That's right!
I'M PREGNANT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
We got the official news from my RE on Friday 8/17/07, and I still don't think it has hit me yet. It still doesn't seem real. I'm actually a bit disappointed in myself about my reaction. I expected to be bawling like a baby - I do that, I get it from my Mom.
I haven't shed a tear yet, which is REALLY not like me. I think part of me still doesn't believe it and the part that does is terrified that something will go wrong.
So, for all the details, I had a sneaking suspicion (or hopeful thinking) last Wednesday that I might be, so I woke up at like 5 am and took a test. I honestly thought it was negative, but decided to take one final look, and low and behold, there was a line!!! I had to go wake Kevin up to take a look and make sure I wasn't imagining it. He saw it too!!!! So, if I was crazy, so was he. :-)
I kept testing (twice a day, even) from then until my first beta on Friday 8/17, and the lines just got darker and darker (I have quite a collection now!).
Every time I go to the RE for my pregnancy tests, my sweet, sweet nurse, Carla, always asks in her perpetually hopeful voice, "Do you have anything you need to tell me?". And my answer is always and pitiful little "no". Well, sure enough on Friday, she asked again while she was pulling my records up on the computer. Along with Carla, we also had Nancy - the office manager, in the blood room helping with paperwork since Carla was the only nurse on duty that day. When she asked, I quietly said "I think so...". It was the BEST reaction ever!
Nancy's head whipped around and she mouthed (you have to remember we're in a fertility clinic, so we always have to be sensitive to the other patients who may have not received the news they were hoping for) "ARE YOU PREGNANT?!?!". All I could do was grin and nod. Carla actually cried. About that time Dr. Bates was walking down the hall and Nancy stuck her head out and gave him a "thumbs up", so then he comes in, grinning from ear to ear. He asked if I'd tested and home, and I sheepishly told him, I'd taken five (it's actually eight, but I didn't want him to think I was obsessed or anything). He laughed out loud and said "You could have stopped at 4". You have NO idea how much joy it brought me to see their reactions. I had started getting used to the idea, but for them, this was news. I realized then that they've got some tough jobs - they always have to present this hopeful and positive attitude and they're constantly delivering bad news, watching women cry, seeing them stressed to the max, and it's moments like that one when it all works, that they really get to see how much what they do day in and day out impacts the women (and men) they work with.
So, I've had two betas now...the first came in at 65, the second at 183, which is great. We were looking for the numbers to double and they almost tripled. I go in tomorrow for one final beta to make sure my hCG levels are still rising at the rate they should be. Carla said we'd do the first ultrasound at 6 weeks, so I'm hoping to get to see something next week. Everyone is already placing their bets as to whether we have one or two in there. In addition to the family history of twins, we KNOW we triggered two eggs, so there is a good possibility, though my gut says it's just one. I'll be shocked if there are two!
We've told immediate family and close friends (except for Kevin's parents, so if you know them, PLEASE don't say anything yet) and I expect to tell more people once I see the heartbeat, hopefully next week.
Kevin commented the other day that he didn't realize how great the strain of this struggle was until it was over. And he's right, I had NO idea I had that much weight on my shoulders.
Please keep us in your prayers that everything will continue to progress well. I have no reason to think it won't, but after taking 2 1/2 years to get here, I'm scared to DEATH that something will happen. I hope to breath easier with each milestone, so hopefully I won't drive everyone around me nuts.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
When God Gave Me Infertility.....
Another good one.....
What do I think God meant when he gave me infertility?
Couples experiencing infertility often receive well-meaning but extremely insensitive "advice." We can all list the most popular ones: "Just relax and you'll get pregnant," or "adopt and you'll get pregnant," of the most painful from those who think they've got the goods on God's plan, "Maybe God never meant for you to have children." The sheer audacity of making a statement like that never fails to amaze me.
These same people would never walk up to someone seeking treatment for cancer and say, "Maybe God never meant for you to live." However, because I am infertile, I'm supposed to get on with my life. It's hard to understand that people can not see infertility for what it is, a disease for which I have to seek treatment. What if Jonas Salk had said to the parents of polio victims, "Maybe God meant for thousands of our children to be cripples, live in an iron lung or die." What if he'd never tried to find a cure? Who could think for one minute that that was God's plan?
What do I think God meant when he gave me infertility?
I think he meant for my husband and I to grow closer, become stronger, love deeper. I think God meant for us to find the fortitude within ourselves to get up every time infertility knocks us down. I think God meant for our medical community to discover medicines, invent medical equipment, create procedures and protocols. I think God meant for us to find a cure for infertility.
