There is Always a Reason

I got an e-mail on Thursday night that rocked me a little.

I had been at a business reception for work, and was really struggling to hold myself together. There were just a lot of people around, and it had been a long day, and all I really wanted was to be home in my bed.

All I really wanted was to be hiding out from life.

When I finally left, I felt exhausted. Worn out from what should have been a fairly standard day for me. I sat in my car before going anywhere, and just needed to decompress. So, I decided to check my e-mail before leaving.

And, I kind of got kicked in the gut.

My cousin, who I love and adore, had written me to tell me that she was pregnant. She was going to announce it on Facebook the day I found out I wasn’t pregnant, but then had held off when she got my news. She was 8 weeks along now, and she wanted me to hear it from her first; rather than seeing it on Facebook or hearing it second hand.

You see, my cousin has PCOS. She has struggled for this pregnancy. She has experienced the failure month after month, and the sting of finding out someone else is pregnant when you yourself want it so badly. She knew I would be hurt by her news, even though I didn’t want to be. She knew I needed to be able to take it in privately, and she understood my pain.

But in the same sentence as I say that, she also deserved to be happy about this news. She deserved to be elated by it. She shouldn’t have been having to think about me and my pain during what should have been the happiest moment of her life. I actually hate that she had to censor herself and her excitement out of concern for my feelings.

Even as I felt and knew all of that though, I burst into tears. I can’t even explain it; this hurt I felt. I was just so sad. So angry that it wasn’t me with the happy news.

And so mad at myself for feeling that way.

I have always said that I never want to be the woman who begrudges another woman her pregnancy. I know deep down in my heart that someone else being pregnant doesn’t make me any less so. I believe that all pregnancies are miracles, and that they deserve to be celebrated as such.

So what was this? Who was this? When had I become the person who sobbed over someone else’s good news? Especially someone I love; someone who I know will make an amazing parent?

As soon as I pulled myself together, I realized that something needed to change. I realized that I needed to do something to find myself again. I realized that something needed to kick me back on track.

Thus, I drove to the tattoo parlor.

I had been thinking about getting something new since I received the news on Monday (in truth, I had been wanting something new since I got my last tattoos), so while it wasn’t the weeks (or even years) of planning that went into my wrists, it wasn’t totally spur of the moment either. Although, if there had been any openings, I would have gotten my new ink right then and there - even as the tears were still streaming down my face. Unfortunately though, the soonest they could get me in was last night at 5. I drove home in anticipation of what was to come.

And last night, I got a new tattoo:

I love it. I really really love it.

I have never been a huge fan of my feet (and that warped pinky toe is the result of far too many breaks - graceful I am not), but I love this.

It’s the reminder I needed of who I am and who I want to be. The same is true of my wrists actually, and when I told my grandmother I needed a reminder when I got those; she asked me what was wrong with post-its.

But post-its aren’t permanent. They aren’t the kick in the butt I need.

This is.

When I got my tattoos on my wrists, I promised myself I would wait at least a year before getting another. I loved them so much, that I knew if I let myself I would become a walking tattoo billboard. OK, not exactly true, because I am very picky about where I would even want a tattoo (and am totally against anything anywhere that might stretch at some point! Which pretty much leaves me with only the feet and wrists!) but I knew I would have gotten more right away, and I wanted to give myself time to adjust to my new ink. When I remembered that promise to myself Thursday night, I pulled up the old pictures to see the date I had gotten them last year – just to make sure it actually had been a year.

July 26th, 2009.

For those of you who are paying attention, that means I got my wrist tattoos done exactly a year prior, to the day, that I found out I wasn’t pregnant.

And to me, there is something to that. Something that makes me even more determined to keep those reminders in mind as I navigate through this mine field of grief.

Also, it means my new tattoo came a few days after my original year mark; so I don’t have to feel guilty about it, because I didn’t break any of my own rules!

After the tattoo excursion, I made one other stop. I swung by Home Depot, and ordered up some new flooring for my condo. I had been putting this off because of the expense, but really? My condo is only 780 square feet. It was silly to keep putting it off, and I’ve said from the beginning that I would never want a baby crawling around on my current flooring (which is just very old – plus, carpet throughout the entire house isn’t exactly the best thing to have in the middle of winter in Alaska – having laminate in the living area at least will make a huge difference in keeping this place nice and clean). This will give me a project to throw myself into for the next few weeks – something to be excited about. Something new to take my mind off of the something lost.

If I couldn’t have a baby this round, at least I can have a new tattoo and some new flooring.

At least I can prepare my house that much more for the baby that is still to come.

A friend reminded me of a post I had written at the end of last year. It was the post of a girl determined. A post that was admittedly full of a few profanities, but illustrated my refusal to give up. My refusal to succumb to life’s circumstance.

It was just another reminder of who I really am; deep down inside and past the grief of this recent hurdle.

I refuse to live in this funk. I refuse to be anything other than that girl. I still have questions. I still have worries. I still have sadness. I’m sure all of that will still crop up from time to time in this space; in fact, I have no doubt of it. There is actually something I’ve been thinking about a lot that is probably going to come out tomorrow; something that involves me questioning myself more than anyone or anything else.

I don’t want to give the impression that I will be joyously looking past the last few days from here on out, because it isn’t true. But I refuse to be a person who can’t acknowledge that there is always a purpose. I refuse to be someone who forgets that sometimes the most beautiful rainbows crop up out of the most disastrous storms. I may not know why this last round didn’t work, but I do know that:

There is always a reason.

Blowing Smoke

The more and more I think about my phone consult with Dr. RE yesterday, the more irritated I am.

I honestly felt like absolutely nothing was accomplished.

I felt like she was just blowing smoke up my… hoo-ha.

The running theme of the entire conversation was “I’m confident that if you just keep trying, you will eventually get pregnant.”

Well wait a minute lady… how much more do you expect me to put into this based solely on your confidence? You were confident that my age was in my favor. You were confident that I only needed to implant one embryo. You were confident that this round would work.

Call me crazy, but I'm gonna need more than your confidence to go on now.

I had 3 basic concerns that had been plaguing my mind about why this may not have worked. Concerns that I actually thought had some merit. Concerns that I thought deserved some consideration.

Concerns that were abruptly wiped away as nothing to worry about.

One of these concerns was my uterine lining. Prior to my cycle, you may remember that I had to have a period because my lining was considered “too thick”.

Well, at the point of my transfer; my lining was just as thick.

During one of my first ultrasounds I actually asked what the ideal lining was, and the range I was told was a great deal less than the measurement I had the day of transfer. In the back of my mind I was actually worried about this at the time (thinking my cycle would be canceled) but no one said anything about it to me so I just assumed it must not be as big a deal as I thought it was.

Until the moment when I found out it didn’t work. Then I started to worry.

And how could I not? Isn’t that a fair concern to have?

The doctor didn’t think so though. She told me that studies have been done that show that the uterine lining doesn't effect the outcome.

Why exactly did I have to have a period pre-cycle then?

My other big question was about testing now. I have heard about women who have clotting or antibody issues that prevent embryos from implanting without a little extra help. I asked if I should have any of that testing done before another round – just in case.

Again though, this concern was brushed off as nothing to worry about. Again she quoted studies that “proved” it wasn’t an issue.

Finally, I was worried about my progesterone levels on Monday morning. I only had a level of 4, which is pretty low. My nurse told me the levels were consistent with my bleeding, but considering the fact that I was doing 200mg suppositories twice a day, I would assume that I never even should have started bleeding at all; pregnant or not. I just can’t wrap my head around such low levels, given the fact that I was inserting those capsules on a pretty regular basis.

So, I asked what the possibility was that I wasn’t absorbing the progesterone correctly through the vaginal suppositories. I’ve heard of women this has happened to – women who have to do shots throughout their pregnancy as a result. I know it is a possibility.

