Morning Madness

It’s another one of those “wake-up at 4:00 a.m. in full-on worry mode” mornings.  That means it is likely going to be a “fall asleep at your desk if you aren’t careful” afternoons.  I am literally rationalizing why it is okay for me to just get up for the day right now, by reminding myself that I can be back in bed, napping, 12 hours from now.  Not a great way to start the day.

I had hoped my early morning panics would subside throughout the pregnancy.  I used to have them all the time when I was dealing with infertility.  Sometimes due to fear over how a cycle was progressing (or failing to progress), sometimes due to fear over the possibility of never getting pregnant, and sometimes due to the emotional upheaval that took place in my marriage during the dark years.  Once I got pregnant, I woke-up with fear over losing the pregnancy...or with those strange hormone-related nightmares.   I’m starting to sneak past the miscarriage fear, but there is always a replacement, isn’t there?  If you are the type of person that I am (a habitual worrier), even when you conquer one fear, there is always another waiting to replace it. 

This morning’s fears are ridiculous and premature.  I know that.   But the knowledge doesn’t stop my heart from pounding and my stomach from feeling sick with anxiety.  At my appointment with Dr. B, last week, she told me that if I hadn’t gotten my sick stomach under control by the end of the week, I would have to start drinking Ensure.  For those of you not familiar with Ensure, it is a very dense, nutrient-rich, canned creamy shake of sorts.  It is frequently taken by people who have just undergone stomach bypass surgery or by the elderly.  I’ve had to take it on two occasions, when illnesses landed me in the hospital for malnutrition.  It is not a pleasant-tasting drink.  In fact, I had difficulty forcing myself to drink it when I wasn’t experiencing severe food aversions and nausea.  Dr. B acknowledged as much and told me that I didn’t have to drink a whole can at a time, just a little bit on ice throughout the day.  But she was adamant that the pregnancy was reaching a point where the baby is actually needing nutrients from me…nutrients that I just can’t give it right now if I’m not able to take in more food.  I’m still down 15 pounds from when I got pregnant, which is better than the 20 pounds I was down a week ago when I needed IV fluids, but not great for the end for the third month of pregnancy.

I thought I was feeling better, as Friday and Saturday I was keeping most of what I ate down with the help of Zofran.   But apparently it was just one of those temporary “teaser” reprieves that early pregnancy occasionally sends my way because yesterday things were back to the status quo.  So, I have to come to grips with the fact that I need to drink Ensure, for the sake of the baby, even though I really hate that stuff.  Why is this keeping me awake at night?  I have no idea.  It isn’t like I have to eat live scorpions or lay in a snake pit…it’s a drink.  But still, I think my Negative Nelly tendencies have my mind off to the races, jumping from “you aren’t meeting your babies nutritional needs” to “your body is already failing the baby, just like it has failed you in the past” to “what if you can’t do this?”  That last question goes beyond my ability to stomach the Ensure, I think.

My second fear deals with my baby registry, which I started last night.  I thought it would be so much fun for my plan-loving self.   But it hasn’t been fun so far.  I am afraid that I am choosing the wrong stores to register at.  I’m afraid that I am choosing things I won’t need or forgetting about things that I really will need.  I’m frustrated that about half of my registry is on hold because I don’t know the baby’s gender now, and won’t know the baby’s gender for another two months, so I can’t yet choose gender appropriate items or my nursery theme.  I’m concerned about how quickly the “big ticket” items are adding up and about how long my registry is going to end up being.  I’m not even at 11 weeks.  Most people haven’t started thinking about their registries yet.   But I can’t stop thinking about mine…and it’s not fun!

Looking back at the beginning of this blog, I know I need to get my butt to a prenatal yoga class (a daunting prospect when napping and throwing up are your two most common activities).  I need to get a good pregnancy meditation CD and use it.  I need to grab those moments, which are now an everyday occurrence (thank God), when I feel nothing but love and joy and gratitude for my pregnancy.  I need to hold onto those moments and find a way to use them as a light to chase away the darker emotions that always want to snuggle in beside me.  I know what I need to do, but like drinking the Ensure, I just can’t seem to bring myself to do it.    

As Real As It Gets

Yesterday, I stepped into reality.  I thought that I had already been realistic about our situation, but I wasn’t.  I had been caught up with pregnancy symptoms, the excitement of finally being pregnant, and the fear of losing the remaining baby.  Somehow those distractions kept the situation from really sinking in before.  But yesterday put an end to that.

At yesterday’s ultrasound – our 8 week and 1 day ultrasound – I saw our little peanut, only it doesn’t look like a peanut.  It has a distinct head and body.  There’s a dark spot in the skull that is the forming brain.   It has arm buds and leg buds and it was wiggling them during the ultrasound.  It is clearly a person…a two centimeter long person…but a person nonetheless.  And it has its own little 178 beats per minute heartbeat.  The Prince quipped, during the ultrasound, that Little Hamish must be a sprinter.   Cute...but I’m not comfortable calling the baby “Little Hamish,” anymore.  I can’t exactly explain why, but I think it is because the baby is no longer theoretical to me and that joke was okay when the baby wasn’t so real.  Now I am fully aware that there is an actual other human being growing inside of me and it is going to have its own identity and thought and needs.   And I’m freaking out a little bit.  Okay…I’m freaking out a lot.  I’m freaking out enough to need a new name for the baby.

