I saw this post, 10 Things That Changed When They Showed Up, and I had to pause. I think most infertiles can understand why. We all know that life changes when you have children, but there are so many posts or articles telling us that very thing. And maybe they're right, maybe we don't. Not totally, not completely. Having children changes everything... but then again, so does not having children.
I think that the other side of the coin is talked about a lot less, and often people don't realize how much your life changes when they never show up. When you venture forth, and you never have anything to show for your labors. It's easy enough to assume that someones life continues just the same as it did before they didn't arrive, that whatever you did before infertility holds true now... but I assure anyone reading- my life has never been the same since the day I realized they weren't going to arrive. Not knocking the original article, it's true that your life does change when you have kids, and I know she didn't mean to jilt those of us who may never be there... it just inspired me to write this post. I just think that the other side is far less known, and I want to take a moment to talk about it.
So here's my list, here's my infertile response, the other side of the coin.
10 Things That Changed When They Never Arrived:
1. Your choice in food/drink changes drastically. You debate whether this food, or that food, will harm your fertility. You read studies on foods, plant phytoestrogens, and wonder constantly if you're hurting your chances because of what you decided to eat. What you eat during certain parts of the months varies, some women may be downing pineapple like it's going out of style mid-month, avoiding lunch meat at another point of the month, or cutting carbs out completely. The men may be getting encouraged to eat all sorts of citrus fruit because their wives want them to get more vitamin C for conception. Alcohol may be limited for fear of messing with fertility treatments. Caffeine may be eliminated as well, because who knows how and when it could affect your risk of miscarriage. What everyone does is different, but you have to admit that most of us have changed our dietary habits because of infertility.
Personally? I eat what I eat, but there have been major changes. I switched from being a vegetarian to eating meat because it helped me reduce carb intake. I limit caffeine and alcohol a lot, for a variety of reasons. I no longer drink caffeine at all during TWWs. I down vitamins, and make my husband down some too.
2. Your income versus spending ratio is devastated. So you both have jobs, without the expense of kids? You should have loads of excess money, shouldn't you? Hahahahahahahaha, yeeeaaahhh right. I tell you what, before I realized they were never going to show up, we were doing alright. Now, not so much. I've thrown thousands of dollars away on fertility treatments, THOUSANDS. Most infertiles do. One month of treatment for me is $2,500... maybe a good indication as to why we aren't still pursuing that eh? Even on lesser treatments, we were still paying about $500 for monitoring, medications, and an IUI. I've had to pay off hospital bills for testing and procedures, up to $500 for one month of treatment, my laproscopy/hysteroscopy was $11,000 (thankfully covered by insurance though!). This stuff ain't cheap. Yeah, by all means we should be doing alright. We make a fair living. But when you factor in the beast that is infertility? Unh uh. Didn't stand a chance.
Suddenly you have more money going out the door, but not more coming in. And for some of us, you eventually come up against a brick wall of financial burden- you realize you may never become parents because financially it may just not be possible. Not that you couldn't afford to raise a child, but because you can't even afford to get pregnant. Yes, raising children is expensive... but I tell you what, when you actually have your child you do not have to pay $11,000 up front to the doctor for a 45% chance of taking your child home someday. That's it, a 45% chance that maybe you can take your child home finally. And, yes, your child could have medical problems, you could have to spend a lot of money taking care of them in the long run... but so could we, after we're already spent every last penny just conceiving them. It's really not the same thing.
3. Instead of having a good time, you're laying on your back at the doctors. Screw going out with your friends this weekend, and who needs date night, moreover who needs a vacation, you're more likely to be at the fertility clinic being probed. Sure, you could spend that money on a cabin rental, or a nice dinner, but why would you do that when you could be throwing it away on monitoring? Okay, sure sure maybe that monitoring might pave the way for you to have a child... maybe. But I tell you what, I've had more ultrasounds than the Du.gger momma, and I still ain't got no baby. I've spent more holidays and weekends laying on that table than a normal person should. Would I rather have been laid up in a cozy cabin? Hell yeah! But I want a baby more than I want a cozy cabin, so I spend year after year being probed instead of going on a vacation... I'd say it was a fair trade... but that's yet to be seen.
4. Your fridge is suddenly overrun with medication, you feel like a drug addict, and/or you have your own kit for shooting up. I have a drawer in my fridge specifically dedicated to fertility medications... and yogurt. Every time I open the fridge, there it is. Anyone who opens my fridge can see it, and wonder what on earth is going on here. Moreover, that fridge has been that way for... oh, two years? Oh yeah, I'm classy. I used to have a basket just for shooting up. I kept my alcohol wipes in there, hand sanitizer, spare syringes, medication, my bio-hazard box, gauze pads, and band aides. I still have it... somewhere. I tell you what, I never thought that would be my new normal. Hording medication for a better day, filling my fridge up with it, keeping a kit. Oh, how the times change.
5. You learn lessons in dark humor when the norm shifts. If you'd told me 4 years ago that one day I'd be shooting up in a Starbucks parking lot, after getting my medication out of my Starb.right lunchbox where I'd kept it cool on ice packs, I wouldn't have believed you. Now, ummm... bwahahahahahaha! That's one of my favorite stories (Didn't I mention that I'm classy?). Or how about the day I made fun of the "optimum" "prime" screen saver on the ultrasound machine, and suddenly we're wondering why Opti.mus Prim.e is violating women in fertility clinics. You learn to laugh, because otherwise your heart might break. Yes, this isn't normal for everyone else but it's your new normal. So you either roll with it, or you break.