But you guessed it; Dr. RE brushed this off as something I didn’t need to worry about either.

For the record, I do get that sometimes this just doesn’t work. I get that sometimes, for no explicable reason, the embryo just stops growing or never chooses to implant. I get that I could have a completely successful next round without ever getting any explanations for the past.

What I don’t get is the refusal to even acknowledge that there could be something else wrong. The refusal to run tests and make sure, before asking me to put more money and heart on the table.

I will say that the cost for doing a frozen transfer is less than I thought it would be; only a little over $2,000. I don’t mean to say “only” as though that's an easy amount of money to part with, but it is less than I originally thought, and it is something I think I'll be able to come up with on my own. Plus, for a transfer I only need to be in Seattle for one day. I can use miles to get my airfare, and I won’t spend nearly as much on the stay itself. This is all actually quite workable.

But I’m so uneasy about the whole thing right now that I can’t even think about moving forward.

The conversation didn’t get any better from there either. At one point she said to me, “I really don’t think any of this is going to be a problem. You had regular periods before, right?”

What?!? I haven’t had regular periods at all in over 2 years. I went 3 months without a period at one point. And then I spotted for almost 2 months!

The only reason I was regular before that was because I was on the pill.

Dr. RE clearly had very little recollection of me or my case as she spoke to me on the phone though, and it was at that point I realized that I have never even met this woman. She has handled all of my phone consults, but I had a different doctor for every single appointment at Seattle Reproductive Medicine. Not once did I even see the same person twice, and not once did she and I come face to face.

I felt very much so like another number on the board at that point. And I felt like I was getting the standard party line, rather than information specific to my case.

Which really has been my issue with Western Medicine from the start, but I won’t get into that here beyond saying that applying a one size fits all protocol to patients just doesn’t seem like the best option to me. People are different. Illnesses manifest differently. We don’t all fit into pretty little boxes with a bow, and we don’t all respond to the same treatments in the same ways.

The only thing I felt like she was real with me about was when she told me that my fresh cycle had a 60% chance of working, but my frozen cycle has only a 30% chance. As a result, she is recommending that I transfer both embryos when the time is right.

Well duh. That wasn’t even a question in my mind. I knew I was going to transfer both embryos when I froze them in the first place. That was the whole point.

But 30%? Only 30%? And you want me to go into that 30% still having questions in my mind about why this round with a 60% chance didn’t work?

I just can’t figure out how (or why) I’m supposed to do that.

The problem is that I have already decided that I am not going to do this for the rest of my life. I have already decided that this is the only IVF cycle I will ever do. I have already decided that I just can't spend the next however many years "trying" and facing disappointment after disappointment, while also digging myself into bankruptcy and becoming the cold and bitter woman I am so afraid of becoming.

I have already decided this, months ago. So knowing that those two frozen embryos are my last hope of carrying a child, I really need more than smoke right now. I need to at least feel like my concerns are being taken seriously. I need to feel like I am being treated as a woman who has actually done some research and who is putting everything on the line.

I need to feel like something other than a paycheck.

The conversation ended when she said “Overall, I really think you don’t have anything to worry about here. I’m actually very encouraged by your results!”

I couldn’t even find the words here, so I politely (really – I swear) hung up. But in my mind all I could think was “Really?!? What exactly is encouraging here? My extremely low fertilization rate? My ‘fair’ quality eggs that were graded ‘excellent’ just two years ago? The fact that this didn’t work? Where is the encouragement? Am I missing it?”

It was in that moment that I realized that RE’s are not paid to tell people the cold hard truth. They aren’t paid to tell someone there may not be any hope, or that there may be other problems. No. They are paid to build up that hope. To get you riding on it. To get you to believe that if you put enough money and time into this endeavor, you will take home a baby.

They’re paid to tell you:

“If you just keep trying, you will eventually get pregnant.”

My problem is that now my faith is rocked, and I’m just not sure I believe it.

And no amount of smoke is going to fix that.

Did I Eat Meat For This?

That is the thought that hit me yesterday.

Like Deana Carters “Did I Shave My Legs For This?”, the realization that I had done something I really didn’t want to do in order to get an expected result (only to get the exact opposite of that expected result), hit me like a ton of bricks.

It was during an angry moment, and I may have sent a few profanity laden text messages to those nearest and dearest to me in order to let them know how not pleased I was that I had given up 13 years of being a vegetarian, for this!

My dad’s response was “You must be feeling better. You’re being ornery.”

I say it’s not being ornery though, it’s being realistic. I paid the piper, where’s my reward?

I do not like meat. I gave it up with ease at the age of 13, and never once looked back. Never once that is, until I started doing research and listening to doctors and realizing that some meat in my system would probably be best when it comes to supporting a baby.

So, I ate it. I choked down Tuna, and Salmon, and Halibut (none of which I enjoyed in the least) and I managed to find ways to cook Chicken so that I didn’t hate it. I tried bites of steak (too chewy), and sausage (too gamey), and I actually ate my first hot dog (what exactly is a hot dog?)

I even found myself admitting to liking sushi when I was in Seattle. Turns out I can handle raw seafood, but not so much cooked seafood.

I really didn’t see that one coming, but I was proud of myself for branching out and trying new things. Proud of myself for being willing to admit that I had found at least one meat source that I actually kind of liked (and no, I did not consume any sushi after my transfer – this was all pre-transfer grubbing.)

But yesterday, as I realized that I had made a huge dietary change that I wasn’t exactly behind all because it was best for baby (a baby that didn’t come), I was ticked.

Overall, eating meat hasn’t been an easy adjustment for me. I liked my life as a vegetarian just fine, but it was worth the sacrifice if it was what was best for baby.

But now that there is no baby?

I cannot believe I ate meat for this.

Baby Things

I finally worked up the strength to call my grandmother last night.

You should probably know that I have been avoiding calls with all the people who are closest to me. I haven’t been able to hear their voices without hearing the sympathy and pain, and I haven’t been able to hear the sympathy and pain without crying; so I just haven’t been able to have those conversations.

I can talk about anything with anyone right now, except what is actually going on. The minute someone wants to talk to me about what has happened in this last week, I shut down. I can talk and laugh and joke about every stupid thing you could possibly imagine, but I cannot talk about what didn’t work. I can write about it here just fine because that's a one way conversation really, but I just can’t have that dialogue where I feel the other person’s pain as well.

And I can’t allow other people to feel mine.

You have to understand, I don’t do anything short of strong very well. When I am struggling, it is incredibly difficult for me to have people witness that. It almost makes things worse. The fact that I can be so open here, in this space, is actually pretty astounding - it's not like me. I'm sure it's a blessing though. I'm sure I have to get it out somewhere.

I know people know I’m hurting, and obviously they can read about it here, but having them hear it, or even worse; see it? I can’t handle that.

I hit a point yesterday though, where I thought I could make it through a conversation tear free with my grandmother. So I picked up the phone and called her to let her know I was alright.

My grandmother loves me. She loves me so much. And because she loves me so much, her first words upon hearing my voice were to tell me that she loves me, and she’s so sorry, and she can’t imagine how much I must be hurting right now.

I held it together and thanked her.

But then she said “And, I just want you to know that you don’t need to be worrying about the money right now, or the baby things either.”

You may remember that my grandmother loaned me the money for this IVF round, and I know she knows I’ve been worried about how long it is going to take me to pay her back. But she has also been making piles of baby things. Sewing and putting together items with love. When I was so sure I was pregnant, she told me about those baby things she had been saving up for me. When I found out I wasn’t, I told my sister in law she had better get pregnant soon to give grandma the babies those baby things were meant for, and I told my dad (in a momentary fit of insanity) that I couldn’t even give my grandmother the great grandchild that was destined for the things she was painfully making with her fibromyalgia ridden hands.

Both of these things came out in bursts of tears and panic, and at least one or both clearly made its way back to her.

