When you're infertile and want nothing more than to experience pregnancy and hold your baby in your arms, it seems as though everyone around you has the opportunity -- except for you.
I think any of us who have experienced infertility can relate to these experiences. You're at the mall and every woman you pass seems to have a round tummy, is pushing a stroller, or is toting three kids through the crowds. And you can't help but be jealous. You can't help but envy what all of these women have because it's what you want and what, for some reason, you can't have.
Everyone around you announces their pregnancies. And you have to react joyfully for them -- for each of them -- every time. You say your - Congratulations! The - I'm so happy for you! You ask the expected questions -- When are you due? How are you feeling? You compliment. --You look beautiful! You're truly glowing.
But inside you hurt. Month after month you're faced with disappointment. And month after month, they keep finding success despite your failure. And each time, you're expected to be happy. To be a good friend.
If you're like me, you want to be. You want to feel joy for everyone who achieves what you cannot. It is the most amazing thing one can experience in life, after all. You want to be genuinely happy for these women who you consider to be your friends. But it's harder than some might think. After enough time passes, it's truly difficult to feel joy for others who achieve your biggest dream so easily. While you're left further and further behind. It's difficult to put on the expected show of happiness and excitement. Because all you want is to feel that way for yourself. Finally. After so much waiting and heartache. All you want is what all of these women are experiencing, and there seems to be no valid reason you can't.
Sometimes I'm afraid these building feelings of jealousy and envy and bitterness are harmful to me, too. I fear that karma may get me (or is getting me) for my inability to always experience the kind of joy a good friend should. I fear that the negativity finds a home inside me and burrows deep, and that's not the person I want to be.
I have yet to skip out on a baby shower due to my emotions. I have yet to retreat from my friends because I'm not in the same place they are. I have yet to hibernate and surround myself with my sorrow. So I'm proud of these continued efforts. But I just want to be normal again. I want to be a kind, concerned, generous friend who feels true joy and excitement for the women who mean so much to her. I want to join the club with them. I want to feel included and back on the inside instead of the outside. I want to experience everything that they are -- two years ago. I want to be completely me again.
I hope my emptiness can be filled soon. I hope my dark space can be brightened. I hope my ability to truly be a good friend returns. Because I don't like this.
Saturday, December 14, 2013
Thursday, December 12, 2013
waiting. and waiting.
I haven't written here in more than a month. And I can't believe it.
I'm not even really sure why. Part of me is just trying to get through these weeks leading up to IVF. Part of me wants to avoid thinking about it and therefore avoid writing about it. Part of me wants to pretend everything is normal.
But it's not. My mind is constantly swirling with worry and hope and anticipation and anxious thoughts. I often wish that at my most recent appointment my doctor, instead of telling me my IVF was being pushed back more than a month, would have said -- We're doing this tomorrow! Get ready!
What could I do then? I'd have no choice but to be excited and unprepared and just go for it. There wouldn't have been these weeks of conflicting feelings and a cloudy head and all the ups and downs that come with waiting. The waiting that I know all too well and despise so very much. And today, I would know what the outcome was.
I want nothing more than for January 20th to be here -- the day of my planned embryo transfer. I want to have completed the process and know that I've done all that I could. I also don't want January 20th to arrive, because that will mean a new kind of waiting begins. And when that wait is over, I will have an answer. If it's the answer I want more than anything in this life, then I can only imagine my joy and excitement and relief and hope. If it's not, I don't want to even think about the darkness I might feel. I want to enter all of this as positively as possible, and I really do feel so hopeful and excited, but I am not blind to the other possible outcome. And it's hard to completely dismiss and keep from clouding my perspective.
As I sit at the library with every intention of studying for my graduate statistics final (I do miss the days of no finals...), I instead turned to my blog. Because my mind isn't full of formulas or probability or hypothesis testing. It's full of hopes for our future and the child we so desperately long for. It's full of questions and anticipation regarding my upcoming procedures. It's full of fantasies of a plump belly and swollen ankles and movement within.
It is my hope that once this semester is over and I'm able to completely dedicate my energy and focus to the holidays and my family and friends, that my mind will be occupied by the joy and energy of the season. And when all of it has passed and it's time to go home and return to a quieter life, we will begin IVF.
I can't wait.
I'm not even really sure why. Part of me is just trying to get through these weeks leading up to IVF. Part of me wants to avoid thinking about it and therefore avoid writing about it. Part of me wants to pretend everything is normal.
But it's not. My mind is constantly swirling with worry and hope and anticipation and anxious thoughts. I often wish that at my most recent appointment my doctor, instead of telling me my IVF was being pushed back more than a month, would have said -- We're doing this tomorrow! Get ready!
What could I do then? I'd have no choice but to be excited and unprepared and just go for it. There wouldn't have been these weeks of conflicting feelings and a cloudy head and all the ups and downs that come with waiting. The waiting that I know all too well and despise so very much. And today, I would know what the outcome was.
