PMS Symptoms...Here We Go Again!

I think the crazy pregnancy-mimicking PMS symptoms are starting again. I'm prepared this time, so no BWE (blogging while emotional) - I promise! (Well, no more than usual...) My acupuncturist was really excited about everything that happened last month; she said that it shows my body is responding to the treatment. I haven't gotten my progesterone number back yet, but I am hoping that it supports her opinion.

I'm debating whether I should go to my infertility support group tomorrow night. I didn't go last month, and I don't know that I have the emotional energy to go this time around. It's the sort of meeting where you drag yourself in the door, and it's really painful while you're there, but it's also really good. The prayer time especially is incredible. Selfishly, there is part of me that doesn't want to grow too close to these ladies, because I don't want to be a permanent fixture in this group. I want to "graduate", as they put it. And now.

Maybe I will make it "a game-time decision", as C often says, and decide tomorrow on the fly. For now though...I am still at work and should probably not be blogging. My work day was supposed to end three hours ago! (It's just so nice and quiet here...)

Back in the Game!

I stopped by the lab this morning for my day 21 progesterone draw. It's been quite a while since I've been poked and prodded with "real" needles (the acupuncture needles are too small to count), and while I am not a fan of lab procedures, it felt good to be back in the game. To be monitoring hormone levels, gathering data, and moving forward in a quantitative way...it makes me happy! The acupuncture has helped me so much, but sometimes I need the tangible reassurance that western medicine gives. I am excited to have found a practice that sees value in both.

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C and I went for a long drive the other night, and he surprised me. Out of the blue, he commented that he is really tired of going through all this and he's just ready for this season of our lives to be over. He is usually so stoic and silent when it comes to our infertility. Apparently, though, he's been running some numbers and thinking a lot about IVF. It was strangely nice to have a glimpse into his feelings on the subject - I certainly don't want him to hurt, but seeing his pain helps me understand that I'm not in this alone.

The end result of our conversation is that we will probably do IVF sooner rather than later. I am much more comfortable with the new clinic, and financially we can swing it. If my progesterone level suggests ovulation, we may do one more cycle with acupuncture only. Timeline-wise, that would take us up to our vacation. (BEACH! Sorry - I digress.) C is off the following week too (lucky duck!), and that would be a good time to schedule our IVF consent appointment. It's all coming together...

Restless

I am restless today. It's hard to concentrate, and the paperwork that has already engulfed my desk looks like it wants to swallow me too. I've hit a wall; all I want to do is take a nap.

The weather isn't helping. We've gone from yesterday's bright, summery skies to an overcast ceiling that threatens to collapse in a heap of rain at any moment. And maybe I am a little bit depressed - yet another friend had a baby last week.

Infertility is isolating. I miss my "old" life. I miss going to C's softball games. I miss hanging out with our friends. I miss our old church, where we knew lots of people and had a history. I miss being happy.

Then I remember the last time I went to a softball game, when I hid in the car and cried because I was the only married woman in the stands without a baby, and because people asked hurtful questions. I remember sitting in our living room while our "friends" gushed for hours about the news of their pregnancy. I remember sharing the news of our diagnosis with our home group, and no one knowing how to act around us anymore. I remember the couple in our home group who told everyone they were pregnant except us. I remember the pastor who led the home group wanting us to leave because we made everyone uncomfortable. (He didn't say it in those words, but that was the bottom line.) I remember dreading church on Sunday, because I didn't want to see him. I remember putting our wedding pictures away, because I felt so betrayed. (He was the pastor who married us.)

And as I remember the pain of all these things, I know that happiness is a long way off. Someone in my infertility support group once told me that she "didn't feel well" for years. That resonates with me today. I don't feel well. Physically, emotionally, spiritually: I just don't feel well. And while I know that joy exists independent of circumstance - that joy and sorrow can occupy the same space without displacing each other - I miss being happy. I miss feeling good.

