Letting Go

I did it. I packed up the last of the precious baby things I held on to and gave them away. The tummy time matt. Her crib bedding. The fancy felt blocks, BPA free bottles, and Sofie the giraffe.

Deep breath.

I think I’m settling back into accepting my reality: Hi, I’m Holly, and I suffer from secondary infertility.

My daughter won’t field calls from her sibling when she’s older and cousel him or her on their love life or job. She won’t be able to bitch about her aging parents and how stubborn we are or deaf we are becoming. She’ll stand on her own. She’s stronger than me, and I handle everything. She’ll be fine.

Besides she’ll tell you all about her other family if you ask, and even if you don’t. She has older sisters who live in space. She has other parents that live in a different house. She has a mean mommy and sister. She’s has an amazing imagination. Perhaps she’ll be a writer one day too.

But this is about me. I learned a friend is pregnant this week. She is in her 40′s. It happened naturally for them. No fertility treatments. No sex on demand or obsessing on conceiving for three years. They are a very lucky family. But they are not us.  That is not my path.

What is very natural for me is to feel a pang of grief. It does not diminish my joy for my friend. But I am honoring myself by acknowledging that I am sad that we could not share the same news. So instead of holding on to what once was, or what I wished would be, I let the past and dreamed of future go in a large wardrobe box labeled baby stuff.

Secondary Infertility Devistated My Friend–Why Didn’t I Feel More Compassion?

My friend Lisa wrote this article for the Huffington Post. It caught me a little off guard because the more I read, the more “Cassie” sounded like me. So I asked her, “Is Cassie me? Or am I being vain?”

She admitted it was me. So here you are, an honest look at our shared stories about dealing with infertility and how infertile women judge secondary infertility.

Secondary Infertility Devastated My Friend — Why Didn’t I Feel More Compassion?

www.huffingtonpost.com

Are you pregnant or trying to get pregnant?

Are you pregnant or trying to get pregnant?

This question stopped me in my tracks last Friday. I wasn’t expecting to be asked. I was sitting in a cushioned chair at Voci Spa about to treat myself to a facial. I was taking time to take care of myself after taking care of my sick daughter all week.

The sweet-faced receptionist sitting behind a tall desk asked me to fill out a questionnaire. It was full of the typical questions: Are you on any medications? Do you suffer from any of the following… and there about half way down the page was:

Are you pregnant or trying to get pregnant?

The answer should have been an easy check in the NO box. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t check off NO. I stared at the type face. I waited for the stinging sensation to pass. The question triggered me. I resented that even here, with the relaxing sounds of a spa CD filtering through the scented candle air, was a reminder of my greatest failure. That benign question reminded me we weren’t trying any more. It reminded me the truth is I’m incapable of getting pregnant no matter how much in that moment I wanted to check YES.

The soothing harp-like sounds coming from the speakers morphed into shrieking banshees. The candles smelled putrid. I reminded myself how I was fine with my infertility reality last week. I skipped the question and filled out the rest.

I thought about not checking any box, but feared a receptionist would ask me with a smile on her face, “I’m sorry Mrs. H, you didn’t answer this question. Are you pregnant or trying to become pregnant?”

I’d politely smile. My voice would sound steady to them but my heart would squeeze perhaps crumble a bit. Part of my right ventricle would swish through my bloodstream before my body eliminated it like it has two of my pregnancies. “Oh, sorry about that,” I’d say. “No.”

My history doesn’t mean anything to them. They don’t know how hurtful that question is. It was just a form. All of their customers complete it. I’m sure none of them complained about the horror they too felt when staring at those eight typed words.

Eight words. Defining me. Fuck that. I hate being defined. Reminds me of lined paper. I hate lined paper. It’s so restricting. Why is it bothering me so much? Why can’t all the emotional scars associated with infertility just disappear…for good…and never bite me in the ass again? Why can’t that be?

False Alarm

Even though we are no longer trying to have a baby it seems my body is still practicing for pregnancy. And believe me when I tell you, it’s annoying! How can I maintain a level head when my hormones fuck with me?

Let me explain what I’m talking about. On or about day 16 of my cycle this month my breasts began swelling and got tender. The kind of tenderness that makes a tee-shirt feel like an iron maiden and hugs torturous. They began to bulge out the top of my bra and made exercising painful.

