Annual

    I had my annual appointment this morning. I don’t know what I expected, but I ended up leaving in tears. I guess maybe I was thinking my doctor (actually, she is a nurse practitioner) would be more sympathetic or she would offer some different hope. Something. Anything. Instead, when I told her how the Infertility Doctor was pushing IVF, she suggested I go back and ask them if there is anything else they can do to help us financially. She didn’t ask what they have tried so far (although, I suppose she had all the information in my chart, so she was pretty much up-to-date) or add any different suggestions. She did tell me to not give up hope (uh, too late) and that to keep using the metformin because she has seen cases where that medicine alone can start ovulation which can lead to pregnancy. That’s it. Wait for the magic pill to take effect. And grovel for financial assistance. She is sending me for a test of my vitamin D level (unrelated to infertility) but I don’t give a dam. I am sick and tired of leaving doctor’s offices in tears. And as I walked to my car through the cold rain, I couldn’t help but think that there is no hope for someone in the working class who is infertile. It’s all about the almighty dollar. The golden rule – whoever has the gold makes the rules. Financially, my husband and I do not deserve a baby because we cannot pay for the procedures.
     The nurse who saw me before the doctor was nice, but when she asked if I had any problems and I told her infertility, she spent 5 minutes telling me how loooong her daughter had tried and now they have “Sophie.” Maybe I am too hard hearted or hard headed, but this is not encouraging to me. I don’t give a dam about “Sophie.” We don’t want “Sophie” we want our own baby. Then, the nurse told me she hopes things work out for us because it “looks” like I would be a good mother. I wonder, what does a good mother, without a child, look like? I know she meant well, but I think I hate her.
     So, I think I have de-bunked “The Secret” as being plausible for infertility. See, the idea is that what you think about you bring about and that through the law of attraction you create your own life. On the CD, all these “big thinkers” or whatever you want to call them, liken the law of attraction to placing an order in a cosmic catalog. Page 52, letter F, yes I would like the one in cornflower blue. If I stopped to count how many times I imagine a baby in my arms in one day, I’m sure it would be in the 10’s of thousands. If I could remember all the dreams I have had about children or babies, it might be too numerous to count. Given the numerous times I have positively imagined having a baby, getting/being pregnant, why our house should be brimming with millions of babies! But, it is not. We are here. This is the third time I have gone to see my doctor for my annual, still wanting a baby and still feeling the pain of my empty arms. When will this end?
     The other night Flaco brought a list of complaints to me about our lives and just a lot of things. One of the things he brought up was that he doesn’t feel our relationship is as strong as it had been. And, he wondered (out loud) if it is wise to continue pursuing a baby with what he perceives as a bumpy road up ahead. I nearly lost my mind. I told him this was the most cruel thing he could have said to me (and before he said this, he accused me of “letting myself go” – which I think is pretty dam cruel knowing the issues I already have about my body and body image in general). I wish I could go on a nice long vacation ala Julia Roberts in Eat, Pray, Love (not that I want to cheat on my husband – he could be the love at the end). But, just that drop everything and go. Go eat pasta in Italy. Go to India (but I couldn’t do that Buddha convent thing – I just couldn’t). Go to Bali and find love. But, that is not my life. I go to work. I do what is expected of me. I am responsible. “I’m dying inside, and nobody knows it but me.” I would like to hit the rewind button – I would like to request a do-over. I would like the old me back. But, she is gone. Her belief in getting what she wants in life has long passed away. She is now just a sad shell of who she could have been. Without a heart, she is slowly dying. Let us all mourn her passing with a moment of silence . . . .

