The Husband Knows Best

When I say that I never wanted to get pregnant again, it wasn’t because I didn’t want to have a baby.  It wasn’t because I didn’t want to see my belly grow and expand to accommodate a little fetus.  It wasn’t because I didn’t want to raise a child.  It was for a very selfish reason.  I never wanted to get pregnant again, because I didn’t want to experience that heartbreak and loss I felt with my miscarriage… EVER again.

Of course I still yearned for a baby.  I was still envious of every woman I saw with an adorable baby bump.  But my need to protect my emotions trumped those feelings and so I was determined to never get pregnant again.

But… here’s the thing.  I’m married to this wonderful man.  He is a true man’s man (likes to shoot guns, watch and play sports, work with his hands)… but he is also very sensitive and in-tune spiritually.  So when I told him my plans of never getting pregnant again, he gave me that ‘you’re a crazy woman’ look and said “We’ll see”.

Then, one day (in March), the Husband sat me down.  “I think you need to get back on fertility drugs,” he told me.  I now looked at him like he was insane.  “It hasn’t been long enough,” I protested, “I haven’t healed yet, emotionally.”  The Husband took me by the hand and looked me in the eyes, “I know,” he said, “but I really feel like this is what we need to do.”  His words were so sincere and thoughtful; I just couldn’t bring myself to rebuff his request.  I knew, deep down in my heart, that what he was suggesting was a good thing…. Crazy… but good.

So, I called my doctor’s office and told them I needed to start another round of “The Steps”.  Although it was pointless, I had already taken a pregnancy test.  With the negative pregnancy test, I was given a prescription for progesterone.

Because I was such a pro at this point, I knew that I would be starting my cycle within 3 days of taking the progesterone.  I took the first dose on March 21^st.  We spent that weekend up at my family’s cabin in Island Park.  We had a great time snowshoeing and playing games with family.  I didn't feel very well that whole trip.  I found myself feeling constantly tired, exhausted even.  I found myself resisting all food, just the thought of food made me sick.  When I still hadn’t started my cycle after 3 days of progesterone, I was convinced there was something wrong with the dose.

On Monday, March 26^th, it had been 6 days since I had started taking the progesterone.  I couldn’t figure out what was happening.  Finally, halfway through the day, it occurred to me that I could (maybe, just possibly) be pregnant.  I rushed home and took a pregnancy test.

Positive.  I was pregnant.

It was like my fondest dreams and worst nightmares were coming to fruition at the same time.  I took a picture of the test and texted it to The Husband with the words “I guess this means we’re pregnant”.

At the cabin... pregnant and I didn't even know it.

 

Two weeks later I went in for a doctor’s visit.  I was seven weeks along at the time and I was able to see my wee babe, heart beat and all, moving around on the ultrasound screen like a maniac.  It was a miracle.  Somehow I had managed to get pregnant without the help of fertility drugs.  My little ovaries had done the job all by themselves.  My doctor explained that I had taken the progesterone at the exact right time for it to sustain my pregnancy, which otherwise would have most likely failed.

Isn’t that incredible?  This is why I believe The Husband knows best.  Had he not been prompted to have us start “The Steps” when we did, I may have had another miscarriage.

Obviously, I was still very nervous about the pregnancy.  I was certain at any moment my baby’s heart would stop beating.  Because of this, it was very difficult for me to be excited about my pregnancy. Finally pregnant and not a bit excited.  Irony at its finest.

Look Fear in the Face

I’ve had this quote hanging up in my office for several years now and it is one of my favorites. Something about it just seemed to strike a chord with me today, so I wanted to share it with you.  Hope it empowers you as much as it does me.

 

The Road to Recovery

I remember thinking, the day I saw my little one with no heartbeat, “This is the worst day of my life”.  Then, on the day I had to pass his little body, I remember thinking the same thing, “This is the worst day of my life”.  I’ve tried to decide which of the two days was worse, now that time had helped heal.  Not one was worse than the other.  They were BOTH the worst day of my life.