The Blues & A Decision in the Making

Music can be healing. Sometimes just the right song can express what's in my heart better than any words I could ever string together on my own. However, I have to admit that I found it ironic this morning when I realized I was literally singing "The Blues" (a la Switchfoot, that is). You can find the lyrics here if you're interested.



C and I have been discussing the merits of jumping back on the IVF roller coaster. We still want to continue with TCM, but the question is whether to do it as a stand-alone treatment, or in conjunction with western medicine. Most of the success stories my TCM practitioner has told me about were in conjunction with other treatments. And while I do not relish the thought of putting more drugs into my system, I also don't know how much more of this I can take. The scientist in me is screaming for more data. I don't understand what happened last cycle, and I don't think I can go through that again without an adequate explanation (i.e., exactly which hormone was out of whack and by how much).

One of the reasons I hesitated to proceed with IVF before was that I was uncomfortable with the RE I was referred to. We just didn't click. Now, all of a sudden, I find that a fertility clinic two hours away has opened an office five minutes down the road. From their website, it appears that they put great emphasis on patient care and education.

I called to schedule an appointment, and already I'm impressed. The person who answered the phone was very warm and sweet (unlike the automaton who mans the phones at the other clinic). They have a new patient coordinator, who will be calling me back to explain how their clinic works, go over insurance basics and schedule an appointment. Information up front? Now there's a novel idea.

I'm not sure how this will play out. We are still praying it through, and waiting for God to speak. But it is nice to have options again! And after the heartbreak of the past few days, it would be really nice to have a reason to stop singing the blues.

The Bitter Truth

I guess it was AF after all. I don't know what I did to make her so angry, but she is ticked about something. I stayed home from work today, because I couldn't even get out of bed.

Emotionally and spiritually, I just feel drained. I have no explanation for the strange symptoms, and I am confused. Not only has infertility robbed us of the joy of trying to conceive, but now - if we ever do get pregnant - we're going to be so afraid to believe that it's true. We won't get to enjoy the moment.

Life isn't fair. I know that. But I feel like somewhere along the line, something is supposed to go "right" for us. I thought this was finally it. And then, it wasn't.

ETA: Thanks for all the supportive comments over the past few days. I really appreciate them. My bloggy friends are wonderful!!

Warning...TMI Ahead!

If you're still reading, consider yourself duly warned.

Shortly after I wrote my last post, I went to the bathroom and noticed some spotting. Spotting as in a very light pinkish mark on the toilet paper...lighter than any spotting I've had before. Ten minutes later, it was reddish-brown and while there was more of it, I'd still only call it spotting. However, it was enough for me to freak out and leave work a little early.

When I got home, I was still spotting, and feeling crampy enough that I fell completely apart. I decided to use a tampon, since it seemed like the spotting was developing into a light flow. C was off today, and he was so sweet - he held me for three hours while I sobbed. I took a nap, and when I woke up, the cramps had changed. They're back to the strange sensation I described eariler - more of a soreness than the muscle contractions I usually experience. The tampon indicated something between spotting and light flow.

And here's the kicker - it's almost seven hours since I started spotting, and IT HAS COMPLETELY STOPPED. This has never happened before at the beginning of my period. I don't know if this even is a period. My overloaded brain is screaming "implantation bleeding!!" but my beleagured heart is so afraid to hope.

I am not one to read into symptoms. I have experienced things in the last week that I have never experienced before, in twenty-one years of menstrual cycles. I am so confused.

Sometime later I will write about the spiritual journey I've been on lately. But for now, I need to put this in writing:

Father, I recognize that You are sovereign, even over this situation. Whether or not we are pregnant, You are good and You are working out Your perfect plan in our lives. I will praise You through this, whether it be with tears of joy or tears of sorrow.

Soliciting Opinions

It was a long weekend, and not of the sort that involves a day off and a trip to the beach. Yesterday especially was a tough day at our house, because a certain impatient person peed on a stick before she should have. (Go figure.)