“You don’t need to be worrying about the money right now, or the baby things either.” She said. “There will always be someone who can use those things.”

And my heart sunk and the tears burst through. My grandma loves me. Arguably more than anyone. I know she, and everyone else, are aching for me right now and at a loss for what to say.

She couldn’t possibly understand the irrationality I am experiencing right now that both doesn’t want those baby things to exist, and also doesn’t want anyone else to have them.

The irrationality that feels like I have let those people who love me down.

The irrationality that tells me I have failed not only myself, but also those who cared about me enough to want this baby to be born.

I have let people down. I have left them disappointed and hurt and aching for the life that I couldn’t create.

Obviously, I know that isn’t true. I know that this wasn’t my fault and that I couldn’t have done anything more to make it work.

But in my heart? I can’t stop hurting. And not just for myself, but for the people in my life who also wanted this.

I hate that other people had their hopes up as high as mine. I hate that those close to me had their hopes crushed at the same time I did. I hate that I have had anything at all to do with pain for the people who love me.

I can’t have these conversations right now. I can’t tell people how I’m doing, or discuss what I’m going to do next, because as soon as I hear the pain in someone else’s voice – I lose my ability to be strong and stoic.

I lose my ability to keep my stiff upper lip.

And right now? I need that stiff upper lip. I need to be able to fight back the tears and move forward, because that is who I am. I don’t do the wallowing well. The depression doesn’t suit me. I just can’t let myself succumb to it right now.

I had a conversation with Dr. RE today that left me even more numb. I’m still processing how little actually came out of that conversation, but I’ll write about it soon. I also had an amazing almost two hour session with Teeny, and we spent a lot of time talking about my next options.

Anyone care to guess who I’m feeling the most warm feelings toward right now?

I did OK today. I didn’t cry. I didn’t pout. I didn’t allow myself to get sucked down.

And the most overwhelming feeling I had to combat today was guilt. Guilt over the sacrifices everyone around me has had to make so that I could have a dream that didn’t come true.

And today, for the first time in a long time, I was incredibly thankful that I don’t have that partner by my side.

Because if I am being bowed down by the guilt of letting down my father, and my grandmother, and my friends; I can’t even imagine the guilt I would be feeling right now over not being able to give my husband a child.

Again, I know it’s illogical, but my heart breathed a sigh of relief today that there was at least one less person who was hurt by this.

One less person to be taken out by my body’s inability to do what should come naturally.

One less person trying to pretend - for me.

Today

Today is the first day this week I am determined to work 8 hours.

Today is the day I have my phone consultation with Dr. RE to try to figure out what went wrong.

Today I will see Teeny for some much needed acupuncture.

Today we will determine the best way to treat my endo as naturally as possible until I decide what to do next.

Today I am picking up the pieces.

Today will be a good day.
 

Finding My Focus

I’ve been working half days this week.

It was the best I could do.

We’re in the middle of board meetings, and I really did need to be available.

As much as I would have preferred to stay in bed hibernating.

I think it’s been good though. The best of both words. I’ve had the extra time I’ve needed to sleep and cry and hide out, but I’ve also had to force myself to be present and coherent; showered and functional for 4 hours a day.

Only 4 hours. 4 Hours where I have had to think about and focus on something other than the fact that I am not pregnant. 4 Hours where I have had to fight back the tears and be as professional as possible.

Today is the first 4 hours I managed to pull that off. Today is the first day I laughed a real laugh with a coworker and focused only on my job.

Or at least, managed to think a little less about the life that isn’t growing inside of me.

Today is the day I realized that I can do this. I can put the pieces back together. I can figure out the next step. I can think past this one devastating moment in time.

Today is also the day I realized that I haven’t eaten. Like, at all. In the last 3 days, I don’t think I have had much more than a few pieces of fruit.

I realized this when a box of chocolate covered macadamia nuts was placed on my desk, and I ate one, after another, after another.

I ate more than half the box.

Not exactly the healthiest first meal, but it was the kick in the butt I needed to remember that I do need to eat. I need to be healthy. I need to take care of me.

And along those same lines, I came to the conclusion that the first thing I need to do right now is determine how to treat my endometriosis from here. I need to figure this out immediately in fact. I need a plan of action. Had I gotten pregnant it wouldn’t be a concern, because pregnancy actually suppresses endometriosis. But I didn’t get pregnant, and now I do need to be worried about this raging disease inside of me.

Part of my big fear is the fact that I am honestly convinced that my endometriosis was so aggressive in part due to the hormones I put into my body when I donated my eggs. The same hormones I put into my body for this round of IVF.

I know there are doctors who would argue this point with me, but those are the same doctors who will also tell me that my endometriosis is the most aggressive case they have ever seen, without any explanation as to why. The timing just doesn’t add up for me. Let’s get real: endometriosis thrives off of estrogen, and the drugs I was literally injecting myself with work by increasing my hormone levels. I had never had any issues in my entire life prior to that, and I was deemed reproductively fit enough to donate my eggs not once, but twice in the course of 1 year. My body was subjected to a month of hormone treatments each time, followed by surgery that involved sticking needles in my ovaries to suck out the available eggs. 6 months after my second donation I started having excrutiating periods, 8 months later my period stopped entirely, and less than a year and a half later I was having my first surgery to remove endometriosis. By that point, it was already everywhere.The timing is just too much for me to ignore. I truly believe my donations can at least be blamed for kicking my endo into high gear.

Now, don’t get me wrong; I do not regret donating my eggs. Even now, after a failed cycle, I refuse to regret helping another family achieve this dream I now share with them. And I also don’t think my donations caused my endo. When I found out last year that both my mother and grandmother had needed hysterectomies because of endo (a fact I had previously been unaware of due to my mothers absence in my life), I knew that this had probably always been an underlying condition. I had been on the pill for so long though; I just think it never really had a chance to manifest. After those donations, I think the beast was unleashed.

So no, I do not think my donations caused my endo, but I do think they are to blame for it becoming so aggressive.

Which leaves me where I’m at now, wondering what I can do to avoid another dramatic flare-up after essentially putting my body through the same hormones and procedures that led to the first.

This is something I can focus on right now. This is something I can combat. This is something I can fight against.

I think I’ve decided I want to see a naturopath. My insurance doesn’t cover it, and I have no idea how much it will cost, but I think it’s worth while to hear someone else out. I’m more than a little burnt out on Western Medicine for the time being, which leaves me thinking that it might be time to put my fate completely into the hands of the other side for a while.

See what it is they have to offer me.

And this is where I’m at right now. Finding myself a project to focus on, and a cause to throw myself into. Choosing to combat the endo rather than the infertility for a little while. Making it my main priority to avoid another endo surgery anytime in the near future, because really? I’m tired of being cut open.

My endo has the ability to spread extremely quickly, and for now this is the battle I’m choosing to fight, because it’s the one I have the heart to focus on.

I’ll figure the rest out when the time is right.

When my focus is able to shift.

When my heart can handle it.

Last Week, I Thought I Was Pregnant

This week, I know I’m not.

And that is what I’m working with.

I’m coming out of the haze though.

I’m finding my way.

And I am remembering that I am not alone.

It Has To Be Said

I wrote an angry post yesterday. It was hateful and bitter and… angry. I had it all set to publish, but when I glanced at it again I realized that it wasn’t me. I don’t know who the words came from, but they didn’t come from me.

I hit delete.

There were moments today when I felt myself crumbling. Seconds in time when I felt myself thinking "I am not going to be OK". Periods where I actually started to cry at my desk.

For reasons I can’t even explain, I felt worse today than I did yesterday. More raw. Less stable.

How does that work? I thought when something tragic happened, you were supposed to get better every day; not the other way around.