Honestly, sometimes it feels like I have war stories, but it was a war I fought with just my husband by my side. And we lost.
6. You learn a new language. While you're friends are deciphering baby talk, you're busy trying to figure out what "omg, my hsg hurt so bad. but AF is here, time to start watching my BBT. Hoping this is the one. CD1! When should we BD?" or "I just had my IUI, DH was so silly. Mot 65%, 22Mil. Woot! Testing 11dpo! Hoping for a BFP!"
Yeah. Good luck with figuring that all out.
Not just acronyms though, you have all these medical terms to figure out. Diagnoses to understand. Going in, I didn't even know about progesterone production in my cycle or estrogen's role. Now I now about hysteroscopies, laproscopies, mullerian anomalies, IUIs, using steroids to conceive, hysterosalpingograms, saline sonohysterograms, etc... well, I guess the bright side is I'm more educated about my womanly parts. But, I'd still rather be learning baby talk. Thanks.
7. Your view on pregnancy may change forever. It did for me. They never arrived and I realized how very fragile pregnancy is. There's nothing magical about it, and there never was. There are no guarantees. It goes from something solid and guaranteed, to something fragile... breakable. Something unattainable, unrealistic. Mythical even. I've become embittered to it. Now, I never assumed that pregnancy always worked out... but I thought that getting pregnant would be easier for me, I thought that pregnancy would work out. Now, I assume it never will. It's just easier that way after so many years. I went from being happy for pregnant women, to feeling jaded and bitter. I know all these things that can go wrong, and I envy them their naivety. I envy how they can smile, how they can be so happy, how they can assume.
8. You and your partners intimacy undergoes changes. Suddenly you find yourself in a doctor's office telling them all your intimate details, how often you do the deed, how many people you've done it with, and your bits are under scrutiny. Next thing you know you're doing a treatment cycle, and your doctor is prescribing you s.ex. For reals. It might seem funny at first, you might laugh, but as time goes on it becomes more and more a chore. You try to lighten it up. You try to find ways to spice things up, keep it fresh and fun. And you might succeed. But as time wears on, as years pass by, it takes a toll. It wears you down. And suddenly your making love to a bowl of ice cream more than you are to your husband.
9. You make constant sacrifices. Not to the gods of fertility either. No, you sacrifice the life you had for the life you hope to have. You sometimes stay at the same job, even after you reached the point where you feel like hitting your boss in the face with your stapler (note: no bosses have been harmed thus far). You do this for a lot of reasons: your insurance coverage or benefits (if you're lucky enough), the income (so you can afford treatments), the flexibility (so you can actually go to treatments), the convenience, and so on. Or you make other life sacrifices. You cancel your cable, you downsize to a single car household, keep a clunker instead of replacing it, you wait until your clothes start getting holes in them to replace them, you don't go on trips or go out with friends anymore, etc... things that you took for granted before, are now cut. Sacrifices you didn't have to make before infertility, now you are. Just for the hope that someday it'll be worth it.
10. Your friend list undergoes some changes too. As in, people don't want to come near you with a 10 foot pole. And when they do, WHOA buddy you wish they hadn't. Well, most of the time. People don't know how to handle infertility, so often they refuse to acknowledge it or they say the most asinine things. Maybe they mean well, but when you're struggling it hurts. A lot. And then you have some that you talk to, but they never listen, and eventually it comes to a head and you explode on them because you can't take another "Why don't you just relax," or "It'll happen in it's own time, I know it." You know, despite you telling them over and over that you have X, Y, and Z medical issues to contend with. Yup, relaxing fixes everything. Or the "friends" that judge you, they definitely come out of the wood work too. Suddenly, you are a bitter ugly person who should just adopt or wasn't meant to be a parent (that's why your parts are broken, don't you know?). It hurts. Having people you used to rely on suddenly turn against you, stop listening to you, refusing to understand. But then you have the ones that do, the ones that actually listen, that actually try to understand. And you have a great divide, the people who you used to think would carry you through hell and back... and the people who actually have.
I've lost several friends because of infertility and my miscarriages, many personal relationships have been severely scarred. But some relationships have become so much stronger. The core list is smaller, more resilient. It still hurts, losing what we had with all those people. I still wonder why they didn't make the effort, why they said the things they did, why they wouldn't listen, why they stopped talking... and I'm not ever going to have an answer. And sometimes, I don't want one.
So yes, your life changes drastically when they arrive. But it changes still when they never do. It's a living hell, and you get little acknowledgment for the struggle you go through. But it's there. People may joke about how we have more time to have fun practicing, or they may assume that everything is the same as it was before, that we're doing just fine... but that's just a cop out. Maybe our pain is too much for them, maybe our reality threaten theirs, maybe they just don't care... but I wish people knew this about infertility: it doesn't just change your life in the obvious ways, it changes it in unimaginable ways. 4 years ago, I never would have imagined all this. I mean, I knew it changed because I couldn't have children, and that made me very sad. And I knew that simple fact would change things irrevocably too. But I didn't imagine how much more infertility itself would change every decision I make, every move I make, every thought I have, the way I live while trying to overcome it.
Or how all these people, in such close proximity to our lives, never even take notice of it.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Horror shows-
Some memories are more like nightmares, and I wish I could banish them as easily. My anniversary of the second miscarriage is fast approaching, yet the wound in my heart still feels like it just happened yesterday. An entire month from start to finish, bedrest to loss. I wish it were as easy as the simple word used to define it, but things seldom are. When did I lose it... when it stopped growing, when I passed it at last? So quickly things turned from joy to sorrow.