Reading this, you may be thinking that I am crazy for not “knowing” this until week 8.  Don’t get me wrong.  I knew that there was a baby growing in my belly before yesterday’s ultrasound and I knew that it would continue to grow and develop.  But I didn’t become fully aware of the situation until yesterday.  Maybe I had been too blissful to think of the pregnancy in anything other than sugar-coated fluffiness.  Or, maybe I hadn’t allowed reality to sink in because I was stuck in my infertility mindset of waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Maybe I was just so in love with the idea of my baby, I didn’t want to make it “real” because real things can go away.  I don’t know why reality is hitting now, but it is an amazing and scary thing.  I have never felt so connected.  I have never felt so much responsibility.   I have never felt so much fear that my body is going to fail me.  It’s failed me so many times in the past, when I was trying to get to this place in my journey.  If it fails me again, with so much at stake, I don’t know if I will ever get over the betrayal.  But for now I will try to push those fears away and learn how to reconcile reality and “over the moon” love, because that is where I want to dwell for the rest of this pregnancy. 

It's Friday, I'm in Love.

When I went through infertility treatments, I was always waiting.  Waiting for AF or for my medications to arrive.  Waiting to start my stimulation medications or for my ultrasounds and blood work.  Waiting for egg retrieval.  Waiting for the phone call to tell me how many eggs fertilized.  Waiting for transfer.  Waiting for my beta test.  I thought all of the waiting would be behind me when I finally got pregnant.  I thought wrong.

I spend every day waiting for Friday.  Friday is my ultrasound day, and starting four weeks ago, Friday became the most important day of the week to me.  All week long I second guess my symptoms or the twinges (sometimes more than twinges) in my belly.  I have little mini-panic attacks and am overcome with the feeling that something is terribly wrong.  It’s easy to do when, for every week of pregnancy through week 12, I know at least one person who has lost her baby at that stage.  Every week, I need the reassurance of seeing the heartbeat on the screen and so every week I watch the clock slowly tick towards Friday.  It doesn’t tick nearly quickly enough.  Friday is still an eternity away.

To complicate matters further, this Friday will be bittersweet.  Not only will this Friday be my week 8 ultrasound, if everything looks good this Friday, I will be discharged from my fertility center to my OBGYN.  In other words, the doctors and nurses that have become like family to me over the last three years will no longer be involved in my care.  They have put up with my almost daily emails, emotional breakdowns, misdirected anger and generally neurotic behavior.  They have put up with me without ever complaining, telling me to calm down, or making me feel like I was a “problem patient.”  I think that I cannot reasonably expect the same treatment from my OBGYN.  Her office has a reputation for being very friendly and very patient, but how patient can she possibly be?  Surely she will not be as patient as the healthcare providers at my fertility center.  She doesn’t know what I’ve been through.  She won’t understand why I am irrationally fearful of losing this baby.  She won’t understand how hard I’ve worked for this baby.  She won’t give me an ultrasound every Friday so that I can survive the next week without being crushed under the weight of my own fears.

I wish I could tell all of you that the fearful anticipation that haunts many women throughout their infertility journeys ends with pregnancy.  But it doesn’t.  No matter how hard I try to be Positive Polly, I am stuck in the same familiar struggles with my own inner demons.  The one piece of good news that I can give you is that I now have an amazing secret weapon that is more powerful than any negative thoughts that plague me.  My secret weapon is the enormous amount of love that I feel for the tiny little peanut growing in my belly.  Somehow, I already have an emotional bond with the tiny form that I see on the ultrasound screen each Friday.  So, when the negative thoughts seem to be crushing down on me, I put my hands on my belly and thank that baby for giving me the gift of a love that I’ve never experienced before. I’m still impatient and I’m still afraid, but I am also filled with love and gratitude…feelings I had a hard time mustering during my infertility journey.  Maybe that is why I really count the days until each Friday…because I desperately want to be as close to that baby as I can be, even if “getting closer” is simply seeing a flicker on the screen or hearing a whoosh-whoosh-whoosh on the Doppler.  Is it Friday yet?   

*****P.S.  I am so sorry that I haven't been leaving comments.  Blogger and I are having issues...mainly that Blogger won't let me sign into my account when I am trying to comment.  It just keeps shipping me back to the sign-in page over and over.  So, as soon as I have time to look into it, I will...and I will catch-up on comments.

Still Dealing With Infertility

A fertility friend who is still waiting for her happily ever after wrote to me on Friday, after reading my post about my loss.  She informed me that the title to my blog was misleading and potentially hurtful to others.  People may read my blog title that says I am waiting for a positive pregnancy test and read my blog only to be unpleasantly surprised that I've already gotten a positive pregnancy test.  It was strongly recommended that I fix the title.  Here's the problem with that (Okay, I actually have multiple problems with that).  First, on the day that I find out I lost a twin, I don't need to be told that I am hurting others struggling with infertility, nor is it reasonable to think that I am concerned with updating my blog at that particular time.  I know I probably sound like a real witch right now, but I just think that a fellow infertility survivor should have been able to be more compassionate and thoughtful about the timing of those comments. 

But the bigger problem with the title issue is that I don't know where I stand yet...so I can't change my title right now.  It is true that I am not waiting for my first positive pregnancy test anymore, but I am still feeling very much infertile, and my faith in this pregnancy has been shaken to the point that I'm not ready to modify anything.  I hope that doesn't cause other people pain or mislead them, but this blog is mine and I need to follow my heart.  Right now, my heart is fighting with my head and they are both too confused to make any decisions.  So for now, my blog isn't getting updated.  Hopefully soon I will figure some stuff out and will update who I'm following, what my totle portrays and my "about me" section.  But for now, I'm lost, so I ask for everyone's patience.