For the first time in our years of trying to conceive, I was absolutely certain that it would be positive. C was absolutely certain that it would be positive. And then it wasn't. We had a long discussion beforehand about how we shouldn't be testing until Wednesday, and agreed that a negative hpt wouldn't necessarily mean that we aren't pregnant. It might just mean that we tested too early (especially since we aren't 100% sure when I ovulated).

I understood that a negative was a real possibility and was convinced it wouldn't bother me...until only one line showed up on the test. Then I spiraled out of control like a kite in a windstorm. It was very, very bad.

So, for the sake of my sanity, I'm going to write out a timeline from around when I ovulated until now, and the changes C and I have both noticed. As embarrassing as it is, I'm going to list out every little thing (including things I normally wouldn't make mention of!). Please, be honest and tell me what you think. Have I become that frustrated IF-er who goes off the deep end and imagines that she's pregnant when she's not? Or did I really just test too early?

cd16-17: watery cm, became the best ewcm I've ever had

cd18-19: cramping (unfortunately I didn't keep the greatest track of when it stopped)

cd20: acupuncture

cd21-22: geographic tongue resurfaced (this usually happens after ovulation in my ovulatory cycles)

cd28: intermittent, unusual cramping (lower in my abdomen and centered); bouts of nausea that went away when I ate; sore/distended breasts (also noticed by C)

cd30: very tired; had a complete meltdown over dropping a piece of shell in the bowl while cracking eggs (this freaked C out a little; I was in tears over it); cramping only when pressure is applied to abdomen (i.e., dog in lap); overwhelmed by garlic smell in cupboard (but when I opened it later, I couldn't smell it at all); started having gas/burping (not normal for me!)

cd31: starting to get very congested; felt burning sensation in stomach throughout the day; constipated; veins are super-prominent all of a sudden (C noticed them too, especially on my abdomen and thighs); areolas don't look darker but the skin around them does

cd32: congested; very dizzy/lightheaded after eating (I didn't eat until I got to work); still have intermittent cramping; very tired

A lot of these things are continuous, so I just noted them on the first day I remember experiencing them. Also, I have woken up every day since cd28 at 5 or 6 AM to make a bathroom run. This is sooo unusual for me!

So, what do you think? Did I test too early? Should I still be holding on to hope? Because, I have to tell you - I'm convinced that I'm pregnant. And if I'm not pregnant, then I think the only other option is that I'm insane.

Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall

Will you think it's strange if I tell you that last night, I spent a very long time staring at my breasts in the mirror? Come on now - be honest. It's a really odd thing to do, isn't it?

Yesterday I wrote that I just feel "different" - I wish I could find the right words to describe it. I can think of only two possibilities: either I am indeed pregnant (please! please! please!), or the acupuncture has caused some change in my cycle that I've never experienced before. (Normality, maybe?) Whatever the case, I've decided it's a good thing. One would definitely be preferable to the other, but both are good.

Returning to the mirror: one of the ways I feel "different" is that I'm not experiencing my usual don't-even-look-at-my-chest-it-hurts-so-bad variety of PMS breast tenderness. They're sore, but only when I move. Mostly, they just feel swollen and kind of heavy. (Rather strange for these less-than-A cups.)

Last night - during my marathon mirror session - I decided they look swollen too. I needed a second opinion, so I recruited C to the cause. (It was quite the sacrifice for him, as I'm sure you can imagine.) After much more examination than I think was really necessary, C declared that my breasts look bigger.

This is huge (please pardon the pun), because C's usual response to any question regarding physical change is, "I don't know. I can't tell a difference. I'm not good at this stuff. Hey, is SportsCenter on?" Seriously! Once I had a huge swollen gland; it felt like a large pebble was lodged in my neck. He felt around it for a few minutes and then declared that he couldn't tell anything was different. But last night, he said he was sure my chest looked bigger.

Combined with the strange bout of nausea yesterday morning, and the odd indigestion I had after breakfast today (I am not one to experience tummy troubles unless food poisoning or a Clomid migraine is involved), and the unusual not-quite-cramps cramps...yes, Fox Mulder, I WANT TO BELIEVE! (Ok, so I am a geeky sci-fi fan. No shocker there.)

