That Room

You know the one I'm talking about. When you were looking at moving into that house (or apartment), you thought it was perfect. It gave you room to grow. That special place that you imagined crib, a colorful mobile, and maybe a rocking chair. Where you would arrange tiny socks and shirts and pants into tiny drawers. Where you would sing soft songs and read good-night stories and rock-a-bye-baby. The meant-to-be room that's all too silent; the room that should be filled with laughing and giggles and smiles, and yes, lots of crying too.

That room that feels so empty, and yet you can't quite bear to do anything else useful with it. Maybe if you just sparsely furnish it, you think to yourself, it won't be so painful. Maybe if you leave room for that crib and changing table, then you know there's still space. You're not giving up on the nursery you've dreamed of, just making the most of today and using the space you have.

You push those feelings back, thinking of when you first saw that room and how excited you were to fill it with happiness, joy, shining eyes and chubby little cheeks. It will happen someday, you tell yourself. It might take longer than you planned, but it will happen. You try to be hopeful, try to ignore that room - or avoid going in it altogether. 

But that room is always there, silent, empty, and a constant reminder of what you don't have.  

First Clomid Cycle (CD3)

Today marks a new day in my TTC journey. Let's do a little recap: My last cycle was only 51 days, which is less than half of the cycle before. Technically it was a short cycle, but still - 51 days is a long time to be doing nothing. The only reason this cycle was only 51 days was that Provera worked its magic and brought on a period that would have never arrived otherwise. I have never been so overjoyed for Aunt Flo to arrive, because of everything she brings with her. 

For those of you who are interested in Provera (and I was when I was taking it!) I was prescribed two tablets a day for 7 days. The nurse said I should get my period 7-10 days after the LAST pill was taken, but that some ladies had their periods come much earlier (like 2-3 days after). Anxiously, I waited and hoped for my period to arrive early (how often does that happen when you're TTC?). Spoiler alert: It didn't! At that point I was googling nearly everything, including "What if my period doesn't come after Provera?" and "Could I be pregnant even if I took Provera and didn't have sex?" (you get the idea, right?). Turns out all this baby making sometimes makes me a bit mental. Then, 10 days after my last pill I FINALLY started spotting, and the next day my period started in full force. *Insert nervous laugh*. I don't know why I was acting so crazy, I always knew my period would come!

And that, my friends, brings us to today. Completely relieved, that is how I feel. Relieved and excited and nervous to finally, for the first time, REALLY be trying with a real chance at getting pregnant. Because today is my Cycle Day 3 (CD3) = FIRST DAY OF CLOMID!

I know Clomid might cause all kinds of crazy symptoms (headache, hot flashes, emotional swings, general craziness, etc.), but if it gets me a baby, I'm happy to take all of them. I'll come back tomorrow and see if I have been one of the unlucky ones to get the side effects. Until then, I'm enjoying a relaxing weekend with my hubby in a beautiful city and eating raw fish and drinking alcohol. Because here's hoping next month I'll be pregnant and this is my last fun hurrah! You gotta be hopeful sometime, right?

Friends and Infertility

This past week I was very lucky to be able to fly to Switzerland to visit my old friends, colleagues, and students. It had been ten months since my last visit, and everything seemed to have stayed the same, even though I have changed. I spent my days rushing from one place to another, trying to squeeze everyone in, and all in all I think I succeeded. By the end of the six days I was exhausted and coming down with a cold (typical of my time there!).

Do you ever take a step back from your life and really examine the friends and acquaintances who fill it? Leaving Switzerland allowed me this option, and this trip back highlighted the friends I can rely on and trust, and the friends who are too wrapped up in their own lives to pay attention to others. 

Many of my friends wanted to hear about my big round-the-world trip. Most asked how the life and job in my new home were. Some of my friends wanted to know how I was doing - was I settling in okay? Was I making friends? Was I happy? Even fewer friends were interested (and then very supportive) about this new struggle I am working through. It felt like such a relief to talk about it with some real, live, people (not just my lovely husband!). Friends who know who I am and what I want most, friends who comfort me and tell me I can call anytime, no matter what. I can count these friends on one hand, and that's okay.