Saturday is two years since I passed the second miscarriage. I honestly can't believe it's been that long. When I remember it, it's hazy, surreal. I try not to remember the physical pain, and thankfully all the vicodin I was on makes it a cloudy memory. Like I can remember, but I can't. It was intense, it was undaunting, I was on fire. I was screaming. It hurt like nothing I've ever felt before, but the edge is dulled in my memory.
When I started down this road, I never imagined I'd know what a gestational sac looked like outside the womb. Intact, so perfect, seeing the tiny little spot where it had implanted on my lining and held it for weeks after it stopped thriving. Or how much pain I'd be in from losing it. I'm not just talking emotional, I mean tangible physical pain. Howling through the night as contractions tore through me. pain like I've never known before.
I still relive it. All the time. Like a broken record just going round and round warped points in my mind:
Here I wake up in the middle of the night, and find myself covered in blood. I calmly shower, wake my husband, then fall apart on the living room couch.
There I clutch the ultrasound photo. It was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen. At that point, still on track. At that point, future uncertain. Still, there was hope.
Then, another ultrasound. Things not on schedule. The doctor saying, "I feel confident in calling this another miscarriage."
Later, howling. Wondering why it wouldn't stop. Howling to god for the pain to stop. Six hours of contractions; because of the medication I took to finally induce it, because for weeks I'd been walking around knowing my baby was dead inside me. Weeks waiting. And I couldn't take it anymore. I needed it to end. Never did I expect what I got instead.
The next morning, raw and bruised. Laying in bed, feeling like I was half dead. My husband brought me doughnuts, a breakfast sandwich, and iced coffee. I remember it so clearly, every detail. I ate it, and I cried. And then I called off work. And then I cried myself to exhaustion.
Sometimes I'll be in the bathroom, and I'll remember that awful night. And it feels like I'm remembering a bad dream, the worst nightmare I've ever had. Except it's real.
How did two years go by? I feel like time keeps slipping by, and I'm losing ground. Further and further away. That means it's almost been three years since the first. I can't believe that. Where did all that time go?
March 12th is 2 since we lost the 2nd one.
April is 4 years since we started trying.
May 4th is 3 years since we lost the 1st.
And the week of Thanksgiving is 2 years since we lost the last one.
And still the nightmares continue.
Except they aren't nightmares.
It's amazing that through everything we've been through, people still seem to be under the impression we're doing fine. It's not that we're putting up a good show, (because those that truly know me know better), but rather because most of them don't really want to know. Sure they'll ask, and I tell them exactly how things are... but they never seem to listen. Like, they listen to the words but refuse to accept the meaning. I can tell them and tell them that things aren't easy, that it'll be years before we become parents- if we become parents- and I'll tell them in great detail all the hurdles we'll have to cross, and yet their standard reply is, "Well, it will happen someday." Which is no support at all, and no help. Because there is no guarantee it will happen someday. The statement is used to pacify, to end the conversation, to say, "I don't know what to say, so I'm going to say nothing." And they never bring it up, never ask questions, never even to ask how we are... and then we can never bring it up again because they seem disengaged the entire time. And it's easy enough for someone to say that it'll happen when they aren't the ones putting themselves through hell time and time again, they aren't the ones coughing up every spare penny they have, it isn't their lives that have been altered forever. It's ours. All ours. Sometimes the weight of that is deafening.
I know someone might say how our situation affects our parents, and such. That the weight isn't solely on our shoulders. But when each of your parents has 5 kids, and already have a multitude of grandchildren... trust me, ours barely notice us. Sure sometimes they say nice things to us, but mostly we've just been cut out and snipped away. They focus on the grandchildren, and the parents of them who sometimes struggle. What struggles could we have when the norm for them is people have kids, then they struggle. Our world is not their world. I get that. But this wasn't our world originally either. They assume that we're doing fine because we both have steady jobs, we don't have kids, we have a car that's paid off (even if it's a clunker), we've been living in the same place for 4 years with no issues, and we keep to ourselves. Next to some of the siblings who have children and are frequently unemployed, we look like we have it all together. Except for the part where we probably spend more money on medical bills than all of our siblings combined. Which, as much as we tell them so, they never seem to hear. Because, we have everything. Don't we?
I'm sure that it doesn't help that we can't actively participate in conversations much these days. The question, "What's new with you guys?" Stings. Our standard response is, "Nothing." And the horrible truth about that, it that is is the truth. Nothing changes here. We have the same car, the same house, the same jobs, the same routine. Nothing ever changes here. Thanks to infertility; we still can't afford to move; we still can't afford to replace our car or get a second one; we still can't risk switching our jobs; we still can't have children. We spend our days working- me cleaning the house, my husband writing programming code. The evenings, we try to find ways to pass the time. We play games, read, work on projects, surf the internet, play with the animals, listen to music. Sometimes the night feels like it just keeps going and going, and I have nothing left to do or say.
Some days I'm good. Some days, not so much. I often come on here on bad days, so please don't assume I'm struggling 24/7. But I do struggle, and I do have my moments. And all these things that I've been through in these 4 years weighs heavier all the time. I don't know where I'm going, or where the wind beneath my sails has gone. Right now, I feel like I'm adrift on an endless sea. And I have no idea which way the wind is going to spring from, but I will gladly go with it. Because if there's one thing I've learned in all this time, it's that no matter how much I try to sway the cards in my favor... in the end, it's always come down to the luck of the draw.