Did you know a woman can suffer from post partum depression even when she loses her baby in the very earliest stages of pregnancy?  Your body goes through so many hormonal changes as it prepares to grow a little one.  When a pregnancy is ended abruptly, there is a swift change in those surging hormones and it can wreak havoc on a woman emotionally.

I remember, several weeks after I had said good-bye to my Angel Baby, the Husband and I were watching the movie “The Warrior”.  At this point in time I felt like I had mostly recovered (as far a feeling sad that I had lost my baby goes).  Sure, I still got a little weepy now and again, but only when I was watching or reading something really romantic and sappy... which I considered “normal” for a woman anyway.

So, we’re watching the movie “The Warrior” (which I highly recommend, by the way).  A little background: “The Warrior” is a movie about two brothers who have become very distant over the years, partially due to their father’s alcoholism.  Brother #1 is an AWOL ex-Marine who has suffered a horrific experience whilst serving his country.  Brother #2 is a former MMA fighter turned schoolteacher who is now struggling to make ends meet financially while he supports a family.  Anyway, long story short, these two brothers start training to fight for this big prize… in the end they are the two final contenders and must fight each other.  (Hope I didn’t spoil the movie for anyone, still worth watching regardless.)  

So… at first glance, this appears to be a “guy” movie, right?  Fighting, war stuff, blood, guts and glory.  Well, as luck would have it, as the movie ends, I begin to cry…. no, SOB, uncontrollably.  After the sobbing has not stopped for 15 minutes straight, The Husband is looking at me like I’m outside of my mind.  He started asking, “Are you ok?  What’s wrong?  Are you ok?”.  I didn’t know what was wrong and I didn’t know if I was ok.  All I could say was, “Brother’s shouldn’t fight”.  That was the only explanation I could come up with. 

It’s actually quite hilarious to think about it now.  The Husband frequently teases me about it too.  The sobbing lasted for at least 40 minutes.  I can just see myself, laying prostrate on the couch, head shoved into a blanket, The Husband sitting on the other end of the couch, looking utterly helpless, trying in vain to make the crying stop.  Honestly, I had no reason for bursting into tears; I couldn’t explain why on earth I was crying.  I can see now that my body was still trying to get back to normal, still adjusting to those hormonal swings and changes.

I’m not saying that I suffered from post partum depression (because I know that post partum depression can be much more serious that having a good cry after a movie), but I am saying that the emotional healing that had to take place after my miscarriage was rough.

A friend of mine suffered from severe post partum depression after losing her baby in an ectopic pregnancy a few months after my miscarriage.  She had to take her husband with her to the doctor to help him understand what was going on with her.  Before going to the doctor, her husband seriously thought she had lost her marbles…. Like, he thought she needed to be institutionalized, THAT kind of crazy.  Oh the joys of being a woman.

Throughout this whole process I have come to realize a few things.  1. It’s amazing what our bodies can recover from (physically and emotionally).  2. God knows each and everyone one of us personally.  3.  Time truly does heal.

I wanted to end this post by sending a shout out to my PCOS sisters out there.  I love you, I am praying for you, and I am sorry that you have to suffer from PCOS.  Stay strong!

Angel Baby

My mom’s surgery was on January 3rd.  I went in to work that day and waited with bated breath to get a call to hear that surgery was a success.  Finally my dad called me.  Not only were they able to remove all of the cancer, the doctors were able to do the surgery arthroscopically, meaning a quicker recovery time for my mom.  I was flooded with a feeling of relief.  My mommy was going to be ok.

The Husband and I headed up to the hospital later that night to check on our patient.  Although mom looked like she had just run a marathon, she was doing well.  We sat and chatted for a while.  We watched while mom ate some soup and crackers.  We were even allowed to call my brother in Tahiti to reassure him that our mother had survived the dreaded surgery.

Finally it was time to go.  I gave my mom a hug goodbye and told her that I had a doctor’s appointment scheduled for the next day.  “Give me a call as soon as it’s over, I want to hear all about it, “she told me.

I slept well that night.  I again was overcome with peace knowing that my mom was going to be ok.

The next morning I started to get ready for my doctor’s appointment.  The Husband had to work, so he wasn’t able to come with me.  After The Husband left for work, I had this nagging feeling that I needed to call him and ask him to come with me.  I dismissed the feeling; I didn’t want to burden him with my emotional insecurities.