I want nothing more than for January 20th to be here -- the day of my planned embryo transfer. I want to have completed the process and know that I've done all that I could. I also don't want January 20th to arrive, because that will mean a new kind of waiting begins. And when that wait is over, I will have an answer. If it's the answer I want more than anything in this life, then I can only imagine my joy and excitement and relief and hope. If it's not, I don't want to even think about the darkness I might feel. I want to enter all of this as positively as possible, and I really do feel so hopeful and excited, but I am not blind to the other possible outcome. And it's hard to completely dismiss and keep from clouding my perspective.
As I sit at the library with every intention of studying for my graduate statistics final (I do miss the days of no finals...), I instead turned to my blog. Because my mind isn't full of formulas or probability or hypothesis testing. It's full of hopes for our future and the child we so desperately long for. It's full of questions and anticipation regarding my upcoming procedures. It's full of fantasies of a plump belly and swollen ankles and movement within.
It is my hope that once this semester is over and I'm able to completely dedicate my energy and focus to the holidays and my family and friends, that my mind will be occupied by the joy and energy of the season. And when all of it has passed and it's time to go home and return to a quieter life, we will begin IVF.
I can't wait.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
delays.
I had my appointment about a week and a half ago now. It was the big appointment I'd been waiting and waiting for -- where they'd do my mapping and give me the run-down on my schedule. I had anticipated and anticipated it, and then suddenly it was here (after much frustration that you can read about in recent posts),
When I got to my doctor's office, I was welcomed with the same warmth that I always was. I was instantly relieved to be there and so eager to learn everything that was to come during my appointment. My wait was short, and when it was my turn to be seen, they took a full IVF work-up of blood work that will test for all kinds of STDs and other viruses ... They took quite a bit of blood, but I'm so used to it by now that I actually felt excited to be sitting in that chair with the nurse and a needle in my arm. Progress!
I spent a few more minutes in the waiting room until the infertility nurse and RE could see me for my ultrasound, but it wasn't long at all. They took me back and had me change and prepare for the ultrasound. They performed a transvaginal ultrasound to take a look at my system and measure the depth of my uterus and of my cervix, as well as to note the shape and curve of my uterus (something I had never considered before). They were pleased that there wasn't an extreme curve to my uterus, so I was pleased, as well -- not really knowing why that was such a great thing until I asked. Apparently the less curve you have to your uterus, the easier it is for them to transfer the embryos via catheter on the big day. Yay for not a lot of curvature!
They counted the number of follicles I had going on each ovary and seemed really shocked to see as many as they did. Remember, I had 27 cysts when I was diagnosed with PCOS -- no dominant follicle(s). So when they revealed their surprise, I was totally freaked. The doctor even mentioned that he couldn't believe I had as many as I did after being on Lupron, the pill, and Metformin. In my mind, I was thinking everything I had been through wasn't working. I was afraid I couldn't move forward. I was afraid we would have to try something else, or they were going to tell me this was the end of the road.
They continued on with the actual mock embryo transfer which involved them actually threading the catheter through my cervix and extending it all the way to the fundus of my uterus (back of the uterus). The catheter literally poked me in the back of my uterus. (This was just for measurement purposes and they will definitely not poke me on the actual day of transfer.) My nurse kept her hand on my belly during the whole procedure letting me know it was normal to feel crampy or to feel painful twinges. She said some girls have a harder time with it than others. I did completely fine the entire time. I didn't experience any cramping or pain, and the only discomfort I felt was when I was poked in the uterus. Such a strange experience! It kind of made me feel queasy just because it was so bizarre.
All of this was over in a matter of a couple of minutes. It wasn't a big deal, they got the info they needed, and they assured me things looked good. This is when I asked about all those follicles... The nurse looked at me and said, "Oh, no, that's a good thing!" Ah! All my worry from before melted away. Apparently I had 20 follicles, and she said that's exactly what they would want to see in someone my age. I guess they just weren't expecting to considering everything my body had been to. The follicle count changes every cycle, though. So here's to hoping that it remains good news and is beneficial to my outcome.
The doctor was willing to answer any questions I had about the upcoming procedure, but between my previous conversations with him, with people who have been through it, and all of my own independent research, I felt like I understood what would happen. They assured me I'd see him again, so I didn't need to feel pressured to ask all of the questions I would ever come up with. I let him move on to the next patient so that the infertility nurse could go over everything with me.
She explained that we would go over the schedule and an overview of all of the prep info, and she would send me home with all of my consent forms and legal documents to go over with my husband. The first item she handed me was a schedule of the entire process -- every appointment was scheduled and written for me from Oct. 30th to Feb. 2nd. This made me feel so relieved after all of the stress I was put through with the most recent scheduling hiccup.
However, we received some bad news.