The simplest, easiest course of action would be to POAS. But, I won't. Strike that...I can't. For the first time in my life, I have a good reason to take aim at that stick, and I am running at top speed in the other direction. If I am misreading all these things - if this is normal PMS and I've just never experienced it before - if this is the closest I am ever going to get to knowing the excitement of being pregnant - then I want to ride just a little bit longer.

Sick? Or...Something Else?

I think I'm going to throw up. And as backwards as it seems, I am soooo excited about that. I kind of hope that I do. Strike that, I DESPERATELY hope that I do. (Not only am I feeling sick today, but also twisted, apparently.)

I am sitting at my desk this morning - blasting RED since there is no one else here (it just isn't music that can be played at a low volume) - and spinning through this merry-go-round in my head:

I think I'm going to throw up.

I really hate throwing up. I would rather do another hsg.

But if I get sick, it probably means that I'm pregnant.

Oh, I really want to throw up! Please, please, please!

No - wait - I don't feel sick anymore.

Hey, I think I'm going to throw up.

I actually ran to the bathroom a few minutes ago. When I got there, I felt fine. Now, back to queasy. I don't know quite what to make of this.

Going through our insane-nine-cycles-of-Clomid phase, I noticed that the side effects got worse and worse each month. I had really horrible migraines right around 11-12dpo, with awful nausea. Once, I even threw up all over the couch without warning. We were so sure then that I had to be pregnant...after all, I can count on one hand the number of times I've thrown up in my life...but it turned out not to be the case.

But this month, there's no Clomid to blame. And there is no denying that I feel different. It could be that the acupuncture caused me to ovulate "normally" and having never experienced "normal" PMS, I'm misreading every little thing. Incidentally, that particular list includes a super-sore, swollen chest; a conspicuous absence of the cystic acne that usually heralds AF's arrival; an emotional rollercoaster moving at speeds that rival light; and strange cramps that are not quite "right" - not consistent, not overly strong and not in the right place. The cramps are lower than usual, and more in the center of my abdomen than to one side or another. Oh, and of course...nausea.

At this point, I'm incapable of coherent prayer anymore. All God is hearing from my heart today is "please, please, please, please, please, please, please!"

I think I need someone to tell me to calm down and stop planning the nursery in my head!! (Like I haven't already got that one figured out after three years, right?) I'm too afraid to POAS - I'd rather have AF deliver the bad news, I guess. Today is cd28, and (worst case scenario) only 11dpo. It's a little early to be feeling any symptoms other than PMS. Which makes me think I'm blowing this all out of proportion...this is easier to believe now that the nausea is gone again. Five minutes from now may be a different story...

The Dreaded 2WW

I had three acupuncture appointments this cycle (cd7, cd15, and cd20). Dr. M took a different approach this time around, and has been very pleased with my progress. In fact, we're pretty sure I ovulated! I had strong cramping on cd17-cd18, and a plethora of other fertility signs that I usually don't experience. (I'll spare you the gory details.) In terms of egg quality, late ovulation isn't such a great thing as I understand it (nor is cramping), but I was excited to see evidence that the acupuncture is working. Ovulation at all is a miracle, from these ovaries! So I am officially considering myself back in the game...and back in the dreaded 2ww.

It's been quite a while since I've experienced a full-fledged 2ww. Our last IUI was over a year ago, and while we have continued to try since then, it's been...different from before. It's difficult to put into words exactly, but somehow the hope and expectation that usually comes with the 2ww has been lacking. Maybe it's because we weren't pursuing any medical intervention; in some way, though, over the past year I haven't been able to "feel" that pregnancy could be a reality for me.

This cycle feels more like the medicated cycles we've done, in that the expectation of pregnancy has resurfaced. And I find myself daydreaming about things I thought I'd left far behind me...nursery set-ups, baby names, and car seats. Dr. M asked me during our last visit if I had the conviction that I would someday be a mother. I didn't quite know what to say. I used to feel that way, but over the last year I've layered so many walls around those feelings to protect myself. Now, I'm peeling back those layers and finding that my conviction is indeed still intact.