I Survived

    
     Yesterday I attended the first birthday party for my co-workers granddaughter. Well, first I survived buying the cutest little outfits for her and wishing I were picking one out for my own baby. Side note: Last year someone gave me used baby clothing to pass along to a friend who just had a baby boy. I never did get the clothing to her and it is still haunting me from the trunk of my car.
      So, the baby was so precious when eating the cake (she wasn't quite sure what to do with the cake until her daddy stuck her hand in it - it was the first time she had anything with so much sugar) and trying to help open the presents. There were also a plethora of other young children and babies there, including another co-worker and her son who turned one in December (I was at his birthday party too). I was helping this co-worker cut up a pbj for her little guy so she could eat her lunch. A different co-worker was laughing at how the baby was eating faster than I could cut his sandwich. Then she asked me, "Don't you want one of those?" She was joking of course, but my heart stopped and I could not look at her for fear of bursting into tears. I mumbled, "Mm-hmm" and concentrated on feeding the baby. How do I tell her, in the midst of celebrating the life of a precious miracle (I think I last posted that she was supposed to be born in May, but it was actually June - and she was actually born in March), that "wanting one of those" is all my heart desires? How do I tell her that I wish and I pray and I hope every month with every fiber of my being, that I will be blessed with "one of those?"
     Instead I have to deal with my period, which is and has always been awful. Heavy flow (or gushing as I call it) cramps galore, bloating, irritability. It doesn't seem fair, does it? I mean, if I can't be pregnant this month, could I at least evade the horrific cramps and having to clean up after the bloody mess? Seriously. Could I catch a break here? I am clinging, desperately to the edge of the cliff of positive thinking. Have I not been asking for a baby for over two years now? In the beginning I was ridiculously positive, so why don't I have a baby? I fear my anger is polluting any positive vibes I am emitting. Simply put, I am f-ing pissed off at infertility. Infertility can suck it and die! To hell with pills and blood tests and poking and prodding and wishing and hoping and hoping and hoping and hoping and hoping. I told myself I would not cry this month. I won't cry! I won't cry! I'm positive DAM IT! So why are my eyes leaking right now? To hell with it all!

The Test may not be Positive, but that doesn't mean I can't

 I last posted about trying to use the teachings from The Secret and The Law of Attraction in my life and specifically for infertility. And now the rubber hits the pavement, so to speak. Aunt Flo is officially here. Deep down, I want to weep. I am struggling to find the belief that we are already parents (according to The Secret and The Law, this is a surefire way to get what  you want – by already claiming and believing you have it). Red means stop, not go. Even as I type this I am attempting to per sway my mind to think of happier things so that happier thoughts will dominate my mind. I must confess that I am barely hanging on. On the plus side, at least now I don’t have to feel guilty for running out of pre-natal vitamins and forgetting to buy more when I went grocery shopping. Silver-lining people. Silver-lining.
      So, as my inner infertility demons gleefully attack my new positive thinking, I have also been accosted by an over-abundance of baby-related happenings at work. I posted last week about the new grandma. Her baby was back in the office this week. A different co-worker brought her by my desk and declared I needed “one of these.” Insert the knife, twist, yank out my heart. Thanks. Another co-worker is in the process of adopting a baby girl (the baby is 1 ½) and on Wednesday a bunch of co-workers had a little party for her because the baby officially moved into their home. She cheerfully showed me all of the beautiful baby clothes. Three times. Take copious amounts of salt. Rub in wound. Thanks. This morning I came to work and a male co-worker said, “Quick go to the back corner” because a friend of mine had her little girl with her this morning. Give me a good swift kick to the shins as I lie crumpled in pain. Thanks. And tomorrow I am attending a one year birthday party (my third in less than a year). The baby was supposed to be born last May, but she came very early and only weighed a little over 2 pounds. She is now a healthy, happy miracle. And tomorrow we celebrate her one year of life. Deliver the coup de grâce. Thanks. (Side bar – I do realize that these things are not about me and I am going because I do truly want to celebrate this little one’s life. Just in case anyone was thinking I was so self-involved to not understand that). 
     I am going to end this on a positive note. Because I must. I am going to envision what I want, rather than dwell on what I do not have. Here goes: Incredulously, I tell Flaco that after more than 2 years of anguish he will be a father. He is so overjoyed he cries. I then phone up my mother and she cries. Finally, I call my doctor and schedule my first appointment. Me and miracle baby are both extremely healthy. Miracle baby grows (hahaha Miracle Grow!) and grows and my pregnancy is a breeze (hey, don’t I deserve that at least?!). Finally, the timer goes off any it is time for Miracle baby to make his/her grand entrance. My labor is not so bad (come on, this is a day dream – I wouldn’t dream myself lots of pain now would I?!) and I am over-come with so much joy and love that I sob happy tears when they place Miracle baby in my arms. We take Miracle baby home and live happily ever after. Or least for a few years until we decide Miracle baby needs a sibling. Second time, no infertility issues!
     I wish us all this beautiful story! If I could I would wish away all infertility issues. “I wish I may, I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight.” Amen!