I put on my clothes and fixed my hair.  I again had a nagging feeling that I needed someone to go with me to my appointment.  But The Husband was at work and my mom was still recovering in the hospital. 

I made my way to my doctor’s office.  As I sat in the waiting room the thought came to me “You need to call Stephanie, you need someone here with you at this appointment.”  Stephanie, my sister-in-law, had stayed the night at my parent’s house and was only about 10 minutes away from the doctor’s office.  But I quickly argued my impression, “It would be so awkward”, I thought, “These appointments are uncomfortable enough”.

So, I went into my appointment alone.

When my doctor arrived he was all smiles.  “This is my favorite appointment!” he exclaimed, “They look like little gummy bears, lots of movement!”.  I was thrilled, but I still felt like I had a little black rain cloud hovering over me.  “Call Steph, she can be here in 10 minutes, you need her here”, that little voice said.  I stubbornly told the little voice “I can do this myself”.

My little black rain cloud was not nearly as adorable as this one.

I lay back on the exam table and hoisted my feet up in the stirrups.  The doctor turned on the sonogram machine.  I nervously stared at the screen. 

As soon as I saw my baby, I knew something was terribly wrong.  My baby did NOT look like a little gummy bear and he was NOT moving around.  Worst of all, I could not see a heart beat.

The room was silent.  The doctor, the nurse and I all knew what this meant.  The doctor tried to stay positive.  “Let me try a few things, there may still be a heart beat, it just may not be very strong”.  But his efforts were futile.

“I’m so sorry,” my doctor said.  He helped me up to a sitting position.  “You’re going to need two things”.  He handed me a washcloth to wipe off the ultrasound goo and a box of tissues.

“I want you to know that this wasn’t your fault,” my doctor explained, “sometimes this just happens and we don’t really know why.”

I couldn’t speak.  I didn’t know what to say.  The nurse and doctor let me sit alone in the exam room for a little while.  I am usually very good at stifling my emotions, but this time I just couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. 

“Why is this happening to me”, I thought.  “I already had to deal with infertility, now I have to deal with miscarriage?”

I have never been so sad or felt so alone.  I truly felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest.  I then understood why I had been given so many promptings to take someone with me to my appointment.  I had blatantly ignored those feelings and I had paid the price.  I was even more depressed to find that the box of tissues my doctor had given me only had one tissue in it.  (It’s kind of funny to think about now, but at the time, it was not helping matters.)

I somehow made my way home.  I called The Husband and then lay down on the ground and just cried.

I wanted to be alone and with company all at the same time.  I cried until I had no tears left to shed, and then my body just shook in despair.  Just as I had pulled myself together, I would look, see, hear, think of something (anything) that reminded me of my Angel Baby and I would fall apart all over again.

The Husband quickly came home.  He held me in his arms and just let me cry.

Later that night my mom called and I shared the bad news.  “I had a feeling this was going to happen,” she said, “I know what you’re going through.”  Which was true.  My mom had experienced miscarriage early on in her own pregnancy quest, but hearing that didn’t make me feel any better.

A few days later, I passed the tissue that housed my Angel Baby for those few weeks before I lost him.

I swore to myself I would never get pregnant again.

Tender Mercies

After consulting my brother on the mission (and The Husband, of course), we decided it would be fun to announce our exciting news on Christmas day!  Even better?  We devised a plan to have my missionary brother share the news when he called for Christmas.  I was so excited.  It took all of my strength not to spill the beans as it seemed so many golden opportunities to share the news kept presenting themselves.

During my month of waiting to tell, I felt such a peace and relief that I had not felt in a long time.  My doctor gave me a prescription for progesterone, which was to help maintain my pregnancy and prevent miscarriage.  With the progesterone, seeing that wee heart beat, no longer having to worry about when I was ovulating, what medications to take next,  when to… uh… “try”…. I was on cloud 9.  I was free.

A few weeks before Christmas, my mom asked me to come over one night.  She sounded somber on the phone.  She asked me to bring along The Husband too.