No, God never meant for me not to have children. That's not my destiny; that's just a fork in the road I'm on. I've been placed on the road less traveled, and, like it or not, I'm a better person for it. Clearly, God meant for me to develop more compassion, deeper courage, and greater inner strength on this journey to resolution, and I haven't let him down.
Frankly, if the truth be known, I think God has singled me out for a special treatment. I think God meant for me to build a thirst for a child so strong and so deep that when that baby is finally placed in my arms, it will be the longest, coolest, most refreshing drink I've ever known.
While I would never choose infertility, I can not deny that a fertile woman could never know the joy that awaits me. Yes, one way or another, I will have a baby of my own. And the next time someone wants to offer me unsolicited advice I'll say, "Don't tell me what God meant when he handed me infertility. I already know."
_____________________________________________________________
Oh, how I could use a nice, long, cool drink right now.....
But, I realize God knows what he's doing. I haven't been forsaken or forgotten. I'm still learning through this process. I just pray that I'm on the downhill side of this lesson.....I'm tired, but I know that God won't give me more than I can handle, and that we'll get through this and come out better for it in the end.
What do I think God meant when he gave me infertility?
Couples experiencing infertility often receive well-meaning but extremely insensitive "advice." We can all list the most popular ones: "Just relax and you'll get pregnant," or "adopt and you'll get pregnant," of the most painful from those who think they've got the goods on God's plan, "Maybe God never meant for you to have children." The sheer audacity of making a statement like that never fails to amaze me.
These same people would never walk up to someone seeking treatment for cancer and say, "Maybe God never meant for you to live." However, because I am infertile, I'm supposed to get on with my life. It's hard to understand that people can not see infertility for what it is, a disease for which I have to seek treatment. What if Jonas Salk had said to the parents of polio victims, "Maybe God meant for thousands of our children to be cripples, live in an iron lung or die." What if he'd never tried to find a cure? Who could think for one minute that that was God's plan?
What do I think God meant when he gave me infertility?
I think he meant for my husband and I to grow closer, become stronger, love deeper. I think God meant for us to find the fortitude within ourselves to get up every time infertility knocks us down. I think God meant for our medical community to discover medicines, invent medical equipment, create procedures and protocols. I think God meant for us to find a cure for infertility.
No, God never meant for me not to have children. That's not my destiny; that's just a fork in the road I'm on. I've been placed on the road less traveled, and, like it or not, I'm a better person for it. Clearly, God meant for me to develop more compassion, deeper courage, and greater inner strength on this journey to resolution, and I haven't let him down.
Frankly, if the truth be known, I think God has singled me out for a special treatment. I think God meant for me to build a thirst for a child so strong and so deep that when that baby is finally placed in my arms, it will be the longest, coolest, most refreshing drink I've ever known.
While I would never choose infertility, I can not deny that a fertile woman could never know the joy that awaits me. Yes, one way or another, I will have a baby of my own. And the next time someone wants to offer me unsolicited advice I'll say, "Don't tell me what God meant when he handed me infertility. I already know."
_____________________________________________________________
Oh, how I could use a nice, long, cool drink right now.....
But, I realize God knows what he's doing. I haven't been forsaken or forgotten. I'm still learning through this process. I just pray that I'm on the downhill side of this lesson.....I'm tired, but I know that God won't give me more than I can handle, and that we'll get through this and come out better for it in the end.
About IF.....
I saw this many months ago, but came across it again.....it really hits the nail on the head....
Dear Family and Friends,
I want to share my feelings about infertility with you, because I want you to understand my struggle. I know that understanding infertility is difficult; there are times when it seems even I don't understand. This struggle has provoked intense and unfamiliar feelings in me and I fear that my reactions to these feelings might be misunderstood. I hope my ability to cope and your ability to understand will improve as I share my feelings with you. I want you to understand.
You may describe me this way: obsessed, moody, helpless, depressed, envious, too serious, obnoxious, aggressive, antagonistic, and cynical. These aren't very admirable traits; no wonder your understanding of my infertility is difficult. I prefer to describe me this way: confused, rushed and impatient, afraid, isolated and alone, guilty and ashamed, angry, sad and hopeless, and unsettled.
My infertility makes me feel confused. I always assumed I was fertile. I've spent years avoiding pregnancy and now it seems ironic that I can't conceive. I hope this will be a brief difficulty with a simple solution such as poor timing. I feel confused about whether I want to be pregnant or whether I want to be a parent. Surely if I try harder, try longer, try better and smarter, I will have a baby.