The Power of Positive Thinking

Recently, I have begun listening to “The Secret” on CD. For anyone unaware, “The Secret” explains the power of attraction and how our daily thoughts determine the destiny for our lives. Now, first let me state that I am not one to buy into the psycho-babble and mumbo-jumbo of a lot of those self-help  gurus. I am more simplistic and rooted in the physical rather than the metaphysical. Yet, this idea of “what we think about we bring about” makes sense to me. And, even more important to me, it makes sense given what I believe spiritually and does not deviate from what I have learned from the Bible (from what I have heard thus far, “The Secret” coincides with teachings in nearly all the major religions – I can only personally relate to the one I know). So, I am cautiously opening myself to learning about the infinite power of my thoughts and how I can attract what I want into my life. I haven’t bought the whole farm yet, but I have a good chunk of property and I am looking to build.
    Since the fall-out from last month’s disastrous round of Clomid, I have been feeling like there has to be more to life that this month-to-month cycle of doom. I felt like in the last two years I have lost myself because my focus was totally on what I was not getting. Last month I was emotionally out of control and spiraling down into the abyss of depression or worse. Once the Clomid relinquished it’s grip on my hormones and emotions, I could see how what I had been focusing on was not positive, but rather the immense fear that I would not be able to become a mother. Given my propensity for extremes, I then swung to the other side of the pendulum and I have spent this month denying the fact that I even wanted to be a mother. I tried to convince myself that I just didn’t care anymore.
     So, simply put, I need a new game plan. Enter “The Secret.” A few years ago I was introduced to the Passion Test through a workshop held at my work (other than making some good friends, that was the only good thing to come out of that lousy, thankless job). It is in a similar vein as “The Secret” and based on the book “The Passion Test” by Chris and Janet Atwood. The idea is to whittle down all that you think you want in the world to 5 passions and write them down. Then, when faced with a decision, choose that which is more oriented towards making your passion a reality. There were some exercises we did and I found it quite enjoyable if not a little hokey. I even bought the book. I stopped reading it when it was suggested I make a collage of all my passions, although I did manage to make not one, but three collages. I like art projects. I want to get back to this book, but I think I am going to read “The Secret” first since I am so fascinated  with listening to the CD. I am nothing, if not a very good day dreamer. And I can dream pretty darn big, if I don’t say so myself. Now, I must learn how to make my day dreams productive and find a way to actually believe in them (from what I have heard thus far, the belief seems to be the glue that makes the thoughts stick). According to the Passion Test on the website (http://www.thepassiontest.com/), that because I get upset and thrown off track frequently when unexpected situations and circumstances arise. I spend a good deal of my time attempting to force my model of reality on the world outside of me. It's hopeless. Life is always changing. It will never appear the way I think it should. As long as I try to impose my will on the world, I will only bring myself misery and suffering. The key to happiness lies in the recognition that life is my teacher. A certain humility is required (ha!). I must have to admit that I may not have all the answers (I know I have none, so there). As long as I argue with reality, I will lose and only 100% of the time. So, when I notice myself arguing, stop. Take a break. Allow myself to feel the feelings that are coming up. When they begin to subside, do things which help me feel more open, more expanded. Take a walk, exercise (yeah right), listen to musice, read a good book. Pretty dam accurate, no?
     I am not sure how this all plays out in the infertile world because it is such an all-encompassing affliction, yet I think it will do me some good to concentrate on sending out the good mental vibrations (I mean, even the Beach Boys agree). Good, good, good, good vibrations!!!  Oom bop bop good vibrations!!! Let me know what you think about my exploration into the power of the mind and “may the Schwartz be with you!”

