how I will accomplish that. I fear that if this cycle fails, I will crumble; but I don’t want to. I want to be stronger than that. I want to be able to survive it.

And I do not want this goal to define my life.

So there it is. My new plan. I am only getting one shot at this, and I will have to hope and pray with everything I’ve got that one shot is enough.

Because unless I win the lottery some time soon, I will not ever attempt IVF again.

There is one more thing I’m rethinking as a result now.

Knowing this is my only chance. Knowing it is all I will get. Knowing that everything is riding on this cycle.

I am reconsidering the double yolk.

I don’t want to make that decision based on fear or emotion. I feel as though I came to a reasonable choice when my head was clearer, and now I am letting the logic become foggy because I am afraid of failure. In my head, I know that is what I am doing.

But my heart keeps screaming “TWO!”

I don’t know what I’ll decide for sure. I still have to discuss it with my doctor, and honestly I don’t know that I will make a real decision until I am right there in the moment. I think it will be easier to decide when I know exactly how many embryos were produced.

After all, if I only end up with two; doesn’t it make sense to just throw them both in and pray?

I don’t know what I am going to decide, but when I think about what I can and can’t live with?

Suddenly two sounds a whole lot better than none at all.

Please Remember To Soak The Probe

There are no reproductive endocrinologists in the State of Alaska.

There are amazing doctors here, but finding specialists who can treat me or handle an IVF cycle is impossible.

Because they simply don’t exist.

As a result, my doctor’s office has a relationship with Seattle Reproductive Institute. They coordinate together throughout the cycle. This relationship is the difference between having to fly to Seattle for every appointment while also needing to be there for the entire cycle (1 month), and being able to go to Seattle for only the 10 days surrounding egg retrieval and implantation while being monitored the rest of the time up here in Alaska.

This relationship really is the reason I am able to do IVF. Without it I’m not sure I would have been able to handle all the extra travel expenses as well as so much time off work.

Yesterday I met with the doctor who will be coordinating my cycle from Anchorage for the first time.

And she made me cry.

OK, I take it back. It wasn’t really her fault. She was a very nice lady. Incredibly pleasant and warm.

But it was the first time I have met face to face with anyone who will be involved in my IVF cycle.

And it was scary.

I needed to have an ultrasound done to check my egg reserve (which really - after having my ovaries hacked away at twice now - was scary enough in and of itself). So there I was; naked from the waist down with only a piece of paper covering me while I waited for her.

Nervous as could be.

I am a believer that once you’ve stripped down, the time frame for the doctor getting to you should be relatively quick. No one should be forced to sit there naked and alone in a room by themselves for too long.

The mind wanders.

But unfortunately, things did not go my way this appointment, and I was sitting there pants-less for over 20 minutes.

Did I mention I was a nervous wreck?

So, I fidgeted. I tried to play on my iphone, but I couldn’t concentrate. Instead I took photos of the vagisound.

All the while thinking that if someone walked in on me doing that it was going to be mighty embarrassing.

I didn’t care. That little sign there said “Please remember to soak the probe.”

I don’t know why, but it made me laugh.

The amusement only lasted about 2 minutes though, and then I was still sitting there.

Naked.

At one point I managed to tear the piece of paper that was covering me. I didn’t mean to. But I did. I tore a giant glory hole in the only thing protecting my modesty.

I frantically looked around for a new piece of paper, and of course found none.

Then I realized “Does it even really matter? She is about to stick that probe up inside of me and count my eggs. Dignity is lost.”

Really, what is the point of that piece of paper anyway? Because from what I can tell, the only person it protects from seeing anything is the person it is covering.

Everyone else gets up in there, but at least you don’t have to see your own vagina.

Yep. It was the longest 20 minutes of my life.

When she came in, she sat down to talk first. I was hoping this conversation would happen in her office after the appointment, but nope. There I was, trying desperately to cover my glory hole; naked and still attempting to reach for my notepad of questions.

Classy class.