I’ve been thinking about that angry post and realizing that while the tone wasn’t me, the thoughts were. From the beginning of this I have told myself that I don’t want to ever become an angry, bitter woman. I don’t want to be someone who begrudges anyone else their happiness, and I don’t want to become a woman who has lost all hope of happiness for herself.

But that post was angry and bitter. Every last word of it.

And I wrote it.

I don’t want to be that woman, and I don’t want to allow my anger to fuel me, but I’m realizing that there are a few things that have to be said.

I know women in my own life who take for granted the gift they have been given in motherhood. Women who use their children as pawns in ugly divorces. Women who blame their kids for the loss of their party days. Women who neglect and ignore. Women who simply walk away, because parenting isn’t what they thought it would be.

I can’t help but wonder why these women can have children and I can’t. Why some of these women got pregnant when they were actively trying not to, and I can’t get pregnant when they take a healthy embryo and actually set it right in my uterus.

It has to be said that people have babies every day. People who don’t even know what to do with them. People who don’t even want them. It just happens, because that is how the body is made. That is how it’s supposed to work. We are made to procreate.

It isn’t supposed to be this difficult.

It has to be said that there is part of me that wonders if this not working doesn't mean something more than it just not working. There is part of me that wonders if there is more that's wrong with me than I or the doctors realize.

Something about me that just won't get pregnant... ever.

Because all I keep thinking is that I did everything right. I took care of myself, I followed the rules, and I stayed positive. I was Suzie Freaking Sunshine I was so positive.

I did everything I was supposed to do.

This whole time I thought that I was just being challenged, but that as long as I stayed strong and fought through the hurdles; I would get my baby.

Because people DO have babies every day, so how could I not have thought that if I did everything right I would be one of them.

I did do everything. Literally everything that can be done, I did. The most extreme measures were taken. And it didn’t matter. It didn’t work.

And it has to be said that I just don’t understand.

All I can think about is how hard I tried, how much I sacrificed, and how little it mattered. I am up to my ears in debt now. I borrowed so much money from my grandmother; money that it will take me years to pay her back. So not only did I put myself out for this, I put out someone I love. And for what?

I have nothing to show for it.

I have more moments in the day of complete numbness than I do of pain. Most people would probably look at me right now and assume that I’m doing OK. I am slapping a smile on my face and having conversations. I am comforting those close to me and reassuring them that I will be OK. I am doing my best to pretend, because I really do believe that you can choose how you react to the circumstances life hands you.

Except that right now, I’m not so sure my fake it to make it attitude is working.

Because I feel so broken, that I’m not sure there is any fixing it.

This isn’t me. When do I get to feel like me again?

Irrational Moves of a Brokenhearted Infertile

I needed a butter dish.

I don’t know why I needed a butter dish (seeing as I eat margarine), but at some point yesterday I decided that I needed a butter dish.

I needed it right away.

So, I drove to the grocery store and I combed the kitchen utensils aisle until I found a butter dish.

Just one.

And I put it in my cart.

Because I had an entire cart for one butter dish.

Then I went and bought butter. Not because I have ever used butter with any kind of regularity, but because my butter dish needed butter.

As I was checking out, the woman ringing me up said “I haven’t seen butter dishes in a while!” and suddenly I realized how crazy this was. I was grieving. I was mourning. And I was buying a butter dish.

I drove home and I grabbed a large trash bag. I took it to the bathroom and threw in all of the pee sticks that were lined meticulously on the back of my toilet.

Then I realized I had an entire trash bag for 8 pee sticks.

So I threw in the Prometrium caplets as well.

And the panty liners (even though one could theoretically assume I may have a need for panty liners at some point in my future - they were there, so they went into the trash bag.)

I searched for anything else related to this fiasco that I could trash. I walked into my bedroom and saw all the pamphlets and packets. I threw those in. I glanced at the information Teeny had given me about how to support a pregnancy in the first month. I chucked that.

I spied the picture of my embie on my bedroom wall. I marched over, tore it down, and…

Couldn’t throw it away. I just couldn’t. It was ridiculous and silly and far too sentimental for an embie that never even attached, but I couldn't throw it away.

Instead, I put it in the sperm donor book I made. Tucked safely away where I don’t have to look at it.

Once all the trash was outside, I sat down at my computer and checked my e-mail. I didn’t cry - I hadn't cried in hours. I interacted on the community as though everything in my life was normal and fine, because that’s the only thing I knew how to do. Then I hopped over to eHarmony and read an e-mail from the random internet boy that actually made me smile - and I was glad he made me smile. He mentioned something about giving me full disclosure, and then he listed his flaws.

And that is when I overstepped the line. I gave him full disclosure as well. I told him everything. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew it didn’t matter now; that this information could come up at a later date. Perhaps after we had actually met.

But I didn’t care. I didn’t like that there was one single person in this world who didn’t know what I was going through.

And so I told him. Knowing that I would probably never hear from him again.

I did hear from him again though, shortly after I hit send. But what resulted can only be described as the most awkward phone conversation any two people have ever had.

Note to self: new men in your life do not need to know this information right away. They certainly do not need to be told the day you find out you are losing a pregnancy, and they don’t necessarily need to know about the two embies on ice.

And when you can't even discuss your loss with your best friends, you probably shouldn't attempt to discuss it with some random dude you've never even met.

These are the irrational moves of a brokenhearted infertile. I am now the proud owner of a butter dish and some butter. My house is pee stick free (although, I am trying to come up with a way to sue EPT), which is nice because my bathroom no longer smells like urine. And I have managed to kill any possibility of romance between the boy and I.

But somehow, I am laughing about most of this. Even the boy. That conversation was far too awkward for the two of us to have ever been meant for anything more. Better to weed him out now. I need some space to heal anyway.

I am fine. My brain is jumbled and I’m not sure why I’m doing the things I’m doing, but I know it’s all part of the process. I know I am just getting to the place I need to be.

I feel like a bit of a lunatic, and I am willing to bet that my reactions to just about everything are stunted and wrong right now, but I am surviving.

I am surviving.

And at least now, I have a butter dish.

It's Official

I am not pregnant.

I never was.

According to my levels, the embryo never implanted.

Which doesn’t seem right. I hurt too bad for something to not have died.

And I feel stupid, because I was so sure. I was so positive it worked. So convinced that I knew my body.

They can’t really tell me why it didn’t work, and maybe that’s part of my problem right now. I want answers. I want to know that if I do try again, I won’t have to go through this.

I just want to know that there is some light at the end of this horrible tunnel.

Everything Hurts

Last night, as the bleeding got worse, my cramping picked up, and my back started to ache, I picked up the phone.

I called an old friend and sobbed out the words I had been dreading saying; I'm losing the pregnancy.

Even as I said them, I didn't really know if they were the right words. Am I really losing the pregnancy? Was there ever a pregnancy to lose?

But I don't know what else to say, and it feels like I'm losing a baby. It feels like that picture I have on my wall of the embryo I loved is dying.

As I said the words though, my nose started to bleed. Bad. Bad enough that I had to get off the phone because there was just blood everywhere. I never get bloody noses, and I have certainly never had one so bad. It felt like maybe (just maybe) God was trying to give me a message. A message about what real blood looks like. A message that all hope is not lost until He says so.

And it worked. I calmed down and cleaned up the mess and went to bed praying for a miracle.

I woke up with blood running down my legs. Bright red blood that is full of clots.

I don't want to give up hope, but I don't know what else I am supposed to believe right now. Everything hurts. I can't even choke down water. My back is aching, but I'm still afraid to take anything. I'm just.... stuck.

And because I'm a glutton for punishment, I took a test this morning.

I realized that not once have I gotten a real positive. Although, I am beyond pissed at EPT brand pregnancy tests. Yesterdays test got a real second line after about 2 hours. Nothing faint about it. It was there. I realized that's just what this test does; it gives women false hope.

I genuinely hate the makers of EPT.

