Halfway There - A Stereotypical Pregnant Lady

First, I wanted to celebrate... I'm halfway through this pregnancy already! Part of me can't believe it, it has flown by so quickly. The other half of me is getting more and more excited every day. Although I want to keep my little Wriggles inside of me forever where s/he is safe and warm, I can't wait to meet my little bundle of joy and give him/her mountains of hugs and snuggles and kisses and love. 

This past week has been an interesting one for me, as I have been what I would think of as a stereotypical pregnant lady. First, on Monday, I saw a picture of 7-layer dip on a friend's Facebook account that I NEEDED TO HAVE RIGHT NOW. That's a craving, isn't it? So I ran off to the store after getting back from work to buy all the ingredients, make it for myself, and stuff myself full of it. The next night, it was pancake night and I NEEDED pancakes (really, they're crepes here, but who cares?) The food  needs are getting real!

Then there's the emotions! On Monday afternoon we had our 20 week anomaly ultrasound, and even though we got to the hospital 20 minutes early, we couldn't manage to find parking. We were waiting in long lines to get into a lot, when finally my hubby dropped me at the maternity ward entrance so I wouldn't be late. When I got there, they made me start the scan right away without my husband there. I tried to enjoy it, but when he text me 10 minutes later to say he was STILL waiting in line, I panicked and started crying. Okay, okay, I was sobbing. Big, heavy sobs that made my abdomen shake and I'm sure the technician's job much more complicated. I didn't want him to miss it! They continued the scan I tried my best to listen and stifle my tears. Emotions were running rampant! He got there just after the scan finished, and they did another quick 5 minute one for us to see the baby together. Wriggles was much more squished inside me and curled up with his/her little toes in front of him/her. There was more crying on Tuesday (I wanted those pancakes but I was too tired to make them!), and I just felt like I couldn't stop the crying. Being out of control like that was a completely new feeling for me! I just have to remind myself - it's the hormones. 

There was a bit more crying on Wednesday, as I was too exhausted to put on my exercise clothes. Yes, you read that right. Turns out I am putting too much pressure on myself and really just needed a night off. Lesson learned (I hope!).

Crying, craving, exhaustion, it's all there and even if it makes my life a little more stressful at the moment it's still worth every second. Wriggles is now turning around, kicking and punching me more often and I love the feeling. I look forward to seeing what next week brings!

 

The Waiting Room

It's early, and most of the hospital hasn't opened up yet and the sun has just peeked over the horizon. The corridors are empty, but there is one room filled to the brim with people. Signs advertising support groups plaster the walls, and old magazines lie in large stacks on the table. 

"The only thing more painful than having a baby is not being able to have a baby," one poster pronounces. Amen sister, I think.

On the battered, green plastic chairs every type of person waits. There are couples of all descriptions, holding hands, nervous, quietly chatting or lost in their own silent world. There are far more women on their own, passing time on their phones, reading, or staring into space. Where are their minds wandering? Probably the same place as mine - we are all here fighting for the same thing. The treatments may all be different but I still feel a kindred spirit with the others who share this space with me. It is mercifully beach-ball-belly free, as only those who are struggling to conceive are invited inside. 

Today, however, there is a woman with her daughter, who looks to be about 4 or 5. Without noticing it at first, I feel the anger and jealousy in me rising up; jealous of her child, and anger at her for flaunting something we all so desperately, deeply want. Then I take a deep breath and remind myself that secondary infertility is STILL infertility. That doesn't make me feel much better. Let it go, I tell myself. I look back down at my magazine and remind myself there is not a limited amount of babies allowed in the world.

The woman with her child is called from the waiting room and I find myself wondering what I will do if I have one child and then (like this time) I'm unable to get pregnant on my own and I need treatment. Would I bring my child in to the fertility clinic with me? Is it wrong to want a second child when we fight with everything we have just for the first one? 

Now it's just women and couples again, all waiting to be called in. Most of us will receive bad news, some might receive good news, the majority of us will be back here later this week or month for another scan, another blood draw, another round of medications. The lengths we will go to to have a baby of our own knows no bounds. They call my name and it's my turn again. I cross my fingers and say a prayer and hope against hope that this time, something has gone right.

An Ovary Full of Cysts

Cycle Day 12, Second Clomid Cycle 100mg days 3-7, First monitoring appointment (blood draw and internal ultrasound).

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Usually the beginning of a cycle makes me anxious an excited for *maybe* something good happening. The beginning of this cycle seemed to appear out of nowhere while I was in Prague visiting my cousin and then things just got more hectic from there. I barely noticed that my first monitoring appointment was quickly approaching until yesterday night. The nerves started again, but I just looked the other way and focused on all the other things I needed to do (and there is a lot I need to do!)

Then this morning arrived and I went into the fertility clinic like usual. Unlike the previous times, I had no butterflies in my stomach or strong hopes for something good. I was just trying to be realistic and protect myself. 