I'm jumbled up, and I know it. I had a bad weekend recently and the hits kept coming. And then today, I just remembered with clarity what date it is. I thought of it often all through February, I remembered how differently that February was from this. But it didn't hit me with the force that it did today. Because Saturday... Saturday is the 2 year anniversary of when I finally passed it. When it finally ended. Ended, but it's never over. An endless loop in my soul, playing again and again. My other miscarriages, I think about from time to time and I miss so much. But this one alone haunts me.
And I can't talk about it to anyone. It's a topic that most people don't want to breach. And I honestly didn't tell most people what really happened that night, I didn't even post it all on here. A majority of people just know I lost it, so few know the details. And I've only just recently told my close friends what happened. It's hard to talk about. I feel like screaming it from the rooftops, howling the pain out again, saying, "Look what happened to me!" The term miscarriage is so decieving. Such a tiny little word, so easy to say, yet so heavy. Some people hear it and brush it off because, well they happen. To which I howl and screetch that they don't understand. It is so much more than that. Before I had one, I knew they were painful and it was sad. I didn't realize how much heavier it was than that. The emotional heartbreak, the physical pain, the blood, the agony, the waiting, the way your soul howls in saddness and in rage, in pain and in grief. And when it happens again and again, how much more loaded it gets with each experience.
Yeah, I'm totally random right now. That's grief for you.
Just a lot of things processing.
Saturday is two years since I passed the second miscarriage. I honestly can't believe it's been that long. When I remember it, it's hazy, surreal. I try not to remember the physical pain, and thankfully all the vicodin I was on makes it a cloudy memory. Like I can remember, but I can't. It was intense, it was undaunting, I was on fire. I was screaming. It hurt like nothing I've ever felt before, but the edge is dulled in my memory.
When I started down this road, I never imagined I'd know what a gestational sac looked like outside the womb. Intact, so perfect, seeing the tiny little spot where it had implanted on my lining and held it for weeks after it stopped thriving. Or how much pain I'd be in from losing it. I'm not just talking emotional, I mean tangible physical pain. Howling through the night as contractions tore through me. pain like I've never known before.
I still relive it. All the time. Like a broken record just going round and round warped points in my mind:
Here I wake up in the middle of the night, and find myself covered in blood. I calmly shower, wake my husband, then fall apart on the living room couch.
There I clutch the ultrasound photo. It was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen. At that point, still on track. At that point, future uncertain. Still, there was hope.
Then, another ultrasound. Things not on schedule. The doctor saying, "I feel confident in calling this another miscarriage."
Later, howling. Wondering why it wouldn't stop. Howling to god for the pain to stop. Six hours of contractions; because of the medication I took to finally induce it, because for weeks I'd been walking around knowing my baby was dead inside me. Weeks waiting. And I couldn't take it anymore. I needed it to end. Never did I expect what I got instead.
The next morning, raw and bruised. Laying in bed, feeling like I was half dead. My husband brought me doughnuts, a breakfast sandwich, and iced coffee. I remember it so clearly, every detail. I ate it, and I cried. And then I called off work. And then I cried myself to exhaustion.
Sometimes I'll be in the bathroom, and I'll remember that awful night. And it feels like I'm remembering a bad dream, the worst nightmare I've ever had. Except it's real.
How did two years go by? I feel like time keeps slipping by, and I'm losing ground. Further and further away. That means it's almost been three years since the first. I can't believe that. Where did all that time go?
March 12th is 2 since we lost the 2nd one.
April is 4 years since we started trying.
May 4th is 3 years since we lost the 1st.
And the week of Thanksgiving is 2 years since we lost the last one.
And still the nightmares continue.
Except they aren't nightmares.
It's amazing that through everything we've been through, people still seem to be under the impression we're doing fine. It's not that we're putting up a good show, (because those that truly know me know better), but rather because most of them don't really want to know. Sure they'll ask, and I tell them exactly how things are... but they never seem to listen. Like, they listen to the words but refuse to accept the meaning. I can tell them and tell them that things aren't easy, that it'll be years before we become parents- if we become parents- and I'll tell them in great detail all the hurdles we'll have to cross, and yet their standard reply is, "Well, it will happen someday." Which is no support at all, and no help. Because there is no guarantee it will happen someday. The statement is used to pacify, to end the conversation, to say, "I don't know what to say, so I'm going to say nothing." And they never bring it up, never ask questions, never even to ask how we are... and then we can never bring it up again because they seem disengaged the entire time. And it's easy enough for someone to say that it'll happen when they aren't the ones putting themselves through hell time and time again, they aren't the ones coughing up every spare penny they have, it isn't their lives that have been altered forever. It's ours. All ours. Sometimes the weight of that is deafening.
I know someone might say how our situation affects our parents, and such. That the weight isn't solely on our shoulders. But when each of your parents has 5 kids, and already have a multitude of grandchildren... trust me, ours barely notice us. Sure sometimes they say nice things to us, but mostly we've just been cut out and snipped away. They focus on the grandchildren, and the parents of them who sometimes struggle. What struggles could we have when the norm for them is people have kids, then they struggle. Our world is not their world. I get that. But this wasn't our world originally either. They assume that we're doing fine because we both have steady jobs, we don't have kids, we have a car that's paid off (even if it's a clunker), we've been living in the same place for 4 years with no issues, and we keep to ourselves. Next to some of the siblings who have children and are frequently unemployed, we look like we have it all together. Except for the part where we probably spend more money on medical bills than all of our siblings combined. Which, as much as we tell them so, they never seem to hear. Because, we have everything. Don't we?