I want to thank everyone for all the kind thoughts yesterday. I haven't been able to bring myself to respond to most the e-mails or any of the comments, but know I'm getting them. I just... I honestly don't know what to say. Please know that I can't even talk to some of my best friends about this right now. The words aren't right; mine or theirs. It wasn't supposed to happen like this, and I feel like no one can really say the right thing. There is no right thing. I feel like no one can understand what I'm feeling right now, because... how could they?

I can't talk about those embies on ice or how I should still have hope, because I feel like I am literally bleeding out all hope. Hope is dead right now. How am I supposed to put thousands of more dollars that I don't have into another try? Even beyond the money, how am I supposed to put my heart into another try? I just feel like I have nothing left right now, and I don't want to hear about the hope I'm supposed to have. Everyone's situation is different, and there just honestly isn't anything anyone can say to me right now that is going to make me feel better. But please know I do appreciate the sentiment. I know everyone is worried and just wants to send me love. I know everyone thinks they have the right words. I just... I can't have these conversations right now.

I will be fine. I will be fine, because that's what I do; I pick up and I survive. But right now? Today? This week?

It's going to be rough.

Please have patience with me while I work through this. I'll figure it out, but probably not this week. This week it is going to take enough out of me just to keep up with the workload that I honestly can't get out of. It's going to take enough out of me to get up and go to my job, when all I want to do is stay in bed and cry.

It just wasn't supposed to turn out like this.

I'm on my way to my doctor’s appointment now. I'll know for sure one way or another by midday. I'm trying to maintain hope, but with so much blood; I'm just not sure I can hope for much more beyond this being quick.

And after that? I honestly don't know.

I'm just trying to get through today.

What Comes Next

Around noon it seemed like the spotting may have stopped. If it had, I think I maybe could have been more hopeful that it was just really late implantation bleeding.

It started up again about an hour ago though, and now it’s bright red. It’s still very little, but it’s there every time I wipe.

I just don’t see how that could possibly be OK.

My Tuesday blood test is being moved to tomorrow. The woman I spoke to this morning was very sweet, but she didn’t sound very hopeful herself. She said that it is possible that the Prometrium capsules could be causing me to spot; that those can sometimes irritate your cervix. She told me to try not to lose hope, but that there really wasn’t much I could do about it if it was over. She just told me to drink a lot of water, stay in bed, and try to stay calm.

I’ve been lying in bed watching movie after movie on Netflix instant play; ignoring anything and everything I had originally had planned for today. I’m fine as long as I don’t talk to anyone. As soon as I answer my phone though, I start sobbing.

Every. Single. Time.

I’ve just stopped answering. I can’t handle hearing people’s concern. I had one friend offer to bring me ice cream under the promise that ice cream can work wonders. I told her that unless ice cream could make me pregnant, I didn’t want any.

What kind of a person says such mean things to someone who is only trying to be there for them?

I just obviously can’t really deal with people today, and I’m not exactly looking forward to the next very busy week at work.

I'm trying to trust in God. Trying to believe that there is a plan bigger than my own. Trying to remember to give it to Him.

I’m just not sure how I’m supposed to feel about this. How I’m supposed to react.

What I’m supposed to do now?

10dp3dt

I started spotting last night. It wasn't much, and it was dark brown, but this morning there is a little more (still not much though) and it's a bit more pink.

I am crushed. I really feel like it is too far along for it to be implantation bleeding (I'm technically 13 days past ovulation). This is the first time I feel like it either didn't work, or if it did - I'm losing it.

I'm waiting for a call back from Seattle Reproductive Medicine, but after spending some time with Doctor Google, I don't have much hope.

I'm also not seeing any shadows of any lines on this mornings tests (I did however get smart this morning and track down a disposable cup so that I could do both tests).

I haven't cried yet, but I feel like it's coming. I want this so bad, but I'm not so sure tomorrow is another day anymore.

Adding Insult to Injury

I am officially the biggest blond you have ever met.

You all remember the 30 minute wait I put you (and me) through this afternoon?

Yeah, completely unnecessary.

I bought a 3 pack of FRER tests, and there was a free fertility test included in the package (and really – can we discuss the irony here? I am pretty positive that I really have no use for a fertility test – unless it comes back with some kind of witty digital response like “you are totally screwed”. That I could at least laugh at.) When I went to read the instructions after I peed, I grabbed the instructions for the fertility test (which looked exactly like the instructions for a pregnancy test). I didn't even think twice. I just read what was in front of me and believed.

I thought 30 minutes was a little weird, but I just assumed it was because this test was special and advanced. I didn’t even think anything of it. I really just thought that’s how it worked.

I took it as a sign that this test could tell me something that other tests couldn't.

Which is where we return to the part about me being a blond.

When I started getting comments questioning the 30 minute wait, I dug the instructions out of the trash can (yes, yes I did) planning on taking a picture of them to post here so that you could all know I wasn’t crazy or making it up.

Turns out, I’m crazy and I was making it up.

One thing I wasn’t making up was that very very very faint blue line I saw this morning. That faint line that I really think is the first indication of baby.

Like I said, tomorrow is another day, and I will use the FRER with my first morning urine. Then, I’ll only wait for 3 minutes to check it out rather than 30. Just for kicks.

I swear, some day this will all be funny; the lengths mommy went to just to find out the little one was coming.

But right now? Today? In this moment?

I just feel like a total nut job.

Negative Batman

What a let down:

Still, I'm telling you, my pee for this one was completely clear... I drink a ton of water, and I really think I need to be a first morning urine test taker for that reason. I'm still not discouraged, I just think I'm going to have to wait until tomorrow to see a clear positive. Which is kind of funny, since Sunday was originally going to be the first day I was going to let myself test.

I sure screwed that up, didn't I?!?

The funny thing is, I really do still feel fine. I just know it's coming... I wish it would have come already, but I know it's still coming.

Tomorrow is a BFP kind of day.

And for those of you who wanted to see my morning test now, here it is:

You can see the shadow I'm talking about more in the bottom half of the window, and it's even more visible when you're actually looking at it in person.

It's definitely there, but since it didn't show up for an hour, I'm not sure how much it counts.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow is the BFP. I know it.

30 Minutes

I broke down.

I went to the store and I bought 3 FRER tests (after much prodding from all of you, and someone finally explaining to me that it was First Response Early Result - I honestly had no idea what that acronym stood for!)

I came home, I peed (and I was a little concerned it would be worthless, because my pee was clear by this point - why must I drink so much water?!?) and then thankfully I read the instructions (which I never ever do) and realized the results can't be read until 30 minutes have passed.

30 minutes?!? What happened to 3? Or 5?

So now, I wait... hoping there was enough of anything in my pee (besides just straight water) to be picked up on.

I do think you should know though, that the shadow I noticed on my EPT this morning is decidedly darker now...

That has to mean something, right?

I can't believe I just dropped $20 on 3 more pee sticks. I don't even know who I am anymore.

9dp3dt

OK, I feel crazy, but I swear there is the shadow of the faintest positive line on this one... I had to stare at it in the light of my bathroom for like 5 minutes and I don't think there is any way you can see it in this picture, but... maybe?

Also, the tests from the last two days have definitely gotten that other line after a few hours. Now, I know you aren't supposed to read the tests after a certain amount of time, but the first days test never got that, and yesterdays magical appearing line is darker than Thursdays... does that count for anything?

I know. I'm losing my mind.

A Dating Dilemma

I have a confession to make. I’ve been hiding something from you all. I don’t even really know why, except that I guess I just didn’t think there was anything to tell.

And I was a little embarrassed.

And I felt like I was for sure crazy to even be thinking about doing what I was doing.