The first order of business was my period. If I don't have it by the 1st of next month they want me to come in. That means I have a week and a half to bleed on my own.

Teeny did a number on me today as a result. She really thinks the pain I had two weeks ago may have been ovulation. I've never been one to be in pain when I ovulate (especially not that kind of pain), but I will give it to her as a possibility. So here's to hoping for some uterine shedding in the next few days.

All my financial questions got shut down. My financing will not cover anything in Anchorage. Which means that all of these monitoring ultrasounds I will need between now and Seattle (at $450 a pop) will be coming out of my pocket.

Deep inhale of breath.

Why oh why does Alaska not have a fertility clinic?

And why did I leave a state where fertility insurance is not only required, but fertility clinics seem to be on every corner?

Poor planning, that’s why.

OK, I’m only half kidding. I love Alaska. And the truth is that before the job I got up here, I hadn’t had health insurance at all for years. It is actually a miracle that I wound up with coverage just a few months before problems began.

But that still doesn’t make this easier now.

So then we moved on to other issues that I had been waiting to ask someone about, and she let a gem slip I had not been prepared for:

“One ultrasound will happen right before your cycle to check for cysts. If you have any above a certain size, we will need to cancel your cycle.”

Wait. What!

My endometriosis presents as cysts. Endometriomas take over my lower quadrant. They rule that zone. I had new ones just a month ago!

She assured me that I shouldn’t have any because of the Lupron. I assured her that I just had new growth last month.

Clearly she hadn’t read my file.

I have to say that it kills me how new doctors get this look on their face like I am making things up when I describe the aggression of my endometriosis. Then they always act shocked when they realize I wasn’t exaggerating.

Kills me.

My panic mounted and yes, I was fighting back tears. No one told me my cycle could be canceled. No one told me this could happen. With how fast my endo has spread and grown in the past, how do I prevent that? What can I possibly do?

I’m pretty sure the woman now thinks I am a crazy lady control freak.

After I finally calmed myself down (and really, that process involved an entire conversation with myself – out loud – where I told my panic mode to shut up and not worry about things it can’t control), she gave me a wary look (I’m not kidding; this woman thinks I’m a nut now – I’m sure of it) and we started my antral follicle count.

For those of you outside of the infertility world, antral follicles are basically the places where potential eggs could mature. As you age, those follicles disappear because there are no longer any eggs behind them waiting to reproduce.

When I donated my eggs, my antral follicle counts were in the 20’s. I produced 14 viable eggs each time.

Yesterday, my antral follicle count was 13.

13.

(Community Discussion: If you've had your antral follicle count, what was it?)

Granted, this is not the worst it could be. In fact, 13 is still considered to be “normal” (on the lower end of normal, but still there), but…

It is a lot lower than it was before.

Half lower.

I used to be perfect.

And I’m sorry, but reminders that I have slipped so far from perfect reproductive health in just a few years still knock me down.

I knew my count would be lower. Both of my ovaries have been through a lot, and both have had some tissue removed.

But….

It still made me want to cry.

Again.

The good news is that she said she didn’t see any cysts that would prevent a cycle at this point.

But there is still that voice in the back of my head telling me that they could crop up at any moment.

My endo was never supposed to spread as fast as it did on the pill either. But it happened. You can’t tell me that endo couldn’t ruin this now. I won’t believe you.

I will not lie and say I left that appointment filled with hope. I will not pretend like I left bounding with excitement and joy.

Because I didn’t. I left scared. I left knocked down.

I left $450 poorer.

In the last 24 hours I’ve made some big decisions as a result of that appointment. They almost seem counterintuitive to the information that was received, but suddenly changing my mind about a few things seemed only natural.

It seemed only logical.

I’ll let you in on what is going to be happening differently…

Tomorrow.

Being PC in an IF World

There is no getting around hurt feelings.

It is impossible. I’ve realized that now, and it makes me sad, but…

There is no PC in an IF world.