Other friends were too busy telling me about their own life/work/pregnancy/baby to actually have a conversation with me. It's not that I need to bitch and moan all day, or go on and on about everything related to me - but this is a part of my life, a big part, and if you're truly my friend it's probably better if you know at least a little bit about what's happening in it. Some of my "friends" never took a moment to ask.

Of course one of the hardest parts about visiting so many people were the near-constant comments about how it was time to start a family with my big, family home and family-centered neighborhood. I tried to fend this one off by always holding a glass (or a bottle) of wine. When I mentioned we're trying, and that it's taking longer than we'd like, of course I got the whole range of unhelpful remarks:

"It'll be your turn soon"
"Oh just relax, it'll happen"
"Enjoy your life while you have it!"
"You're so young"
"Insert every other insensitive comment you can think of - I'm sure I heard it this weekend"

And if the person I was talking to was someone I regarded as being a close friend, and I confided the actual situation I was in, then usually out came the stories...

"My uncle's cousin's niece had PCOS and she had 3 kids!"
"I had a colleague whose daughter had endo and she got pregnant!"
"So and so tried for years and then when she stopped trying she got pregnant right away!"
"There was a girl a work who adopted and then she was pregnant with twins!"
"Insert your own story of some random person who got pregnant even though it was difficult"

I'm not sure if these stories help me or make me feel worse. I think people tell them because they want to give me hope. But that person in the story and their problems (even if they have PCOS or endo), will never be the same as me and mine. What worked for them might not work for me, or for any other woman for that matter. There is no magic infertility pill. It almost feels like salt in a wound - look at these women who can get pregnant despite their problems and you can't! Unless it was someone who is currently struggling with infertility, or has struggled in the past, it seemed people just didn't know how to react.  

Overall I think I came back from my trip with a better idea of the friends I could trust, the friends I would continue to talk to, and the friends I would no longer put in the effort with. I think it's important to know who those real friends are, as they can help lighten your load and remind you that no matter what you are going through, you aren't alone. 

All the Options

Today, sitting around recovering from my laparoscopic surgery and being a completely useless lump, I stumbled from one website to another to try to pass the time. I've found my pain meds make me spacey, so I'm taking off a bit of time for work. Free time = too much thinking = too much internet searching = depressing. 

At first I was just looking to find success stories from other ladies who had both PCOS and endometriosis. Let me tell you, the results were not very promising. Then one click lead to another (you know how the internet is), and I was reading an article about what three women did when faced with infertility.

The first woman decided treatment wasn't for her, and she made peace with never being a mother. I know that this is something that will never be okay with me.

The second woman decided to say no to invasive treatments due to recurrent miscarriages, and miraculously ended up pregnant on her own. Hurray! Success for someone!

The third woman decided to opt for adoption, and fell pregnant two more times after. This helps reinforce that myth that if you want to be pregnant, just adopt!

These stories got me on to thinking how far down the rabbit hole I want to go with this whole infertility deal. Am I up for being poked and prodded and stuffed full of drugs? And then after all of that, it may not work? I guess for now, my answer is yes - I am willing to try everything: up to and including IVF. Becoming a mom has always been a dream of mine, right up there with finding the love of my life (check), becoming a teacher (check), and traveling the world (check). 

And then my mind went on to the "what if...?" How many years am I going to try drugs and treatments and invasive surgeries? How many years should you hold on to hope and keep trying? At what point do you decide, "This isn't going to happen"? After all, our chances get worse every year as egg quality declines - how much torture should we subject ourselves to?

I'm not going to lie, a small part of me is absolutely terrified by the "what ifs". I have to remember that maybe everything will be okay before I have to face most of these options. But then again, maybe it won't be okay. In life, nothing is guaranteed. 