As most of you know, I've been struggling since I got pregnant to figure out my identity. Well, in the last three days it has become clear to me...I'm still struggling with infertility.  I've played over the words the nurse said on Friday a million times in my head...trying to decide if I put a more negative spin on it than I should have.  I've reviewed (once with a magnifying glass) the ultrasound pictures of the sac that we didn't see a baby in last week...trying to determine whether the sac got smaller or the perspective was different.  I've imagined that I can see a small dot in the sac and that it is a baby.  I've cried and cried over the loss of the twin, and then I've convinced myself that the ultrasound was a fluke...that it just didn't pick-up the baby, but the baby is still there.  My heart keeps telling me that the twin isn't gone, that it is fighting and needs me to believe in it.  At the same time, my head is telling me to accept what I know. 

These feelings are all far too familiar to me.  I'm doing the same thing I would do during each of our IVF cycles.  The evidence would be there, that the cycle was getting cancelled or that we didn't have enough mature eggs to make it to transfer.  And yet, my heart would tell me to keep hoping.  I would believe that things were going to be okay even though I knew they wouldn't.  Believing and knowing are two different things...and every woman I know who has struggled with infertility is acutely aware of that difference.  I feel myself spreading out the pain of a loss that same way I would do after a transfer...peeing on a stick each day, mourning each negative HPT, so that the negative beta test didn't sting as much.  I'm realistic about what is going to happen at our next ultrasound, and yet, I still have the infertility mentality - my heart won't let go of the hope that both twins are still there.  Maybe this is the mentality of everyone who has to grieve, maybe it is not exclusive to infertiles.  But I feel like I own the duality, and I never experienced it until my infertility journey.

I apologize that my posts don't seem to have much of a point right now.  I apologize that I am accepting everyone's support but not doing much commenting right now.  I promise to catch up on all of the blogs I follow and to update my blog as soon as I can.  I want to thank everyone who has been supportive.  Some of you have shared your experiences with me and I can't tell you how helpful that insight is.  I wish I was being a better blogger and a better friend right now.  All I can do is promise that I will be better someday soon.  I've become an expert griever over the last three years...I'll move on from this.  Until then, thank you again for your patience.

Uniquely Unqualified

I know I have not been leaving very many comments on other people’s blogs lately.  It isn’t because I’ve been too busy to read your posts.  My most recent wave of insomnia has allowed me to keep pretty up-to-date with my blog reading.  It also isn’t because I don’t care about what people are going through.  I still care deeply for each of the people who write the blogs I follow.

The reason that I have not been commenting is because I am in a strange place right now…a place where I feel uniquely unqualified to do anything…especially comment on other people’s situations.  I feel like a walking oxymoron – a pregnant infertile.  And that title is making me uncomfortable.  I don’t know that I still have the right to be giving advice or telling people to “hang in there because it will get better.”  Every time I even think those “comments,” a little voice inside of me says: “That’s easy for you to say, Princess.  You are pregnant.  No one wants to hear your two cents.  You aren’t in the trenches anymore.”  And even if I could quiet that mean little voice long enough to hit “send,” I find that frequently I can’t even think of anything intelligent and helpful to say.  I can offer support, but do people still want my support?

I remember that one of the blogs I read when I got started with blogging, in January, took a dramatic turn after only a couple of weeks, when the author got pregnant with twins.  I followed the blog for a few weeks after the pregnancy announcement, but then I had to stop because I felt like what she was writing about was no longer relevant to my situation.  Now I’m that person.  I’m becoming irrelevant to the situation that most of my blog buddies are in.  I haven’t changed the title of my blog yet, even though “the quest for the ever elusive positive pregnancy test” is now over.  I simply don’t know what to do with this blog.  I don’t know what it is supposed to become.

Do I tackle infertility issues based on my past experiences and make it a more “informational” type blog?  Do I continue to discuss my everyday experiences during the pregnancy, even though I am consciously trying to shift my focus to positive thoughts about the pregnancy, instead of the pain and grief of the three years it took to get here?  Is there a way to create a happy medium?  Can a pregnant infertile write an infertility blog? 

I used to see myself as this wise (I know…and apparently pretentious) self-made expert on infertility.  I felt confident giving advice, pointing people towards sources of information and pouring out the support that we all need and want.  But I don’t feel confident about anything anymore.  My self-given label is changing, my perspective is changing and I am feeling really irrelevant.  What does a fairy tale princess do when she’s ended one tale but hasn’t yet fully embraced the next one?  Can she exist in both simultaneously?  Do we care what happened to her in the first tale if we're reading her second tale?  I don't even feel qualified to answer my own questions right now, but they still need to be asked.

It's Official...

The blood test was a positive, and for that I am so thankful.  My level was 117, which is way above the 25 my clinic requires to consider it more than a chemical pregnancy.  It was also above the number they look for to indicate a healthy pregnancy – 50.  I feel good about my 117 and am looking forward to Monday (Yeah…I have to wait four days instead of two for my second blood test because my fertility center won’t test on weekends…not crazy about that extra two days of waiting), when I can have the reassurance that the number has doubled and things are going well. 