We arrived at my parent’s home to find both my mom and dad sitting on the couch in the living room.  Sensing bad news, I asked, “What’s wrong?”

My mom explained that she had just been to the doctor that day.  She had been diagnosed with uterine cancer.

I was shocked.  She went on to tell me how she had been diagnosed, when she first sensed something was wrong, and that she needed surgery to remove the cancer.  Her surgery would take place a few days after Christmas. 

My mom, ever the optimist, was trying her very best to put on a brave face… but I could see past it.  She was hurting and scared.  How could she not be?  I sat there trying to conjure up a way to bring her some sort of solace.  The first thing that came to mind was sharing the pregnancy news.  I wanted to so badly… but I stopped myself... the only thing better than a woman with cancer finding out her infertile daughter is pregnant, is when a woman with cancer finds out her infertile daughter is pregnant on CHRISTMAS.

This news made me look forward to the “big reveal” with even more excitement.

On Christmas Day, my family all gathered around the phone to call my brother in Tahiti.  He was on speakerphone the whole time, as was our usual custom (we don’t like to miss a word he says).  I had suggested to my mom earlier in the day that we videotape our call to him, just to listen to later on.  My mom later told me she thought that was a little weird, but she obliged anyway.

One by one the phone was passed from sibling to sibling, each of us asking questions and telling stories.  Finally it was my turn to speak with Taylor.  The very first thing he asked me was “So, are you getting fat yet?”.  My mom looked at me in horror (you never EVER ask a girl who struggles with her appearance if she’s looking fat).  I just smiled and told him “Not yet”.  He then asked if he could give the family our special Christmas present.  My stomach was in a knot; I was so excited for my family to hear the news.  I gave Taylor the go-ahead.

“For the past 8 weeks, Torrey has been pregnant!”, he shouted out. 

The room immediately erupted into a symphony of chaotic noise.  Screaming, sighing, shouting, crying, laughing!  My mom started crying.  My brother Jake hugged his wife and shouted, “Now we can have a baby too!”  My little sister burst into tears.  My stoic dad sat silently as a few tears welled up in his eyes.  My grandma, who didn’t hear Taylor, asked what was going on.  “Torrey’s pregnant”, my grandpa explained.  My grandma gave a huge sigh of relief.  

Brother Jake, His wife Steph, Me, Mom and Dad

It was epic.  I was so happy that I had caught the whole thing on camera.  What an amazing experience to have documented.  I was also thrilled that we were able to include my little brother in Tahiti in the excitement.  “Best day of my life!”, I thought.

I look back on these events and the timing of it all, and I do believe there was some majorly divine intervention happening in our family.  Tender mercies of the Lord.  My definition of a “Tender Mercy”, is when an event or occurrence takes place and things seem to randomly work out just right.  To the untrained eye, the occurrences may seem to happen by a happy accident or some may give credit to coincidence… but upon closer inspection, it becomes clear that the Lord had his hand in it.  (See an awesome talk here about Tender Mercies).

Had my mom shared her news of uterine cancer with me while I was still struggling with infertility… I know I could not have handled it.  I no doubt would have been very angry, but I imagine the news would have ended in a major emotional meltdown (envision me, on the floor, curled up in the fetal position… THAT kind of melt down).  Finding out I was pregnant before hearing her diagnosis was a tender mercy.

My sharing the pregnancy news with my mom before her surgery may have given her just that little extra bit of hope to help her through surgery and recovery.  The grandbaby news before surgery was a tender mercy.

Complete and total divine intervention… tender mercies of the Lord. Wouldn’t you agree?

A Beating Heart

The first person I told about my pregnancy (besides The Husband) was my little brother.  At the time, he was serving an LDS mission on the island of Tahiti.  We had been writing e-mails back and forth each week for the past year and a half.  I would mourn the absence of a baby, and he would buoy me up with encouraging words and positive scriptures like only a good little missionary brother can do.  I knew that I had put a major burden on him, sharing my infertility woes, so I wanted him to be the first to know that he no longer needed to worry, that our prayers had been answered.