Maybe moving on?

     So, I noticed some very light spotting today. I am trying very hard to not ask Dr. Google what this might mean. My period isn’t due until next Friday at the earliest. Generally, I run closer to a 30-32 day cycle, rather than 28 days. Friday (3/25) is day 28. But, Aunt Flo likes to keep things interesting. In the past, I have spotted anywhere from 3 to 10 days before getting my actual period. Most notably, last month I spotted for about 6-7 days, stopped for a day, and then got my full-fledged period. While this spotting is early, it is not entirely impossible for my period to be on it’s way. I should not think this discoloration on the TP is anything other than a harbinger for my actual menses. I accept this reality and I will not let Google MD change my mind.
     I have been noticing lately that I am feeling more and more like myself again, rather than the slobbering, miserable, trying-to-conceive me who is beyond miserable. I am focusing more on an attainable goal, something I can work hard to achieve, rather than hope and pray and not know what else to do to achieve – like a pregnancy. I don’t know what this means for any future treatments. Am I saying I will no longer consider infertility treatments to have a baby? At this point, I just don’t know. Right now, I am glad to be feeling “normal” again; to feel like the world is a mixture of black, white, and gray that there is both good and bad and not every experience ends in extreme inner turmoil. My mind has been freed from the bonds of a Clomid induced hormonal melt-down and I can once again believe that I am a good person and deserving of good things. I am my only Polly Anna to last month’s Eeyore. And I am not sure I am ready to upset this balance again. Part of me feels like this is giving up and a greater part of me is relieved to not have to worry about every little thing my body does every waking second of every single day.
     I don’t know what this means and I am feeling a little lost. For two years this trying-to-conceive endeavor has been my major focus, eclipsing other life goals. I have been so lost in my fruitless pursuit of a baby, that I don't know what to do with myself if I am not actively pursuing procreation. I feel like I am without a purpose. Lost and adrift in a life that might never yield a baby without extreme measures. So, where does this leave me? I don't know. For the time being, I am sticking to the three month plan; try to lose weight, take the metaformin, and try Clomid again month three. Plus, I am going in for my annual with my doctor and I will discuss with her what all has happened at the infertility clinic and see if she has any other ideas. Maybe this is a good thing. It can't be a bad thing to feel less stressed, right?