The nurse who called me with my results and the nurse who set-up my appointment for my second round of intralipids were both squealing and congratulating me over and over.  I felt a little guilty that I wasn’t more excited.  I don’t know if this anti-climactic feeling is because I was pretty sure that I would get a positive, given all the POAS, or if I am unwittingly returning to self-preservation mode.  I thought that I had overcome my doubts and fears.  I thought I would continue to be Positive Polly and would ride the Happy Train all the way through the pregnancy.  I thought wrong.  I feel like something is “off” right now, and I hate it.  I want to be jumping up and down and yelling and celebrating.  I would be happy to even feel some butterflies in my stomach over the good news.  But instead I’m just numb...and maybe sad.

I think that part of the problem is that I have been struggling with “survivor’s guilt.”  It sucks that I am pregnant and my fertility friends are not.  I’m not saying it sucks that I’m pregnant, nor are they saying that.  But it isn’t fair that they aren’t pregnant with me…and I can’t fix it.  So the guilt I’m feeling about this is making me second guess everything I have said in this blog.  Have I been too excited and too happy?  Am I that obnoxious person who is unintentionally rubbing my good fortune in the face of those who are less fortunate?  I think about conversations I have had with my friends, and I groan at some of the statements I’ve made.  For example, I’ve talked about my symptoms…the unpleasant ones…the ones that those struggling with infertility long for.  I’ve talked about them because I’m perplexed by them and it is all so new to me.  But what if it sounds like I’m complaining?  I have a tough time with former infertiles who complain about their pregnancy symptoms to people still on their journey to motherhood.  I think it is just something you don’t do…but what if I am…or sound like I am?  Or what if I am reminding those who have experienced losses of their pregnancies...and their pain?

I thought I would feel like my pregnancy was a victory for us all.  That I would be that inspirational character who struggled for three years and then got pregnant…the one that makes people not want to give up when they hit two years of trying to conceive…or three years of trying to conceive.  But I don’t think I am that person.  I’m just another friend who got pregnant…and I hate being that.  Then, I feel guilty for “hating being that” because I feel like I’m somehow not appreciating my pregnancy enough…and that is equally unacceptable.  I feel like I need to appreciate this pregnancy enough for everyone…like there is an obligation that I suck every drop of happiness out of this situation, or I am not worthy of the gift I’ve been given.  Basically, I feel guilty about feeling guilty.

I knew infertility would be an unwanted companion during this pregnancy.  I knew infertility wasn’t going to just leave me alone because I had gotten a positive HPT.  But I underestimated infertility’s resolve and power over me.  I’m fighting to not allow infertility to steal my joy this pregnancy…but today, of all days, I’m losing the battle.  This should be a happy post and I’m sorry to all of you that it is not.  Hopefully tomorrow will be better.

Tick...tick.......tick

I wish I could say that I recovered from yesterday’s little meltdown and pulled myself back into the happy land I had been dwelling in for the last week or so.  But if I told you that, I would be lying to you.  I’m not happy.  I’m still worrying about Wednesday’s “update.”  I am still doing the math over and over, hoping that I’ve made an error and we are not looking at a real possibility of only a couple of embryos…or worse.  And I am counting the hours, minutes and seconds until tomorrow’s update.

I am being forced to realize that all of the counseling, all of the personal growth, all of the lessons that infertility has brought to me has not gotten me past the obstacles I put in front of myself.  Today I looked at how to prepare an adoption profile…because that’s what I do.  When things start looking bad for the situation I’m in, I mentally ditch it and move on to the back-up plan.  I am trying desperately to hold on to my hope for this cycle, and to break my pattern of “cut-and-run.”  But each tick of the clock makes me more impatient, and with that impatience comes frustration, and with that frustration comes the insatiable urge to give up on this cycle and prepare for the worst – a BFN on Mother’s Day. 

I am brutally honest in this blog.  I’m not one to let myself off easy in my “real life,” and I certainly haven’t pulled any punches with myself in front of all of you, the readers of these posts.  So, I can imagine that, not knowing how I behave outwardly, you may think that it is a good thing that I have not managed to become a mother, as I am a bit of a basket case.  I know that you might be thinking such thoughts, because I have a hard not letting myself buy into that negative thinking.  But I will say that I have always been my own worst critic and that people who know me in person would likely never believe that I am the author of this blog.  I am excellent at sucking things up and holding myself together as needed.  I just let it all hang out there with you gals.  I promise…I really am Mommy material…and the fact that I need so desperately to convince you all that what I say is true further evidences that infertility has done a real number on my self-esteem.

The Prince is having his cosmetic surgery this afternoon.  I am hoping that I will transition into “caretaker” mode and that will fix my current gloomy mood.  I thoroughly enjoy playing the role of a 50’s house wife…attending to my husband’s every need (at least for a few days)…and I just realized that I wore my poofy dress, pearls, lipstick and heels today, so I’m dressed for the part.  I cannot promise that this will be today’s last post, as this blog has become my refuge and I’m feeling like the storm is pretty brutal right now.  Hopefully, the next time I write I will be in full-on Stepford mode, and we can forget all about this nasty post.  Sometimes, a little denial is a very good thing.



The Prince is Charming

Lately, the fertility meds have been kicking my butt.  I haven’t had the horrible pain I was in a few weeks ago, but I am achy, tired, bloated, and nauseated all the time.  I wish I could say that I suffer through all of this in silence, showing the strength of my resolve…but that would be a lie.  I whine…a lot. 

Normally, my whining sends The Prince running to the grocery store, work or the gym…anywhere but around me.  At best, I turn into the teacher on Charlie Brown and all he hears is “Wha Wha Wha Wha Wha Wha.”  But lately, he has been great. 

