Hello, friends...we have quite a bit of catching up to do.
We had our last IUI (intrauterine insemination) in August. It was a "hail Mary" cycle. We knew it wouldn't work. It never had before. We were fixing our eyes on IVF and this IUI was our method of killing time until we could take the plunge.
I didn't get a beta (blood pregnancy test) done after the two-week wait because I never do. Those beta days are the worst. I'd much rather find out that I'm not pregnant at home, in my own bathroom, by myself than over the phone with a nurse I've never met. But my period was late...and then later...and later.
One morning, while Andrew was finishing up his night shift at the hospital, Harriet and I went to Walmart for a pregnancy test. I got there just as they were opening and I seemed to be the only one in the store besides the two young check-out girls. One of them attempted to put my purchase in a bag, and I told her I didn't need a bag.
"I bet you're going right into that bathroom to take it," said the other.
"Yes, I am," I replied.
"What are you hoping for?"
"I really, really want it to be positive," I said, and I told them a little bit of my story.
I entered the bathroom, set Harriet down far away from the toilets and told her not to touch anything. I unwrapped the pregnancy test with shaky hands and left the stall door open as I did my thing. The digital hourglass blinked and blinked and blinked...forever. And then I saw something flash onto that screen for the very first time - pregnant.
And then I sobbed.
"Mama's crying because she's happy. Mama's crying because she's happy," I told my concerned daughter over and over.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I told a less-than-concerned God.
I composed myself and walked out of the bathroom where the two check-out girls were nervously waiting.
"It's positive," I said, and they seemed very happy to be the first to know.
I strapped Harriet back into her carseat while taking deep, tear-filled breaths and settled myself in the driver's seat before deciding that I needed to go back in for donuts. But first, I texted Andrew...
Just got my period. What a bummer.
We were going to meet him at a playground, so I quickly planned a fun way to share the news. I'd have Harriet at the top of a curly slide and he'd be at the bottom to catch her. But rather than sending her down, I'd slide the pregnancy test down. Well, like most plans that involve children, this one never panned out because Harriet was zonked in the back of the car when he got to the park. Instead, I just took the test out of the waistband of my shorts and handed it to him.
"You're joking," he said. And he cried.
The next day, I had a beta drawn. Two-hundred-something.
Two days later, I had another one. Four-hundred-something.
We scheduled an ultrasound for about eight weeks but I couldn't wait that long. My doctor agreed to see me just short of seven weeks. Unfortunately, Andrew was hiking the Superior Hiking Trail with my brother and we hadn't told our families yet. Also, hand foot and mouth disease was hitting our community hard around that time, so all of my babysitters were out of commission with sick babies of their own to care for. I had one option - to bring Harriet with me.
She fell asleep on the way to the appointment, so I picked her up and carried her into the clinic. I had called the front desk to warn them that I was bringing my daughter and to ask if it would be possible for me to be taken directly back to an ultrasound room if one was available. I've never brought Harriet to an appointment before and I fully support the no kids allowed rule, so I wanted to be as respectful as possible under the circumstances. There wasn't a room available, which I found odd since the waiting room was empty. I stood there in the fertility clinic waiting room with my lovely little daughter sleeping soundly in my shoulder and (hopefully) another baby in my belly. And all of a sudden, I was that woman...something for another day, another post...something that has been on my heart so heavily during this blogging absence.
They called me back and I managed to somehow undress and situate myself on the table, all the while snuggling my sleeping dear. In came the doctor and ultrasound tech and I told them what I always tell them, "As soon as you have any information, tell me. I get really freaked out when you're silent."
I couldn't really see the screen because Harriet's head was in the way, but I did see the ultrasound tech flash the doctor a sideways peace sign, and that was enough for me to crank my neck around the top of Harriet's head to see two black blobs on the screen, each with its own teeny heartbeat, fluttering away.
More tears. More gratitude wrapped in disbelief.
The next twenty-four hours were tough because I couldn't get ahold of Andrew over the phone and I didn't want to tell him we were having twins via text. The next day, Harriet and I drove up to Duluth with the rest of my family to meet Andrew and my brother for a weekend away. They still didn't know I was pregnant. When we got to the hotel, I pulled Andrew into the bathroom and told him that I wanted him to see the ultrasound picture before we shared the news with my family. I took the grainy photo out of the envelope and handed it to him. He stared at it for a few seconds before the "twin A" and "twin B" labels clicked. "Nuh-uh," he said and stared at me with wide, wide eyes. More tears. This time, some laughter too.
So, that's what's been happening during my absence. Oh, and I took (and passed...whew) my final licensing exam. And we moved three days ago. It's been an intense couple of months, and I'm finally starting to feel like I'm catching up with life. I swore off blogging during my studying period and it was pretty much impossible to get any writing done during the move, but I know that the real reason I put off posting about this pregnancy is the fact that I have been waiting for similar announcements from my blogging friends. I have been praying and dreaming that somehow, someway Caroline, Amanda, Risa, Suz, Liz, Annie, Jessah and all of my other dear friends online and in "real life" would be able to make announcements of their own first. I knew it couldn't happen - not for all of you and not all at once - but every time I sat down to type this post, I couldn't get your faces out of my mind. I am so glad that I have returned to the blogosphere now so that I can at least offer some support and encouragement. I am with you in this.
So here I sit - thirteen weeks pregnant (but looking about twenty-five), in a new home (which I love but still feels like someone else's), with tears in my eyes because as silly as it sounds, in posting this entry, I truly feel like I'm coming home.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Sunday, September 8, 2013
love
"When do you think Andrew will propose?" asked a good friend.
Truth is, I hadn't really thought about marrying him yet. We had never said the words engaged or marriage. We hadn't discussed how many children we'd like to have or where we'd want to live. Andrew had purchased a townhouse two weeks before and although he took me to see it once before finalizing the deal, it was his home. I hadn't pictured myself cooking in the kitchen or decorating the bedroom.
I threw out a wild guess. "Hmm...maybe next summer?"
Little did I know that just two days later, I'd lug a laundry basket into my deserted dorm room, covered head-to-toe in flour from a day of Christmas cookie baking, to find eight dozen roses, a bottle of my favorite perfume, a lovely dress I'd been eyeing for weeks, a pair of delicate silver heals, and a handwritten letter tied up like a scroll. The letter told me to get myself ready and meet him at the bench on campus where he first told me he loved me. I knew just where to go.