My infertility makes me feel rushed and impatient. I learned of my infertility only after I'd been trying to become pregnant for some time. My life-plan suddenly is behind schedule. I waited to become a parent and now I must wait again. I wait for medical appointments, wait for tests, wait for treatments, wait for other treatments, wait for my period not to come, wait for my partner not to be out of town and wait for pregnancy. At best, I have only twelve opportunities each year. How old will I be when I finish having my family?
My infertility makes me feel afraid. Infertility is full of unknowns, and I'm frightened because I need some definite answers. How long will this last? What if I'm never a parent? What humiliation must I endure? What pain must I suffer? Why do drugs I take to help me, make me feel worse? Why can't my body do the things that my mind wants it to do? Why do I hurt so much? I'm afraid of my feelings, afraid of my undependable body and afraid of my future.
My infertility makes me feel isolated and alone. Reminders of babies are everywhere. I must be the only one enduring this invisible curse. I stay away from others, because everything makes me hurt. No one knows how horrible is my pain. Even though I'm usually a clear thinker, I find myself being lured by superstitions and promises. I think I'm losing perspective. I feel so alone and I wonder if I'll survive this.
My infertility makes me feel guilty and ashamed. Frequently I forget that infertility is a medical problem and should be treated as one. Infertility destroys my self esteem and I feel like a failure. Why am I being punished? What did I do to deserve this? Am I not worthy of a baby? Am I not a good sexual partner? Will my partner want to remain with me? Is this the end of my family lineage? Will my family be ashamed of me? It is easy to lose self-confidence and to feel ashamed.
My infertility makes me feel angry. Everything makes me angry, and I know much of my anger is misdirected. I'm angry at my body because it has betrayed me even though I've always taken care of it. I'm angry at my partner because we can't seem to feel the same about infertility at the same time. I want and need an advocate to help me. I'm angry at my family because they've always sheltered and protected me from terrible pain. My younger sibling is pregnant; my mother wants a family reunion to show off her grandchildren and my grandparents want to pass down family heirlooms. I'm angry at my medical caregivers, because it seems that they control my future. They humiliate me, inflict pain on me, pry into my privacy, patronize me, and sometimes forget who I am. How can I impress on them how important parenting is to me? I'm angry at my expenses; infertility treatment is extremely expensive. My financial resources may determine my family size. My insurance company isn't cooperative, and I must make so many sacrifices to pay the medical bills. I can't miss any more work, or I'll lose my job. I can't go to a specialist, because it means more travel time, more missed work, and greater expenses. Finally, I'm angry at everyone else. Everyone has opinions about my inability to become a parent. Everyone has easy solutions. Everyone seems to know too little and say too much.
My infertility makes me feel sad and hopeless. Infertility feels like I've lost my future, and no one knows of my sadness. I feel hopeless; infertility robs me of my energy. I've never cried so much nor so easily. I'm sad that my infertility places my marriage under so much strain. I'm sad that my infertility requires me to be so self-centered. I'm sad that I've ignored many friendships because this struggle hurts so much and demands so much energy. Friends with children prefer the company of other families with children. I'm surrounded by babies, pregnant women, playgrounds, baby showers, birth stories, kids' movies, birthday parties and much more. I feel so sad and hopeless. My infertility makes me feel unsettled. My life is on hold. Making decisions about my immediate and my long-term future seems impossible. I can't decide about education, career, purchasing a home, pursuing a hobby, getting a pet, vacations, business trips and houseguests. The more I struggle with my infertility, the less control I have. This struggle has no timetable; the treatments have no guarantees. The only sure things are that I need to be near my partner at fertile times and near my doctor at treatment times. Should I pursue adoption? Should I take expensive drugs? Should I pursue more specialized and costly medical intervention? It feels unsettling to have no clear, easy answers or guarantees.
Occasionally I feel my panic subside. I'm learning some helpful ways to cope; I'm now convinced I'm not crazy, and I believe I'll survive. I'm learning to listen to my body and to be assertive, not aggressive, about my needs. I'm realizing that good medical care and good emotional care are not necessarily found in the same place. I'm trying to be more than an infertile person gaining enthusiasm, joyfulness, and zest for life.
You can help me. I know you care about me and I know my infertility affects our relationship. My sadness causes you sadness; what hurts me, hurts you, too. I believe we can help each other through this sadness. Individually we both seem quite powerless, but together we can be stronger. Maybe some of these hints will help us to better understand infertility.