Good thing too.

After the blood draw, I went in for the dildo cam and as the doctor measured my lining (3cm) and then inspected one ovary, and then the other, I could see what was coming. I'm getting good at understanding the ultrasound screen. 

"Wow," she commented, "Look at all those cysts just sitting there and doing nothing!"

"I know," I replied, "Come on ovaries, you have ONE JOB!" I was trying to lighten the mood and pretend like this was all okay. But again, it's just crushing. 

With the internal ultrasound bit over, the doctor said I should come in again in a week, just in case I responded slower to the meds and something happened. I explained I'd be away for a race until Wednesday of the following week, and she said that was fine, because there was just no activity in my ovaries. Not even a hint of a slightly larger follicle. Just pearls of cysts taking up as much space as possible and being totally and completely useless. 

At first I felt just a bit numb and I was proud of myself for not tearing up. I knew this was a possibility, I had prepared myself for the fact that 100mg of Clomid may not work. I managed to hold it all together until I got to the car and got through the ticket gates and back onto the main road. I feel like every time I leave that hospital, I'm crying. 

So now I'll be focusing on my big race this Saturday. There's nothing I can do until next week at my next appointment, so I won't spend any time dwelling on it. Of course, I'll keep temping, checking my CM, and drinking grapefruit juice, but I've got other things to worry about. And this is why you have to keep living, keep making plans, keep on keeping on - because if cycle after cycle fails, you need a life boat to cling on to so you don't drown in the hopelessness and sadness of it all.

First Clomid Cycle (non) Update

Well I have to say, I have almost been purposefully avoiding this blog. Mostly because thinking about it just made things worse. Like sobbing, wailing, crying worse. Usually writing is extremely cathartic for me - I write it down and it lets me release my feelings and helps me return to normal.

But this time, every time I thought about it my chest got tight and I found it hard to breathe. So I took a step back, closed my laptop and just threw myself into the rest of my life. I hoped that would let me forget everything for a while and allow time for my heart to heal so I could come back a bit better.

And it is, luckily, a bit better. So what has made me so upset? Last Friday I went back to the clinic for my third monitoring session. After the bust on Monday, I prepared myself for the same news - no follicles, no estrogen surge, no nothing. When I arrived at the clinic, there was a different doctor than normal (this isn't particularly concerning), so I followed the usual routine of giving a bit of blood and then went in for my scan. With the dildo-cam inserted, the doctor searched one ovary, and then the other. My lining still looks great, but only one slightly larger (but nowhere near actually matured) follicle was present. I quarried the new doctor about if we would still take the next steps my doctor had outlined on Monday. I explained that she had said if nothing was happening on Friday, then I would start Provera and a larger dose of Clomid in order to be ready when I returned from the U.S. to start my next round. 

The doctor pursed his lips and said that no, he would not prescribe Provera or the next round of Clomid yet. Because I wouldn't be around to be monitored and MAYBE I might have a teeny tiny chance of of ovulating on my own, that I would just have to wait and see for the rest of July. When I came back, we'd do another scan and see where to go from there. I was in shock, and instead of pushing for the medication I just let them shoo me out of the office. 

I'm sure you won't be surprised when I say I cried all the way home from the hospital. There might have been a little bit of door slamming and swearing as well. How can they make me wait another f***ing month! As if I haven't waited enough already! And I'm already on cycle day 23 and nothing is happening and NOTHING IS GOING TO HAPPEN. And even if I ovulate in July, I won't be with my husband so it's a total waste!

As tears dripped down my face I navigated my car home, doing the calculations. You know the ones - where you see when each part of the next cycle will take place. My next monitoring appointment would be July 28, where they would see that I (still) hadn't responded to 50mg of Clomid. That means they would start me on Provera the next day, July 29. You take Provera for 7 days (August 4), I get my period 10 days later (August 14), take Clomid days 3-7 (August 16-20) and start monitoring on cycle day 12 (August 25) and maybe I won't even respond to that dosage. The whole process takes another month where I can't do anything. It feels like it's a never ending process that takes so much time and energy and it just makes me so frustrated I want to scream, or pull out my hair or punch something. 

Someone who is not actively trying to conceive might read this and think I'm crazy. It's just another month, they'll say. It's just a drop in the bucket compared to the rest of your life. You won't even notice. It'll just fly right by. Enjoy yourself! Have fun! Drink wine! 

Those of you who are trying (and failing) to conceive will understand, and most likely want to punch those well meaning people in the face. Just kidding, I'm not the violent type. But we aren't getting any younger and when it takes two months just to get one chance, it makes me think that the long and windy road ahead of me is even longer than I had anticipated. It's like a Disneyland line - you think you're almost to the ride then the line turns and you've got another 3 hours of waiting in front of you. Only in this case, it's 3 years. 