As I looked at the schedule, the entire procedure was set for mid-January. She began explaining as soon as she put the sheet in my hands. If you recall, we were planning to do our first IVF cycle in early to mid-December. In fact, we had to do it then if we didn't want to wait until spring. Apparently all fertility institutes that provide IVF services are required to shut down for a certain amount of time (more than a month) to inventory, clean, and follow whatever other regulations are imposed on them. Most institutes close at some point in the summer, but mine always closed beginning at the holidays and then through January. Hence, the December dates.
Apparently one week before my appointment, my nurse got a call from the institute saying they've had to completely rearrange their schedule to close in December and then open back up shortly after the New Year. This meant that three women like me who are undergoing IVF with my doctor had to be rescheduled. I didn't have a choice in the matter, and my doctor didn't have a choice in the matter.
My initial reaction was disappointment. I have been anticipating this for months and months. In my mind, I have established a schedule for the end of my semester and the holidays all based around IVF. The more I thought about it, though, the more it seemed like it might be even better for us to wait until January. And so, I am now completely at peace with it.
You see, I began my first semester as a full-time doctoral student in August. I was accepted and agreed to attend on a Fellowship back in April, around the time of my surgery when I thought we wouldn't be able to try again for about a year. I was scheduled to recover from surgery, be on Lupron for at least 6 months, bring my hormones back up with a few months of birth control, etc. Instead, though, we found out that my husband is also infertile, that I responded really well to my Lupron, and that we should pursue IVF while time is on our side -- we're 27. Knowing that I was entering into a big time of change and challenge, we decided to move forward. What other option is there? I know I can handle it, and I want this baby more than I want a PhD.
Our original IVF schedule was going to interfere with my finals, and I was going to be on all my meds starting right before Thanksgiving (a stressful time to be studying for finals and writing papers). My husband and I had purchased plane tickets this summer so that we could be in San Francisco for my aunt's wedding over Thanksgiving weekend, so I had just come to the conclusion that I'd have to cancel. We were going to have to stay home, away from our families for Thanksgiving since I wouldn't be able to travel on the meds. I was going to have to take a pregnancy test on Christmas day. I am in a dear friend's wedding on December 28th. I absolutely dreaded the thought of the significance Christmas day would hold. It would be magical if I received the best news of my life on Christmas day 2013, but I feel like it would add insult to injury to get a negative. And if I did get bad news, I couldn't imagine being functional or a good friend in the wedding.
SO. IVF in January means that my husband and I will not only be busy and occupied by the holidays and time with family leading up to the procedure, but we will also be coming off a long break from grad school for Christmas. I hope that this means I am relaxed, at peace, and ready by the time January rolls around. It will mean I can ask for massage gift certificates for Christmas, I can see my aunt marry the man she loves, my husband and I can have one last glorious California vacation, we can spend the holidays with our families, I can be a supportive bridesmaid to my friend, and I can look forward to the start of a New Year -- 2014 (I like even numbers way better, anyway). Sounds like a good plan, right?
I'm feeling optimistic today, and I like it. This could really happen. In January.
I hope and wish and pray.
When I got to my doctor's office, I was welcomed with the same warmth that I always was. I was instantly relieved to be there and so eager to learn everything that was to come during my appointment. My wait was short, and when it was my turn to be seen, they took a full IVF work-up of blood work that will test for all kinds of STDs and other viruses ... They took quite a bit of blood, but I'm so used to it by now that I actually felt excited to be sitting in that chair with the nurse and a needle in my arm. Progress!
I spent a few more minutes in the waiting room until the infertility nurse and RE could see me for my ultrasound, but it wasn't long at all. They took me back and had me change and prepare for the ultrasound. They performed a transvaginal ultrasound to take a look at my system and measure the depth of my uterus and of my cervix, as well as to note the shape and curve of my uterus (something I had never considered before). They were pleased that there wasn't an extreme curve to my uterus, so I was pleased, as well -- not really knowing why that was such a great thing until I asked. Apparently the less curve you have to your uterus, the easier it is for them to transfer the embryos via catheter on the big day. Yay for not a lot of curvature!
They counted the number of follicles I had going on each ovary and seemed really shocked to see as many as they did. Remember, I had 27 cysts when I was diagnosed with PCOS -- no dominant follicle(s). So when they revealed their surprise, I was totally freaked. The doctor even mentioned that he couldn't believe I had as many as I did after being on Lupron, the pill, and Metformin. In my mind, I was thinking everything I had been through wasn't working. I was afraid I couldn't move forward. I was afraid we would have to try something else, or they were going to tell me this was the end of the road.
They continued on with the actual mock embryo transfer which involved them actually threading the catheter through my cervix and extending it all the way to the fundus of my uterus (back of the uterus). The catheter literally poked me in the back of my uterus. (This was just for measurement purposes and they will definitely not poke me on the actual day of transfer.) My nurse kept her hand on my belly during the whole procedure letting me know it was normal to feel crampy or to feel painful twinges. She said some girls have a harder time with it than others. I did completely fine the entire time. I didn't experience any cramping or pain, and the only discomfort I felt was when I was poked in the uterus. Such a strange experience! It kind of made me feel queasy just because it was so bizarre.