Previous experience tells me that it's scary to give these feelings free reign...it only invites disappointment. But hope springs anew and I am back on the roller coaster. Welcome back to the dreaded 2ww!

(Anybody got a stick? Apparently my POAS addiction is making a reappearance as well!)

More Stormy Skies

I love a good storm. When we lived on Florida's Gulf coast, watching the summer storms roll in was one of my favorite ways to pass the time. I now find myself landlocked in the Midwest yet again, and while nothing compares to a good Florida sky in turmoil, I'm surprised that I can find beauty in the swirling gray Ohio ceiling I once despised.

Today the sky looks like it's been frosted with marshmallow fluff. The clouds have depth, though, and I get the feeling that if I could peel them back, I'd find another layer of darker, more sinister clouds lurking behind. It seems to be a good metaphor for my life of late - an exterior shell of shapeless gray, hiding tumultuous tiers of anger and pain underneath.

And oh! am I angry. I have hit a breaking point of sorts. I am so tired of pouring my heart out to God, and waiting for Him to say something ... anything ... ANYthing. But He seems to be as silent as the clouds above, and every bit as far from my reach. WHY doesn't He answer me? WHY doesn't He allow us to have a baby? WHY does He touch the lives of my friends with such wonderful blessings, and yet forget about me?

I'm wrestling with the ageless question: "Is God good?" I know the party line. I can even quote it back to you, complete with Scripture references and pithy little sayings.

Sometimes God calms the storm, and sometimes He calms me...momentary, light affliction...God is more concerned with my holiness than my happiness...He keeps His promises: I will never leave you nor forsake you...I know the plans I have for you...plans for a hope and a future...

Hope? The only thing I know about hope at the moment is that it's a big precursor for a letdown. It's the part of the roller coaster where you've just gone over the top of the first hill, and everything is in slow motion. For just a nanosecond, you hang suspended in mid-air, defiant against gravity's greedy grasp. And then, you fall. And fall. And fall. All the while picking up speed, until you think you're going to go careening off the track in a spectacular crash. Once you've resigned yourself to the inevitable, the car takes a sharp turn and gives you whiplash. Shell-shocked, you start to climb the second hill, and do it all over again. That's hope.

I get the feeling that the storms in today's weather forecast are nothing in comparison to the storms raging in my heart...

The Return of Super-Whine

What's that high-pitched, grating noise? Is it a bird? A plane? No...look, it's Super-Whine!

Sorry, folks, but this isn't your average superhero-on-a-mission. (Not unless it's a mission to see how many people I can tweak off before 9 AM, that is.) No, this something else entirely...like a super-sized rant:

I am soooo sick of everyone I know getting pregnant except me. It was easier to accept when it was the round of "first" babies, but the second and third pregnancies are killing me. It drives home the point that my friends are mommies and I am not. Still. I am beginning to question whether I ever will be.

I started a new cycle last week, and ohhhhh. It was bad. I spent three days in bed, in excruciating pain. Since then, the pressure sensation in my lower left abdomen has returned with a vengeance (plus about fifty other hormonally-related symptoms that are driving me nuts...anyone notice my mood issues?). I was really hopeful that the acupuncture would have helped, and now I am disappointed yet again. Hope is a mean tease, you know?

I have another appointment on Thursday, and I promised C that I would reserve judgement for now. Which is really hard for me...after all this time, I don't know how much patience I have left. The well is running dry...

M Minus Two Days

Today marks M minus two days. Mother's Day usually bothers me quite a bit. This year, I am being proactive and have come up with a plan. It's quite simple really:

I am not leaving the house.

I am not turning on the tv.

I am not turning on the radio.

I am going to sit on my balcony and read. If it rains sideways and the balcony gets wet (which is a distinct possibility, the way the weather has been lately), I am going to sit on the couch and read.

Brilliant, isn't it? Avoidance in it's simplest and purest form. But this year, it's avoidance sans the guilt trip. I always feel like a bad person for skipping church on those "big" family holidays, but not this year. I'm letting myself off the hook.