Yesterday, I sent him an email from work, complaining that I was so sick and so tired, that I just wanted the cycle to be over.  I expected the obligatory “Sorry” reply email, or no response at all.  But instead, The Prince immediately shot back an email saying “I’m so sorry that you feel so sick.  It won’t be much longer now and it will be worth it when it is all over.  I love you.”  That little bit of effort on his part made all of the difference to me.  Instead of being grumpy all morning, every time I felt really sick again, I would think of The Prince’s words and feel happy (and sick…but mostly happy).

I was also pleased that when I told The Prince about coming out on Facebook, and his mother’s and family’s responses, he didn’t get mad.  Instead he made a joke about how he’s sure that I am hoping that his mother’s supportiveness will rub off on him…and it is always good to hope.

It is very easy for me to get irritated with The Prince…and I do, a lot.  So I really wanted to put in writing today how much I appreciate his efforts this cycle.  I might need to look back at it during my hormonal rages and freak out sessions, to remind me how lucky I am.  But I am lucky, I have a good husband.  He’s going to be a great father to our child/children, and I have hope that he is going to be a great husband, too…he certainly has the potential. 



I'm Out...

I jumped out of the Infertility Closet...sort of.  My friend had the following status:

"Infertility is a heart-wrenching, faith-questioning, relationship-testing, life-altering experience. April is Infertility Awareness Month. Whether a friend, a family member, a colleague or yourself has fought through this difficult fate that MILLIONS of women are fighting day in and day out...post this as your status if you or someone you know has walked to hell and back for the chance to be a MOM. ♥"

So I posted it as my status.  I know it doesn't officially identify me as an infertile, but it is by far the closest I've ever come to telling my "dirty little secret" to the masses.  I hope I don't regret this impulsive decision.

The "Others"

It is rare in a fairy tale for the princess or prince to meet other princesses or princes.  It is rarer still for the “others” to help the principal character in the story to achieve the “happily ever after.”  Usually there is antagonism and sabotage involved in the relationship.  Not so in my fairy tale.  I have met so many other princesses (and even a prince or two) who are helping me along my journey by inspiring, teaching and supporting me.

Last night I had my infertility support group.  There were only three of us there…the smallest showing by far.  One woman is just starting her journey and is dealing with the initial emotions that go along with an infertility diagnosis.  The other woman was on day 12 of her two week wait, and started spotting during support group.  She had tried to do her first IVF, but was converted to another IUI due to lack of response by her ovaries.  Prior to that, she had dealt with a miscarriage.  She is relatively new to the world of infertility, but she is struggling as her positive attitude tries to slip from her grip with each disappointment.  Then there was me…swinging wildly from hopeful to depressed, depending on the topic of conversation.

Last night we discussed how to avoid “what if’ing,” which we all do on a regular basis.  

I distract myself with lists and spreadsheets and planning. 

The newer IF’er has started a “bucket list” of sorts, filled with things she wants to do but won’t be able to do with a baby.  When she is between cycles, she checks one or two things off the list.  Sky diving is her next endeavor.

The intermediate IF’er approaches negative thoughts by putting a positive spin on everything…she really is the embodiment of Positive Polly and I adore her for it.  When she had a miscarriage, she thought “the baby would have been sick, so it just had to happen to save the baby from pain.”  When her cycle seemed to be slipping away last night, she said that perhaps this wasn’t the right time for her…that the perfect child for her wanted to come into her life during her next cycle.

All of us last night had ideas and strategies for coping that helped the rest.  And we all shared in each others pain.  As I listened to the new IF’er choke back tears while she explained that she never dreamed she would be sitting in an infertility clinic, I remembered feeling those emotions three years ago…in shock…but believing that all we needed was a little help to get pregnant.  I try to remind her that “a little help” is all it takes for the majority of IF’ers, but there are just some of us who have a longer journey. 

And then there was the pain of Positive Polly.  She didn’t let a single tear fall during support group, even though you could tell that she wanted to bolt out of the door from the beginning and just go cry it out at home.  I am NOT a hugger…but I hugged her when she left…and cried for her.  I tried to tell her that progesterone can do funny things and maybe this isn’t what she thinks it is, but as she said “We know our bodies.  We know when it is a period.”  I am still praying she is wrong….

I’m excited by my cycle…excited at the prospect of being pregnant.  But something occurred to me last night.  I don’t want to stop supporting my IF friends.  I don’t want to stop sharing in their pain…or offering advice.  I know that many of them won’t be able to stay friends with me when I get pregnant.  I get it and accept that.  But I want to remain a part of their story.  I want to give back, and that will never change, no matter what the outcome of this cycle.

Positive Polly Doesn't Live Here Anymore



Last night, I went to the support group (hereinafter “group”) held at my infertility center for the first time since November.  I have been on a hiatus because I had already befriended most of the group members during the last two years, and I had watched as, one-by-one, they graduated out of the group when the stork visited each of their houses.  I just didn’t feel like I could handle watching another “class” of IF gals move on in their journey, while I sat watching from the support group sofa.

But, for whatever reason, I decided to try going to group again…last night.  I’m glad I went.  It was nice to be in a supportive environment.  However, everyone at the group was new, except for my one friend (left behind from the second round of group’ers that got pregnant…we’ll call her “Patience”).  Patience has had four miscarriages in a row and, somehow, she is still standing and still getting her butt to group each month.  Patience deemed us the “senior members,” at the beginning of the meeting.  We were the only two veteran IF gals.  I think the title made me feel a little conflicted.  You never want to be the “senior member” in an IF group.  You want to be a “graduate.”  But, there is also a weird sense of respect that goes along with “senior membership” status.  You almost wear it as a badge of honor…something to prove how much you have survived…a testament to your strength and resiliency. 