Lots of candles.
Lots of flowers.
Sweet words I've long forgotten.
And a ring.
And so it began...No, that's not right. Our story began long before that moment. Long before we met for the first time, close to midnight in my freshman dorm room - no makeup, hair a mess, ratty pajama shorts and glasses, studying at my desk. He said hi from the doorway and I startled like one of those fainting goats. Yep, romance was already in the air.
Our story started long before I was a goofy high school student whose only dating prospect was a guy who left a sickly flower in my locker with a note that said "when I seen this rose, I think of you." It started long before I hurriedly made my way to the front of the auditorium with the rest of the summer campers to pick out my "promise key," thinking, Okay...yeah, I won't have sex til I'm married but do I seriously need to wear a Chevrolet key on a fake leather string around my neck?
I think our story may have started with a wild-haired little girl, asleep in the pre-dawn stillness, only aware of her dad's hand on her little head, praying for her daily before he left for work - praying that she would know God intimately and live life joyfully, and also praying for another child somewhere out there in the world whom God was already preparing to hold her hand through the brightest and darkest moments of life. My dad prayed for me and for Andrew every single day from the time I was born. If our journey was a storybook, those whispered prayers would grace page one.
We prepared for our wedding, looking so young and thin and tan and not even realizing that a few short years later, we'd look more like...parents.
And then, six years ago today, there was a wedding. Our very own heavenly day.
Marriage is beautiful. A most precious gift. But it is certainly...certainly one we have to fight for. I can be annoyingly persistent during arguments, refusing to let things go until they are fully resolved...whatever that means. I am perpetually late and always have a half-baked excuse. I tend to over-promise and under-deliver. I'm hard on our belongings, mindlessly slamming down faucets til they leak or denting walls with my carelessness.
And my husband...is wonderful. He cooks deliciously, cleans efficiently, takes care of everything automotive, manages our bills and finances, works his butt off to provide for us, makes me laugh all the time, tells me I'm beautiful, is fully engaged in parenting, has a generous servant's heart...and he drives me crazy. His communication skills leave something to be desired, although he's getting better every year. His pride can sometimes overshadow his gracious nature. When he's tired, he gets bossy and critical. Our fights can feel incredibly unproductive, almost one-sided. We get angrier and angier - him shutting down and me pushing the issue until neither of us have a clue what we're fighting about or how we'll know when it's over. In the ugliest moments, we sling the "d-word" at one another like a hand grenade with an intact pin.
Even six years in, sometimes we suck at marriage.
But six years in, this is exactly where I want to be. With my man and our girl and our pup. We have lots of chapters ahead of us. A new home is on the horizon, and hopefully we'll follow up that chapter with one about another pregnancy, a new baby.
I read this quote by Shauna Niequist the other day...and then I read it again and again and again. Maybe some of you can relate.
"I had thought that we became a family on the day we were married. What I have found, though, is that the web starts as just one fine filament on that day, and spins and spins around us as life presents itself to us day by day. And on some days, the strands spin around us double-time, spinning us like a top and binding us like rubber cement."
Oh how I feel that! Dizzy from the spinning, sticky with that glue.
And this quote, authored by an unknown poet, I'll leave just for Andrew...
"I cannot take the chance that you don't know how much it means to me - you carrying my hopes like precious cargo and traveling with me to dreams come true. So I will tell you again and again as if it were the first time - it is an honor, it is a privilege, it is a joy to share with you the path."
Truth is, I hadn't really thought about marrying him yet. We had never said the words engaged or marriage. We hadn't discussed how many children we'd like to have or where we'd want to live. Andrew had purchased a townhouse two weeks before and although he took me to see it once before finalizing the deal, it was his home. I hadn't pictured myself cooking in the kitchen or decorating the bedroom.
I threw out a wild guess. "Hmm...maybe next summer?"
Little did I know that just two days later, I'd lug a laundry basket into my deserted dorm room, covered head-to-toe in flour from a day of Christmas cookie baking, to find eight dozen roses, a bottle of my favorite perfume, a lovely dress I'd been eyeing for weeks, a pair of delicate silver heals, and a handwritten letter tied up like a scroll. The letter told me to get myself ready and meet him at the bench on campus where he first told me he loved me. I knew just where to go.
Lots of candles.
Lots of flowers.
Sweet words I've long forgotten.
And a ring.
And so it began...No, that's not right. Our story began long before that moment. Long before we met for the first time, close to midnight in my freshman dorm room - no makeup, hair a mess, ratty pajama shorts and glasses, studying at my desk. He said hi from the doorway and I startled like one of those fainting goats. Yep, romance was already in the air.
Our story started long before I was a goofy high school student whose only dating prospect was a guy who left a sickly flower in my locker with a note that said "when I seen this rose, I think of you." It started long before I hurriedly made my way to the front of the auditorium with the rest of the summer campers to pick out my "promise key," thinking, Okay...yeah, I won't have sex til I'm married but do I seriously need to wear a Chevrolet key on a fake leather string around my neck?
I think our story may have started with a wild-haired little girl, asleep in the pre-dawn stillness, only aware of her dad's hand on her little head, praying for her daily before he left for work - praying that she would know God intimately and live life joyfully, and also praying for another child somewhere out there in the world whom God was already preparing to hold her hand through the brightest and darkest moments of life. My dad prayed for me and for Andrew every single day from the time I was born. If our journey was a storybook, those whispered prayers would grace page one.
We prepared for our wedding, looking so young and thin and tan and not even realizing that a few short years later, we'd look more like...parents.
And then, six years ago today, there was a wedding. Our very own heavenly day.
Marriage is beautiful. A most precious gift. But it is certainly...certainly one we have to fight for. I can be annoyingly persistent during arguments, refusing to let things go until they are fully resolved...whatever that means. I am perpetually late and always have a half-baked excuse. I tend to over-promise and under-deliver. I'm hard on our belongings, mindlessly slamming down faucets til they leak or denting walls with my carelessness.
And my husband...is wonderful. He cooks deliciously, cleans efficiently, takes care of everything automotive, manages our bills and finances, works his butt off to provide for us, makes me laugh all the time, tells me I'm beautiful, is fully engaged in parenting, has a generous servant's heart...and he drives me crazy. His communication skills leave something to be desired, although he's getting better every year. His pride can sometimes overshadow his gracious nature. When he's tired, he gets bossy and critical. Our fights can feel incredibly unproductive, almost one-sided. We get angrier and angier - him shutting down and me pushing the issue until neither of us have a clue what we're fighting about or how we'll know when it's over. In the ugliest moments, we sling the "d-word" at one another like a hand grenade with an intact pin.