I had a scary first appointment with my infertility doctor today (the one who will coordinate my entire cycle with Seattle Reproductive Institute from up here), but I think I’m going to wait to write about that until tomorrow. There are a few bits of information I am trying to wrap my head around, and I have something else on my mind right now anyway.

I go through my life explicitly trying not to step on toes. I go out of my way in an attempt to be mindful of the feelings of others.

In an effort to always see all sides.

But I’m realizing it is impossible. I’m realizing that no matter what, in the IF world someone is always going to be hurt.

I was so excited for the baby announcements on the community. Through the moon especially for one woman who I know has been trying so hard for so long.

I didn’t even think twice about making a big deal about those announcements.

The thought never occurred to me that there might be those who continue to see one line month after month who simply don’t want to hear it.

Until I realized that of course those women are here. Of course they are stung by the pregnancies of others.

Which got me thinking: will there be those who will be hurt when and if I am able to make a pregnancy announcement of my own?

When I am experiencing something that should be the greatest joy of my life, will I instead be anxious about who in the IF world will cry for their own losses at my success?

Because these women (you women) have become my friends. You have become women I care about. Women I root for.

Women who are in my prayers.

Every single day.

It scares me because I realize that no matter what I say, I may hurt someone. When I talk about my desire to carry a child, am I hurting a woman who was never able to fulfill that dream? When I discuss the fact that I am literally putting everything into IVF, am I hurting those whose lives were changed by adoption?

When I bring up my greatest fears, am I slicing someone open who has been there and done that?

I don’t know that there is any way to navigate these waters without hurting someone, and the thought of that breaks my heart. I never want to hurt anyone. I never want anyone to lose hope or to feel slighted.

I never want anyone to feel less than because of my dreams.

I am not an infertile woman who cringes at pregnancy announcements. In fact, if anything, they give me hope; especially when they come from one of you who I know has tried so hard. I do not begrudge the pregnancies of others, and I do not feel that another woman’s success makes me any less pregnant.

But I have also never experienced multiple miscarriages. Or failed cycle after failed cycle.

This is the first time in my life I will ever try, so up to this point I have no idea what that failure feels like.

I have faced the threat of hysterectomy, but I have not crossed that line yet. I still have hope in my in tact (if not severely damaged) parts. I have not looked down at one line feeling as though I just lost my only chance. I have not been in this world long enough to know what years of trying does to your psyche.

So maybe it is easy for me to rejoice in those pregnancies.

I have faced plenty of pain and loss in this last year, and in my mind losing the chance of those lesser invasive cycles has been a hard blow to handle. Being told that IVF was my only hope (and that I don’t have long to try) cut like a knife. Facing this now with no time to really plan has been hard.

Facing it without a partner has been harder.

But maybe not hard enough. Because I still didn’t see the potential pain I was inflicting until it was too late.

The problem is, I want to talk about those things. I want to talk about my decision to pursue IVF over adoption, and the struggles that entails. I want to be able to write what is on my mind. What is in my heart.

I want to rejoice in the successes of those in this community. I feel like they are earned. Like those babies are wanted and will be loved.

I can't bring myself to be sad or cautious about that. Too many babies come into this world unwanted and unloved to not celebrate the ones who are conceived by the women and families who try so hard.

And should I be blessed enough to see two lines of my very own, I want to be able to write about that with love and joy and thankfulness. But does that mean hurting someone else?

Does it mean another woman will be brought further down because of my success?

So how do you do it? How do you remain true to yourself while still being mindful of the feelings of others? How do you navigate the land of infertility with tact?

Because I’m not sure you can.

There is no PC in an IF world.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1J7NBaOgUk8

Baby Dust

It was pointed out to me yesterday that there may be some baby dust over at the community.

Seriously. Far too many of the women over there are getting knocked up!

And I fully plan to capitalize upon that dust in July.

Three women in particular in the last few weeks have made announcements after many struggles. One is now the furthest along she has ever been in a pregnancy after multiple miscarriages. Another had been trying for much longer than she had ever tried before and was beginning to worry about secondary infertility.