This past month, I also had two weeks of nausea. My stomach was so queasy that I was bent over the toilet while tears filled my eyes. I whispered prayers for the nausea to pass and begged for whatever was making me ill to please get out. I ate half a sleeve of Saltines, four Tums, two charcoal tablets and digestive enzymes before I could sit without wanting to hurl. Once the wave of nausea passed I was starving! Did I mention the acne?

Then there was the bloating. My belly swelled. No matter how hard I exercised I felt fat. My scale said I gained one pound but it felt much more like five. And five pounds on me is a big difference. A few friends thought I might be pregnant. I told them it would be a miracle.

“Miracles happen,” J told me. This got me thinking, maybe they do. Could one have happened to us?

My mother thinks I’ll be pregnant by the end of the year. She also thought I’d be pregnant by the end of the summer. She also wants me to stop obsessing. Ironic no?

So there I was, a mere few weeks ago, declaring how comfortable I was with my family, my reality and at peace with my secondary infertility when I felt the pang of hope that I could be pregnant. I had two pregnancy tests under the sink. I thought better to use them so they don’t go to waste. Better to get rid of them so they don’t haunt me.  So I peed on a stick 5 days out.

NEGATIVE. Well it is early.

Day 25. Heartburn was added to my symptoms. Might as well try the other one.

NEGATIVE. Well it’s still early and I’ve had a false negative before.

Day 26. I get my period.

Day 29 My period is LIGHT. For all my bloating and PMS I should be bleeding like a sieve. My boobs shouldn’t hurt any more. I should have peed out most of my bloating. But none of the above is happening. WTF?

My unconscious mind is clearly fucking with me and I’d like to give it a time out. Because feeling all of these symptoms sucks, especially since there is no pay off.

Anyone else suffer like this? What’s the point of it all? Should I go back on the pill to settle my hormones back down?

DAY 34

BFP…Big Fat Period

27

Image by super-structure via Flickr

This is one reason why I dig my acupuncturist Adrienne Wei…(http://www.ipanc.com/)…she went out and bought me EPT pregnancy tests when I was enjoying my treatement this morning. She read my blog and couldn’t wait. I chugged a glass of water to encourage my body to pee, but I didn’t really think it would work. I’m a believer in testing with morning’s first pee.

Two lines appeared immediately. But not the kind revealing pregnancy. No + sign.  Adrienne was very disappointed. I’m not though. I’m actually completely fine. Besides it’s only day 27, and if we’re not pregnant this month, there is always next.

riding the baby makin’ train

Last Friday I had my first appointment at REACH. (http://www.northcarolinafertility.com/)

I had questions about my body that needed concrete attention. Working on fertility 3,000 miles away from my OBGYN had failed and instead of repeating futile behavior I decided to take control of my reproductive life.

So on recommendation of cool news friends who had success using REACH I decided to go. Better yet, my man candy agreed to go too. And ever better still my insurance covers some of the visit, talk about a bonus!

Dr. Whitesides won the lottery of me because the other doctor who was recommended had another obligation to attend on the day and time we were available, and we were not interested in waiting another month to see her.

I liked him. He was the perfect fit for our family. Dr. Whitesides is direct, quick with a pap smear and personable. The good news he delivered is I’m not broken. Things look good inside and he sees no reason why we can’t successfully have a baby. He responded well to the information that I am seeing an acupuncturist weekly and even encouraged me to continue. He also said he would have taken me off Clomid after the first month because of my reaction to it. Boy do I wish I met him in October!

Dr. Whitesides was pleased when I told him we are not interested in IVF. He doesn’t believe my eggs would like all that man handling outside of my body. He said if my end goal is to have a baby that he would suggest I use a donor egg.

Even though having a child is what I hope for, I am not down with that. My intention is not to have a baby at all costs, I have an amazing daughter, perhaps if I didn’t I would consider that option.

We all agreed to try IUI. (http://www.northcarolinafertility.com/intrauterine-insemination.asp) It seems to fit in with what my husband and I can handle emotionally and financially.

So away we go farther down the tracks on the baby making train.