Even six years in, sometimes we suck at marriage.
But six years in, this is exactly where I want to be. With my man and our girl and our pup. We have lots of chapters ahead of us. A new home is on the horizon, and hopefully we'll follow up that chapter with one about another pregnancy, a new baby.
I read this quote by Shauna Niequist the other day...and then I read it again and again and again. Maybe some of you can relate.
"I had thought that we became a family on the day we were married. What I have found, though, is that the web starts as just one fine filament on that day, and spins and spins around us as life presents itself to us day by day. And on some days, the strands spin around us double-time, spinning us like a top and binding us like rubber cement."
Oh how I feel that! Dizzy from the spinning, sticky with that glue.
And this quote, authored by an unknown poet, I'll leave just for Andrew...
"I cannot take the chance that you don't know how much it means to me - you carrying my hopes like precious cargo and traveling with me to dreams come true. So I will tell you again and again as if it were the first time - it is an honor, it is a privilege, it is a joy to share with you the path."
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
better days
Sitting in the waiting room at the fertility clinic, Andrew observed that the doctors were always saying, "nice to see you again" when greeting patients for consults. He thought that it was an odd thing for them to say considering consults only happen when things aren't going very well.
We didn't have to wait long for Dr. C. He greeted us with a handshake and a warm smile. I often get antsy when no words are exchanged, so I was the one who said "nice to see you again" as a way to ease the awkwardness.
"Well," Dr. C said. "Not really. I wish we weren't having to meet."
And right away, I felt at ease and even understood.
We sat down and dove right in. Why isn't IUI working for us? There's no reason to try IUI with injectables, right? What are our chances of success without IVF? You know, the usual questions. The ones we've asked many times before but still need answers to.
Eventually, we started discussing moving on to IVF - the hows, the whens, the ifs. And that's when he said it...
"You guys are getting a free IVF, right?"
I almost yelled back at him, "No, no, NO! Our frozen embryo was damaged last year and you said that you'd either transfer it for free or refund the money we've spent to keep it frozen."
I almost wanted to cry. Don't say that stuff like it's nothing! Get your facts right! Don't you know what simply hearing the words "free IVF" does to people?!
He stopped ruffling through my file. He looked up and said calmly, "No, it's a free IVF."
I flung my hands over my face and just lost it. With my elbows on my knees and my face hidden behind his big desk, I could hear Andrew holding back tears and asking Dr. C what changed. Dr. C said that there were so many tears from the families whose embryos were damaged that they realized that a free frozen embryo transfer wasn't nearly enough. Instead, they're offering free IVF cycles to the families who lost embryos last year.
I had a list of questions on my phone. Many of them went unanswered because this news was a game-changer. None of the other questions seemed to matter much anymore. Dr. C did make it clear that we are responsible for our own medications, which will likely total close to $5,000. But when you plan to pay three times that amount, $5,000 feels pretty good.
I was two days into my femara cycle at the time of the consult, so we decided to continue it, and then do IVF next if it doesn't work. My femara dose this time around was 7.5 mg per day, up from 5 mg per day. I had my monitoring ultrasound this morning, showing a lining of 8 (they want it to be over 7) and two follicles that are big enough to act on. This was the fastest I've responded and only the second time I've had more than one follicle.
Funny how hope can spin and spin and spin like a spiderweb. Then in an instant, with a sweep of a hand or a gust of wind, it can be gone. But the next morning, in the same place, a fresh spiderweb sparkles with dew and sunlight...ever reinventing itself, ever blind to its own silliness.
Our consult with Dr. C wove our web of hope massive and multi-layered. We are constantly praying that strong gusts and careless hands stay far, far away.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
not again
In twenty-four hours...
a tire on our car exploded,
a broken/leaky sink made a serious mess,
we got bad news from the mortgage company which will likely delay moving for at least six months,
our stroller tipped over with Harriet in it (terrifying, but she's okay),
and my IUI (intrauterine insemination) was canceled.
I've never experienced a canceled cycle until now, and it has me a little worried. Was it my lack of sleep this month? Was it the fact that I didn't take my vitamins every day? Did I eat too much sugar? Was it the extra stress I've felt lately? Or maybe the drug's potency is just wearing off. We've been trying to conceive our second child for seventeen months now with four medicated IUI cycles (including this last failed cycle). Maybe this is just a sign that it's time to move onto something else.
Andrew wants to do one more IUI. It's not very expensive or invasive, so I tend to agree with him. The only problem is that I have literally zero hope that an IUI is going to bring us a baby. We have done over ten medicated cycles total, and none of them have brought us a child besides our IVF cycle. When we started trying to conceive our second baby, I had a ton of hope. I thought that we'd have success with IUI...I knew we would. I never expected that we'd be rerouting our journey through the land of IVF....again. But I'm not going to do IUI with injectibles. I don't feel comfortable with the risk of multiples and I don't like the financial cost to success rate ratio. IVF is much more appealing to me, especially since we've had success with it before.
But there's something about doing IVF a second time that leaves me feeling a bit unsettled. We were incredibly lucky to get a first chance at IVF. We were extra lucky that it worked. It feels a little excessive to do IVF again, and I am keenly aware that we are in the minority here. The fact that we were able to do IVF at all - let alone for a second time - is an immeasurable gift. I was in tears the other day while expressing the magnitude of this blessing to friends.
Beyond the logistical and financial aspects of IVF, I'm starting to worry about the physical toll it might take on my body. With our last IVF, I felt strong and resilient. I was extremely bloated (at the peak, my waistline was growing two inches per day). I found it difficult to breath. I was an emotional wreck. But I went about my life as normal and felt far from miserable. In fact, I got a tongue-lashing from a nurse for taking my dog on daily four-mile walks.
But I worry that IVF might be much harder on my body the second time around. When trying to conceive Harriet, I barely noticed that I was on clomid and metformin. While trying to conceive a second child, both of those drugs knocked me off my feet. For some reason, my body is much more sensitive, and I just can't handle the side effects like I used to. IVF medications are so much more intense than the oral medications I've been taking, and I worry about how they will affect my ability to function, especially since "taking it easy" isn't exactly an option when you have a toddler.