I'm sure that it doesn't help that we can't actively participate in conversations much these days. The question, "What's new with you guys?" Stings. Our standard response is, "Nothing." And the horrible truth about that, it that is is the truth. Nothing changes here. We have the same car, the same house, the same jobs, the same routine. Nothing ever changes here. Thanks to infertility; we still can't afford to move; we still can't afford to replace our car or get a second one; we still can't risk switching our jobs; we still can't have children. We spend our days working- me cleaning the house, my husband writing programming code. The evenings, we try to find ways to pass the time. We play games, read, work on projects, surf the internet, play with the animals, listen to music. Sometimes the night feels like it just keeps going and going, and I have nothing left to do or say.
Some days I'm good. Some days, not so much. I often come on here on bad days, so please don't assume I'm struggling 24/7. But I do struggle, and I do have my moments. And all these things that I've been through in these 4 years weighs heavier all the time. I don't know where I'm going, or where the wind beneath my sails has gone. Right now, I feel like I'm adrift on an endless sea. And I have no idea which way the wind is going to spring from, but I will gladly go with it. Because if there's one thing I've learned in all this time, it's that no matter how much I try to sway the cards in my favor... in the end, it's always come down to the luck of the draw.
I'm jumbled up, and I know it. I had a bad weekend recently and the hits kept coming. And then today, I just remembered with clarity what date it is. I thought of it often all through February, I remembered how differently that February was from this. But it didn't hit me with the force that it did today. Because Saturday... Saturday is the 2 year anniversary of when I finally passed it. When it finally ended. Ended, but it's never over. An endless loop in my soul, playing again and again. My other miscarriages, I think about from time to time and I miss so much. But this one alone haunts me.
And I can't talk about it to anyone. It's a topic that most people don't want to breach. And I honestly didn't tell most people what really happened that night, I didn't even post it all on here. A majority of people just know I lost it, so few know the details. And I've only just recently told my close friends what happened. It's hard to talk about. I feel like screaming it from the rooftops, howling the pain out again, saying, "Look what happened to me!" The term miscarriage is so decieving. Such a tiny little word, so easy to say, yet so heavy. Some people hear it and brush it off because, well they happen. To which I howl and screetch that they don't understand. It is so much more than that. Before I had one, I knew they were painful and it was sad. I didn't realize how much heavier it was than that. The emotional heartbreak, the physical pain, the blood, the agony, the waiting, the way your soul howls in saddness and in rage, in pain and in grief. And when it happens again and again, how much more loaded it gets with each experience.
Yeah, I'm totally random right now. That's grief for you.
Just a lot of things processing.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Seriously?-
I may have jury duty next week. Please send me some anti-jury duty thoughts.
I work graveyard shift, so I'd be getting off work at 8am and reporting for jury duty at 9am. Seriously. And I'd be on call until the end of April, which ugh... going to conflict with that last round of treatments. I am mad, and just defeated.
I know, it's just jury duty. But when I have a messed up schedule as it is, and I'd be adding an injectable cycle on top of things with it's own scheduling issues? I'm screwed! Those meds just expired, I would like to use them as soon as possible :( My doctor is expecting me back in April for this cycle.
I am really hoping I get out of it, I did last time I was pulled as a potential juror. I was freaking out then too because I had a full course load in college, worked full time, and needed every penny I brought in for bills.
I feel whiney. I've just had a really bad weekend, and really don't want to deal with this. (*sigh*)
I work graveyard shift, so I'd be getting off work at 8am and reporting for jury duty at 9am. Seriously. And I'd be on call until the end of April, which ugh... going to conflict with that last round of treatments. I am mad, and just defeated.
I know, it's just jury duty. But when I have a messed up schedule as it is, and I'd be adding an injectable cycle on top of things with it's own scheduling issues? I'm screwed! Those meds just expired, I would like to use them as soon as possible :( My doctor is expecting me back in April for this cycle.
I am really hoping I get out of it, I did last time I was pulled as a potential juror. I was freaking out then too because I had a full course load in college, worked full time, and needed every penny I brought in for bills.
I feel whiney. I've just had a really bad weekend, and really don't want to deal with this. (*sigh*)
Feeling a little better-
I think I'm on the mend from my cold. I mean, I'm still stuffy and sick and feeling very blah, but I think I'm a little better.
I also started the birth control pills today. I'm really hoping that cyst goes away without any issues. Really really hoping. If things go according to plan, we'll be set up for the final cycle around April. Which coincidentally is exactly 4 years since we started trying to become parents. I think it's sort of fitting in a way. Our final cycle, on the anniversary of when we went down this road.
In the meantime, I'm resting up and watching a lot of older movies. I don't know, I've just been in that kind of mood. I find them comforting. I like the way films used to be when films were just beginning to feel themselves out. I love the acting, the richness of them. The screwball comedies from the 30's to 50's make me happy. And I love the goofiness of 80's movies, how you can time stamp them just by the quality and directing.
I had a bad weekend. I'm just trying to find comfort where I can. That's my goal this week, finding comfort. Whether that be in books, old movies, foods, or sleep. I'm just going with it, and it's helping.