I sent him an e-mail:

“Monday, November 28^th, 2011

Hey Tay,

How are you doing?  I am wonderful!  So, first things first: PLEASE NOTE THIS IS TOP SECRET!!! …. I’m pregnant!!!!!!!!!!!

I haven’t told anyone in the family yet, just you.  I will probably tell everyone on Christmas, but I thought you would probably like to know.  SO… make sure you don’t spill the beans, ok?”

The e-mail continues on to ask about his mission and telling him how much I love him, etc.

His response back?  Probably one of my favorite e-mails of all time:

“Monday, November 28^th, 2011

Oh My Goodness!!!!!!!  I want to cry and poop and pee and scream and yell with happiness!!!!!  I am so so happy for you Torrey!!!!  I really almost started to cry when I heard the news!!  I have been praying for you for so so long it seems like and I love it when prayers are answered!!  Take care of little Taylor for me!  Haha just kidding.  You can name it whatever you want.  I love you Torrey!!  I am going to be an UNCLE!!  Uncle Mully… I love the sound of that!”

Great, huh?  I have a great family.  I truly felt like my sweet little brother was just as thrilled with my news as I was.  I mean, c’mon, the e-mail speaks for itself.

I had my first appointment the next week.  Because I had conceived using Clomid and I have PCOS, mine was considered a “high risk” pregnancy.  By my calculations, I was only 5 weeks along, which is very VERY early to get into the doctor.  But he wanted me to come in right away.

I was very nervous to go to my appointment.  Every negative scenario raced through my mind: Ectopic Pregnancy, Molar Pregnancy, Miscarriage.  I shared my secret news with my best friend, who also happens to have PCOS.  “You may not be able to see a lot,” she warned me, “Don’t freak out if you can’t see a heart beat yet, its still so early.”  That’s when I started to pray.  I prayed and prayed and prayed that I would be able to see a little heart beat.

When I arrived at the doctor’s office, I was greeted with pure love and joy.  Most everyone there knew me and my back ground.  So, when I arrived for my first pre-natal appointment, they were almost as excited as I was.  “She’s one of our PCOS girls”, the nurse explained to another new nurse.

The doctor prepped me for the ultrasound and then the fun began.

“First let’s look at your ovaries.  See that cyst there?  That means that you ovulated!”

I was dying… yeah yeah… I ovulated, we get that. Where’s the baby?!?! 

Then the doctor moved on to my uterus.  I held my breath and said another little prayer.

“This,” my doctor said, “Is your baby.”  I examined the screen.  All I saw was a little round lump, about the size of a grape (really it was the size of a sesame seed when not magnified).  It wasn’t very cute… but then I saw it… a most beautiful sight… a heart beat.  A beautiful little heart beating away, like a blinking light, on the screen.  Hooray!  A heartbeat!  My prayers had been answered.  A little tear trickled down my cheek.

“A heart beat.” my doctor said, “That’s a very VERY good sign.”

He then checked to make sure there weren’t more little embryo’s hanging out in my uterus.  But all I could think about was that gorgeous beating heart.

My doctor explained that once a heartbeat has been seen, the risk of miscarriage drops to less than 5%.  It was such a relief to hear that.  My little grape (sesame seed) was going to be ok. 

The next thing I needed to do was announce the happy news to my family.. and so I began making plans.

Things Are Looking Up

As I mentioned, after going through “The Steps” time after time, only to be disappointed month after month, I finally got to point where I was ready to give up.  I started to have thoughts like “Maybe I’m just not cut out to be a mom” and “I guess I deserve this because of (insert ridiculous reason here)” and “The Lord must think we’re better off without children”.  Really, they were silly things to be telling myself because NONE of them were or are remotely true.  But, when you are in a situation where you want something so badly… more than anything in this world, in fact… and there is nothing you can do to get what you want… even the silliest of ideas seem rational.

So, one day, I decided I would try one last round of “The Steps” before finally giving up.  It was day 35 and still no period.  I called my doctor’s office to have them call in my next round of meds.  “Did you take a pregnancy test?” the nurse asked over the phone. 