Speaking of Harriet, I'm fearful about how this process will affect her, especially since the appointments are constant. I will be away from her twice as much as I am now, and I already feel guilty about that. I don't want her to pick up on the emotional and physical toll IVF will take on me either, but she will. Of course she will.
Lastly, I wonder whether IVF will work for us this time around. Before Harriet, I responded well to the drugs every single cycle. I even got pregnant twice. This time around, my cycles are extra long, and as I said before, this last cycle was a complete flop. I've had to be on the highest doses of my oral medications in order to see any results. I worry that my doctor won't be aggressive enough and will just rely on our old protocol because it worked before. I plan to try to convince him that my body is different now, so we need to at least consider other protocols. But I have no idea what I'm talking about. It's just a feeling I have in my body. I want to listen to it because I tend to trust my body...a lot. But I also wonder if it's just my dreaded anxiety stopping by for a visit. We have a consult with Dr. C on July 31st. I've already started my list of questions...there are going to be a lot of them.
Thank you, friends, for all of your support. I have no doubt that you will all rally around me in this, generously sharing your wisdom and encouragement with me. You always, always do.
a tire on our car exploded,
a broken/leaky sink made a serious mess,
we got bad news from the mortgage company which will likely delay moving for at least six months,
our stroller tipped over with Harriet in it (terrifying, but she's okay),
and my IUI (intrauterine insemination) was canceled.
I've never experienced a canceled cycle until now, and it has me a little worried. Was it my lack of sleep this month? Was it the fact that I didn't take my vitamins every day? Did I eat too much sugar? Was it the extra stress I've felt lately? Or maybe the drug's potency is just wearing off. We've been trying to conceive our second child for seventeen months now with four medicated IUI cycles (including this last failed cycle). Maybe this is just a sign that it's time to move onto something else.
Andrew wants to do one more IUI. It's not very expensive or invasive, so I tend to agree with him. The only problem is that I have literally zero hope that an IUI is going to bring us a baby. We have done over ten medicated cycles total, and none of them have brought us a child besides our IVF cycle. When we started trying to conceive our second baby, I had a ton of hope. I thought that we'd have success with IUI...I knew we would. I never expected that we'd be rerouting our journey through the land of IVF....again. But I'm not going to do IUI with injectibles. I don't feel comfortable with the risk of multiples and I don't like the financial cost to success rate ratio. IVF is much more appealing to me, especially since we've had success with it before.
But there's something about doing IVF a second time that leaves me feeling a bit unsettled. We were incredibly lucky to get a first chance at IVF. We were extra lucky that it worked. It feels a little excessive to do IVF again, and I am keenly aware that we are in the minority here. The fact that we were able to do IVF at all - let alone for a second time - is an immeasurable gift. I was in tears the other day while expressing the magnitude of this blessing to friends.
Beyond the logistical and financial aspects of IVF, I'm starting to worry about the physical toll it might take on my body. With our last IVF, I felt strong and resilient. I was extremely bloated (at the peak, my waistline was growing two inches per day). I found it difficult to breath. I was an emotional wreck. But I went about my life as normal and felt far from miserable. In fact, I got a tongue-lashing from a nurse for taking my dog on daily four-mile walks.
But I worry that IVF might be much harder on my body the second time around. When trying to conceive Harriet, I barely noticed that I was on clomid and metformin. While trying to conceive a second child, both of those drugs knocked me off my feet. For some reason, my body is much more sensitive, and I just can't handle the side effects like I used to. IVF medications are so much more intense than the oral medications I've been taking, and I worry about how they will affect my ability to function, especially since "taking it easy" isn't exactly an option when you have a toddler.
Speaking of Harriet, I'm fearful about how this process will affect her, especially since the appointments are constant. I will be away from her twice as much as I am now, and I already feel guilty about that. I don't want her to pick up on the emotional and physical toll IVF will take on me either, but she will. Of course she will.
Lastly, I wonder whether IVF will work for us this time around. Before Harriet, I responded well to the drugs every single cycle. I even got pregnant twice. This time around, my cycles are extra long, and as I said before, this last cycle was a complete flop. I've had to be on the highest doses of my oral medications in order to see any results. I worry that my doctor won't be aggressive enough and will just rely on our old protocol because it worked before. I plan to try to convince him that my body is different now, so we need to at least consider other protocols. But I have no idea what I'm talking about. It's just a feeling I have in my body. I want to listen to it because I tend to trust my body...a lot. But I also wonder if it's just my dreaded anxiety stopping by for a visit. We have a consult with Dr. C on July 31st. I've already started my list of questions...there are going to be a lot of them.
Thank you, friends, for all of your support. I have no doubt that you will all rally around me in this, generously sharing your wisdom and encouragement with me. You always, always do.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
forgetfulness
I delight in my daughter. Being her mama is the most precious privilege I've been granted. But parenting can be stressful. Physically exhausting. Emotionally draining. It can bring out my insecurities and drowned me in guilt. It can raise the stakes for seemingly innocuous decisions. It can dampen romance. It can hammer out a cleft in a rock-solid marriage.
When I spend time with my friends who don't yet have kids, I often find myself wondering what it's like. Granted, it wasn't long ago that I was in their shoes. They may be perfectly content in the pre-parenting stage of life, but I wasn't. I was unhappy, pining for a baby, wishing away my childlessness. My current vantage point is so different, and I have to admit that...at weak moments...I even find myself fleetingly envious of friends who still have the freedom to travel Europe...or even just see a movie. I find myself wanting to trade places - just for a day or two - with those ladies who can wear bikinis without having to subject themselves to a three-week juice fast in preparation. I find myself imagining what it would be like to sleep in...like they get to do...twice a week.
The friends that I'm talking about aren't struggling with infertility (as far as I know). But I have many friends who are. And here is the crazy, shameful, painfully honest part. I have to admit that their are times when I - even I with my history of loss, IVF and now secondary infertility - have to bury the impulse to encourage these women to savor their child-free days. In those clouded, worn-out, desperate moments, I forget that becoming a mother didn't take away the freedoms and privileges of child-free living...infertility did. My life changed long before Harriet came into it. Like a ruthless sniper, infertility took out freedom after freedom, privilege after privilege, years before my daughter was in my arms. And the same is true for my infertile friends.