I also started the birth control pills today. I'm really hoping that cyst goes away without any issues. Really really hoping. If things go according to plan, we'll be set up for the final cycle around April. Which coincidentally is exactly 4 years since we started trying to become parents. I think it's sort of fitting in a way. Our final cycle, on the anniversary of when we went down this road.
In the meantime, I'm resting up and watching a lot of older movies. I don't know, I've just been in that kind of mood. I find them comforting. I like the way films used to be when films were just beginning to feel themselves out. I love the acting, the richness of them. The screwball comedies from the 30's to 50's make me happy. And I love the goofiness of 80's movies, how you can time stamp them just by the quality and directing.
I had a bad weekend. I'm just trying to find comfort where I can. That's my goal this week, finding comfort. Whether that be in books, old movies, foods, or sleep. I'm just going with it, and it's helping.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Sometimes your life is an epic fail-
This week has sucked.
Let me recap what all happened. I started a new cycle, and AF is kicking my ass. I caught a terrible cold. My precious beloved kitty died in my arms, after 12 wonderful years together. Last night at work will henceforth be known as the night from HELL; security alarms were going off, we had a tornado warning so I had to deal with that in the shelter (yeah, a few days ago we had 9 inches of snow, last night we had a horrible thunderstorm), my basement at home flooded, so did our street. Thankfully the flooding went down, and we almost had a reprieve. But we were late to our appointment for a CD3 baseline.
My CD3 baseline. You ever watch a car wreck in slow motion? Imagine that. There was a moment in the air, something thick hanging in the silence, my doctor said, "S-... Noooooo!" Yes. I knew something like this would happen. I get offered enough meds for a free cycle, you bet I'm going to end up having a cyst the size of my ovary. No joke, it is as big as my entire left ovary.
I've attracted SUPER EPIC FAIL this week. Hahahahahahahahahaha... no, seriously.
I feel very overwhelmed. I am physically feeling like crap because of my cold, and cramps from AF. And emotionally, I am heartbroken. And now, I'm just... BLLLAAAHHHH. Like, this just figures. I should have known.
I suppose there are some good points; I did get free meds for next cycle. Perhaps it's better to wait a month before the injects, it will give me time to get over my cold and loose a few more pounds. But MAN. Everything has just came at me at once, and some things there really isn't a positive in them. My cat. My night at work last night. (*sigh*)
I know perfectly well that things could be a lot worse. But when everything comes at you all at once, it's very overwhelming and hard to cope with. A lot of things went wrong, very fast, in a very short amount of time. I am exhausted and overwhelmed.
I'm going to sleep now.
Will start birth control pills in a few days to get rid of Mr. BigOle' Cysty.
Let me recap what all happened. I started a new cycle, and AF is kicking my ass. I caught a terrible cold. My precious beloved kitty died in my arms, after 12 wonderful years together. Last night at work will henceforth be known as the night from HELL; security alarms were going off, we had a tornado warning so I had to deal with that in the shelter (yeah, a few days ago we had 9 inches of snow, last night we had a horrible thunderstorm), my basement at home flooded, so did our street. Thankfully the flooding went down, and we almost had a reprieve. But we were late to our appointment for a CD3 baseline.
My CD3 baseline. You ever watch a car wreck in slow motion? Imagine that. There was a moment in the air, something thick hanging in the silence, my doctor said, "S-... Noooooo!" Yes. I knew something like this would happen. I get offered enough meds for a free cycle, you bet I'm going to end up having a cyst the size of my ovary. No joke, it is as big as my entire left ovary.
I've attracted SUPER EPIC FAIL this week. Hahahahahahahahahaha... no, seriously.
I feel very overwhelmed. I am physically feeling like crap because of my cold, and cramps from AF. And emotionally, I am heartbroken. And now, I'm just... BLLLAAAHHHH. Like, this just figures. I should have known.
I suppose there are some good points; I did get free meds for next cycle. Perhaps it's better to wait a month before the injects, it will give me time to get over my cold and loose a few more pounds. But MAN. Everything has just came at me at once, and some things there really isn't a positive in them. My cat. My night at work last night. (*sigh*)
I know perfectly well that things could be a lot worse. But when everything comes at you all at once, it's very overwhelming and hard to cope with. A lot of things went wrong, very fast, in a very short amount of time. I am exhausted and overwhelmed.
I'm going to sleep now.
Will start birth control pills in a few days to get rid of Mr. BigOle' Cysty.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Hard day-
Woke up with a cold.
Cycle day 1.
My cat De.Vo. passed away.
We had 12 wonderful years together.
I can't believe she's gone.
I miss her so much already.
Cycle day 1.
My cat De.Vo. passed away.
We had 12 wonderful years together.
I can't believe she's gone.
I miss her so much already.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Taking a stand-
There seem to have been a lot of misogynistic bills being introduced (and passed) lately. As a woman, as an infertile, as a babylost mamma, as an American citizen, it scares me.
I probably can't say it as well as Keiko at Hannah Wept, Sarah Laughed with this post: Um, why does the government hate women so much? (please stop over there before or after this post!) Or the countless others who are standing up, but let me explain why these changes mean so much to ME.
Here's the recent proposed bill from Georgia Rep. Bobby Franklin. It essentially is a "personhood" law, but it also says that miscarriages must be reported to the government. Why? So they can investigate them to see if it was a miscarriage or homicide. Yes, he wants to create a uterus police. They would issue fetal death certificates, complete an investigation if no known cause was found for the loss. Umm, hello. My name is S- and I've had three unexplained miscarriages. Does that mean I'm a suspect in a triple homicide now? Seriously? As part of their investigation they could talk to your family, friends, doctors, etc... to try and determine if their was foul play involved.