And finally, an announcement that came yesterday that warmed my heart: A woman over there who I adore and who I know has been trying for a very very long time, finally got to see two lines for the first time.

I would link to you ladies, but I’m not sure I’m the one who should be making your public pregnancy announcements!

So instead, I will just say that you all know who you are and I am incredibly happy for you.

Now seriously – share some of that baby dust! I know there are more of us who would like to join the party!

I Might Have Called Your Mom

I’m pretty sure I put my relationship ineptitude in front of a bright blinking light this weekend.

Not that that’s new.

A few days after my last freak out I sent the ex a text message that basically said “Can we just forget the last two weeks ever happened?”

It was longer (don’t you guys know me and my text issues by now?) but that was pretty much the gist.

And we were fine after that.

Kind of.

Let’s just say our conversations from that point forward were filled with small talk.

Nothing heavy. At all.

His dad was in the hospital that same week for a heart surgery that ended up turning into two heart surgeries, so I wound up spending some time with his family. It meant a lot to me to be there. I love his family dearly and they have all been there for me through this last year, so I was thankful that he didn’t mind my spending that time with them. With him still in Seattle, we talked a few times that weekend about how his dad was doing, but didn’t touch on anything relating to “us” at all.

That was about 2 weeks ago, and I hadn’t spoken to him again since his dad was released from the hospital.

Saturday while I was bowling I missed a call from him. I thought about calling him right back, but it was noisy where I was and I didn’t want to miss a turn (not that I was giving a worthy performance), so I waited until I was leaving to call him back.

We talked for a few minutes, but not about anything major or important. Then he said he was on his way to a softball game and he needed to let me go. So I told him good luck and we said goodbye.

A few hours later he called me again, and again nothing major was revealed. We basically just caught up for a couple of minutes before he told me he was on his way out for what would be his last weekend in Seattle (he will be home for good next Friday). I told him to have a good time, and that was it.

At this point I was wondering what was up with the calls, but I wasn’t going to pose any big questions. I think I’m finally of the mindset that he needs to figure out things in his own time, and I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing until he man’s up and tells me he wants something different.

Hearing from him was nice though.

I woke up Sunday morning to four missed calls from the ex in the middle of the night. Four. One I would have laughed off as a drunk dial, but four made me nervous.

Not to mention, this is a man who (to the best of my knowledge) has never drunk dialed me. In the entire time I’ve known him, I don’t think he has ever called me without intending to.

And he has certainly never called me four times in a row like that.

So I called him back and left a message half joking about him being dead in a gutter. I asked him to call me and let me know he was OK when he got a chance.

Hours passed. I showered, made breakfast, and fidgeted through church checking my phone every few minutes.

As the time moved slowly by, my anxiousness grew. I literally had him dead or in jail in my mind. Why else would he have called me so many times in the middle of the night if something serious wasn’t going on?

And it wasn't a bootie call. We have hundreds of miles between us right now, so it’s not like there is even any bootie to call here!

I tried him one more time in the afternoon, and then I pulled the least cool move of the century.

I called his mom.

I just thought that maybe she had heard from him and could ease my worries.

OK. I really thought that maybe she could get him to answer the phone if he wasn't dead.

The sad thing is that as soon as I was hanging up the phone with her, he called me.

Of course.

We talked for a few minutes and he assured me that he was fine (and expressed his irritation with my worry). I see the man’s point. He is 35 year’s old. A grown adult. His having too much to drink and needing to sleep it off every once in a blue moon is hardly a reason to set off the alarms.

But I was worried. I over-thought the whole situation into oblivion.

I once again showed all my cards by making it clear I cared too much.

And he was fine. Hungover, but fine.

I was trying to play off the “I’m still a cool chick, even though I really was worried” persona when he stopped me and said “Hey, can I call you back? My mom is calling.”

“Oh yeah” I gulped. “I may have called your mom.”

There was a long pause as his frustrated silence filled the line.