Newbies looked to Patience and I for guidance last night, and our words carried a lot of weight, so we had to choose our words carefully.  I really censored a lot of what I said and what I shared because I was trying not to be too negative, given the crowd.  There were so many women there who had only just received their infertility diagnosis, or had just survived their first miscarriage.  They were all so hopeful that this was going to be a very short journey for them.  They all truly believe that they will get pregnant this month (or their next cycle) and will leave all of this sadness behind them.  And some of them will be right…their journeys will be short…but most of them will be wrong.  They don’t yet realize that they are in a marathon, not a sprint.  How do you tell someone to prepare themselves for the worst without quashing their hope?  As the group went on, you could see that a couple of women, frequently the ones who had suffered losses, exhibited signs of cracks in the hard exterior of hopefulness they’ve cloaked themselves in to get through the awfulness.  I didn’t want to be responsible for making those cracks deeper…but I also don’t want to mislead anyone.  Patience and I worked had to be realistic, discussing ways to prepare emotionally for the possibility that the journey may take longer than anticipated.  But we also tried to remind them that a lot of women had graduated from the group and a lot of women just need a little help to get pregnant.  There is a reason there are only a couple of senior members.  We are an anomaly.

As I watched the effect that our words had on the newbies, I was saddened.  I heard the contrast between my outlook and theirs.  They are all a “Postive Polly,” certain that sunshine and rainbows and lots of babies are right around the corner…waiting for them to round the bend and trip into their “happily ever after.”  I’ve become a “Negative Nelly.”  I don’t believe there are rainbows and sunshine around the corner.  In fact, when I get to a corner, I peek around it to make sure I’m not walking into a wall of heartache and emotional devastation.  I’m not excitedly running to see what comes next.  I’m standing back and wondering if it is even worth taking another step.  This journey has been too long, already.  Please let it be over soon…so I can go back to being Polly.



Dream a Little Dream...

As many of you know (because I’ve been complaining about it in all of my posts), I’ve had a cold for a long time.  I finally went to the doctor yesterday and was given an antibiotic and a cough syrup with codeine.  Normally, codeine doesn’t bother me but last night the medicine made my dreams really weird.  And they all involved the same theme – Babies/Pregnancy.  What a surprise!

In one dream, I was living with a lovely couple, admiring and playing with their baby (who was a few months old).  I desperately loved the baby, even though she wasn’t mine and I wasn’t related to her.  Then, for no particular reason, I gave her a piece of popcorn to eat.  Nothing bad happened, but her father yelled at me, saying “What were you thinking?  Don’t you know babies can choke on popcorn?”  Even after he calmed down, I felt so terrible about putting the baby in jeopardy.  I do know better, and I don’t know why I would do something so dangerous.  I kept saying I was sorry, secretly thinking “how stupid can you be?”

Clearly, this dream was about me struggling with the idea that I am not fit to be a mother, and that is why I am not able to get pregnant.  I know that is not the way it works, as is evidenced by all of the people who aren’t fit to be mothers who do get pregnant.  But no matter how many times I tell myself that I will be a good mother, and my infertility is not punishment for some sin I haven’t yet committed, my subconscious refuses to give this idea up. 

In another dream, I was getting my first ultrasound and I went home to tell my husband that I was pregnant (not sure why he didn’t know already, but whatever…it was a dream).  He said “Great.”  Then, he paced the floor and got sweaty.  He kept trying to pick a fight with me and eventually said “I can’t do this.  I thought it was what I wanted, but it isn’t.  I think you should terminate the pregnancy.”  My heart broke as I walked out the door, suitcase in hand, hoping he would change his mind when he calmed down.

That dream was also pretty easy to analyze, but no so easy to go through.  My husband and I have been getting into lots of little quarrels lately.  I secretly am certain that it is because we are close to heading into a new ART cycle.  My husband pushes me away emotionally whenever we start a cycle.  He is more moody than I am when I’m on the meds, but he is oblivious to the fact that he is behaving so badly, much less conscious of why he is behaving that way.  And although I know the constant bickering is about him steeling himself against the pain of another failure, and not about me…it hurts.  And it also makes me scared.  If his fear of what is to come makes him abandon me emotionally when we are just trying to get pregnant, what is going to happen when I actually get pregnant?  Is he going to freak out? 

There’s another way to analyze that dream, too.  Some psychologists theorize that we are actually every person in each of our dreams – every character is just a reflection of a piece of ourselves.  If that is the case, then this dream could also be about me being afraid that when I finally get pregnant and have a child, I am going to find that it isn’t everything I had hoped for.  I don’t ever say that out loud…as if that doubt’s very existence will keep me from getting pregnant.  But I do worry about changing my mind about what I want in life.  Lots of mothers tell me that they had no idea how hard motherhood would be and that as much as they love their children, they might do it differently if they had to do it over.  What if I become that person?  What if I have a baby only to wish that I didn’t have a baby?  Am I capable of that?  And knowing what women go through, what I’ve gone through, to have a baby…could I survive the guilt I would have if I felt that way?