I need you to be a listener. Talking about my struggle helps me to make decisions. Let me know you are available for me. It's difficult for me to expose my private thoughts if you are rushed or have a deadline for the end of our conversation. Please don't tell me of all the worse things that have happened to others or how easily someone else's infertility was solved. Every case is individual. Please don't just give advice; instead, guide me with your questions. Assure me that you respect my confidences, and then be certain that you deserve my trust. While listening try to maintain an open mind. I need you to be supportive. Understand that my decisions aren't made casually,I've agonized over them. Remind me that you respect these decisions even if you disagree with them, because you know they are made carefully. Don't ask me, "Are you sure?" Repeatedly remind me that you love me no matter what. I need to hear it so badly. Let me know you understand that this is very hard work. Help me realize that I may need additional support from professional caregivers and appropriate organizations. Perhaps you can suggest resources. You might also need support for yourself, and I fear I'm unable to provide it for you; please don't expect me to do so. Help me to keep sight of my goal.
I need you to be comfortable with me, and then I also will feel more comfortable. Talking about infertility sometimes feels awkward. Are you worried you might say the wrong thing? Share those feelings with me. Ask me if I want to talk. Sometimes I will want to, and sometimes I won't, but it will remind me that you care.
I need you to be sensitive. Although I may joke about infertility to help myself cope, it doesn't seem as funny when others joke about it. Please don't tease me with remarks like, "You don't seem to know how to do it." Don't trivialize my struggle by saying, "I'd be glad to give you one of my kids." It's no comfort to hear empty reassurances like, "You'll be a parent by this time next year." Don't minimize my feelings with, "You shouldn't be so unhappy." For now, don't push me into uncomfortable situations like baby showers or family reunions. I already feel sad and guilty; please don't also make me feel guilty for disappointing you.
I need you to be honest with me. Let me know that you may need time to adjust to some of my decisions. I also needed adjustment time. If there are things you don't understand, say so. Please be gentle when you guide me to be realistic about things I can't change such as my age, some medical conditions, financial resources, and employment obligations. Don't hide information about others' pregnancies from me. Although such news makes me feel very sad, it feels worse when you leave me out.
I need you to be informed. Your advice and suggestions are only frustrating to me me if they aren't based on fact. Be well informed so you can educate others when they make remarks based on myths. Don't let anyone tell you that my infertility will be cured if I relax and adopt. Don't tell me this is God's will. Don't ask me to justify my need to parent. Don't criticize my course of action or my choice of physician even though I may do that myself. Reassure yourself that I am also searching for plenty of information which helps me make more knowledgeable decisions about my options.
I need you to be patient. Remember that working through infertility is a process. It takes time. There are no guarantees, no package deals, no complete kits, no one right answer, and no "quickie" choices. My needs change; my choices change. Yesterday I demanded privacy, but today I need you for strength. You have many feelings about infertility, and I do too. Please allow me to have anger, joy, sadness, and hope. Don't minimize or evaluate my feelings. Just allow me to have them, and give me time.
I need you to be strengthening by boosting my self esteem. My sense of worthlessness hampers my ability to take charge. My personal privacy has repeatedly been invaded. I've been subjected to postcoital exams, semen collection in waiting room bathrooms, and tests in rooms next to labor rooms. Enjoyable experiences with you such as a lunch date, a shopping trip, or a visit to a museum help me feel normal.
Encourage me to maintain my sense of humor; guide me to find joys. Celebrate with me my successes, even ones as small as making it through a medical appointment without crying. Remind me that I am more than an infertile person. Help me by sharing your strength.
Eventually I will be beyond the struggle of infertility. I know my infertility will never completely go away because it will change my life. I won't be able to return to the person I was before infertility, but I also will no longer be controlled by this struggle. I will leave the struggle behind me, and from that I will have improved my skills for empathy, patience, resilience, forgiveness, decision-making and self-assessment. I feel grateful that you are trying to ease my journey through this infertility struggle by giving me your understanding.
Dear Family and Friends,
I want to share my feelings about infertility with you, because I want you to understand my struggle. I know that understanding infertility is difficult; there are times when it seems even I don't understand. This struggle has provoked intense and unfamiliar feelings in me and I fear that my reactions to these feelings might be misunderstood. I hope my ability to cope and your ability to understand will improve as I share my feelings with you. I want you to understand.