Finally he broke it and said “bye” right before clicking over.

I ratted out a grown man to his mother.

I, his ex girlfriend, called his mommy when he didn’t return my phone calls.

How high school is that?

And I still have no idea what the 4 calls in the middle of the night were all about.

I just know I haven't seen him in almost 6 months and he'll be back Friday.

And I, for reasons I can't even explain, am pretty happy about that.

Give it a week though.

Open The Door

I’ve been anxious this last week, especially about finances. When I made this decision back in January, I knew I was going to need to figure out how to bring more money in. And I have. I am making more money every single month from my writing.

But it still isn’t enough.

It still isn’t what I would need to be able to pull all this off, and my debt is mounting.

It is scary. I have been financially responsible my entire life. I have great credit and have never bitten off more than I can chew. But the mounting costs involved in this have me pausing and wondering if I know what I’m doing.

I have a doctor’s appointment this week that includes an ultrasound and other workups I need done. It has all been ordered by Seattle Reproductive Medicine, and will therefore all be charged to infertility; which my insurance does not cover. I’m expecting it to be an almost $1000 appointment.

It just adds up.

I’ve been dipping into the line of credit on my house to pay for the expenses I don’t have the money on hand for. That's embarrassing for me to admit in this space.

I haven’t wanted to talk about finances here for two reasons: 1) I haven’t wanted people to judge me and assume I can’t handle this and 2) I haven’t wanted anyone to think I was asking for handouts. I’ve had a few people ask if there is a way they could make donations to this journey for me, and I am adamantly against it. I love the kindness of people for even thinking of that, but my pride would never allow me to accept donations from people. I feel like there are too many true causes out there that need financial support (and really – if you want to donate to me, please donate to endometriosis research instead!), and I don’t think my drive to be a mother is something that should be funded by others.

If I can’t do it myself, I shouldn’t be doing it.

I am confident it will all work out, but there is still that sick feeling in my stomach as I see those numbers add up.

Nothing about this is cheap.

So, I’ve been fretting quite a bit. Wondering and worrying and questioning what else I could give up to help fund this venture. Trying to figure out what other jobs I could take on or how I could take my writing to the next level.

It has been scary.

But not as scary as the thought of losing my chance to carry a child because of something as inconsequential as money.

Today's church sermon felt like it was speaking to me and my worries as of late.

Our Pastor has gotten prophetic on a few occasions, and it always catches me a little off guard. He will stop what he is doing and say The Holy Spirit is moving him to say something. A few times what he has said has spoken to me and a few times it hasn’t; but every time it gives me chills.

Today he stopped and said he felt as though someone was lingering at an open door. That they were peaking through the crack desiring to walk through, but hesitating for fear of being let down. He said that person should push the door open and walk through. That on the other side they would be taken care of and provided for; that there was great joy to be had for taking this risk.

He then went on to say that God was working a plan in this woman’s life (yes, at that point he went from saying “person” to “woman”) and that while it may seem impossible at times, he would finish that plan out and seal his work. That the impossible was going to become possible with faith.

At so many points along this journey I have felt as though doors have opened for me. When I was struggling with making the decision of what to do, I continuously felt pulled towards IVF. As much as my logical side tried to talk me out of it, the answers I kept getting after my prayers were that I had to try.

I just had to try.

Since then I have felt confidence along multiple parts of this path. I have felt guided and supported and as though I was absolutely walking in the right direction.

So why am I questioning whether or not I will be able to handle the financial burden? With one word, God can change everything. He can present opportunities I may not even have contemplated. He can turn everything around so that what has seemed so impossible suddenly becomes a reality.

I need to work on putting my faith in that. On trudging forward and still doing everything in my power to make this happen, but also on trusting in God to provide. Trusting in Him to guide me where I need to be.

So with a big gulp I am going to push open that door and walk through.

I am going to let go of the fear and uncertainty.

I am going to embrace this decision.

And I am going to trust in the magic that is on the other side.