When I long to have a figure that's ever-ready for swimsuit season...I must not forget that many of them have already lost the thin, fit bodies they were used to. Their tummies bloat and pooch from the medications, prompting strangers to ask when they're due. Their breasts sag and leak as a result of late miscarriage. Their arms and legs go soft due to exercise restrictions.
When sex was excruciating for six months after giving birth and a doctor had to burn off scar tissue to prevent permanent damage...I needed to remember that intimacy can be nearly unbearable for infertile women. A doctor is deciding when and how sex happens. It becomes scientific and unfeeling. Something that is meant to be so private has gone public, and they are mourning that loss...lying with their husbands in beds that might as well be housed in procedure rooms, feeling so alone.
When my love for my daughter literally steals my breath and makes my heart feel like it's going to explode, when the fear of something happening to her rises to the level of spiritual warfare...I remind myself that my infertile friends do know that love and that fear. Many of their worst fears have been realized. They love their miscarried and stillborn babies every day of their lives. Many others know the agonizingly ambiguous loss of their dreams. They love the children in their imaginations. It is a real, powerful, mama bear love that should never be dismissed or minimized.
When I find myself fantasizing about having the freedom to go on vacation, have a nice dinner out, or sleep til noon...I cannot forget that infertile women lost those freedoms long ago. The money, time and energy that should be spent on fun and entertainment is now being used for appointments, procedures and medications. They can't take trips because they need to be close to the clinic. Their diets are restricted in order to maximize their fertility. Early morning appointments steal much-needed hours of sleep.
When mommyhood creates distance between my friends and I, when I feel I can't fully focus on them because I have a toddler vying for my attention...I must never forget that the friendships of infertile women suffer as well. Girls nights are replaced with baby showers and birthday parties. Except these events are always about other people...and other people's children. Friends struggle to know how to help so they offer platitudes and unintentionally minimize the struggle of infertility. Infertile women then close in around their pain and their once-dear girlfriends pull back for fear of saying or doing the wrong thing.
When my husband and I deliberate over discipline issues or public vs. private schooling...I must remember that infertile couples are agonizing over impossible decisions as well. Should they do IVF? Should they donate their extra embryos? Should they increase their medication dosage and risk multiples? Should they switch clinics? Ask their parents for money? Pursue international or domestic adoption? Foster care? Should they just stop all this madness and try to find happiness elsewhere? Their minds are exhausted. The pros and cons lists litter the kitchen table. They feel stuck in a land of maybes, ifs and shoulds.
It takes only a moment for me to remember what it was like to be traveling that same road. And that's when a sincere prayer - a head thrown back, fists clenched, begging prayer - sprouts in my soul.
Lord God, hand them their dreams. They have already earned their parent wings. They are fully mothering the children they're waiting for. Fill - oh, fill! - their empty arms.
When I spend time with my friends who don't yet have kids, I often find myself wondering what it's like. Granted, it wasn't long ago that I was in their shoes. They may be perfectly content in the pre-parenting stage of life, but I wasn't. I was unhappy, pining for a baby, wishing away my childlessness. My current vantage point is so different, and I have to admit that...at weak moments...I even find myself fleetingly envious of friends who still have the freedom to travel Europe...or even just see a movie. I find myself wanting to trade places - just for a day or two - with those ladies who can wear bikinis without having to subject themselves to a three-week juice fast in preparation. I find myself imagining what it would be like to sleep in...like they get to do...twice a week.
The friends that I'm talking about aren't struggling with infertility (as far as I know). But I have many friends who are. And here is the crazy, shameful, painfully honest part. I have to admit that their are times when I - even I with my history of loss, IVF and now secondary infertility - have to bury the impulse to encourage these women to savor their child-free days. In those clouded, worn-out, desperate moments, I forget that becoming a mother didn't take away the freedoms and privileges of child-free living...infertility did. My life changed long before Harriet came into it. Like a ruthless sniper, infertility took out freedom after freedom, privilege after privilege, years before my daughter was in my arms. And the same is true for my infertile friends.
When I long to have a figure that's ever-ready for swimsuit season...I must not forget that many of them have already lost the thin, fit bodies they were used to. Their tummies bloat and pooch from the medications, prompting strangers to ask when they're due. Their breasts sag and leak as a result of late miscarriage. Their arms and legs go soft due to exercise restrictions.
When sex was excruciating for six months after giving birth and a doctor had to burn off scar tissue to prevent permanent damage...I needed to remember that intimacy can be nearly unbearable for infertile women. A doctor is deciding when and how sex happens. It becomes scientific and unfeeling. Something that is meant to be so private has gone public, and they are mourning that loss...lying with their husbands in beds that might as well be housed in procedure rooms, feeling so alone.
When my love for my daughter literally steals my breath and makes my heart feel like it's going to explode, when the fear of something happening to her rises to the level of spiritual warfare...I remind myself that my infertile friends do know that love and that fear. Many of their worst fears have been realized. They love their miscarried and stillborn babies every day of their lives. Many others know the agonizingly ambiguous loss of their dreams. They love the children in their imaginations. It is a real, powerful, mama bear love that should never be dismissed or minimized.
When I find myself fantasizing about having the freedom to go on vacation, have a nice dinner out, or sleep til noon...I cannot forget that infertile women lost those freedoms long ago. The money, time and energy that should be spent on fun and entertainment is now being used for appointments, procedures and medications. They can't take trips because they need to be close to the clinic. Their diets are restricted in order to maximize their fertility. Early morning appointments steal much-needed hours of sleep.
When mommyhood creates distance between my friends and I, when I feel I can't fully focus on them because I have a toddler vying for my attention...I must never forget that the friendships of infertile women suffer as well. Girls nights are replaced with baby showers and birthday parties. Except these events are always about other people...and other people's children. Friends struggle to know how to help so they offer platitudes and unintentionally minimize the struggle of infertility. Infertile women then close in around their pain and their once-dear girlfriends pull back for fear of saying or doing the wrong thing.
When my husband and I deliberate over discipline issues or public vs. private schooling...I must remember that infertile couples are agonizing over impossible decisions as well. Should they do IVF? Should they donate their extra embryos? Should they increase their medication dosage and risk multiples? Should they switch clinics? Ask their parents for money? Pursue international or domestic adoption? Foster care? Should they just stop all this madness and try to find happiness elsewhere? Their minds are exhausted. The pros and cons lists litter the kitchen table. They feel stuck in a land of maybes, ifs and shoulds.