You may describe me this way: obsessed, moody, helpless, depressed, envious, too serious, obnoxious, aggressive, antagonistic, and cynical. These aren't very admirable traits; no wonder your understanding of my infertility is difficult. I prefer to describe me this way: confused, rushed and impatient, afraid, isolated and alone, guilty and ashamed, angry, sad and hopeless, and unsettled.
My infertility makes me feel confused. I always assumed I was fertile. I've spent years avoiding pregnancy and now it seems ironic that I can't conceive. I hope this will be a brief difficulty with a simple solution such as poor timing. I feel confused about whether I want to be pregnant or whether I want to be a parent. Surely if I try harder, try longer, try better and smarter, I will have a baby.
My infertility makes me feel rushed and impatient. I learned of my infertility only after I'd been trying to become pregnant for some time. My life-plan suddenly is behind schedule. I waited to become a parent and now I must wait again. I wait for medical appointments, wait for tests, wait for treatments, wait for other treatments, wait for my period not to come, wait for my partner not to be out of town and wait for pregnancy. At best, I have only twelve opportunities each year. How old will I be when I finish having my family?
My infertility makes me feel afraid. Infertility is full of unknowns, and I'm frightened because I need some definite answers. How long will this last? What if I'm never a parent? What humiliation must I endure? What pain must I suffer? Why do drugs I take to help me, make me feel worse? Why can't my body do the things that my mind wants it to do? Why do I hurt so much? I'm afraid of my feelings, afraid of my undependable body and afraid of my future.
My infertility makes me feel isolated and alone. Reminders of babies are everywhere. I must be the only one enduring this invisible curse. I stay away from others, because everything makes me hurt. No one knows how horrible is my pain. Even though I'm usually a clear thinker, I find myself being lured by superstitions and promises. I think I'm losing perspective. I feel so alone and I wonder if I'll survive this.
My infertility makes me feel guilty and ashamed. Frequently I forget that infertility is a medical problem and should be treated as one. Infertility destroys my self esteem and I feel like a failure. Why am I being punished? What did I do to deserve this? Am I not worthy of a baby? Am I not a good sexual partner? Will my partner want to remain with me? Is this the end of my family lineage? Will my family be ashamed of me? It is easy to lose self-confidence and to feel ashamed.
My infertility makes me feel angry. Everything makes me angry, and I know much of my anger is misdirected. I'm angry at my body because it has betrayed me even though I've always taken care of it. I'm angry at my partner because we can't seem to feel the same about infertility at the same time. I want and need an advocate to help me. I'm angry at my family because they've always sheltered and protected me from terrible pain. My younger sibling is pregnant; my mother wants a family reunion to show off her grandchildren and my grandparents want to pass down family heirlooms. I'm angry at my medical caregivers, because it seems that they control my future. They humiliate me, inflict pain on me, pry into my privacy, patronize me, and sometimes forget who I am. How can I impress on them how important parenting is to me? I'm angry at my expenses; infertility treatment is extremely expensive. My financial resources may determine my family size. My insurance company isn't cooperative, and I must make so many sacrifices to pay the medical bills. I can't miss any more work, or I'll lose my job. I can't go to a specialist, because it means more travel time, more missed work, and greater expenses. Finally, I'm angry at everyone else. Everyone has opinions about my inability to become a parent. Everyone has easy solutions. Everyone seems to know too little and say too much.
My infertility makes me feel sad and hopeless. Infertility feels like I've lost my future, and no one knows of my sadness. I feel hopeless; infertility robs me of my energy. I've never cried so much nor so easily. I'm sad that my infertility places my marriage under so much strain. I'm sad that my infertility requires me to be so self-centered. I'm sad that I've ignored many friendships because this struggle hurts so much and demands so much energy. Friends with children prefer the company of other families with children. I'm surrounded by babies, pregnant women, playgrounds, baby showers, birth stories, kids' movies, birthday parties and much more. I feel so sad and hopeless. My infertility makes me feel unsettled. My life is on hold. Making decisions about my immediate and my long-term future seems impossible. I can't decide about education, career, purchasing a home, pursuing a hobby, getting a pet, vacations, business trips and houseguests. The more I struggle with my infertility, the less control I have. This struggle has no timetable; the treatments have no guarantees. The only sure things are that I need to be near my partner at fertile times and near my doctor at treatment times. Should I pursue adoption? Should I take expensive drugs? Should I pursue more specialized and costly medical intervention? It feels unsettling to have no clear, easy answers or guarantees.
Occasionally I feel my panic subside. I'm learning some helpful ways to cope; I'm now convinced I'm not crazy, and I believe I'll survive. I'm learning to listen to my body and to be assertive, not aggressive, about my needs. I'm realizing that good medical care and good emotional care are not necessarily found in the same place. I'm trying to be more than an infertile person gaining enthusiasm, joyfulness, and zest for life.