I wish I could be a real fairy tale princess sometimes and just sleep in a deep sleep, only to wake up and find that all of my good dreams had come true and my bad dreams had been dealt with by someone else.  Real fairy tale princesses don’t get terrorized by their own psyche.  Real fairy tale princesses don’t wake up feeling guilty and afraid.  And real fairy tale princess don't have to fess-up, anonymously to friends they've never met, to having horrible doubts and fears.

Waking from the dream...

Last night, I was watching the movie, Inception, with my husband (for the third time) and a line I hadn’t paid much attention to before struck me as important, somehow.  In the movie, a character says “Well dreams, they feel real while we’re in them right?  It’s only when we wake up that we realize how things are actually strange.  Let me ask you a question, you never really remember the beginning of a dream, do you?  You always wind up right in the middle of what’s going on.”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not suggesting that I have lost touch with reality to the point that I believe that I am actually in a dream right now.  But there is a similarity between the phenomenon being discussed by that character and some of my experiences with infertility.  And it’s the same phenomenon you see in fairy tales.  The characters’ lives, to the extent that they fall outside of the actual tale, are deemed irrelevant and are never addressed.  We don’t know what formed their motivations or how they ended up in their station in life.  We only know the role they play in that particular tale.  They wind up right in the middle of what’s going on, without any explanation of how it all began.  And after “happily ever after,” they fall off the grid.  Did Cinderella have acne as a child?  Did she ever have kids?  Did she get divorced?  Who knows because everything before “once upon a time” never happened and “happily ever after” is like waking up from a dream – Poof, it’s all gone from that point on…completely disconnected from the fairy tale.

So how does this apply to infertility?  Well, I have a lot of fertility friends and I feel so blessed to have them.  But I am realizing that we seem to be starting a friendship right in the middle of a shared journey and the focus is always on what is going on in our infertility struggles right then.  I don’t know much about most of their backgrounds or what their goals are after achieving motherhood.  I’m a Chatty Cathy (I’m sure you’re shocked given the brevity of my posts) and I think that most of them know very little about my life before infertility.  It’s as if we are stuck in a dream about infertility, together, and we will only realize how strange our relationships are after we get onto the other side of infertility.  I’ve noticed lately that when anyone asks me “How are you doing?”  I say “You mean like infertility-wise?”  It’s as if I can barely remember who I am outside of this journey.  And who meets someone a half hour before talking about where the progesterone suppositories go and the various ways to get them there.  At the time the conversation is going on, it seems totally normal.  It’s only after you step back that you realize how strange the situation is…like all filters regarding bodily functions and personal secrets get switched off, but all filters regarding everything mundane and normal get switched on.

And, like the line in the movie, it seems like people who get pregnant after dealing with infertility “wake up.”  The friends that I know the most about are the ones who have gotten pregnant.  After they get pregnant, I start hearing about their marriages and childhoods and careers.  Sometimes, I’m really surprised because who my friends really are barely resembles who I perceived them to be while we were both in “the dream.”  Once they are beyond the struggles of infertility, it seems strange to them to talk only about infertility related discussions, while I sometimes struggle with getting to a place where I am comfortable talking with them about anything else.  They are trying to extend their character beyond the pages of the fairy tale…as if there is actually a life after “happily ever after.” 

And then there’s the other end of the spectrum. Sometimes my fertility friends drop off the face of the earth once they are pregnant.  It is almost as if they view what they went through as a surreal nightmare that they can now wake up from and forget about because they have a baby in their arms.  I don’t blame them or judge them for that.  I imagine it might be hard to be reminded of the struggle of infertility when you have an opportunity to just embrace the joy of fertility.  But I wonder if the strangeness of our relationships assists them in cutting all ties.  I wonder if the fact that there is no beginning “getting to know you” stage to fertility friendships makes them easier to break off.

I have so many questions…and no real answers right now.  All I know is that I want “happily ever after,” but I don’t want to lose everything I’ve gained since “Once upon a time.”  I want to take the lessons and friends with me, and I don’t want to become irrelevant once the journey through infertility ends.  I don’t want to start a new story.  I want to build on the one I already have.

Waiting Patiently...Okay, Not So Patiently

Today, I came home sick from work with the cold that everyone has right now…but I didn’t sleep and rest as I’d planned.  Instead, I tossed and turned, thinking “When is my donor going to start her period already?”  How absurd!!!  I’m getting impatient because another person’s body has not gotten onboard with my timeline.  I can’t start our donor cycle meds until about three weeks after our donor coordinator calls to announce that our donor has started her “Cycle Day 1,” so I’m getting antsy.  I’m a planner and I will plan and analyze myself to death if I don’t have something to do, to keep myself busy.  I am not very good at waiting.

In fairy tales the princesses often have to wait for something – a prince to come, a spell to wear-off, a rescue to occur.  You never hear about the princesses pacing the floor, tossing and turning at night, and grumbling about things not moving along quickly enough.  That is because princesses in fairy tales are virtuous, and we all know that patience is a virtue.  I, apparently, am a less virtuous princess than the norm.  I have to keep breathing and telling myself that I don’t need to be rushing things.  It is better that this donor cycle unfolds exactly as it is meant to…in its own time.  And although I know this, it isn’t easy to push down my impatience. 