Landmines and pit-falls

     Just when I think I have overcome all of the perils in the life of an infertile, a new one appears or an old wound re-opens. Yesterday at work a co-worker who is a proud new grandma, brought her precious granddaughter in to visit. She was just born last week. According to the gossip around the office, the new grandma was none too happy when her 20 year old daughter came to her and said she was expecting. I guess my co-worker was hoping her daughter would be a little bit older when she had her first baby. This sounds like the mythical “accidental” pregnancy. Sometimes, I forget such things exist and file them mentally with Big Foot, Nessie, la Chupacabra,  and a balanced national budget – in others words, there is great doubt as to their legitimacy.
     So, a friend of mine saw new grandma and sweet precious baby in the hallway, gasped and went running giddily to see the baby. She called over her should to me, “The baby is here!” I pretended I was very busy staring at my computer screen as a wave of despair washed over me. Perhaps it is hubris that has lead me to believe I have become stronger since last month’s melt-down. Not unlike Icarus, I soared on my man-made wings above all the pain and hopelessness, feeling I was safe from the mental anguish and harmful heartbreak. And yesterday, my wings melted away, dissolved by the soft breath of a newborn baby girl. Initially, I stayed at my desk, mentally willing my co-worker to move on and take the baby with her. But, my friend came back to my desk and said, “Don’t you want to see the baby?” And there I was, staring down the rabbit hole that I thought I had recently escaped. Did I want to see the baby? Someone else’s baby, so haphazardly conceived, triumphantly paraded into our office as a living breathing token of someone else’s fertility success. No, I did not want to see the baby. I want my own dammit. Taking a deep, calming breath, I carefully arranged my features into a blissfully happy face, oo-ing and ahh-ing over the tiny wonder. Under the carefully articulated surface I was crumbling, slipping, and falling into the anger, unfairness, and sheer pain of infertility. I did not touch the baby, fearing her tiny adorable fingers would undo me, cut through my collapsing façade and push me to spill my pain onto unsuspecting co-workers. And after our encounter, I escaped to the ladies room to compose myself, angry that I was “doing” this and chastising myself for being such a pathetic ninny. I got over myself pretty quickly, but the whole (brief) ordeal has left me thinking about when the next minefield will pop up and how I might navigate it. I don’t suppose there is really anyway to prepare myself, other than to stay as positive as I can. I thought I had successfully shelved my hopes for a pregnancy this month, but I discovered yesterday that this desire is stronger than I suspected.
     I spent the rest of the afternoon mentally envisioning the baby in my arms as I told doting co-workers just how perfect she was. I was startled to discover that deep in the dusty cob-webs of my sub-conscience thought, I knew that this week begins the dreaded two week wait. I didn’t even need my calendar, knowing when my body is supposed to be doing something has already become ingrained into my mind. I should have ovulated last week (if my ovaries felt like ovulating that is) and therefore, this week and next week is when egg and sperm could be meeting inside my newly opened fallopian tubes. If such a thing happens to the fertility challenged. I was supposed to forget all about conception this month. We are not doing any special treatment and therefore we should not expect any outcome other than the same thing that has happened the last 26 months. At some point at or around day 30, Aunt Flo will arrive bringing cramps, bloating, an irritability with her. But, thanks to the chance encounter with a beautiful newborn, I am now wondering “what if . . . ?” Even as I type this, I am mentally screaming at myself to “knock it off!!” Sure, the doctor at the hospital told you he opened your fallopian tubes with dye. But, the infertility clinic made no mention of this occurrence; they simply stated that my fallopian tubes and uterus looked “fine.” (For the record, I think “fine” is my least favorite word in the English language – I mean, does it really describe anything?) But, even if the dye opened my tubes, my body still does not ovulate regularly on it’s own accord. It’s a hit or miss kind of operation down there. My evil devil twin on my shoulder whispers, “Yes, but perhaps the metaformin is working already and regulating your hormonal cycle so that you do ovulate more regularly. This could be it!” I turn to my more reasonable angle twin and she tells me, “Look, your mom told you it could take three months for your body to adjust with the metaformin, so chances are you might not ovulate on your own just yet. Give it some time. Stick with your plan.” She is right, of course. So, although it might be as hard as shoving an over sized parachute back into a sandwich bag, I stuff my feelings of hope back into the depths of my being and plop something heavy on top so they cannot escape again.   

Mi esposo me pregunta . . .

     If my husband has asked me once, he has asked me a thousand times this month, "Honey, do you think you will get pregnant this month?" He asked me this on the way home from the HSG. He asked me two nights later, right after we made love. He has asked me many nights as we are talking in bed before we fall asleep. He asked me last night. "Honey, do you think you will get pregnant this month?" And then he told me he wants to have a girl because it is so sweet for a father to have a daughter. My heart broke a little inside.
     When we began trying to have a baby, Flaco was super-excited. He thought we would get pregnant in a heartbeat. Plus, let's be honest, he doesn't need much prodding to "get it on." But, as the months slowly passed and we were not any closer to becoming parents, Flaco quickly lost his zeal. Perhaps it was seeing me so crushed month after month or the feeling of sheer hopelessness. Whatever the reason, Flaco was the first to think "this might not happen for us." Now, all of a sudden, he is the one most hopeful. He has not asked me if I think we will get pregnant in any given month since the beginning. Part of me wants to tell him that I think this could just be our month. But, an even greater part of me, and the part that I use to answer him, doesn't want to get my hopes up. So, I tell him, "It's possible, but my body still needs to decide to ovulate on it's own." I have ovulated on my own, but it is very hit or miss. And, it is still only a 20% chance, just like for any other woman out there (except unwed Welfare Queens - they seem to have a 90% chance of getting pregnant). I am glad he is taking more of an interest, but I am afraid of his little bitty hope getting decimated if this month does not produce a pregnancy. I want to protect his heart in a way I cannot protect my own. And more than anything, I want to give him a baby.