I am shitting you not.
I highly doubt that Bobby Franklin has ever had close contact with a women who has had a miscarriage. And he himself sure as hell never went through one. But who cares, right? It's not like they're not traumatic enough as it is. It's not like we don't already blame ourselves enough for it. Nope, let's throw an investigation into the works. I mean surely every single one of the women who experience a miscarriage (25% of ALL pregnancies) will just take that laying down. Let's drag their families into this, even though most people don't even tell anyone their pregnant until the second trimester (and most miscarriages happen before, let's think about this...) But, yeah, let's criminalize the victim... yeah good one, Mr. Franklin.
The reality of it is that this bill would never get though because of financial costs itself. You'd need your own department to handle that many miscarriages. I mean the numbers would be astronomical! There's just no way! At least that's what I keep telling myself. I keep talking myself off the ledge because I don't think people are that stupid. That they wouldn't waste our tax dollars in this way.
But then I see similar "personhood" bills in Iowa, North Dakota, Oklahoma. That's not all, see Montana and Texas.*
And that's when I get really scared.
See, while the North Dakota bill is a little better defined the others are not. North Dakota allows parameters for handling ectopics, for when the life of the mother is threatened, IVF, for ending a pregnancy to pursue chemotherapy. But it doesn't say about if you have a medical condition and get pregnant knowing the pregnancy is at risk. It doesn't allow a clause for that, am I at fault then if the pregnancy ends? Did I commit prenatal manslaughter or homicide? These laws are a lot more tricky than you may think at first glance.
Iowa and Oklahoma have none of those clauses. They says that a person is a person at the moment of conception. Therefore they have equal right as us. Let's stop and reflect... how would that affect IVF? How would that affect FETs? When we discard embryos, or decide not to use them, are we negligent? If an embryologists fails to successfully unthaw all embryos are they guilty of manslaughter? If we have medical conditions with increased chance of miscarriage, are we at fault when the otherwise healthy appearing embryo doesn't make it? Should all miscarriages be investigated since that embryo/fetus was a person? I'm not talking about investigated by your doctor, I mean by the government. And what if your answers aren't satisfactory? Do you deserve 5 years to life because your baby died?
Let's really think about what these laws mean. I understand that their intent is to prevent abortion, but that is not the only issue at stake here. This isn't a simple pro-life or pro-choice issue. This affects me. You. My sister. My mother. My husband. My best friend. My neighbors. This affects us all. It is masked under heavy pro-life agenda, but whether they realize it or not it is a much larger picture.
Iowa already passed a law punishing reckless behavior that may harm your embryo/fetus. How do we define that? I understand their intent, do not get me wrong, the story it stemmed from is sad. But this law is dangerous. How do we define reckless behavior? I did not have a complete loss panel done before getting pregnant, was that reckless of me? I got pregnant with PCOS, was that reckless? If I drank a glass of wine before knowing I was pregnant, would that be considered reckless? What about smokers, or people taking medications for other illnesses and the medicine shouldn't be taken in pregnancy? What about women engaging in intense physical sports and it causes a loss? Where do we draw the line, how do we define this? And most importantly, should they have a right to investigate our miscarriages to make sure they weren't intentional? Should we really be victimized further? Because that bill could allow this.
Then I see that Planned Parenthood is about to lose all it's funding. Say what you will about Planned Parenthood, but they were there for me when I was low income and uninsured. They provided me with my PAPs and breast exams free of charge. They game me an unofficial diagnosis for my PCOS, and started me on birth control pills so I would have cycles again. Before that I was scared, so very scared, because I wasn't pregnant but I hadn't had a cycle in months... 7 months to be exact. Our local office got ran out a long time ago, I had to drive an hour but I couldn't afford a regular gynecologists office. They wanted $300 just for my yearly exam... I was a full time newly married college student. I could not afford that. But I couldn't afford not to with my family history of cervical cancer and breast cancer. The office I went to didn't have an actual gynecologist because of lack of funding, so I saw a NP. I think I could have gotten an official diagnosis if I could have seen a real doctor much sooner. But she was nice to me, and she had PCOS herself, told me I had all the signs, prescribed me birth control and warned me about waiting so long for a cycle and the risk of endometrial cancer. She also told me about my decreased chance at pregnancy.
Planned Parenthood was there for me. The government funding doesn't go towards abortions, it goes to their family planning services: birth control, STD testing, PAPs, breast exams, women and men's health services. They do so much good! And it saddens me that politicians want to take that away from the American people. I'm sorry, but our local free community health clinic doesn't offer these services. The women in my community have to drive half and hour to an hour away to get to a Planned Parenthood. And soon they won't even have that.
Why are women under attack? Why are our basic rights to health care and our own civil rights under fire? Why are so many states, and even the federal government, focusing on these issues? Why are they trying to sneak these bills under the rug without us noticing?
Guess what? I've noticed. And I'm bringing it to your attention.
Be vigilant. Speak out. Take a stand.
*Information obtained from http://www.resolve.org/resources/the-center-for-infertility-justice.html
I probably can't say it as well as Keiko at Hannah Wept, Sarah Laughed with this post: Um, why does the government hate women so much? (please stop over there before or after this post!) Or the countless others who are standing up, but let me explain why these changes mean so much to ME.