You can help me. I know you care about me and I know my infertility affects our relationship. My sadness causes you sadness; what hurts me, hurts you, too. I believe we can help each other through this sadness. Individually we both seem quite powerless, but together we can be stronger. Maybe some of these hints will help us to better understand infertility.
I need you to be a listener. Talking about my struggle helps me to make decisions. Let me know you are available for me. It's difficult for me to expose my private thoughts if you are rushed or have a deadline for the end of our conversation. Please don't tell me of all the worse things that have happened to others or how easily someone else's infertility was solved. Every case is individual. Please don't just give advice; instead, guide me with your questions. Assure me that you respect my confidences, and then be certain that you deserve my trust. While listening try to maintain an open mind. I need you to be supportive. Understand that my decisions aren't made casually,I've agonized over them. Remind me that you respect these decisions even if you disagree with them, because you know they are made carefully. Don't ask me, "Are you sure?" Repeatedly remind me that you love me no matter what. I need to hear it so badly. Let me know you understand that this is very hard work. Help me realize that I may need additional support from professional caregivers and appropriate organizations. Perhaps you can suggest resources. You might also need support for yourself, and I fear I'm unable to provide it for you; please don't expect me to do so. Help me to keep sight of my goal.
I need you to be comfortable with me, and then I also will feel more comfortable. Talking about infertility sometimes feels awkward. Are you worried you might say the wrong thing? Share those feelings with me. Ask me if I want to talk. Sometimes I will want to, and sometimes I won't, but it will remind me that you care.
I need you to be sensitive. Although I may joke about infertility to help myself cope, it doesn't seem as funny when others joke about it. Please don't tease me with remarks like, "You don't seem to know how to do it." Don't trivialize my struggle by saying, "I'd be glad to give you one of my kids." It's no comfort to hear empty reassurances like, "You'll be a parent by this time next year." Don't minimize my feelings with, "You shouldn't be so unhappy." For now, don't push me into uncomfortable situations like baby showers or family reunions. I already feel sad and guilty; please don't also make me feel guilty for disappointing you.
I need you to be honest with me. Let me know that you may need time to adjust to some of my decisions. I also needed adjustment time. If there are things you don't understand, say so. Please be gentle when you guide me to be realistic about things I can't change such as my age, some medical conditions, financial resources, and employment obligations. Don't hide information about others' pregnancies from me. Although such news makes me feel very sad, it feels worse when you leave me out.
I need you to be informed. Your advice and suggestions are only frustrating to me me if they aren't based on fact. Be well informed so you can educate others when they make remarks based on myths. Don't let anyone tell you that my infertility will be cured if I relax and adopt. Don't tell me this is God's will. Don't ask me to justify my need to parent. Don't criticize my course of action or my choice of physician even though I may do that myself. Reassure yourself that I am also searching for plenty of information which helps me make more knowledgeable decisions about my options.
I need you to be patient. Remember that working through infertility is a process. It takes time. There are no guarantees, no package deals, no complete kits, no one right answer, and no "quickie" choices. My needs change; my choices change. Yesterday I demanded privacy, but today I need you for strength. You have many feelings about infertility, and I do too. Please allow me to have anger, joy, sadness, and hope. Don't minimize or evaluate my feelings. Just allow me to have them, and give me time.
I need you to be strengthening by boosting my self esteem. My sense of worthlessness hampers my ability to take charge. My personal privacy has repeatedly been invaded. I've been subjected to postcoital exams, semen collection in waiting room bathrooms, and tests in rooms next to labor rooms. Enjoyable experiences with you such as a lunch date, a shopping trip, or a visit to a museum help me feel normal.
Encourage me to maintain my sense of humor; guide me to find joys. Celebrate with me my successes, even ones as small as making it through a medical appointment without crying. Remind me that I am more than an infertile person. Help me by sharing your strength.
Eventually I will be beyond the struggle of infertility. I know my infertility will never completely go away because it will change my life. I won't be able to return to the person I was before infertility, but I also will no longer be controlled by this struggle. I will leave the struggle behind me, and from that I will have improved my skills for empathy, patience, resilience, forgiveness, decision-making and self-assessment. I feel grateful that you are trying to ease my journey through this infertility struggle by giving me your understanding.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
2 week wait....