I have always had a bit of a prejudice against internet dating. I know a lot of people meet that way, but it’s just never really seemed like my cup of tea. I meet guys just fine, and I was always pretty convinced that the kind of guy I would be attracted to (intelligent, assertive, confident) wouldn’t be the kind of guy who would get on the internet to find a date. I always just figured that the kind of guy I would date is out there, in the real world, asking girls out on a whim as he meets them because he just knows he has something special to offer.

I’ll admit that while I totally get how women could get into internet dating, I’ve never really understood how most men could get into it. I figured they all had something to hide and that the internet in general didn’t have much to offer me in terms of dating potential.

A few things happened to change that opinion recently though; or at least… to get me rethinking my stance.

The first is actually this space here. You see, I was also the kind of person who used to scoff at the idea of making friends online. I have plenty of friends, and I made all of them in real life. Girls who know me, love me, and would stand by me through anything. I simply couldn’t understand how relationships similar to that could ever be formed without meeting face to face, and when I started this blog the thought never occurred to me that I would form real bonds here. Now, I obviously have. The first time I found myself sharing e-mails back and forth with a fellow blogger, I was amazed at how much I felt like I knew her. I was never the kind of girl who would have thought she would become invested in people she had never met, and then... it happened.

Which left me wondering: if I could have been wrong about that, isn’t it possible I could also have been wrong about internet dating?

The other thing that happened is a good friend of mine (a beautiful, intelligent, fun chick) met a man on eHarmony, fell in love, and got married. When I first learned they had met that way, I was shocked. First of all, this is a good looking guy. A confident guy. A straight up just cool guy. Not the kind of guy I would have thought would be online dating to be completely honest. Seeing them together really started to change my opinions though, because they were clearly meant to be; a perfect match. I started to think that if the two of them could find each other online, maybe my opinions about online dating were a little less than accurate.

After the wedding, I think it’s fair to say I was feeling a little deflated. Feeling like the ex and I had finally reached the point of no return was like getting my heart crushed into a thousand tiny pieces. I really thought I had been prepared for this (after all, we have been shaky at best for the last year), but that final moment of realization that we were never going to figure things out was crippling. And let me just tell you, I don’t do well with being taken out by my emotions like that. I’ve said it before and I will say it again; I am not a wallow in self pity kind of girl. So, when I have a few days of just straight up depression like I did those first few days in Seattle, I start grasping at straws trying to find ways to pull myself out of whatever mess it is I’m in. In this case, I was alone in Seattle about to embark on the biggest journey I’ve ever taken in my entire life while also trying to nurture a broken heart. I spent a lot of time by myself in my hotel room, and I think it was a combination of boredom and sheer frustration over the time I had wasted with the ex that led me to sign up for eHarmony.

Yep. You read that right. I signed up for an online dating site WHILE I was in Seattle trying to make a baby.

That’s the crazy part.

I’ll tell you the truth though: I honestly didn’t think I would be meeting anyone “special”. I only signed up for the month plan, assuming that I would be pregnant by the end of that month and dating would be off limits for the next year or more. I just… I wanted to see what was out there. I wanted to maybe send some flirtatious e-mails back and forth and remind myself that the ex wasn’t the only guy on the planet. Plus, I wanted something to fill my days as I tried to distract myself from the huge thing I had going on in my real life.

And you know what? After a few days I did actually start to feel better. I wasn’t really all that interested in any of the guys I was “matched” with, but it was nice to see what new options I had every day and it was fun to weed through what was there. I felt like I was in the drivers seat again, and that’s kind of what I had been hoping for all along. Not that there would be some amazing love affair that would come out of the deal; just that I would find enough healing to stop bemoaning the loss of the future I thought the ex and I had. I just wanted to get to a point where I could forget about him and truly focus on what was important; the baby at the end of this road.

I didn’t say anything here, because like I said; there wasn’t really anything to tell. And beyond that, I was a little embarrassed; both because I think I still have my own prejudices about internet dating, and because I knew my timing was insane.

I got home from Seattle, and I was more or less ready to put the kibosh on the eHarmony profile. As far as I was concerned, it had served its purpose and now it was time for me to move on and let my focus return to what mattered most; the budding little embryo inside of me.

I was all ready to pull the plug, until early this week when I logged on and had a new match.

An intriguing match.

A match that actually made me pause and go “hmmmmm”.

And, I have been a little more excited to hear from him every day.

Last night as I was reading his e-mail, it is possible that I may have even had some butterflies.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not over the moon or gushing just yet, I just think he seems like someone I would definitely be interested in if I had met him out and about... And it's been a long time since I've had a genuine interest in anyone besides the ex.

This guy is pretty much my type to a T. He is funny and sarcastic; intelligent and perceptive. His e-mails totally get me cracking up, and he has already picked up on some of my quirks. I am guessing he is going to ask me out on a date any day now, and I’m actually really excited to meet him in person.

Except…

There just so happens to be a tiny little dilemma.

I really do think I’m pregnant.

(and even if I’m not, let’s be real – I am going to be devastated and nowhere near in the mood to be going out and getting to know someone who has no idea what I’m going through - if I'm not pregnant, I'm guessing my interest in dating is going to be pretty squished for a while anyway)

When I first signed up, I really didn’t think much about how what I’m doing would enter into the dating process. Like I said, I honestly didn’t even think there would be anyone worthy of meeting. Even if there were though, I kind of just assumed that what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. I wasn’t looking for anything serious, and just assumed that none of these guys would be around long enough for what was going on inside of my belly to matter.

But this guy? I have a feeling if I went out with him, I would just want to go out with him again and again.

Which does create a bit of a problem.

I don’t necessarily want to say anything to him before I know for sure, because that would just be far too dramatic if it turned out I wasn’t actually pregnant (can you imagine - the big confession that then turns into the big breakdown). But, I have a feeling I will find out for sure here very soon, and I just can’t imagine going on a date with this guy knowing that I’m pregnant without actually telling him.

It just seems like it would be deceitful. Like I couldn’t ever own up to the truth after that, because it would feel like I had tricked him in the first place.

So as of right now my plan is to wait until I have that positive test before telling him anything. As soon as that test comes through though, I think I’m going to have to spill all - via e-mail of course, so that I don't have to see the look on his face!

I’m still trying to work out how exactly I would word it, but I’m thinking something fairly abbreviate where I just tell him my history and then let him know that I hadn’t wanted to delete my account before I knew for sure, but that things have obviously changed now. I was thinking I would tell him that I would totally understand if he had no interest in dating me now, but that I think he’s a really cool guy and I would still love to get together and be friends… see where it goes from there.

Quite the little pickle though, isn’t it?

I must admit that I never thought I would be dealing with this little question of dating ethics at the same time I was waiting on my big fat positive, but it has been a nice distraction. I’m not counting on anything to really come out of this, because I’m not sure most guys would be too comfortable with starting to date a woman at the beginning of her pregnancy, but in the interim…

The butterflies haven't been anything to complain about.

8dp3dt

I have to admit, I’m a bit more disappointed this morning. But only because I have read about a lot of women who got their first positives at 8dp3dt (8 days past a 3 day transfer – so for those of you who got pregnant the old fashioned way, that would technically be 11 days past ovulation). I really wanted to be one of those lucky ones who could know for sure by now.

I know it’s still coming, but I was just so hoping for that confirmation this morning!

Tomorrow is another day though, and it is coming… I just feel it.

P.S. Is it pathetic that I have taken to using a photo editor on my pee sticks just because I want them to be prettier? That can’t be normal…

Conversations With My Ute

Dear Fluffy Slimy Warm Little Uterus,

I hope you're making that new little addition ridiculously comfortable in there. I have big expectations for you right now, but I know you won’t let me down. Just whatever you do; do not let that embie go. You are to hold on to that that little guy for dear life, do you hear me? Under no circumstances can you drop the ball here my dear dear ute. You need to keep your head in the game and score one for the team.