All of this was over in a matter of a couple of minutes. It wasn't a big deal, they got the info they needed, and they assured me things looked good. This is when I asked about all those follicles... The nurse looked at me and said, "Oh, no, that's a good thing!" Ah! All my worry from before melted away. Apparently I had 20 follicles, and she said that's exactly what they would want to see in someone my age. I guess they just weren't expecting to considering everything my body had been to. The follicle count changes every cycle, though. So here's to hoping that it remains good news and is beneficial to my outcome.
The doctor was willing to answer any questions I had about the upcoming procedure, but between my previous conversations with him, with people who have been through it, and all of my own independent research, I felt like I understood what would happen. They assured me I'd see him again, so I didn't need to feel pressured to ask all of the questions I would ever come up with. I let him move on to the next patient so that the infertility nurse could go over everything with me.
She explained that we would go over the schedule and an overview of all of the prep info, and she would send me home with all of my consent forms and legal documents to go over with my husband. The first item she handed me was a schedule of the entire process -- every appointment was scheduled and written for me from Oct. 30th to Feb. 2nd. This made me feel so relieved after all of the stress I was put through with the most recent scheduling hiccup.
However, we received some bad news.
As I looked at the schedule, the entire procedure was set for mid-January. She began explaining as soon as she put the sheet in my hands. If you recall, we were planning to do our first IVF cycle in early to mid-December. In fact, we had to do it then if we didn't want to wait until spring. Apparently all fertility institutes that provide IVF services are required to shut down for a certain amount of time (more than a month) to inventory, clean, and follow whatever other regulations are imposed on them. Most institutes close at some point in the summer, but mine always closed beginning at the holidays and then through January. Hence, the December dates.
Apparently one week before my appointment, my nurse got a call from the institute saying they've had to completely rearrange their schedule to close in December and then open back up shortly after the New Year. This meant that three women like me who are undergoing IVF with my doctor had to be rescheduled. I didn't have a choice in the matter, and my doctor didn't have a choice in the matter.
My initial reaction was disappointment. I have been anticipating this for months and months. In my mind, I have established a schedule for the end of my semester and the holidays all based around IVF. The more I thought about it, though, the more it seemed like it might be even better for us to wait until January. And so, I am now completely at peace with it.
You see, I began my first semester as a full-time doctoral student in August. I was accepted and agreed to attend on a Fellowship back in April, around the time of my surgery when I thought we wouldn't be able to try again for about a year. I was scheduled to recover from surgery, be on Lupron for at least 6 months, bring my hormones back up with a few months of birth control, etc. Instead, though, we found out that my husband is also infertile, that I responded really well to my Lupron, and that we should pursue IVF while time is on our side -- we're 27. Knowing that I was entering into a big time of change and challenge, we decided to move forward. What other option is there? I know I can handle it, and I want this baby more than I want a PhD.
Our original IVF schedule was going to interfere with my finals, and I was going to be on all my meds starting right before Thanksgiving (a stressful time to be studying for finals and writing papers). My husband and I had purchased plane tickets this summer so that we could be in San Francisco for my aunt's wedding over Thanksgiving weekend, so I had just come to the conclusion that I'd have to cancel. We were going to have to stay home, away from our families for Thanksgiving since I wouldn't be able to travel on the meds. I was going to have to take a pregnancy test on Christmas day. I am in a dear friend's wedding on December 28th. I absolutely dreaded the thought of the significance Christmas day would hold. It would be magical if I received the best news of my life on Christmas day 2013, but I feel like it would add insult to injury to get a negative. And if I did get bad news, I couldn't imagine being functional or a good friend in the wedding.
SO. IVF in January means that my husband and I will not only be busy and occupied by the holidays and time with family leading up to the procedure, but we will also be coming off a long break from grad school for Christmas. I hope that this means I am relaxed, at peace, and ready by the time January rolls around. It will mean I can ask for massage gift certificates for Christmas, I can see my aunt marry the man she loves, my husband and I can have one last glorious California vacation, we can spend the holidays with our families, I can be a supportive bridesmaid to my friend, and I can look forward to the start of a New Year -- 2014 (I like even numbers way better, anyway). Sounds like a good plan, right?
I'm feeling optimistic today, and I like it. This could really happen. In January.
I hope and wish and pray.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
sex drive.
This post might be a little personal, but it's another glorious aspect of this infertility struggle.
Infertility and the treatments that go along with it rob you of so many of the joys of life. Sanity? Gone. Emotional stability? Non-existent. Sense of humor? Only sometimes there. Confidence? Shot. Happiness and joy for others? You have to try really, really hard. Energy levels? Particularly low. Sex drive? Apparently not so great either.
