Maybe this Time I'll Get Pregnant
Well, well, well, well, well. Just got my period and a head cold, so I’m like this to the world
Our IUI #4 got cancelled last month because of cysts…
So yup, I’m taking another month off because I want to and because the Mayan fertility healer I went to (more on that later) said that I should. She also says I should eat plenty of pumpkin and cinnamon and have a “juicy autumnal season,” so that’s what I’m going to do.
Please excuse me while I eat an entire pumpkin pie.
Yup. So that didn’t work. Not even a little bit. We were so off on this cycle. Like a group of synchronized swimmers who wind up in different pools, we shouted and miscommunicated on a grand scale and everyone in the end was just left cold, confused, and kind of hungry.
It began with a faulty OPK (ovulation predictor kit). Normally, I get a positive around day 13. Not this time. This time I got day 9 and then it turned out that it was just faking me out. What?! That can happen?! I thought this was science. So, then I switched to the test strips- which I like better anyway. They’re more old school, less pretentious, but also harder to read. So, I get what I think is another positive on day 13, and we schedule the IUI for the next day.
The IUI went off without a hitch- wait no- not exactly. This time my husband’s sperm count was only 6 million, which like 6 million of anything else is awesome, but in this circumstance was bordering on low. Ok. Fine. We can work that. It only takes one right? Well, an IUI is an extremely short term offer. The sperm they put inside you are hyper ready to go, but they also don’t last long. If you miss that window, you’re just throwing caution and sperm to the wind.
When we get home from the IUI, I decide to take another OPK just to make sure we were still in the window. And guess what? When I take the test, I get a positive, a much more positive-positive than I had ever had before. I didn’t know second lines could even be that dark. I should ovulate in like 24 to 36 hours, but the sperm will never survive to see the egg. Right place. Wrong time. It’s an ovulation tragedy. CRAAAAAAAAAAAP!
And then I started to wonder- have I been doing this wrong the whole time? Have I always missed my true ovulation because I was an anxious ball of hurry up and not get pregnant? Have I messed everything up? Have I misread every sign.
My husband and I still tried old school, but let’s be honest- the best troops had already been deployed on a suicide mission. And the thing is, it was totally my fault. I jumped too soon. I so badly wanted this cycle to work that I literally made my husband shoot his load early- I know this is crass, but it’s also accurate.
Turns out, my impatience may just be the reason we’re not getting pregnant- well that and a million other potential reasons (endo, low sperm count, cysts, thyroid, and the list goes on).
What’s the game plan for this round? I’m going to wait until that second line is so dang dark that it’s midnight and then I’m going to pull the trigger. Boom! Also, injectables and tons of ultrasounds- but it’s time to hold steady and wait for the real double lines. IUI #4 here we come!
This is a conversation that I had with my acupuncturist last weekend:
Acupuncturist: How are you doing?
Me: Still not pregnant and I just ate a donut in the parking lot.
Acupuncturist: Do you think you might be self-sabotaging?
Me: Two. I just ate two donuts in the parking lot.
So, yup, our second IUI was a big time fail and I did not handle it well…at all. My husband was out of town when I tested and without my rock, I made my own rock candy mountain and then I ate it. I hopped right back on the gluten free wagon and was crushed by all the cookies, cakes, and pies. That’s it folks. I’m now back to a semi-gluten free existence. Honestly, I wonder, is it even worth it? My head and acupuncturist say yes, but my stomach says no.
And now we’re gearing up for IUI #3…and I want a donut so badly!
“You just need to relax.” Any woman dealing with infertility wants to drop kick these words and the person who said them into outer space. It’s the equivalent of telling a person who wants to lose weight, “You just need to eat less.” Or a person who is seeking a soul mate, “Stop looking. That’s when you’ll find the one.” Yes, there is most likely truth behind any of these messages, but there is also blame. It only helps the person who is speaking not the person who is being spoken to. In fact, “Relax,” just pushes the listener deeper into an abyss of shame.
“You just need to relax” implies that I am doing something wrong- that the only thing keeping me from becoming a mother is my stress level. I wish that were the case. Genuinely. How wonderfully inexpensive and delightful that solution would be. But, most of the time fertility is unexplained. If we could magically zoom into my body and spot the defective part or the missing enzyme, well then we could fix it all. But we’re not at that point. So instead, I try to eat better, exercise, meditate, get costly acupuncture treatments, take expensive supplements, have my tubes flushed, my insides monitored and visualize my entire body filled with golden light (I just see myself like one of those honey dispensers that are shaped like bears). To add to this list of the basics, I listen to soothing music, watch my favorite tv shows, journal, write blog posts and yes, I do try to relax. But sometimes it’s just not going to happen and someone ordering me to stow away my fears is not acknowledging the merit of the fears in the first place.
I once read that the stress level of someone experiencing infertility is as high as someone fighting cancer. Yup. I get it: both journeys have an unknown ending, both make you doubt your body and both suck.
Instead of distancing yourself from a person in the throws of infertility, when you know someone is suffering from try asking instead of telling. Say, “How are you holding up?” And then listen and when a deep pause comes say, “Really? Don’t say what you think I want to hear you say. Complain. Complain as much and as long as you want. I can take it.” And then when the sufferer has fully delved into the depth and breadth of their pain, ask, “Tell me more.” And finally, eventually, the sufferer will relax because he or she has actually been recognized and held up to light of another person’s sympathy.
Well, I broke my own rule and tested this morning on 13DPO and it was a big fat negative (BFN) and I know, I know, you’re not out until Aunt Flo comes, but I’m out. I’m really sad- I knew the chances of the IUI working the first round were slim- still, everyone wants to be the exception.