And before you ask, I realize that you are wondering right now what’s in it for you. You and I have had a rough run of it this last year and a half. It really all started with you deciding to let your cells escape and implant all over the place. I’m trying really hard not to blame you for this whole endometriosis business, but really?!? Why are pieces of you all over my insides?!? You slutty slutty organ! Don’t you know what happens when you spread your seed like there’s no tomorrow? Crippling, doubled over pain is what happens! That, and you really screwed over your closest neighbors. Those ovaries just aren’t the same girls they used to be. They’ve seen too much; been exposed too deeply. And it’s basically because they got soaked in your excrement. They are literally covered in ute flesh. What exactly did you do to them?

Never mind. I don’t want to know.

But, I do not blame you. Trust me my little ute, I recognize that I may have played a part in this whole situation myself. I’m still not completely convinced that the hormones involved in my egg donations didn’t just set you off and lead to the current mess. I’m sure you were plenty pissed going through those cycles and thinking you were about to get a new companion, just to find out those little embies you were preparing yourself for were going off into some other ute you’ve never even met. I understand you may have been a little upset over the whole ordeal, and that now you are having a hard time forgiving me. But please remember my love, those embies went off to a warm and loving home somewhere else. There are 2 perfect babies in this world because of the minor discomfort you went through. I understand now that you must have been disappointed, but really; there was no reason to go on the attack. We could have worked it out you know. I would have listened to your feelings. I would have told you all about the family you helped. I would have praised you and loved you and reminded you that your time would come soon. I just never knew how upset you were... Until it was too late and you had slimed even my kidneys.

But none of that matters anymore. The past is the past and it’s time we both move on. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings by bypassing you way back then my dear ute, and I hope you will forgive me just like I forgive you for slutting yourself out to all my other organs. Now is the time to move forward and focus on the future, and this future is bright my lovely ute. It is bright, because you are holding on to it right now as we speak. Don’t you see the special gift you’ve been given? That is a little life tucked away inside of you right now, and it is yours to nurture and protect and grow for the next 9 months.

This time it really is your turn little ute, and all you have to do is hold on. Those hormones I was fluffing you up with this last month weren’t a massive fake-out as they were in the past. This is the real deal, and you have a chance to fully prove your worth. You get to be the star player; the one who outshines all the other members of the show. Right now my ute, you are the favorite organ.

Even if you are a little bit whorey.

So hold on tightly please my lovely ute. This is the chance for both of our dreams to come true, and I know you can do it. You are strong and beautiful and perfect, and I know you will make an excellent home for this baby of ours. This baby that I know you already love as much as I do. All you have to do is hold on ute. Tuck that embie away tightly inside your slimy folds and don’t let it escape. Hold on and give it room to grow and thrive.

And maybe, if you get a chance, start kicking up the hormone production so that I can get a pee stick to tell me that you’re still on board with the plan sooner rather than later.

I mean, I know you are, but a little reassurance wouldn’t suck right now.

You and me ute, we’re on the same team now. So let’s stop fighting each other and work together on this one, because it really is win-win.

You get your chance to outshine all the organs you’ve slimed.

And I get a chance to be a mom.

What do you say?

7dp3dt

Still negative.

But, it's still early.

I'm still fine.

And I'm still pregnant.

Yes, My Boobs Are Sore

Everyone keeps asking me if I’m having any symptoms.

My dad. My friends. Teeny. All of you.

Everyone wants to know if I’ve had any signs or clues that this cycle just may have worked.

And you know what?

Yes, my boobs are sore.

They are. I promise. And they have been for a few days.

Of course, that could be because I poke at them every 20 minutes or so just to check to see if they’re sore. There has admittedly been a lot of booby prodding on my part, but I’m telling you… they’re sore.

They are nowhere near as sore as what some of my friends have described when they’ve been pregnant though. I’ve heard friends complain about grueling pain in their breasts, but my discomfort is pretty localized to my nipples and it’s really only all that noticeable when I’m poking around at them.

So, I can only tell they're sore when I start prodding them to seek out soreness.

Which means that it could just as easily be from those cootchie suppositories of progesterone goodness I'm having to submit myself to as it could be from a pregnancy.

But, I’m also exhausted. I have seriously struggled to wake up every day this week, and I have been dragging at work; doing whatever it is I can to just get through the day and get home to my bed. Then once I’m home, I’ve actually been passing out at a decent hour. Every night. Which is so not like me. I am a second wind at 10 pm kind of girl, but not this week... this week, I have been sleeping. As much as possible.

You want to know what else? I seriously cannot control my temperature. One minute I’m cold and pulling on a sweater, and the next I'm sweating and stepping outside for fresh air because I feel like I’m going to suffocate.

There is no regulation. No comfortable. No normal. No matter what I try to get to feeling "right" temperature wise, it has backfired 15 minutes later.

The weirdest thing of all though? There is this… pressure/tingling/fullness (heck, let's just call it a straight up weird feeling) in my stomach. I can’t explain it any better than that. It is just this feeling, and that feeling has me thinking that something must be going on in there.

Something huge. Something amazing. Something incredible.

You see, I really think I'm pregnant.

Even after the negative this morning, I still felt like I was pregnant.

Even when I woke up and noticed that the picture of my perfect little embie had fallen off the wall and was face down on the ground (which I couldn’t help but acknowledge as a bad sign – because I am totally crazy like that)... still, I felt like I was pregnant.

Like this round of IVF worked and there is a new life forming and flourishing inside of me as we speak.

Like nothing else that happened could possibly change that fact.

Of course, this is all just speculation until I actually get a positive; but I still feel like I’m pregnant. Deep down in my gut, I feel it.

No matter how early it is, or how irrational it may be to think that my body could be reacting to a pregnancy this soon, I think I’m pregnant. And I think my body is giving me signs.

So, either I’m actually pregnant, or I’m suffering from a hysterical pregnancy like the crazy lady on Glee and my body is having a psychosomatic reaction to my complete and utter belief that it's pregnant.

In which case, I’m going to need to find a faux baby belly and a knocked up teenager STAT.

Because one way or another, I am getting a baby out of this deal.

6dp3dt

Clearly Negative. It's OK though. I'm fine. It's still early. Like, really early. And the truth is... I feel pregnant. I can't explain it, but I just really feel like it worked. I'm not sure if it's because I just can't imagine it not working, or because I really know. Either way though, I promise I'm not too upset this morning.

The good news is that now I know for sure that the HCG has tested out, so when I do get a positive I will know it's real.

Tomorrow is another day.

I Think I’m Starting To Twitch

The two week wait is archaic.

It’s barbaric.

It’s unjust.

Oh hell. It just isn’t right.

I swear to you lovely ladies (and the few lone gentlemen who put up with me): I am starting to twitch. I was not built for this kind of… unknowing.

I had promised myself I would wait until at least Sunday to pee on a stick. I’ll admit: I have this picture in my head of how I am supposed to find out I’m pregnant, and it doesn’t involve a phone call.

I am supposed to be standing over a pee stick jumping up and down with elation in the privacy of my own home.

I am not supposed to be in the confines of my office trying to mute my squeals.

So, I've known that I would break down at some point and pee on a stick, if only because I've really been hoping to prep myself one way or the other for the big day.

But – and this is a big but – I've been worried about testing too soon and ending up with either a false negative (because the levels just haven’t made it to my pee stream yet) or a false positive (because the hormones from the shot that made me do this are still hanging around).

It's a delicate balance. I haven’t wanted to crush myself with a false negative, but I also haven’t wanted to build myself up only to be crushed later on by a false positive.

And, unfortunately, there are really no guarantees at all that my test results will be accurate before my blood test on Tuesday.

In fact, the odds are probably greater that I can't really count on whatever result I get at all.

Which is scary.

I knew I would test, but I only wanted to do it once. And I wanted to do it as near to my actual blood test as I could manage to wait.