I hadn’t.  Why?  Because pregnancy tests don’t grow on trees and they’re not exactly cheap, AND all of the others had come back negative.  I didn’t feel any different and I didn’t want to waste my time and money on taking a freakin’ pregnancy test.  (I was not in a good place at this point in time... as you can tell :).

“I cannot call in the prescription until you can confirm a negative pregnancy test”, the nurse insisted.  I hung up the phone and sat there, thinking for a bit.  I wanted to just call back and lie.  Tell her I took a test.  That it came back negative.  Unfortunately, my parents had burned into my mind the value of “Honesty is the best policy” since before the beginning of time.

I stopped at the store on my way home from work and picked up the cheapest pregnancy test I could find.  They tell you to take pregnancy tests in the morning, when the hormone HCG (the pregnancy hormone) will be strongest in your body.  I really didn’t care at this point, so, later that evening I took the test.

I waited a few minutes for the test to generate results.  I glanced over at it, sitting atop the toilet.  I did a double take.  I was shocked to find a positive pregnancy test sitting where I had left the test I was sure would be negative.  Say what?

I carefully inspected the test, waived it in the air a few times, and tapped it against the counter, trying to see if I had just bought a faulty test (I’m not sure how waiving a pregnancy test in the air of hitting it against the counter would tell me whether I had bought a faulty test or not…).  But the positive result remained.

I found The Husband in the kitchen, rummaging in the fridge.  “Honey,” I said, “this test says we’re pregnant.”  He stood up from his crouched food searching position and just stared at me, like I had just been speaking in a foreign language.

“See?” I said, “This says we’re pregnant.”  The Husband still looked perplexed, then he said, “Are you sure?  Maybe we should get a more expensive test to make sure.”

So, we did.  We went to the store and got the most expensive pregnancy test we could find (because expensive things produce more accurate results?!?).  I took that test the next morning.  I wanted to do it right this time.  I peed on the test then waited.  Guess what?  Same result as the cheapy test.  Positive.  I was pregnant.

There is a song from a musical I was once in that came to mind when I saw that second positive pregnancy test.

Allow me to share the lyrics:

Things are looking up!

I’ve been looking the landscape over

And it’s covered with four-leaf clover,

Oh things are looking up

Since love looked up at me.

Bitter was my cup,

But no more will I be the mourner,

For I’ve certainly turned the corner.

Oh things are looking up

Since loved looked up at me.

See the sunbeams!

Ev’ry one beams

Just because of you.

Love’s in session

And my depression

Is unmistakably through.

Things are looking up!

It's a great little world we live in!

Oh I’m happy as a pup

Since love looked up –

Oh I’m happy as a pup

Since loved looked up at me!

This song echoed over and over again in my head.  It seemed that my luck had finally changed.  Thing WERE looking up.

What NOT to Say

I know there are a MILLION lists like this out there… but I wanted to make one of my own.

I do want to preface this list by saying that:

a. If you happened to say one of these things to me, I promise I am not holding a grudge and most likely I’ve forgotten that you specifically said this to me.

b. I know that no one ever says these things with ill intentions.  Most of the time you are sincerely trying to make your beloved friend/sister/co-worker feel better about her situation or you don’t know what to say, thus word vomit, OR you don’t even know the person you said this to is struggling with infertility.

Things NOT to Say to Those Struggling With Infertility

-       “Just watch my kids for a day, they’re great birth control”

o   There is no way on this earth that watching someone else’s kids is going to make me not want one of my own, no matter how bad they are.  If anything it will make me think, “If these were MY kids, I’d teach them manners…. Why can’t I have my own kids to teach manners to?!”

-       “I’m sure it will all work out in due time”

o   You don’t REALLY know whether it will “all work out”.  Plus, unless you are my doctor, you are probably the least qualified person to tell me this information.

-       “Have you tried or thought about (fill in the blank)?” EX. Invitro?   Adoption?  Standing on your head after sex?  Drinking such and such concoction?  Checking his sperm count?  Etc, etc, etc….

o   Whatever we may or may not have tried or thought about is first and foremost none of your business.  Also, I’m pretty sure if we haven’t tried or considered whatever it is you’re suggesting, there is a reason why.