I hate this wait.....two loooooong weeks to wait and see if we're successful again. It seems my entire life is lived in two week increments - two weeks waiting to ovulate and two weeks to see if I'm pregnant...lather, rinse, repeat.
I did the math today - once this cycle is complete (another week and a half) I will have spent SIXTY WEEKS of my life in the dreaded 2ww (120 weeks total TTC). That's 420 days. Sixty weeks of analyzing every little possible symptom hoping that this time I'm finally not imagining it, and that I'm really pregnant. I really can't believe it's been that long.
Here's hoping that we can stop at sixty.
I'd love to have that nice long 40 week wait. At least at the end of that one you get a baby instead of cramps, bloating and mood swings. :-)
I did the math today - once this cycle is complete (another week and a half) I will have spent SIXTY WEEKS of my life in the dreaded 2ww (120 weeks total TTC). That's 420 days. Sixty weeks of analyzing every little possible symptom hoping that this time I'm finally not imagining it, and that I'm really pregnant. I really can't believe it's been that long.
Here's hoping that we can stop at sixty.
I'd love to have that nice long 40 week wait. At least at the end of that one you get a baby instead of cramps, bloating and mood swings. :-)
Monday, August 6, 2007
But I was doing so well!!!!
Have I told you lately? No?
I HATE MY #@%& BODY!!!!
I really, really, really do.
I was doing so well.....had two nice follicles, got my trigger, everything was going so well....
Until my #@%& body decided to go completely nuts, that is. My uterus has evidently decided it's time for a "mini-period".
Seriously.
I called my nurse to let her know - she said not to worry, that this happens sometimes - often for no reason. Evidently some people have this happen when they ovulate and still go on to get pregnant that cycle, and to continue as Dr. Bates instructed with the prometrium, which would probably stop it.
Why does everything have to be so hard? Why can't I just get pregnant now? It's not like I haven't been patient, or haven't had to work for it, or aren't sure that I want it. I've put in my time....I've had more than my fair share of problems with this process. Why is it so easy for so many, and SOOOOOO hard for some of us? I miss not having to think about this stuff. I miss the days when I wasn't constantly afraid of everything I do and how it might affect my cycle.
I actually got stung THREE times by a hornet this weekend and was afraid to take anything for the pain or even Benadryl to avoid a possible allergic reaction, because I wasn't sure how it might impact ovulation. Seriously. (And no, I don't think I'm being silly - my nurse actually warned me not to take any Advil after my trigger shot if my arm hurt, because there are studies that indicate it may inhibit or delay ovulation, and if Advil will mess it up, something else might too.)
I'm constantly worrying and I'm tired.
* I worry about medications that I should or should not take.
* I worry about what I eat.
* I worry about if I am spotting or not spotting, and what the spotting might mean.
* I worry about my husband and how this all affects him.
* I worry about if we time intercourse correctly or not, or if we missed it again.
* I worry about my drug induced mood swings.
* I worry about who I offend or hurt when I get defensive or moody about all of this.
* I worry about who might announce a pregnancy next and how much it'll hurt if it's not me.
* I worry about how and when to announce my own pregnancy if it ever happens.
* I worry that I'll miscarry after all of this struggle to actually get pregnant.
* I worry that I won't have time to have all the kids Kevin and I wanted to have.
* I worry that I won't even get one.
* I worry that my parents won't be as young and active as they are now to enjoy my kids.
* I worry about my job.
* I worry about how we'll pay for treatment if we have to go too much further down this road.
* I worry about every tiny cramp or twinge, and what it means.
Worry is exhausting. If someone would like to take over for a day or two so I could get a break, that would be great. :-)
I HATE MY #@%& BODY!!!!
I really, really, really do.
I was doing so well.....had two nice follicles, got my trigger, everything was going so well....
Until my #@%& body decided to go completely nuts, that is. My uterus has evidently decided it's time for a "mini-period".
Seriously.
I called my nurse to let her know - she said not to worry, that this happens sometimes - often for no reason. Evidently some people have this happen when they ovulate and still go on to get pregnant that cycle, and to continue as Dr. Bates instructed with the prometrium, which would probably stop it.
Why does everything have to be so hard? Why can't I just get pregnant now? It's not like I haven't been patient, or haven't had to work for it, or aren't sure that I want it. I've put in my time....I've had more than my fair share of problems with this process. Why is it so easy for so many, and SOOOOOO hard for some of us? I miss not having to think about this stuff. I miss the days when I wasn't constantly afraid of everything I do and how it might affect my cycle.