It takes only a moment for me to remember what it was like to be traveling that same road. And that's when a sincere prayer - a head thrown back, fists clenched, begging prayer - sprouts in my soul.
Lord God, hand them their dreams. They have already earned their parent wings. They are fully mothering the children they're waiting for. Fill - oh, fill! - their empty arms.
Monday, June 24, 2013
kindness
You must, must, must check out this entry on hope before you read any further or you'll miss the significance of today's post.
Andrew, Harriet and I had a wonderful weekend at the cabin. Old friends, good food and better weather than expected. Harriet had a great time playing on a big inflatable jump house our friends brought along. She loved it and Andrew is now convinced we need to buy one for her - a bigger one with three slides and a pool...for only $540.
He's serious.
But after seeing these smiles, can you blame him?
When we returned from the lake on Sunday, we opened our mailbox for the first time in a week. There was so much stuff squished in there, I could hardly pry it all out. Junk mail, magazines, bills...and a mystery package. We tore it open to find this...
I lost it. Just sobbed and sobbed. Andrew saw how touched I was by this sweet gift and he started to cry too. What made this even better was the fact that these prescriptions for hope were sent by an actual pharmacist - a childhood friend of Andrew's whom we see every other year, if that. She included a heartfelt note, handwritten on an official pharmacist pad:
I got a little bit behind reading your blog. I just wanted you to know that you inspire and give so many people hope! So many people are in your corner praying for all of your dreams to come true. Hang in there. You are a strong and beautiful woman and no doubt a great mother to Harriet and all of your future babies and those already in heaven. I know we don't know each other very well, but I think of you often and really hope you and Andy get everything that you could ever want. Hopefully this will bring a smile to your life.
Such kindness.
And I'll tell you something...the "pills" worked. But they didn't just restore my hope. They also provided inspiration and a new kind of joy - the joy that can only come as a result of the generous spirit and unmatched creativity of a woman I barely know.
A day and a half later, I'm still aloft on her kindness. I think we all are.
And by the way, our pharmacist friend chose Harriet's birthdate as the prescription number.
She couldn't have been more right on. No other day in my life brought me as much hope as the day my precious daughter was born.
But I have to say...today was a close second.
Andrew, Harriet and I had a wonderful weekend at the cabin. Old friends, good food and better weather than expected. Harriet had a great time playing on a big inflatable jump house our friends brought along. She loved it and Andrew is now convinced we need to buy one for her - a bigger one with three slides and a pool...for only $540.
He's serious.
But after seeing these smiles, can you blame him?
When we returned from the lake on Sunday, we opened our mailbox for the first time in a week. There was so much stuff squished in there, I could hardly pry it all out. Junk mail, magazines, bills...and a mystery package. We tore it open to find this...
I got a little bit behind reading your blog. I just wanted you to know that you inspire and give so many people hope! So many people are in your corner praying for all of your dreams to come true. Hang in there. You are a strong and beautiful woman and no doubt a great mother to Harriet and all of your future babies and those already in heaven. I know we don't know each other very well, but I think of you often and really hope you and Andy get everything that you could ever want. Hopefully this will bring a smile to your life.
Such kindness.
And I'll tell you something...the "pills" worked. But they didn't just restore my hope. They also provided inspiration and a new kind of joy - the joy that can only come as a result of the generous spirit and unmatched creativity of a woman I barely know.
And by the way, our pharmacist friend chose Harriet's birthdate as the prescription number.
She couldn't have been more right on. No other day in my life brought me as much hope as the day my precious daughter was born.
But I have to say...today was a close second.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
a good patient
I'm kind of a good girl, a rule follower, an overachiever. Besides a rough patch in junior high, I have always worked hard to be a good student, a good friend, a good employee, a good wife, a good mom. But lately, another role has joined the list.
I want to be a good patient.
Really though, what does that even mean? What makes someone a good patient? What are the characteristics that increase an infertile person's chances of pregnancy while allowing her to maintain her sanity, life balance, and the respect of her medical team?
Hmmm...
Is it positivity? Confidence? Hope? When we first started trying to conceive our second child, I was a confident patient. Maybe even overconfident. I was at a healthy weight and my PCOS felt under control. I was coming out of a fairly easy pregnancy, a blessing of a birth, and a year of nursing. Hadn't I proved to the world that I was meant for this? That all of that infertility stuff had just been a misunderstanding? I really, truly thought I could get pregnant on the first try. I felt like we'd done our time in the infertility wilderness and now it was our turn to walk down easy street. Well, after sixteen months of trying to conceive and two medicated cycles, that overconfidence turned into...underconfidence. (Just go with it.)
Lately, I tend to be more of a skeptical patient. I question whether these treatments will ever work. I question whether we'll have another child. I question whether I'm even willing to do in vitro fertilization again. I wonder about our clinic, our doctor, and especially our lab. I wonder if books, websites, alternative treatments and other resources are just gimmicks. Can a good patient be skeptical? Negative? Doubting?
A good infertility patient has to be knowledgeable, right? She has to really know her stuff - drugs, diagnoses, tests, acronyms, clinic statistics, all of it. I often feel self conscious about my level of knowledge about my own body and infertility in general. I've read lots of books and I've done research online, but I'm not a science/numbers person, so I have a hard time remembering lab values, hormone levels, all of that stuff. I honestly can't even remember how many eggs successfully fertilized during our IVF cycle. I greatly admire my fellow bloggers who are rockstars when it comes to the science behind the drugs and procedures. I want to be more like them. They're good patients.
I think a good patient probably needs to obey doctor's orders, but maybe compliance has a dark side too. I get nervous about coming off as annoying or demanding, especially since infertility clinic staff members often seem kind of jaded...like they expect us to be anxious, crazy, angry and pushy before we even open our mouths. I don't want to call my clinic all the time, asking about this drug or that test. But it's also hard to sit down on the infertility treatment conveyer belt and stay silent. I want to be the type of patient that advocates for myself. That's why I insisted on trying femara instead of continuing clomid (excellent choice) and also asked to be put on metformin (no clue whether it's helping).
But I'd like to be doing more. It all goes back to the knowledge thing. I just don't know what questions to ask or what protocols bring to the table. Here's a question I have for you - how much contact do you have with your reproductive endocrinologist? We haven't seen Dr. C since June of 2012 when we had a consult. We weren't even ready to start medicated cycles at that point. We just wanted a plan in place so that we could prepare financially. Not only have we not seen Dr. C for a year; we haven't even spoken with him since July of last year when we were starting the embryo adoption process.