Here's the recent proposed bill from Georgia Rep. Bobby Franklin. It essentially is a "personhood" law, but it also says that miscarriages must be reported to the government. Why? So they can investigate them to see if it was a miscarriage or homicide. Yes, he wants to create a uterus police. They would issue fetal death certificates, complete an investigation if no known cause was found for the loss. Umm, hello. My name is S- and I've had three unexplained miscarriages. Does that mean I'm a suspect in a triple homicide now? Seriously? As part of their investigation they could talk to your family, friends, doctors, etc... to try and determine if their was foul play involved.
I am shitting you not.
I highly doubt that Bobby Franklin has ever had close contact with a women who has had a miscarriage. And he himself sure as hell never went through one. But who cares, right? It's not like they're not traumatic enough as it is. It's not like we don't already blame ourselves enough for it. Nope, let's throw an investigation into the works. I mean surely every single one of the women who experience a miscarriage (25% of ALL pregnancies) will just take that laying down. Let's drag their families into this, even though most people don't even tell anyone their pregnant until the second trimester (and most miscarriages happen before, let's think about this...) But, yeah, let's criminalize the victim... yeah good one, Mr. Franklin.
The reality of it is that this bill would never get though because of financial costs itself. You'd need your own department to handle that many miscarriages. I mean the numbers would be astronomical! There's just no way! At least that's what I keep telling myself. I keep talking myself off the ledge because I don't think people are that stupid. That they wouldn't waste our tax dollars in this way.
But then I see similar "personhood" bills in Iowa, North Dakota, Oklahoma. That's not all, see Montana and Texas.*
And that's when I get really scared.
See, while the North Dakota bill is a little better defined the others are not. North Dakota allows parameters for handling ectopics, for when the life of the mother is threatened, IVF, for ending a pregnancy to pursue chemotherapy. But it doesn't say about if you have a medical condition and get pregnant knowing the pregnancy is at risk. It doesn't allow a clause for that, am I at fault then if the pregnancy ends? Did I commit prenatal manslaughter or homicide? These laws are a lot more tricky than you may think at first glance.
Iowa and Oklahoma have none of those clauses. They says that a person is a person at the moment of conception. Therefore they have equal right as us. Let's stop and reflect... how would that affect IVF? How would that affect FETs? When we discard embryos, or decide not to use them, are we negligent? If an embryologists fails to successfully unthaw all embryos are they guilty of manslaughter? If we have medical conditions with increased chance of miscarriage, are we at fault when the otherwise healthy appearing embryo doesn't make it? Should all miscarriages be investigated since that embryo/fetus was a person? I'm not talking about investigated by your doctor, I mean by the government. And what if your answers aren't satisfactory? Do you deserve 5 years to life because your baby died?
Let's really think about what these laws mean. I understand that their intent is to prevent abortion, but that is not the only issue at stake here. This isn't a simple pro-life or pro-choice issue. This affects me. You. My sister. My mother. My husband. My best friend. My neighbors. This affects us all. It is masked under heavy pro-life agenda, but whether they realize it or not it is a much larger picture.
Iowa already passed a law punishing reckless behavior that may harm your embryo/fetus. How do we define that? I understand their intent, do not get me wrong, the story it stemmed from is sad. But this law is dangerous. How do we define reckless behavior? I did not have a complete loss panel done before getting pregnant, was that reckless of me? I got pregnant with PCOS, was that reckless? If I drank a glass of wine before knowing I was pregnant, would that be considered reckless? What about smokers, or people taking medications for other illnesses and the medicine shouldn't be taken in pregnancy? What about women engaging in intense physical sports and it causes a loss? Where do we draw the line, how do we define this? And most importantly, should they have a right to investigate our miscarriages to make sure they weren't intentional? Should we really be victimized further? Because that bill could allow this.
Then I see that Planned Parenthood is about to lose all it's funding. Say what you will about Planned Parenthood, but they were there for me when I was low income and uninsured. They provided me with my PAPs and breast exams free of charge. They game me an unofficial diagnosis for my PCOS, and started me on birth control pills so I would have cycles again. Before that I was scared, so very scared, because I wasn't pregnant but I hadn't had a cycle in months... 7 months to be exact. Our local office got ran out a long time ago, I had to drive an hour but I couldn't afford a regular gynecologists office. They wanted $300 just for my yearly exam... I was a full time newly married college student. I could not afford that. But I couldn't afford not to with my family history of cervical cancer and breast cancer. The office I went to didn't have an actual gynecologist because of lack of funding, so I saw a NP. I think I could have gotten an official diagnosis if I could have seen a real doctor much sooner. But she was nice to me, and she had PCOS herself, told me I had all the signs, prescribed me birth control and warned me about waiting so long for a cycle and the risk of endometrial cancer. She also told me about my decreased chance at pregnancy.
Planned Parenthood was there for me. The government funding doesn't go towards abortions, it goes to their family planning services: birth control, STD testing, PAPs, breast exams, women and men's health services. They do so much good! And it saddens me that politicians want to take that away from the American people. I'm sorry, but our local free community health clinic doesn't offer these services. The women in my community have to drive half and hour to an hour away to get to a Planned Parenthood. And soon they won't even have that.
Why are women under attack? Why are our basic rights to health care and our own civil rights under fire? Why are so many states, and even the federal government, focusing on these issues? Why are they trying to sneak these bills under the rug without us noticing?
Guess what? I've noticed. And I'm bringing it to your attention.
Be vigilant. Speak out. Take a stand.
*Information obtained from http://www.resolve.org/resources/the-center-for-infertility-justice.html
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