Since I want more than anything to be a mom, is adoption ever going to be an answer for me? I know it is a wonderful thing to offer a child a home, but it isn't a cure-all bandaid for infertility. I can't just adopt a child and pretend like I never wanted to grow a baby in my tummy, to create a child that's half me and half my husband. How do people even make this decision, I asked myself. And would my husband ever want to adopt? Adopting a child is a decision two have to make, and it's a pretty big decision that also says, "We gave up."

And then, because I'm clearly trying to make my life as miserable as possible, I started looking up adoption protocol in Scotland. Approval times (long), home visits (many), matching (stressful), it could all take years and still might end in heartbreak. The chances of getting a baby are extremely slim, and at the risk of sounding selfish, I really want a baby. I don't want my first time as a mommy to start with a four-year-old who can already walk and talk. I always kept adoption in the back of my mind as an option, but now - I'm just not so sure. 

One of the things that has kept me sane for the last few months was knowing there were more options out there for me. So I'm going to pull back from the adoption option for a while and look at all the wonderful miraculous options that science has to offer those of us who struggle with infertility.

• Surgery - Depending on the need, some women undergo laparscopic surgery to fix known or suspected problems. A woman with PCOS may undergo ovarian drilling - when your cysts are popped and drained. Or if you are suspected to have adhesions, blocked tubes, or endometriosis, the doctors may go in to clear the way and dispose of any problems they find. Some women claim that after laparascopy and an HSG you are "superfertile" because everything is free and clear for the sperm to meet egg. This hasn't been proven in any medical journals of course, but I'll take positive news wherever I can get it.  
• Drugs - Usually the first step after tests confirm whatever fertility issue you have, because they are the least invasive. For PCOS, many women are prescribed metformin (Glucophage) which regulates the amount of glucose in your blood and seems to help shorten cycles. Then Clomid (clomiphene) is often prescribed to induce ovulation. Sometimes this requires monitoring through ultrasounds and blood tests to confirm ovulation. It seems the general consensus is to find the lowest dosage that results in ovulation, and only try for 6 cycles. Some women do not ovulate on Clomid, and so Femara (letrozole) can be tried. This seems to be the end of the road for the simple, oral fertility drugs. 
• Injections - There are a range of different injectable drugs (Gonal-F, GnRH, HcG, and many more), each stimulating something different. The doctors choose the right cocktail of drugs for your situation, but in general they affect your levels of LH and FSH to induce ovulation. Some doctors avoid injectables because of the higher chance of multiple births and their high cost. It seems success rates are similar to oral drugs, but injectables might be successful where oral medication was not.
• Intrauterine Insemination (IUI) - Commonly used for unexplained fertility or mild known infertility factors, and often in conjunction with either oral medication or injections, an IUI is the placement of washed and concentrated semen directly into the uterus. Timing is important, and the rates of pregnancy aren't spectacular, but it is an affordable option. 
• IVF - Often the last stop on the infertility train, IVF ranks quite high in cost, invasiveness, and success. Some clinics boast as high a success rate as 60% live births per cycle! This is a process involving drugs to stimulate egg production, then egg retrieval, then the actual injection of a sperm into an egg (or allowing sperm to penetrate egg in a petri dish), then the placement of the embryo (or embryos) back into the woman. I am lucky in that the NHS covers three rounds of IVF for a woman without any children in cases of infertility. 

Even though sometimes I feel like I will never be able to fall pregnant, I am so grateful that there is an entire list of options that I haven't tried yet. I'm just at the beginning of the road, and although some of the options seem big and scary, at least I have options. PCOS and endometriosis can be daunting, but at least I know what I'm dealing with and I can charge straight at it head on. I don't know what the future will bring, but today I'm feeling cautiously optimistic and I'm holding on tightly to that little ball of hope inside. 

It's two days until my meeting at the fertility clinic, and armed with my piles of research, only good things can come. It's a long dark road ahead of me, but I think I might just be able to see some light at the end of it.

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.