-       “Are you guys ever going to have kids?”

o   Thanks for the reminder of what we don’t have.

-       “You just need to de-stress/forget about it and THEN it will happen.”

o   It is impossible NOT to stress or to forget about getting pregnant when you have strict instructions to follow each month. 

-       “Being a mom is such a hard job, you’re so lucky you don’t have kids”

o   This comment makes me so sad.  While I have no doubt that being a mom is hard work, I look at having children as a major blessing, so, in my opinion, there is nothing “lucky” about not being able to have children.

-       “So…. Are you pregnant yet?”

o   Please, I beg of you, please do not ask this question… EVER.  All this question does is remind us that we are NOT pregnant.  Having to answer “no” to this question over and over again gets very tiring.

-       “You’re still young, you don’t need to be so worried about this”

o   As I get older, my infertility problems are NOT going to go away, so I'm pretty sure I can worry about this whenever I dang well please.

This is how my feelings look inside when people say these things... and I say to myself "Excuse me, what?"

Reading back over my list, I think it is best if you just don’t say these things to anyone… ever (whether they’re struggling with infertility or not).

If you have a friend of loved one who is struggling with infertility, the best thing you can say to them is “I’m so sorry that this is happening to you” and “I love you, I’m here for you”.  That’s what we want and need to hear.  We want to know that we matter, that we are cared about and that we are loved. 

Really, isn’t that what everyone needs?

From Barren to Bearing in 35 Days or Less

Ok, so I found out that I have broken ovaries (and might I add, learning that you have infertility issues is rather difficult news to hear… its more like being handed a grenade with the pin already pulled).  There is a part of you that still has hope though, so my next question was, “where do we go from here?”.

I asked my doctor what the best treatment for PCOS was.

“Birth control, definitely birth control”, was his response.

Uh…. Hold your horses there boss.  In case you haven’t noticed, Doc, the word “birth control” in and of itself means “baby prevention”, which was the exact opposite of what I had been trying to do.  Thankfully, we came up with a plan.. one that did not involve birth control.

The very first step in the plan was for me to lose some weight (story of my life).  After going off birth control I had gained quite a bit of weight.  I hadn’t changed anything in my diet, but I packed on the pounds (a lovely symptom of PCOS).   

With PCOS your body has difficulty processing sugars, so my doctor put me on low carb, low sugar diet.  It is impossible to not lose weight when you cannot eat sweets, bread and potatoes.  Try it if you don’t believe.  I was also put on the medication Metformin, which is normally used to treat diabetics; it helped my body process sugars better.  It has also been rumored to aid in fertility, but it has not been medically proven.   Its one of those old wives tales sort of things.

Then each month, I did the following, which I like to call:

The Steps… “From barren to bearing in 35 days or less” (if you’re lucky)

Step 1 – Take Progesterone, to force the body to have (eh hem) a period

Step 2 – Take Clomid to make ovaries work

Step 3 – Take Estrogen to aide the Clomid in doing its job

Step 4 – Use Ovulation Tests to figure out when ovulation will occur

Step 5 - Have sex … frequently

Step 6 - Wait

Each month I would wait, then wait, and then wait some more.  A normal woman’s cycle is 28 -35 days, so if I hadn’t started my period by day 35, I was to take a pregnancy test. 

The first round of “The Steps” was very exciting.  When I hadn’t started by day 28, I was thrilled!!!  I thought to myself “Could this really have worked with the first try?!”  I remember taking that first pregnancy test, waiting anxiously by myself in the bathroom, too nervous to look at the results.  When I finally mustered up the courage and saw a big fat “Not Pregnant”, I was crushed.  I was embarrassed too.  How could I have been so naive to think this would work in only one shot?  I buried the pregnancy test deep in the trash can, I never wanted to see it again.

When the test comes back negative, you get to embark on the journey of “The Steps” all over again.   It’s awesome (not).

The more times I had to complete “The Steps” the more discouraged and depressed I got.  I became very bitter and angry.  The things that made me more angry than anything on the earth at that time were: the TV show “Teen Mom” and seeing people in similar situations, people complaining about their terrible children, women complaining about their pregnancies, abusive parents, and abortion.