I'm actually looking forward to Sunday quite a bit. It's been busy lately (as you may have noticed from my lack of blogging), and a day of rest will be refreshing. Plus, I'm hoping to have all the laundry finished by then. C has developed a severe rash all over his body, and I'm re-washing everything in special detergent in case that's the culprit. (Yes, I do mean everything...anyone want to come help fold? Good times.)

Reading the Signs

On Friday, I wrote about how certain recent events in my life have felt like pieces of a puzzle snapping into place. I can't quite see the picture that's forming yet, but there is an electric current underpinning each piece that makes me know they're related - even if they seem on the surface to be wholly and completely discrete. It's like the charge in the air before a thunderstorm; something is about to break (in a good way) - I can feel it.

The Second Piece: I read four books in two and a half days. Sounds pretty unremarkable, doesn't it? I wonder if it would surprise you to know how completely depressed I have been over the past year? For many months now, it has taken all the power of my will (and a lot of God's grace) for me to do such basic tasks as cleaning and feeding myself. Compounding the issue was my desperate compulsion to keep from C (and the rest of the world) exactly how much of myself I had truly lost to the darkness inside me. I fought to look the part of the perfect Christian wife, but the moment I was free from prying eyes (including C's) I would curl up in a ball on the bed and daydream. Pretend to be somebody - anybody - else for as long as I could, until it was time to summon enough energy to resume my charade.

In the beginning, when we were still naive enough to believe that a few Clomid pills could take care of everything, I was sad but not desolate. Somewhere over the last year, I crossed a line; I embraced my grief and wallowed in it. The simplest things became chores of the heaviest weight. I stopped seeing friends, I stopped watching movies, I stopped taking walks. Nothing held joy for me any longer. I stopped reading.

From the earliest time I can remember, reading has been my best and first love. According to my mother, I started reading in earnest at age three - not reading picture books, but books that second or third graders would read. My parents and teachers, in keeping with some ancient authoritative tome on how to raise a nerd, eventually moved me up two grades. I started third grade at age six. Being so much younger than my so-called "peers" (in reality, I always felt far inferior to them) caused a lot of emotional trauma, and I jumped feet first into books, books, and more books. There was additional stress at home, and I retreated further into my literary haven.

So for me to stop reading - it was a death of sorts. I occasionally perused books on infertility, and I half-heartedly leafed through the oldest and most-cherished books of my personal library, but the old comfort was gone. Worst of all, I could not summon the desire to immerse myself in new reading material. On Thursday night, when I started reading Twilight, I had no expectations. But then I found that I identified deeply with Bella. Here was a character I could relate to - someone living in the tension between the now and the not yet.

And, for the first time in a year, I found myself completely oblivious to everything around me as I immersed myself in Bella's story. I devoured the first two novels, which had been lent to me, and set out Friday night to scour local bookstores for the next two installments. To put it so simply, for the first time in what felt like forever, I was excited about an everyday activity.

So, minor accomplishment though it may be, I read four books in two and a half days. And I loved every minute of it.

(As for the third piece - it's related to an appointment I have Monday afternoon. I'll post more on that later.)

Putting the Pieces Together

Have you ever had a week where you could just tell that the pieces were falling into place? As if you were assembling a jigsaw puzzle without the benefit of the picture on the box, pressing edges against each other with the faint hope that sooner or later, something will stick? That's rather how I'm feeling at the moment, and I'm reeling with the violent shock that comes as pieces which seem completely unrelated lock into place.

The First Piece: I turned over the unresolved IUI insurance issue to my husband. This is really a big deal for me, with much larger significance than I can put into words. C has been in denial for the past few years; he is only now grappling with the reality of our infertility. I've shared before about "The Ultrasound Incident" where C revealed that he didn't equate Clomid with fertility drugs - I wish I had understood at the time that what I mistook for a comment born of stress and exhaustion was really a glimpse into the depth of his denial. Infertility is a road lonely enough of its own accord, and I could not comprehend that C's seeming distance from the situation was truly just the path of his own emotional journey to acceptance.