Throughout my Lupron injections and pseudo-menopause experience, after surgery and various medications, even through hot flashes and headaches -- I never really lost my sex drive. I kept waiting for it, because I was told it might be a problem. But it never went away, and I was thankful because that was one thing that went easy on my marriage.
But now I'm off the Lupron, my hormones are elevated again, I get my period, I've exited menopause... and I have no sex drive. I'm on birth control pills to regulate my hormones and my cycle, and all I can tell myself to explain it is that my body has finally been put through hell -- why would I want to have sex? My hormones went from not existing to being way up there in a matter of a month. My body has been poked and prodded. I take medications meant for people with different problems and diseases, and so I feel sluggish and exhausted. Very low-energy.
I've gained a little weight in hopes that it will help with IVF, and even though it's not much, it doesn't quite feel like me. I'm not as motivated. I'm tired.
My husband continues to be supportive and understands that my body has been through a lot. But something like this is bound to affect a relationship. Just like everything else -- every other aspect of this crazy experience -- it's something we have to get through together.
If nothing else, these dry spells will help prepare him for the wait time before his IVF specimen is taken. :) The silver lining?
Infertility and the treatments that go along with it rob you of so many of the joys of life. Sanity? Gone. Emotional stability? Non-existent. Sense of humor? Only sometimes there. Confidence? Shot. Happiness and joy for others? You have to try really, really hard. Energy levels? Particularly low. Sex drive? Apparently not so great either.
Throughout my Lupron injections and pseudo-menopause experience, after surgery and various medications, even through hot flashes and headaches -- I never really lost my sex drive. I kept waiting for it, because I was told it might be a problem. But it never went away, and I was thankful because that was one thing that went easy on my marriage.
But now I'm off the Lupron, my hormones are elevated again, I get my period, I've exited menopause... and I have no sex drive. I'm on birth control pills to regulate my hormones and my cycle, and all I can tell myself to explain it is that my body has finally been put through hell -- why would I want to have sex? My hormones went from not existing to being way up there in a matter of a month. My body has been poked and prodded. I take medications meant for people with different problems and diseases, and so I feel sluggish and exhausted. Very low-energy.
I've gained a little weight in hopes that it will help with IVF, and even though it's not much, it doesn't quite feel like me. I'm not as motivated. I'm tired.
My husband continues to be supportive and understands that my body has been through a lot. But something like this is bound to affect a relationship. Just like everything else -- every other aspect of this crazy experience -- it's something we have to get through together.
If nothing else, these dry spells will help prepare him for the wait time before his IVF specimen is taken. :) The silver lining?
Friday, October 25, 2013
my appointment was made.
I called my RE's office literally the moment they opened yesterday morning, as I had planned. I even ducked out of a meeting to stand in the hall and hit redial until it actually started ringing rather than going to their answering machine.
I spoke with the saint of a receptionist who continually tolerates me and supports me and comforts me. And she had good news. The RE and his fertility nurse had finally stayed late last night to play catch up from their absence and go through all of the waiting charts -- including mine. They went through all of my info and my cycle timing and decided I could be mapped on Oct. 30th at 3:30 p.m.
I have a fucking appointment, thank god. Finally.
I immediately felt relieved just to have an answer, to know that I can go in there and talk to someone face-to-face and get a read on how all of this will go. I was truly, truly contemplating ditching the whole plan. Not because my intense desire to have a baby is waning, but because I was losing confidence in the whole situation. I was considering finding another doctor, starting over.
But that thought sent me into wild sobs, too. I couldn't come up with a good plan that would make me feel better. To find another doctor would mean starting over -- with everything. I would abandon a whole year worth of work. It would mean investing even more money in this whole process to retest what we've already tested. It would mean a delay, and time is something I want to keep on my side.
If I can go back to my RE and achieve that feeling of We're going to get this figured out, then I will feel better again. If I can leave there feeling cared about, then my questioning and doubt might go away.
Until then, though, I know I'll be nervous for this appointment. I just want to be positive and feel good about every step I take moving forward. I want to feel like everyone is in my corner, like everyone is rooting for my positive results. I want to feel like I'm not just a patient to my doctor but someone he cares about and wants to succeed beyond how it reflects on his practice. I want to feel like I did all the other times I had appointments there. I want to forget that I was completely neglected for a month.
Really, more than anything, at the end I want this to work. That's all I want. That's all I want.
I spoke with the saint of a receptionist who continually tolerates me and supports me and comforts me. And she had good news. The RE and his fertility nurse had finally stayed late last night to play catch up from their absence and go through all of the waiting charts -- including mine. They went through all of my info and my cycle timing and decided I could be mapped on Oct. 30th at 3:30 p.m.
I have a fucking appointment, thank god. Finally.