We could ask for a consult with Dr. C at any time. But we'd have to pay upwards of $200 for it, and the truth is, I don't even know what we would ask him. I could also request a call from Dr. C, but I just imagine myself saying something like, "So you're sure we're doing the right thing with this femara/trigger/insemination protocol?" And he'd say, "Yep." And that would be it.
I'm also considering asking for copies of my medical records so that I can study my body, my condition, etc. The thing is - I'm pretty sure my hormone levels have always been within normal ranges. Well, I guess there was that one time when my prolactin was high and a nurse asked if I was engaging in excessive nipple stimulation. Um...no. And excessive? What does that even mean? But anyways, it may be helpful for me to use my medical record as some sort of personalized textbook. Both my husband and my mom are nurses, so they could probably help decode some of the medical jargon.
I think another thing that keeps me silent on the infertility conveyer belt is the fact that when I've asked questions in the past, I've often been given really lame answers. I'll ask about diet, exercise, guys keeping cell phones in their pockets, caffeine, vitamins, complementary medicine...and 90% of the time, I get a wishy-washy, often patronizing responses.
"There's no evidence to support or refute that."
"If _______ helped, we'd recommend it to all of our patients."
"Just keep doing what you're doing."
And my ultimate favorite - "It depends on the person." I want to say, "Well, we are talking about ME here. Can you answer the question based on ME? And if you can't, just make it up. Whatever."
On Sunday, I even called into the "Gyno Show" on the radio and asked Dr. So-and-so what infertile people should be eating. I asked if there were any good books or plans for us to follow. His answer? "Each individual should eat whatever she needs to eat in order to stay healthy."
Quite the aha moment.
When I pushed a little bit, he recommended a Mediterranean diet and suggested cutting carbs, so at least I got something out of him. And off the air, the producer recommended I listen to another show, called Dishing Up Nutrition. The whole show was focused on infertility and diet, so I appreciated her sharing that with me. And it was also kind of cool to be on the radio talking about infertility.
I'll venture to say that good infertility patients probably do a combo of Eastern and Western medicine. They're probably doing acupuncture, taking supplements and herbs, and getting Mayan abdominal massages. I used to do this stuff. I got acupuncture. I took a few herbs. I saw a naturopathic healer. But it is so expensive, and since I'm not willing to give up my meds, ultrasounds and inseminations...western medicine wins the money war. Also, sometimes it seems like once you open the door to complementary medicine, it's hard to stop. There's always another supplement to take, another specialist to see, another yoga position to try. It's exhausting. It's too much....which is ironic because with western medicine, it feels like it's never enough.
So again...what makes a good patient? Is it fortitude? Serenity? Being on time for appointments? Cutting out sweets? Mental toughness? A strong support system? Unshakeable faith? A willingness to take risks? Lots of money? Good veins?
Usually my posts are more about flinging my thoughts into the universe than about getting something back, but this time, I would love feedback.
How would you describe a good patient?
What would you do about the lack of contact with Dr. C if you were in my shoes?
Have you ever requested your complete file, and if so, was it helpful?
Do you have any stories about times you felt like a good patient or a not-so-good patient?
If you're smart about the science of infertility, what should be at the top of my "to learn about" list?
If you're into complementary medicine, what supplements or treatments would you recommend?
Do those of you in the health-care field have any thoughts about what characteristics make patients (of any type, not just infertility) more successful?
If your comment starts to get long, feel free to abandon ship and create your own post on this theme, then comment here with a link to your post. I have been thinking about this stuff so much lately and would just LOVE to hear what you wise, dear people have to say. Thanks in advance for joining the conversation!
--------------------------
Quick update: Today was a good day. I started by listening to the nutrition radio show I mentioned above. It was actually really helpful. Listen to it if you have time. And if you don't, maybe the quick little lists I made while listening will do the trick.
Eat:
butter, cream, yogurt, cottage cheese, ice cream and milk (make sure they're all FULL FAT)
wild rice
quinoa
steal-cut oats
black beans
lentils
fish
grass-fed beef
avocados
spinach
kale
broccoli
brussel sprouts
12-16 oz protein/day
nuts
olives
coconut oil
olive oil
almond butter
eggs
sweet potatoes
Don't eat:
soy
protein bars
lowfat anything
frozen yogurt
canola oil and other refined oils
sugars
trans fats
soda
pasta
cereals
cereal bars
I also had a baseline ultrasound today, and while I was there, I requested a copy of my chart. I'm looking forward to diving into it and seeing what I can find out. The nurse who attended my ultrasound was wonderful. She thought it was a great idea to get a copy of my chart, and she answered several other questions as well. She also told me some specific things Dr. C had mentioned about this cycle, so even though I didn't connect with him directly, it was good to hear from him through her. It looks like we will likely reconvene with him after this cycle or the next...but I'm really hoping there isn't a next cycle.
I want to be a good patient.
Really though, what does that even mean? What makes someone a good patient? What are the characteristics that increase an infertile person's chances of pregnancy while allowing her to maintain her sanity, life balance, and the respect of her medical team?
Hmmm...
Is it positivity? Confidence? Hope? When we first started trying to conceive our second child, I was a confident patient. Maybe even overconfident. I was at a healthy weight and my PCOS felt under control. I was coming out of a fairly easy pregnancy, a blessing of a birth, and a year of nursing. Hadn't I proved to the world that I was meant for this? That all of that infertility stuff had just been a misunderstanding? I really, truly thought I could get pregnant on the first try. I felt like we'd done our time in the infertility wilderness and now it was our turn to walk down easy street. Well, after sixteen months of trying to conceive and two medicated cycles, that overconfidence turned into...underconfidence. (Just go with it.)
Lately, I tend to be more of a skeptical patient. I question whether these treatments will ever work. I question whether we'll have another child. I question whether I'm even willing to do in vitro fertilization again. I wonder about our clinic, our doctor, and especially our lab. I wonder if books, websites, alternative treatments and other resources are just gimmicks. Can a good patient be skeptical? Negative? Doubting?