The reason I tested was that I couldn’t sleep all last night. Not a wink. I just lay there and cataloged every worry- big and small, positive and negative- till I thought my head might implode. Most of the time before my period, I get severe insomnia, so right then I knew. No baby. Not this month.
So, I did what any sane person would do- I went out on the sofa and watched 5 episodes of Once Upon a Time until I had some more morning urine. Then I tested, cried, and then sent an email canceling my acupuncture for this weekend. I’m not getting poked full of holes, if there’s no baby in there! Blood flood, blood shmo. Then I listed all the things I’m going to do with the acupuncture money and my non-pregnant self:
On the bright side, my husband and I will be going on a dream vacation in a week, so we have that to look forward to and we won’t be tracking this cycle. I need a break. Our fertility journey will continue, but for now, there will be gluten.
***A warning- this post contains an insane number of metaphors, similes, and yes, the occasional pun***
Here’s a thought that I’ve had more than once: science is magic and magic is science. And to make a baby, you might just need a little of both. When my husband and I do someday make or adopt a child, I’m pretty sure it’s going to feel like our doctor pulled a rabbit out of hat, but the rabbit is a baby and the hat is my…well, you get the picture.
Along with the thoughts of scientific magic, I keep replaying songs from one of my favorite musicals. It’s like the show Into the Woods by Stephen Sondheim, the great Stephen Sondheim. If you’ve never seen it, you need to because it’s all about the quest to become a parent. The main characters are a baker and his wife who desperately want a child, but because of a curse (infertility), they can’t. The whole first act follows them trying to reverse the curse and at the end of Act One, they achieve their goal. There are giants, red capes, and even magic beans (hello, fertility drugs), but they get their baby in the end and for a moment (intermission), things are good and then Act Two comes and I won’t spoil anything, but there is no such thing as ever after and that’s probably an ok thing.
Now, maybe I’m reading too much into it, but I watched an interview with Stephen Sondheim, who is a gay man who came of age during a time period when gay men weren’t allowed to marry let alone start families, and he spoke about his one unfulfilled wish was that he had had a child. Now, Stephen (I’m going to imagine we’re on a first name basis) and I could not be farther apart. He’s an award-winning composer and lyricist and my greatest accomplishment is an 8th-grade citizenship award, but we’re joined by this desire to be part of the magic of parenthood. We both understand that Act One is the pursuit of that goal, but that everything that comes afterward is the actual “being” a parent. We both get that obstacles may stand in our way. Most importantly, we get that dreams can be reached, but sometimes they aren’t. Life isn’t always fair, even with magic.
Now, I’m 12DPO and in two days, I’m going to see if science has helped make me pregnant. But in my mind, what I’m really waiting to see is if the magic beans (fertility drugs) plus a certain magic wand (IUI) plus a lot of true love has made an even more magically baby, but no matter what, the fairytale is not over. The curse may be hard to reverse (it could take many moons aka cycles), but it might just make for a more appreciative Act Two.
Thomas Edison once said, “I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that don’t work.” Edison was a lot cooler with failure than I am. Because the truth is that failure is my biggest fear. Boom, there it is! I fail at failure.
And in a sick twisted way, I feel like infertility is the universe’s way of saying, “Oh, so you want to play it safe and never fail? Well, then, how about we deny you something easily accomplishable for 95 percent of the population? But that’s not enough…mmm…this is so good- we’ll make it so each month you believe that you might finally get what you want- hold on, let’s make the symptoms the exact same for the thing you want more than anything and the event (your period) that crushes your hopes, and then when you don’t get what you want, you get to painfully bleed from your most intimate of areas!”
Yup, I view my infertility as an extremely graphic and overly emotional episode of The Twilight Zone– or the metaphysical equivalent of Charlie Brown and the football- a constant, cyclical lesson in failure. Yes, I get it- infertility is not a failure. I did nothing wrong. I didn’t make it so my body doesn’t like growing human beings. But, when I fail to get pregnant every month, I’m left with this terrible feeling that I’m foolish for even trying.
I have a friend, let’s call her Blair and Blair has the two most gorgeous babies (seriously they look like a GAP kids ad) and she keeps asking me why I wait until 14DPO to do my pregnancy tests. For her, taking a pregnancy test is like Christmas morning, but for me, it’s like the Grinch came and took the tree plus the presents. She cannot understand why I delay the moment because she doesn’t understand and that’s ok. Blair got pregnant on her first try with baby #1 and with baby #2 (which ended in a missed miscarriage), she went four months before a positive, and with baby #3, it took six months. If I had odds like her, I would test every single month on DPO9. But, when you’ve done 15 rounds of TTC with one “success” that ended in heartbreak and severe pain, pregnancy tests become pain sticks that you get to hit yourself with again and again.
I’m not blaming Blair at all for her fertility successes. But, I do think we have to acknowledge that not all women or men have the same pregnancy journeys. Some of us feel like failures. Some of us struggle to turn the light bulb on and keep it lit.
Last Friday, my husband and I woke at dawn and then went out for a little IUI, which is not a hip brunch food, it’s intrauterine insemination. Let’s hope it went swimmingly- pun intended. It’s our first round of IUI and our second month on Letrozole (whose street name is Femara). So, now I’m dpo5 and officially in the midst of the dreaded TWW (two-week wait). Yup, that’s a lot of fertility jargon, and I’m mastering it like a pro.
But, here’s the thing- I don’t want to be a pro! Not at this! Figure skating, yes. Ballroom dancing, yes. Mastering the art of French cooking, oui. But, mastering being infertile? Not what I want as my new hobby.
However, what becomes clear to me throughout this entire ordeal is that despite the saying, we do not always get to pick our battles, sometimes they choose us. So says the least patient lady in the world. Now, I just have to wait until March 30th to test. How I’ll ever be able to wait until then, I do not know.
Come On Fertile Myrtle 