I've been seeing a counselor for the better part of a year, to learn how to sift through the dangerous emotions that come with this territory, and C has recently joined our discussions. We have both made hurtful mistakes, and have now each recommitted to this process: C to providing support in the way that I need to receive it, and I to communicating my needs clearly to him. While I need him to be more involved overall, from researching our options to decision-making to just holding my hand, specifically I decided that I also need him to handle the insurance/financial quandaries as they arise. As soon as we had that conversation, the IUI insurance issue came to light. Good little control freak that I am, I grabbed hold tightly and held on for dear life.

I held on, that is, until we received yet another statement from the doctor this week, and I collapsed under the weight of the stress and...let go. I gave the billing manager C's contact information and asked her to contact him from now on. End result: at the most, we will have to pay thirty dollars. And so the first piece snaps into place with ease.

I'll share about pieces two and three later...I made the mistake of starting the Twilight series last night. Having finished the first book early this morning, I am now devouring New Moon. I have to finish the series before IComLeavWe starts! (If you aren't familiar with Mel of Stirrup Queens fame and IComLeavWe, I encourage you to click on the links and go meet the rest of the online ALI blogosphere.)

Danger, Will Robinson!

I thought I would post a picture of myself for all you ICLW-er's, whom I've never met IRL. Yep, that's me to the left...a big bomb with a short fuse.

Have you ever had one of those cycles that just won't end? When AF won't show, but all her friends are partying it up like the guest of honor is right around the corner? My life over the last two weeks reads like a Midol commercial. I wake up in the middle of the night if I roll over on my chest, because it hurts so badly. I am so on edge that I cry one minute, laugh the next, and then become filled with rage. (I've discovered that I have very strong feelings about how toilet paper should be loaded into the dispenser. Poor C has a permanent "deer-caught-in-headlights" look; he looks like he keeps hearing the robot from Lost in Space: "Danger, Will Robinson, danger! Run away from the bomb!")

I'm embarrassed to admit that there is absolutely no possibility that AF is taking a hiatus for a good reason. Here's the thing: we actually took precautions not to get pregnant this month. Funny, right? The girl who can't get pregnant and wants to desperately, taking precautions to prevent pregnancy? Why bother? I am fully aware of exactly how stupid that sounds. Maybe what I should say is, I took precautions against getting my hopes shattered yet again. I just needed a break. And I guess I'm glad I took one...because we all know what I would have thought about AF disappearing otherwise.

So, here's the new roadmap: I have an appointment on Tuesday with the doctor who did my IUI's (not the RE who will do our IVF). I'm going to beg for some provera to put me out of my misery, and I have some questions for her about what else might be wrong. Not to mention why the heck AF is taking a vacation when my weight and diet are healthier than ever...after I talk to her I'm going to schedule a new consult with the RE. And then, I'm going to kick some IVF @$$. That is, if I don't explode first.

(Bomb photo credit: taken by woodsy and downloaded from stock.xchng.)

Any kids yet?

Once again, when faced with stupid questions from well-meaning people (which doesn't change the fact that they are stupid questions), I have found myself stuttering out pithy platitudes in the name of social acceptability. It seems that the fifty-plus people who have recently rediscovered my existence through the wonder of Facebook all took the same social networking class (Conversation 101: How to Ask Rude and Offensive Questions). I have been bombarded with:

"Any kids yet?"
"Hey! You've been married twice as long as we have. We have two kids, how many do you have?"
"Why don't you have any pictures of your kids posted?"
and the list goes on...

I usually do my best just to survive these conversations, but from now on I'm going to start answering in a way that makes the asker really uncomfortable. Maybe then they'll think twice before saying stupid things in the first place. (And yes, I know the questions are meant in a kind way. But my hurting heart doesn't see too far past the words themselves!!)