It is so easy to take for granted the things that we have.  Sometimes we don’t realize how good we’ve got it.  So, while things weren’t working out the way I had “planned”, I did feel like I had gained a greater appreciation for the things I DID have in my life.

One thing I have been very grateful for throughout this entire process has been the convenience of modern medicine.  Had I lived a few hundred years ago… heck even just 60 years ago, I would have been considered a barren woman with no hope of ever having children of her own.  The reproductive hormone estrogen wasn’t discovered until the 1920s, and testosterone in the 1930s.  Clomid was FINALLY introduced in the 1960s… we’ve come a long way.

It is impossible to describe or explain the emotions a woman who is experiencing infertility goes through.  At the end of each day I would find myself reeling after getting off of an emotional rollercoaster of sorts.  There were breathtaking highs, the very lowest or lows, and everything in-between.

Finally, I got to the point where I was ready to be done with the whole thing.

Stockton

I have to take a break from back logging for a moment to discuss the happenings of yesterday.

My cat Stockton and I have this routine, you see.  Every morning, I wake up to find my cute little cat lying on the floor of my room at the foot of my bed.  As soon as my feet hit the ground, he gets up.  He races me to the kitchen (he always wins, because I am WAY too groggy to even try to race… also, races are dumb).  As Stockton celebrates his victory, I get him his breakfast… a little bowl full of cat food.  While Stockton chows down, I get ready for the day.  Once I’m ready and about to leave for work, I let him out the back door so he can frolic outside while the Husband and I are at work.  That’s our routine.  It really works well for us.

Well, yesterday morning was just like any other morning.  Stockton raced me to the kitchen, I gave him his food, I let him eat in peace while I got ready.  While I’m in the bathroom, putting my face on (I love that term, by the way, “putting my face on”… makes me feel like an old lady from the south), I hear a terrible noise.  It sounded like someone was madly plunging a very clogged toilet… only the noise was coming from my kitchen.  Just so you know, I don’t have a toilet in my kitchen.

I stuck my head out of the bathroom, mascara wand in hand and asked the Husband “What is that horrible noise?”  The Husband, who was still in bed, just rolled over.

I ran out to the kitchen to see Stockton, hunched over, dry heaving like I’ve never seen a cat dry heave before.  I screamed at the cat, “No Stockton, don’t do it!!!”  He took a brief moment to look up at me, then barfed everywhere.

Something you should know about me: I don’t do barf.  I myself have only vomited a handful of times in my life.  It’s foreign to me.  I don’t like things that I don’t understand.  Thankfully, I have the Husband.  He can handle the barf.  I’m sure he doesn't find cleaning up our cat’s breakfast enjoyable… but he does it because he’s brave and he loves me.

After kicking Stockton out of the house, I ran to the Husband and promptly let him know he had some vomit to clean up.  Goodness I married a good man!

Fast forward now to the end of the day.  I get home from work and see that the Husband is also home.  I’m talking to my mom on the phone as I open our front door.  The door slowly swings open and I find Stockton at the top of the stairs (the Husband must have let him in).  We stare at each other for a moment.  He has this look in his eyes, and I just know what’s going to happen next.  “Stockton!”  I shout, “Don't you dare do it!!!!” and then the toilet plunger noise starts up again.  I start screaming “Stockton!!!” over and over again as I race up the stairs (still on the phone with my mother).  I get to the top of the stairs and try to push him with my foot.  “Please Stockton, don’t do it!  At least move onto the tile… not on the carpet, please, please, not on the carpet!”  But Stockton won’t budge… and then he barfs.

I tiptoe around the vomit and force the poor cat outside (mom is still on the phone, do doubt convinced her daughter is a maniac).  I find the Husband in the bathroom.  I knock on the bathroom door, “Honey, you have more barf to clean up”.  All the Husband can say is “great”. 

Poor Stockton was quarantined outside for the rest of the evening and all night long.  I just couldn’t stand the thought of more cat barf in my house.  The toilet plunger noise would NOT leave my mind.  Am I a bad pet owner?  I think maybe I am… and the sad part is that I'm ok with it.