I immediately felt relieved just to have an answer, to know that I can go in there and talk to someone face-to-face and get a read on how all of this will go. I was truly, truly contemplating ditching the whole plan. Not because my intense desire to have a baby is waning, but because I was losing confidence in the whole situation. I was considering finding another doctor, starting over.
But that thought sent me into wild sobs, too. I couldn't come up with a good plan that would make me feel better. To find another doctor would mean starting over -- with everything. I would abandon a whole year worth of work. It would mean investing even more money in this whole process to retest what we've already tested. It would mean a delay, and time is something I want to keep on my side.
If I can go back to my RE and achieve that feeling of We're going to get this figured out, then I will feel better again. If I can leave there feeling cared about, then my questioning and doubt might go away.
Until then, though, I know I'll be nervous for this appointment. I just want to be positive and feel good about every step I take moving forward. I want to feel like everyone is in my corner, like everyone is rooting for my positive results. I want to feel like I'm not just a patient to my doctor but someone he cares about and wants to succeed beyond how it reflects on his practice. I want to feel like I did all the other times I had appointments there. I want to forget that I was completely neglected for a month.
Really, more than anything, at the end I want this to work. That's all I want. That's all I want.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
pain of going home.
I'm not even sure that I should write a post about this because I don't know that it's fair. (And it will once again reveal how crazy I am.)
My husband and I went home to my in-laws' for a long weekend a few days ago. I was really looking forward to it because we hadn't seen them in a few months, and I was eager to have a few days away from the daily routines that dominate my life lately. I have really wonderful in-laws whom I love very much and actually enjoy spending time with.
But when it comes to my in-laws, our infertility is kind of a strange topic. My husband is much more private about our issues than I am, so my family knows all about it, and he has kept his largely in the dark. It wasn't until late this summer that they even knew about his fertility issues, and they didn't find out about mine until the night before I was going in for surgery back in April -- you know, just in case something happened. I don't completely agree with this approach because I don't want our infertility to feel like a secret, like something we need to hide and be ashamed of. I don't know that that's how my husband really feels (he says it's not) -- he is a private person, after all -- but I can't help but wonder.
At this point in time, partially thanks to my inability to keep all of this under wraps, his parents pretty much know exactly what's going on. They know that we've been told IVF is our only option. They know we will consider adoption if our IVF attempt doesn't work. They know we both have issues that aren't easily solved. They know about my emotional struggles with all of it, and they know about my husband's very rational approach to everything.
As time has gone on, it has become a topic that is more and more comfortable for my in-laws, I think. At first, they never ever brought it up -- which kind of made me frustrated and angry at times. Or if I brought it up, the only response I ever got was something positive -- a la "It will all work out! Keep your chin up!" This kind of response made me want to scream. Now, though, I am able to talk more freely about it, they ask questions, they seem more engaged and interested, and they also seem to have a bit more compassion. And I am so thankful that they've come around a bit.
As far as we know, my husband's siblings, a young sister and a younger brother, are mostly in the dark. Or maybe that's me being naive. I suppose it would be reasonable (and would definitely happen in my family) to assume that my husband's parents have filled his siblings in. If they do know, though, they don't let on. For some reason it doesn't bother me one bit to think that his siblings don't know anything about our struggles. For some reason I'd almost rather it remain that way.
Confession: I'm a fairly competitive person. To be competitive when it comes to fertility seems ridiculous, but I think what I feel is this dread of all of those around me, those I love, realizing this dream of having children before I do. Even though I started on the path first, even though I've put in the time, energy, emotional wackiness, money, physically draining procedures and medications and exams, etc. -- I'm afraid that everyone around me will get to the finish line first. And I have already experienced this awful phenomenon several times with close friends. But it would be so much more difficult if my sister-in-law were to have a baby first, or if my brother-in-law were to. It would mean that they could give make my in-laws' dreams of being grandparents come true. It would mean that all kinds of excitement and pride and love would revolve around them. It would mean that I would have to watch from the shadowy corners in pain, knowing that I can't have what they can.
Granted -- none of this is happening. Hopefully none of this happens any time soon. Neither of them are even married (both are in serious relationships). But every time I go home to my in-laws', I can't help but think about it.
And so this brings us to something I'm embarrassed to admit. My sister-in-law has fairly recently entered into a serious relationship with a guy she met at work. Recently we all found out that he has a daughter who doesn't live with him. My SIL had never met her until this weekend -- when we all did. This whole situation is a source of anxiety and jealousy for my sister-in-law. She's looking at this guy as a potential life partner and considering the fact that he's already had a child ... with someone else. I know that is difficult, and I'm not sure how I would react, especially when she's so young and wants to do all of that with her husband for the first time. I found myself, though, feeling jealous. Jealous that if she marries him, she will immediately have a child in her life. She will get to be in some kind of a mother role without even trying. This little girl will help my in-laws to feel like (and I suppose eventually be) grandparents to her.