We all know that once you finish waiting for one thing on the journey of infertility, you just start waiting for another.  You wait for your period, wait for your period to be over, wait for RE appointments, wait to be called in for blood work and ultrasounds, wait for the results from your blood work and ultrasounds, wait for your medication protocol, wait for the next part of your protocol to get started, wait to find out how many follicles you have, wait for ovulation day, wait to find out how many eggs you have, wait to find out how many eggs fertilized, wait to see what types of embryos you have to work with for IVF, and of course…the 2 week wait to find out if you are pregnant.  Even then, if you get your positive test, you have to wait for a second beta test and for an ultrasound to confirm that the pregnancy “took.”  That’s a lot of waiting for anyone to go through and that list is in no way exhaustive.  No wonder so many of us feel like our lives have been put on hold while we deal with our fertility challenges.  When you are that busy waiting, how is it possible to fit in living your life?

So now that I know what my problem of the day is (i.e.-I’m getting caught up in waiting impatiently for something I have no control over), what do I do about it?  I don’t know what I’ll do about it tomorrow, but I can tell you what I am doing tonight.  I am (oh yeah…even in between typing these paragraphs) dancing around my living room to the song “Dog Days Are Over” by Florence + the Machine.  Fever, headache and all…I’m flailing around in my nightgown, sweatshirt and slippers, with a huge smile on my face.  Not a pretty picture for anyone watching, but it is fun.  That’s my plan…just try to have fun wherever I can find it, until I get the phone call from the donor coordinator that I am waiting for.  Then, I can plan a little more…then back to dancing, or cooking, or whatever it is that tickles my fancy that day.  Maybe that’s how the fairy tale princesses pulled off waiting so gracefully…they didn’t let themselves get bored and they found fun and excitement wherever they could.  And things just fell into place for them, just like it is going to for all of us one of these days.   

Courage To Let It All Go

The hero in each fairy tale has to be brave in the face of adversity.  After all, courage is a key component of reaching “happily ever after.”  I think that every person facing infertility displays courage just by putting one foot in front of the other each day, in spite of the pain and fear.  But I was reading my recent posts and I think that I'm not being very courageous lately.  There is still a lot of self-pity creeping into my thoughts.  But I think I've figured out a way to start being more fearless.

Last night, I went to my Fertility Yoga class, as I normally do on Thursday nights.  After centering ourselves, our instructor always provides all of the members of my class with an opportunity to make an “intention” – a thought or desire that you carry with you throughout your practice that day, letting it seep into your heart and become a part of you.  For ages, my intention each yoga class has been “Peace.”  I feel like infertility has thrown my world into a constant state of flux and I just need to be at peace once in awhile.  But last night, when I normally would have embraced the intention of “Peace,” a loud and clear voice said “Let it go.”  And for just a second, I was annoyed.  I thought, “that’s not my intention…where did that come from?”  But I’ve learned in yoga and meditation that sometimes the part of you that silently observes your life from an objective standpoint, only speaking to you when necessary, knows more about what you need than the part of you that is always thinking and doing and talking.  So I went with the flow and engaged in a conversation with that other part of myself (I know.  I seem to have a habit of talking to myself lately).  The conversation went something like this…

“Let it go.”

“Let go of what?”

“All of it”

“What the hell is all of it?”

“You know”

“Really, because I probably wouldn’t be talking to myself if I knew…I would be letting go of whatever ‘it’ is.”

“Just breathe and let it all go.”

At that point, I decided to stop fighting with myself and to just follow my own advice (how screwed up is this sounding).  I took a deep breath.  Nothing.  So I took another and immediately thought about a comment on my post from a few days ago, regarding hurtful things that my mother has said to me.  I realized that I wrote what my mother had said to me because I’m still carrying around the hurt from every insensitive remark she has made to me.  So I breathed some more and thought “Let that go.”  I know it sounds hokey, but I could literally feel a physical difference.  My hips relaxed more and I went deeper into the pose and my breath.  I forgave her and even realized that she may not need forgiving because she isn’t trying to hurt me, she just doesn't know any better.  Given the pleasant outcome of that exercise, I decided to go for it again.

I asked myself “What else?”  Like a flood, I was faced with a whole bunch of garbage I’ve been toting around.  It almost made me cry to realize just how much there was.  And in spite of the lovely feeling I described above, my first response to the flood of baggage was to push it down, like I always do, leaving it for another day “when I might be strong enough to deal with it.”  But then I thought, “What if today I’m strong enough?  What if I just need to be brave?”

So, I took another breath and let the first thing that came to my mind wash over me.  I experienced the fear that I have that the egg donor cycle is not going to work.  I felt the fear of being disappointed and disappointing my husband.  That fear is like a huge monster, looming over me every single day that I wait to start my cycle.  But I decided that I am strong enough right now to face down that monster.  I didn’t perform some indepth analysis of why it is okay to be afraid or why it is better to be positive going into a cycle, I simply thought "Enough. I’m letting that fear go.  What is meant to be will be."  I can’t say that the beast is now gone forever, but upon intending to let the fear go, I felt peace (which was not my intention for the yoga class, but is what I ultimately received by following my intuition and “letting it go”). 

I can’t speak for everyone else, but on my journey, there are many times that the burden has just gotten too heavy to carry.  Lately, I've been going through one of those times.  So instead of sitting down on the side of the road and giving up on being a mother, I’m just going to let go of all of the baggage and the pain and the hurt feelings.  I can go back and pick those things up later if there is some crazy reason that I need them, but for now, the baggage I’m carrying is not providing armor to protect me from future hurt, it’s just stopping me from progressing into the future.  So I will keep “letting it go,” piece by piece…slaying one monster after another…until I have nothing left to let go of and am an empty vessel, ready to listen to that internal voice again and embarking on the next leg of my journey.