I actually got stung THREE times by a hornet this weekend and was afraid to take anything for the pain or even Benadryl to avoid a possible allergic reaction, because I wasn't sure how it might impact ovulation. Seriously. (And no, I don't think I'm being silly - my nurse actually warned me not to take any Advil after my trigger shot if my arm hurt, because there are studies that indicate it may inhibit or delay ovulation, and if Advil will mess it up, something else might too.)
I'm constantly worrying and I'm tired.
* I worry about medications that I should or should not take.
* I worry about what I eat.
* I worry about if I am spotting or not spotting, and what the spotting might mean.
* I worry about my husband and how this all affects him.
* I worry about if we time intercourse correctly or not, or if we missed it again.
* I worry about my drug induced mood swings.
* I worry about who I offend or hurt when I get defensive or moody about all of this.
* I worry about who might announce a pregnancy next and how much it'll hurt if it's not me.
* I worry about how and when to announce my own pregnancy if it ever happens.
* I worry that I'll miscarry after all of this struggle to actually get pregnant.
* I worry that I won't have time to have all the kids Kevin and I wanted to have.
* I worry that I won't even get one.
* I worry that my parents won't be as young and active as they are now to enjoy my kids.
* I worry about my job.
* I worry about how we'll pay for treatment if we have to go too much further down this road.
* I worry about every tiny cramp or twinge, and what it means.
Worry is exhausting. If someone would like to take over for a day or two so I could get a break, that would be great. :-)
Friday, August 3, 2007
Triggered today!!!!
So, today was my CD 12 ultrasound to see how I responded to the Femara this cycle. This one is even better than last cycle. I had two beautiful follies - a 25 mm on the right and a 26 mm on the left.
Dr. Bates got so excited, he told the nurse to schedule me for an IUI tomorrow morning, until she reminded him that we're doing timed intercourse. He did offer me a trigger shot if I wanted it, so I went for it. He thought I'd ovulate probably tomorrow or Sunday, but with the trigger, we can just time it better, so I went for it.
I'm so excited - I really hope this is our cycle. Last month I only had 1 good follie and it was only 15mm when he checked, plus I was sick and taking tons of Advil (big no no, evidently there are studies out that show that Advil taken mid-cycle can cause problems with ovulation/implantation) during the middle of my cycle last month, so I really do hope that is why last month was a bust, but we'll see. I'm trying not to get my hopes up too much, but it's hard.
I really do hope this month works out for us, I don't think Dr. Bates will want to do too many more cycles without moving on to IUI, and I'd just as soon spend that $$ getting a nursery ready, than still shelling out for monitoring.
Dr. Bates got so excited, he told the nurse to schedule me for an IUI tomorrow morning, until she reminded him that we're doing timed intercourse. He did offer me a trigger shot if I wanted it, so I went for it. He thought I'd ovulate probably tomorrow or Sunday, but with the trigger, we can just time it better, so I went for it.
I'm so excited - I really hope this is our cycle. Last month I only had 1 good follie and it was only 15mm when he checked, plus I was sick and taking tons of Advil (big no no, evidently there are studies out that show that Advil taken mid-cycle can cause problems with ovulation/implantation) during the middle of my cycle last month, so I really do hope that is why last month was a bust, but we'll see. I'm trying not to get my hopes up too much, but it's hard.
I really do hope this month works out for us, I don't think Dr. Bates will want to do too many more cycles without moving on to IUI, and I'd just as soon spend that $$ getting a nursery ready, than still shelling out for monitoring.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
The fog has lifted...
That's right, those who have been avoiding me can come out of hiding now.
The mood swing is over. My husband must be so relieved. Poor guy, everything set me off for the last several days. I try hard not to take it out on others, but he can just tell I haven't been myself. Luckily, I can tell when I'm in a drug induced bad mood, and try to avoid people when it's at it's worst.
I go in Friday for another ultrasound to see how things are developing.
I'm also taking the afternoon off to go get a massage and a facial. I figure if I'm going to ovulate (hopefully!) this weekend, I may as well take some time to pamper myself and go into the weekend relaxed.
The mood swing is over. My husband must be so relieved. Poor guy, everything set me off for the last several days. I try hard not to take it out on others, but he can just tell I haven't been myself. Luckily, I can tell when I'm in a drug induced bad mood, and try to avoid people when it's at it's worst.
I go in Friday for another ultrasound to see how things are developing.
I'm also taking the afternoon off to go get a massage and a facial. I figure if I'm going to ovulate (hopefully!) this weekend, I may as well take some time to pamper myself and go into the weekend relaxed.
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