Except that today, I started to twitch. I read about women who tested positive as early as I am and who went on to have perfect little babies. I started to convince myself that if they could know this soon, I could too.

And wouldn’t knowing be better than not knowing?

I didn’t mean to do it, but on the way home from work I might have pulled into Walgreens. It was like I was being lured there by some uncontrollable force.

The same force that made me do this:

That is enough tests to last me up until the morning of my blood draw.

I have officially plunged myself into infertile lunacy.

Now, the real trick here is going to be not trusting anything those tests tell me. Recognizing that only the blood test next Tuesday will be able to give me the real truth.

Looking at these tests more like a visit with a cheap birthday party psychic. Expecting that they could get a few details right, but not really believing anything they predict until it happens.

I can do that, right? I can look at whatever the results may be objectively and not let myself get too worked up either way. Can't I?

Sure I can.

I think.

My dad told me not to do this to myself. He told me to wait until Tuesday. He said I would just make myself more crazy.

You know what I told him?

Not. Possible.

I have officially crossed the line. When I start rocking back and forth and reciting nonsensical syllables to myself, please feel free to cart me off to the looney bin.

But if you know what’s good for you, you'll send my pee sticks with me.

I Eye Stalk Babies

A funny thing happened last night.

I was out to dinner with one of my favorite girls to celebrate her birthday, when 2 women walked in with a baby.

I was of course, immediately mesmerized.

My eyes followed that child from the moment I spied him until the second they were seated behind us.

Even when I caught a glimpse of the mother watching me watch them, I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t help it. This little one was just too edible for words and I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

Let’s just say that I was thankful when they were seated behind me, because the temptation to stare at them for the rest of the evening was greatly reduced.

Although, I did sneak a glance once or twice.

This is what I do people. I have the baby fever. It isn’t healthy, but I am obsessed with other people’s babies. It is very obvious, and I would be willing to bet that it might just freak some people out.

Which is why I got painfully uncomfortable when the birthday girl told me that the women who had just been seated kept looking over at us.

“It’s probably because they think I want to kidnap their child.” I told her.

To which she replied “Well, don’t you?”

Yes, the little girl knows me well. It's possible I may be just a few steps shy of being a full on baby snatcher.

What can I say? I am a woman on a mission and when I see someone who has the prize I so desire, my ovaries start to ache.

For the record: I have yet to ever actually steal any babies.

From that point forward though, I really tried to temper myself. No more quick glances back.

Must. Not. Look. At. Baby.

When the perfect infant’s mother was coming back from the bathroom and looking like she wanted to say something to me, my stomach started to do flip flops.

Great. Now I’m going to have to explain to this woman who thinks I want to snatch her child that I am more or less harmless; that I just happen to be a crazy infertile woman who salivates at the sight of babies.

I would never actually kidnap a child though.

(yes I would).

No I wouldn’t.

(yes I would).

No. Really. I wouldn’t. I swear.

My palms started sweating and I realized I had officially become a woman who other people aren't exactly comfortable having around their children. And now I was going to have to explain myself to a stranger who was concerned for her own child’s welfare.

Without coming off like a complete lunatic.

I was all ready to blurt out something awkward and inappropriate, when the woman hesitantly said my name.

And I was stunned into silence.

Is my photo displayed somewhere on some potential kidnappers website?

She repeated my name again, and then said “It’s Kassandra.”

Still dazed and confused, I tried to decipher where I knew this woman from. I’ve only been in Alaska 2 years. Not long enough to have long lost friends that I haven’t seen in so long I don’t recognize them. And I have issues with names and faces sometimes, but if I had met this girl before I’m sure I would have recognized her.

Or at least, I’m sure I would have recognized her child.

Suddenly it hit me though. Kassandra. From KassandraRyan.

I love this girl! She and I have exchanged quite a few e-mails and Tweets over the last few months. She lives in Fairbanks, so about 6 hours from where I am in Anchorage. Meaning that the chances of us running into each other when she happened to be in town were pretty remote.

And the chances of my recognizing her were nonexistent. At least, not while she had a child on her hip to draw my attention away.

Last night, for the first time, I was recognized in public from my blog.

And from that point forward, I was completely socially awkward.

I think at first I was just stunned. Then, as Kassandra thrust her perfect little progeny into my arms, I was unable to focus on anything else.

I’m telling you: babies are my kryptonite. You want to shut me up and get me to sit still, put a little piece of perfection in my arms. After that, all else is lost.

We chatted for a minute, but unfortunately we had already been on our way out so we didn’t get to visit for too long.

Still, it was a surreal experience.

One that kind of made my night, because I got to hold a baby.

And I got to meet Kassandra too of course.

I don’t think there are too many people here in Alaska reading along, but let this be a lesson to you all just in case: Should you happen to recognize me out in public while you are with a child, you may want to pawn that child off on someone else. Because, if you approach me with a baby, I will become completely useless to you. My sole attention will be so focused on your munchkin that I clearly won’t even take the time to really look at your face.

If you want a socially awkward scene with a blogger who doesn’t know how to behave in public though, I’m your girl.

Seriously Kassandra, it was great to meet you. And I’m sorry I was so caught off guard. I was totally sure you were about to yell at me for eye stalking your child.

Because, you know, that’s exactly what I was doing.

It's Not About Strength

Strength.

It’s something that is incredibly important to me.

Something that I pride myself on.

Something that hasn’t really come into play here at all.

When I was in Seattle, my friend B-Face was telling me at lunch one day how strong I am. How she had been sharing my story with a co-worker and they had both discussed my strength.

I kind of had to laugh and shake my head, because none of this is about strength. She was saying how impressive it was that I was taking this all on by myself, but my point to her was: what else was I supposed to do?

Crumble?

Wallow in self pity?

Give up?

It’s not really about strength; it’s about survival. When life gives you circumstances you don’t like, you have two choices. You can give up, or you can fight it.

I’ve just never been great at giving up.

But taking this path; choosing to pursue single motherhood by all means necessary rather than succumbing to my circumstances; it was the only choice as far as I was concerned. It hasn’t been easy, and I have definitely had the mini breakdowns along the way (and I am sure there will be even more moving forward), but I’m not sure I had any other choice. When I look back over the time I was trying to decide what to do, I don't think there were ever really any other viable options. I mean, sure, I considered it all; but I don’t think any of the answers held the weight that this one did.

I knew I had to try. I knew I would never forgive myself if I didn’t at least make this one last ditch attempt to conceive and carry a child inside of me.

I knew there were no other options.

I am not now, nor have I ever been someone who is great at giving up. And I really don’t do self pity all that well either. I definitely have my moments, but for the most part I do think you can choose how you react to the situations in your life. I don’t think anyone is ever just screwed out of the life they want without having options to repair the damage. I think we all have it within us to mold our circumstances.

And knowing that, believing it, means that to me there are no other options beyond fighting for what I want; no matter what.

But I don’t think that has anything to do with strength; I think it has to do with self preservation. If my two options are to take the road less traveled and face the unknown, or to break down and crumble under my own depression; I will choose the first every time. Mostly because I don’t think I’m strong enough to sit around feeling sorry for myself all the time.

And as I wait (hoping, praying, and believing in that little embie in me now) I admittedly feel less than strong. I feel as though my hopes and dreams are riding on one tiny little cluster of cells. I feel so invested it almost isn’t even funny.

I don’t feel strong; I feel dependent.

But, I know that no matter what I’ll find my way out of even this, because that’s what you have to do. Regardless of what life hands you, you have to keep fighting and striving and surviving.

Because that’s the only choice. Because that’s what this life is all about. There isn’t one of us who doesn’t have struggles or pain or hurt. You can either wallow in that or recognize that you are not alone and that there are always options.

I just choose to see the options.

I choose to fight.

I choose to do whatever needs to be done to get the life I want and believe I deserve.

Like I said though: It’s not about strength; it’s about self preservation.