I am sure being a step-parent when you're not prepared to be doesn't sound ideal, and I feel for her. If I weren't in my situation, I would completely understand. But here I am wanting a child more than anything, and it is kind of difficult for me to think about.
I'm kind of jealous. And I feel ridiculous for it.
My husband and I went home to my in-laws' for a long weekend a few days ago. I was really looking forward to it because we hadn't seen them in a few months, and I was eager to have a few days away from the daily routines that dominate my life lately. I have really wonderful in-laws whom I love very much and actually enjoy spending time with.
But when it comes to my in-laws, our infertility is kind of a strange topic. My husband is much more private about our issues than I am, so my family knows all about it, and he has kept his largely in the dark. It wasn't until late this summer that they even knew about his fertility issues, and they didn't find out about mine until the night before I was going in for surgery back in April -- you know, just in case something happened. I don't completely agree with this approach because I don't want our infertility to feel like a secret, like something we need to hide and be ashamed of. I don't know that that's how my husband really feels (he says it's not) -- he is a private person, after all -- but I can't help but wonder.
At this point in time, partially thanks to my inability to keep all of this under wraps, his parents pretty much know exactly what's going on. They know that we've been told IVF is our only option. They know we will consider adoption if our IVF attempt doesn't work. They know we both have issues that aren't easily solved. They know about my emotional struggles with all of it, and they know about my husband's very rational approach to everything.
As time has gone on, it has become a topic that is more and more comfortable for my in-laws, I think. At first, they never ever brought it up -- which kind of made me frustrated and angry at times. Or if I brought it up, the only response I ever got was something positive -- a la "It will all work out! Keep your chin up!" This kind of response made me want to scream. Now, though, I am able to talk more freely about it, they ask questions, they seem more engaged and interested, and they also seem to have a bit more compassion. And I am so thankful that they've come around a bit.
As far as we know, my husband's siblings, a young sister and a younger brother, are mostly in the dark. Or maybe that's me being naive. I suppose it would be reasonable (and would definitely happen in my family) to assume that my husband's parents have filled his siblings in. If they do know, though, they don't let on. For some reason it doesn't bother me one bit to think that his siblings don't know anything about our struggles. For some reason I'd almost rather it remain that way.
Confession: I'm a fairly competitive person. To be competitive when it comes to fertility seems ridiculous, but I think what I feel is this dread of all of those around me, those I love, realizing this dream of having children before I do. Even though I started on the path first, even though I've put in the time, energy, emotional wackiness, money, physically draining procedures and medications and exams, etc. -- I'm afraid that everyone around me will get to the finish line first. And I have already experienced this awful phenomenon several times with close friends. But it would be so much more difficult if my sister-in-law were to have a baby first, or if my brother-in-law were to. It would mean that they could give make my in-laws' dreams of being grandparents come true. It would mean that all kinds of excitement and pride and love would revolve around them. It would mean that I would have to watch from the shadowy corners in pain, knowing that I can't have what they can.
Granted -- none of this is happening. Hopefully none of this happens any time soon. Neither of them are even married (both are in serious relationships). But every time I go home to my in-laws', I can't help but think about it.
And so this brings us to something I'm embarrassed to admit. My sister-in-law has fairly recently entered into a serious relationship with a guy she met at work. Recently we all found out that he has a daughter who doesn't live with him. My SIL had never met her until this weekend -- when we all did. This whole situation is a source of anxiety and jealousy for my sister-in-law. She's looking at this guy as a potential life partner and considering the fact that he's already had a child ... with someone else. I know that is difficult, and I'm not sure how I would react, especially when she's so young and wants to do all of that with her husband for the first time. I found myself, though, feeling jealous. Jealous that if she marries him, she will immediately have a child in her life. She will get to be in some kind of a mother role without even trying. This little girl will help my in-laws to feel like (and I suppose eventually be) grandparents to her.
I am sure being a step-parent when you're not prepared to be doesn't sound ideal, and I feel for her. If I weren't in my situation, I would completely understand. But here I am wanting a child more than anything, and it is kind of difficult for me to think about.
I'm kind of jealous. And I feel ridiculous for it.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
i'm freaking out.
A few posts ago I wrote about my futile attempts to get my RE's office to return my calls so that I could schedule my mapping (or mock embryo transfer) that was supposed to happen last week.
I called for the first time back on September 30th and have called 2-3 times a week since then. Never have I received a return phone call to ease my mind or schedule the appointment.
Nothing.
I've spoken to the receptionist every single time I've called. And I know it's not her fault. She's the one who takes the messages and leaves them for my nurse. She's the one who talks me through my frustrations on a weekly basis. She's the one who apologizes profusely for my worry and stress and the fact that I'm not receiving the care that I should. But it's not her fault that I haven't been called.
I was absolutely sure that I'd get a call today. My RE and his fertility nurse were out of state at a conference all last week (when I probably should have been mapped) and then I found out that their two other nurses are no longer there -- so they're short-staffed. I understand all of that. I get that things are busy. But I thought they'd finally get to my messages today.