A good infertility patient has to be knowledgeable, right? She has to really know her stuff - drugs, diagnoses, tests, acronyms, clinic statistics, all of it. I often feel self conscious about my level of knowledge about my own body and infertility in general. I've read lots of books and I've done research online, but I'm not a science/numbers person, so I have a hard time remembering lab values, hormone levels, all of that stuff. I honestly can't even remember how many eggs successfully fertilized during our IVF cycle. I greatly admire my fellow bloggers who are rockstars when it comes to the science behind the drugs and procedures. I want to be more like them. They're good patients.
 |
| being a good patient by wearing this goofy outfit |
I think a good patient probably needs to obey doctor's orders, but maybe compliance has a dark side too. I get nervous about coming off as annoying or demanding, especially since infertility clinic staff members often seem kind of jaded...like they expect us to be anxious, crazy, angry and pushy before we even open our mouths. I don't want to call my clinic all the time, asking about this drug or that test. But it's also hard to sit down on the infertility treatment conveyer belt and stay silent. I want to be the type of patient that advocates for myself. That's why I insisted on trying femara instead of continuing clomid (excellent choice) and also asked to be put on metformin (no clue whether it's helping).
But I'd like to be doing more. It all goes back to the knowledge thing. I just don't know what questions to ask or what protocols bring to the table. Here's a question I have for you - how much contact do you have with your reproductive endocrinologist? We haven't seen Dr. C since June of 2012 when we had a consult. We weren't even ready to start medicated cycles at that point. We just wanted a plan in place so that we could prepare financially. Not only have we not seen Dr. C for a year; we haven't even spoken with him since July of last year when we were starting the embryo adoption process.
We could ask for a consult with Dr. C at any time. But we'd have to pay upwards of $200 for it, and the truth is, I don't even know what we would ask him. I could also request a call from Dr. C, but I just imagine myself saying something like, "So you're sure we're doing the right thing with this femara/trigger/insemination protocol?" And he'd say, "Yep." And that would be it.
I'm also considering asking for copies of my medical records so that I can study my body, my condition, etc. The thing is - I'm pretty sure my hormone levels have always been within normal ranges. Well, I guess there was that one time when my prolactin was high and a nurse asked if I was engaging in excessive nipple stimulation. Um...no. And excessive? What does that even mean? But anyways, it may be helpful for me to use my medical record as some sort of personalized textbook. Both my husband and my mom are nurses, so they could probably help decode some of the medical jargon.
I think another thing that keeps me silent on the infertility conveyer belt is the fact that when I've asked questions in the past, I've often been given really lame answers. I'll ask about diet, exercise, guys keeping cell phones in their pockets, caffeine, vitamins, complementary medicine...and 90% of the time, I get a wishy-washy, often patronizing responses.
"There's no evidence to support or refute that."
"If _______ helped, we'd recommend it to all of our patients."
"Just keep doing what you're doing."
And my ultimate favorite - "It depends on the person." I want to say, "Well, we are talking about ME here. Can you answer the question based on ME? And if you can't, just make it up. Whatever."
On Sunday, I even called into the "Gyno Show" on the radio and asked Dr. So-and-so what infertile people should be eating. I asked if there were any good books or plans for us to follow. His answer? "Each individual should eat whatever she needs to eat in order to stay healthy."
Quite the aha moment.
When I pushed a little bit, he recommended a Mediterranean diet and suggested cutting carbs, so at least I got something out of him. And off the air, the producer recommended I listen to another show, called Dishing Up Nutrition. The whole show was focused on infertility and diet, so I appreciated her sharing that with me. And it was also kind of cool to be on the radio talking about infertility.
 |
| being a good patient by braving the twice-daily shots for eight months |
I'll venture to say that good infertility patients probably do a combo of Eastern and Western medicine. They're probably doing acupuncture, taking supplements and herbs, and getting Mayan abdominal massages. I used to do this stuff. I got acupuncture. I took a few herbs. I saw a naturopathic healer. But it is so expensive, and since I'm not willing to give up my meds, ultrasounds and inseminations...western medicine wins the money war. Also, sometimes it seems like once you open the door to complementary medicine, it's hard to stop. There's always another supplement to take, another specialist to see, another yoga position to try. It's exhausting. It's too much....which is ironic because with western medicine, it feels like it's never enough.
So again...what makes a good patient? Is it fortitude? Serenity? Being on time for appointments? Cutting out sweets? Mental toughness? A strong support system? Unshakeable faith? A willingness to take risks? Lots of money? Good veins?
Usually my posts are more about flinging my thoughts into the universe than about getting something back, but this time, I would love feedback.
How would you describe a good patient?
What would you do about the lack of contact with Dr. C if you were in my shoes?
Have you ever requested your complete file, and if so, was it helpful?
Do you have any stories about times you felt like a good patient or a not-so-good patient?
If you're smart about the science of infertility, what should be at the top of my "to learn about" list?
If you're into complementary medicine, what supplements or treatments would you recommend?
Do those of you in the health-care field have any thoughts about what characteristics make patients (of any type, not just infertility) more successful?
If your comment starts to get long, feel free to abandon ship and create your own post on this theme, then comment here with a link to your post. I have been thinking about this stuff so much lately and would just LOVE to hear what you wise, dear people have to say. Thanks in advance for joining the conversation!
--------------------------
Quick update: Today was a good day. I started by listening to the nutrition radio show I mentioned above. It was actually really helpful. Listen to it if you have time. And if you don't, maybe the quick little lists I made while listening will do the trick.
Eat:
butter, cream, yogurt, cottage cheese, ice cream and milk (make sure they're all FULL FAT)
wild rice
quinoa
steal-cut oats
black beans
lentils
fish
grass-fed beef
avocados
spinach
kale
broccoli
brussel sprouts
12-16 oz protein/day
nuts
olives
coconut oil
olive oil
almond butter
eggs
sweet potatoes
Don't eat:
soy
protein bars
lowfat anything
frozen yogurt
canola oil and other refined oils
sugars
trans fats
soda
pasta
cereals
cereal bars
I also had a baseline ultrasound today, and while I was there, I requested a copy of my chart. I'm looking forward to diving into it and seeing what I can find out. The nurse who attended my ultrasound was wonderful. She thought it was a great idea to get a copy of my chart, and she answered several other questions as well. She also told me some specific things Dr. C had mentioned about this cycle, so even though I didn't connect with him directly, it was good to hear from him through her. It looks like we will likely reconvene with him after this cycle or the next...but I'm really hoping there isn't a next cycle.
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