Imaginary Conversation with Stupid Person on Facebook

Stupid Person: "Any kids yet?"
Me: "No, we're saving up to buy one though."
Stupid Person: "I totally understand - it's so expensive!!"
Me: "Tell me about it! So how did you finance your baby? Did you take out a loan to cover it?"
Stupid Person: "LOL. I wish I had."
Me: "Can you believe that some people actually go out and get pregnant, just like that? They have no clue what it's like for people like us. All the painful and humiliating procedures, the stress over money. And then the stupid and insensitive things they say...well, you know what I mean. So how many IUI's did you do before you got pregnant? Or did you do IVF?"
****long pause****
Stupid Person: "I'm confused. What's IUI? Is that like DUI? We did have a lot to drink that night, if you catch my drift!! I still can't believe our little "accident" is almost one. Did you see the pics I put up?"
Me: "Oh, I'm sorry. You said you understood how expensive it is to buy a baby, so I thought you meant it. We're saving up to pay for our next fertility treatment."
Stupid Person: "You know, if you're having trouble getting pregnant, you should just relax. I know this person who tried to have a baby for eight years, and then she went on a cruise, and came back pregnant."
Me: "Really? Do you think going on a cruise would make my ovaries work? Because my doctor says the only option we have left is IVF. Maybe she doesn't know about cruises!"
****long pause while Stupid Person removes me from her friend list****

The Illusion of Control

It's amazing how completely my perspective can change in such a short span of time. Even a few days ago, I was wallowing in self pity, railing against the injustice of being denied something so basic as the "right" to have a baby. Today, though, is radically different. I am determined that I am going to live each moment to the fullest, with or without a baby in my arms.

I think the difference is that I've made the decision to move forward with IVF. I'm committed, and I have a road mapped out in front of me. I've regained a sense of control - an illusion, I understand, but like a compass in a blinding snowstorm it pulls me forward with certain assurance. No more fighting to remain upright while being buffeted by 100-mile-an-hour winds; I am moving forward. And this comforts me.

Outstretched Hands

I heard "Outstretched Hands" by Starfield on Pandora a few months ago, and it's become one of my favorite songs. I'm in a strange, contemplative-yet-optimistic mood today, and the lyrics keep nudging their way to the front of my thoughts:

Could I talk to You?
Are You listening?
Would You let me ask the questions
That burn inside of me?
I am reaching out
I am holding on
Feel like one of Your affections
But not quite like I belong
Like I belong

I am numb today
Everything's a blur
I've seen too much to deny
Too little to be sure
Like a prodigal
Like a distant son
I can see You from a distance
But I'm too ashamed to come

Chorus:
Will You see me through this valley?
Will You hold my outstretched hands?
As the world caves in around me
Will You help me understand?
Help me understand, help me understand

I am scared to fall
Scared to carry on
Am I losing to the cynic
After running for so long?
There's a child in me
Lost in mystery
But it's buried underneath the earth
Longing to be free

This song speaks to me on many levels. I've felt so lost inside my own despair over the past few months; it's hard for me to see my infertility struggles as a valley instead of the whole road. I was someone else before this, and I want desperately to reconnect with the girl I used to be! Don't get me wrong, there are some parts of the "old me" that needed to be ripped away, and it took a storm of this size to do it. But I miss being happy...hopeful...inspired. Instead, now I feel like I have lost to the cynic.

And I can so relate to the picture of someone standing alone in a desolate valley, reaching to heaven with all of her might, desperate for God to grab hold. Sometimes when I worship alone I stretch my hands toward the sky until I feel like my arms are going to come out of my shoulders (in a pose that somehow I can never recreate during a yoga workout...). Desperate for God to reach down and touch me, heal me, reassure me.

I wonder what I'll say someday about this time in my life. I want so badly to come out of the valley holding my baby high, and proclaiming the goodness of God. It occurs to me this morning though that maybe my testimony will be simply that God held my hand.

Facebook Fiasco

No posts for months on end, then two in one day - what can I say, I'm committed to extremes. After months of email invitations, I finally caved and joined Facebook. And learned within five minutes that two friends are pregnant. HATING the fertiles, right now.