At 4:36, I still hadn't heard anything, so I called. I was fairly sure their answering service would pick up by then, but I thought I might as well try. No answer.
The thing is that my mapping was supposed to be done last week -- during the third week of my third pack of birth control pills. The timing is important. And now my fear is that my IVF cycle will be pushed back. Or maybe even worse that they'll go ahead half-assed just trying to get me "done."
The way all of this is being handled is really concerning me, and I have to say that I am not feeling more and more confident in what's to come as time goes by. All of this has me wondering if I'm making the right choices -- about my doctor, about IVF, about everything.
I want a baby more than anything, and at this moment, I'm feeling like my desire and need are being taken advantage of. I want a baby so badly that I will pay what I cannot afford, and I will put myself through hell -- for a shot at one. And what do they stand to lose? A dip in their success rates?
Tonight I lost it. I talked to my husband for about an hour after I called this afternoon to no answer. We discussed our options. I shared my feelings about it all. I got teary. He suggested we drive the hour and a half to the RE's office and wait in the waiting room until someone will see us, that is if we don't get a call in the next day. I resolved to call again first thing in the morning and be very, very clear about my frustrations and my doubts. But I know it's not the receptionist's fault. And I know she already knows what I'm feeling.
My mom called as my husband and I were wrapping up our conversation. I answered, and she sensed irritation in my voice. I had already told her about my frustrations two weeks ago, but she was surprised to hear it hadn't been resolved. And then I lost control. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed to silence on the other end. All she could say was how sorry she was. I couldn't stop crying. It was ugly and pathetic, but all of my nerves and anger and concern and frustration had to go somewhere. And they did.
I remember the last thing my nurse said to me as I left my most recent appointment back in August was, "Remember just try to remain calm and stay positive!" How can I be calm when no one is caring for me? How can I remain positive about all of this if IVF hasn't even started and I'm already more than exhausted? How can I stay trusting if my RE's office won't even communicate with me?
I need to feel like I'm a priority for this to work, and it's wearing on me. Should it be this hard?
I called for the first time back on September 30th and have called 2-3 times a week since then. Never have I received a return phone call to ease my mind or schedule the appointment.
Nothing.
I've spoken to the receptionist every single time I've called. And I know it's not her fault. She's the one who takes the messages and leaves them for my nurse. She's the one who talks me through my frustrations on a weekly basis. She's the one who apologizes profusely for my worry and stress and the fact that I'm not receiving the care that I should. But it's not her fault that I haven't been called.
I was absolutely sure that I'd get a call today. My RE and his fertility nurse were out of state at a conference all last week (when I probably should have been mapped) and then I found out that their two other nurses are no longer there -- so they're short-staffed. I understand all of that. I get that things are busy. But I thought they'd finally get to my messages today.
At 4:36, I still hadn't heard anything, so I called. I was fairly sure their answering service would pick up by then, but I thought I might as well try. No answer.
The thing is that my mapping was supposed to be done last week -- during the third week of my third pack of birth control pills. The timing is important. And now my fear is that my IVF cycle will be pushed back. Or maybe even worse that they'll go ahead half-assed just trying to get me "done."
The way all of this is being handled is really concerning me, and I have to say that I am not feeling more and more confident in what's to come as time goes by. All of this has me wondering if I'm making the right choices -- about my doctor, about IVF, about everything.
I want a baby more than anything, and at this moment, I'm feeling like my desire and need are being taken advantage of. I want a baby so badly that I will pay what I cannot afford, and I will put myself through hell -- for a shot at one. And what do they stand to lose? A dip in their success rates?
Tonight I lost it. I talked to my husband for about an hour after I called this afternoon to no answer. We discussed our options. I shared my feelings about it all. I got teary. He suggested we drive the hour and a half to the RE's office and wait in the waiting room until someone will see us, that is if we don't get a call in the next day. I resolved to call again first thing in the morning and be very, very clear about my frustrations and my doubts. But I know it's not the receptionist's fault. And I know she already knows what I'm feeling.
My mom called as my husband and I were wrapping up our conversation. I answered, and she sensed irritation in my voice. I had already told her about my frustrations two weeks ago, but she was surprised to hear it hadn't been resolved. And then I lost control. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed to silence on the other end. All she could say was how sorry she was. I couldn't stop crying. It was ugly and pathetic, but all of my nerves and anger and concern and frustration had to go somewhere. And they did.
I remember the last thing my nurse said to me as I left my most recent appointment back in August was, "Remember just try to remain calm and stay positive!" How can I be calm when no one is caring for me? How can I remain positive about all of this if IVF hasn't even started and I'm already more than exhausted? How can I stay trusting if my RE's office won't even communicate with me?
I need to feel like I'm a priority for this to work, and it's wearing on me. Should it be this hard?
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