Sigh. Maybe I haven't allowed enough time to pass between my appointment and now. I can feel myself getting all angry and wound up, but I suppose that's better than sporadically bursting into tears. 

With nothing to do, I am only temping (although goodness knows why I even bother), and now just counting down the days until my next chance - only 45 days to go!

Saying Congratulations! (Without a Breakdown)

When you're struggling with your own infertility, one of the hardest moments is finding out a friend is pregnant. This is likely to happen over and over again, since your friends are normally a similar age to you. The longer you struggle with infertility, the more of your friends and acquaintances will seem to fall pregnant around you - they will be everywhere. For me, I've had 7 close friends announce their baby news in the last 9 months, and countless more acquaintances. 

The second hardest moment is saying, "Congratulations, I'm so happy for you!" without breaking down into tears. 

I think one of the reasons this is so difficult to deal with is the fact that very few people share their baby-making plans, their struggles, their disappointments, their frustration, and their sadness. So many women who are trying to fall pregnant wear a mask on the outside, and keep these personal details to themselves. I completely understand - deciding to start a family and then the actual trying is quite personal. It might look like I'm being very open about my struggle through this blog, but keep in mind that I haven't shared the link here to any of my "real life" friends. If you're reading this, chances are we've never met each other. So yes, I'm sharing, but anonymously, because writing helps me work through my emotions.

Because people are so quiet about their struggles, it might seem that everyone becomes pregnant so easily, without trying, without intervention, without pain or loss. This is not always the case - remember 1 in 8 couples face infertility. That's a lot of people out there that it didn't just happen for.

One of my friends just called me this morning to let me know her happy news before I arrived for my visit. I managed to say the "Congratulations!" without crying (go me!), and I really did mean it. I remember years ago speaking with her about having kids, and she wasn't sure she's be able to have them due to her age. On the phone she confided that they had been trying for years, had suffered through a miscarriage, and were about to take the next steps with medical intervention when they got their miracle baby. If she hadn't shared this information, it would have been easy to view her as just another pregnant friend. Instead, she helped take a bit of the sting out of her announcement and I am truly happy she is on her way to motherhood after everything she's gone through. I wish I had known sooner so I could have offered her support.

Remembering that everyone has their own struggles can help ease the pain of finding out yet another friend is pregnant. It's a long, hard road we are walking, and we are not alone.  

No Rainbows, Just Rain

When you think of Scotland, what do you imagine? Castles? Kilts? Bagpipes? Most people think of the weather - cold, grey, and rainy. I have to say, most of the time that isn't true. I've had so many beautiful, blue sky days since moving here and the rain seems to only appear overnight and disappear in the day.

Today is an exception. It's raining outside just the way you'd expect from a country this far north. As I sipped my cup of tea this morning and thought about where I am in this journey, I wondered if the weather was mirroring how I felt.

First and foremost, I feel sadness. The kind of deep, immeasurable sadness that wells up when you're not expecting it. The diagnosis of endometriosis still has me reeling. The fact that there is no way to stop it and only surgery or pregnancy to treat it has added new layers of stress to my already gigantic pile. Isn't having PCOS enough for one person? I can't ovulate properly, but now I get to have constant abdominal pain that will interfere with falling pregnant and staying pregnant? 

Then I think - what else is wrong with me?

And the rain falls steadily, inside and outside. Hovering, menacing, iron-grey clouds hang over me. I try to push it back down, cover the sadness with my list.

Every day I make a list of the things I am grateful for. It reminds me of everything I have now and keeps me focused on the positives. The list is seemingly endless; I'm thankful for my house, my neighborhood, my neighbors, my job, my family, my friends, my (mostly) strong and healthy body, my past experiences, my travel, clean water, good food, interesting books, my education... I could just keep writing. Sometimes I even go through my friends and family one by one, thinking of how each person has brought joy and happiness into my life. 

And this list pushes back down the sadness and the darkness for a small while. It reminds me there is more to me and my life than just trying to fall pregnant. It's enough for me to catch my breath and try ignore that deep pain. 

If you're struggling with infertility too, you know the pain. I don't need to describe it to you, because you know and feel this pain everyday. If you aren't struggling with infertility, the words could never describe it. I'm not trying to belittle other types of pain - there is a whole buffet of pain out there, all with its own flavors and subtleties and none necessarily easier to bear than others. But the pain from infertility can only be understood by those experiencing it and it's a club I never intended to join.

Howling wind screeches past my window as the harsh pounding of raindrops continues. I'm in the stormy part of my journey, I tell myself. Intervention (and hopefully success), will be here someday, but isn't here yet. It's something I have to tell myself over and over to keep my hope up. Because in infertility, there are no guarantees. It might rain and rain and rain and rain... with no rainbows. 

It's a healing, waiting, hoping game for now. As the rain drives down, ever more forceful, I just have to remember that without the rain there wouldn't even be a chance of rainbows. And that little bit of hope is enough for now as I sit here, wishing for my rainbow.