     "Cariño, ¿crees que vas a quedar embarazada este mes?"
     "No sé mi amor. Es posible, si mi cuerpo decide a ovular."

Refocusing

     Hello, poor neglected blog! I have not been posting much lately, because there is not really anything going on in my battle with infertility. Since we have not been going to the Infertility Clinic several times per week, there isn't anything new to report and nothing new to obsess about. I suppose that's not necessarily a bad thing. I think this week I could ovulate, but if I do, I won't really know about it. So, my husband and I have just been enjoying sex when we feel like it, which has been nice.
     So, I have been using this month "off" to refocus on my life and what it is I want to do. I have also been trying to start living a healthier life-style by cutting back on portion and trying to get active. I haven't been doing too well on the active part. I want to take daily walks, but sometimes my mending toe hurts when I get home from work. I would start tomorrow, however tomorrow we are expecting heavy rains of Biblical proportions - something like 4 inches.
     The part about refocusing has driven me to set a goal for myself. A big, scary goal. It is scary to tell people about it because that makes it more real and makes the possibility of failure more intimidating. Ok, enough hedging. In addition to working full-time for the great state of Pennsylvania, I am also an Independent Beauty Consultant with Mary Kay. I have now decided to work towards earning a free career car from the company. No, not a pink Cadillac (not that I wouldn't want one) but a silver Chevy Malibu. I am excited and freaked out! But, I know this will keep me busy and active, working towards something I can achieve while doing something productive. So, that is what is going on in my life . . . .

Random Ramblings

     Sometimes I think too much. And I have been thinking a lot about where I thought I would be at in my life with my 30th birthday looming on the too-near horizon. Before I went to college, I didn't think too much about 30 because it seemed so far away. But, if pressed for an answer to the "where do you see yourself" question, I would have said, "Oh, well by the time I am 30 I will have a nice house, a sweet husband, and a kid or two. I will have a great well-paying job and life will be bliss." I think I just assumed I would find Mr. Right in college, as cliche as that sounds. Four years later and Prince Charming failed to show. I didn't know what to do as graduation day crept closer and closer. I just wasn't ready to move home, find a full-time job, and work the 9 to 5 grind. So, I joined the Peace Corps. Three months after graduating, I was plopped down in hot, dusty Nicaragua. And everything changed.
     I have shared my Peace Corps stories with my friends, family, and acquaintances. There are a lot of stories! My first impressions of a developing country, living with a host family (who changed my name - which stuck to the point that my in-laws still use it), the first time I got on a bus, going to "my" community and living with a second host family (who fed me ants), moving out on my own, finding a bat in my latrine, teaching in the local school, getting bit by a dog with the ensuing staph infection, the hurricane that never came, and of course, the story of the end of my stay and Flaco's proposal. I have 4-5 journals full of all that I experienced during my stay in the land of lakes and volcanoes. I learned as much about myself as I did about Nica culture. While I am not opposed to sharing my stories here on this blog, I feel like it is beyond the scope of the reason I started writing in the first place. Perhaps some of the stories will leak out over time. It was a rather pivotal point in my life, thus far.
    So, I came home from the Peace Corps with the one thing I was sure I would not find - a husband. The Peace Corps asked us on a questionnaire in the first week in-country, do we think we would be willing to date or have an intimate relationship with a Nicaraguan native. I think they gave us a 1-10 scale with one being "oh hell no" and 10 being "bring it on." I believe I chose -5. It seemed completely inconceivable to me, since I didn't speak Spanish and I didn't understand anything about Nicaragua (other than what Google and Wikipedia told me). Fast-forward a year and a half and I am investigating how to legally get my Nicaraguan "husband" to the U.S. And, again, things changed.
     When I was graduating from college, I remember being asked where I thought I would be in 5 years. I took solice in knowing where I would be for the next two years, but the remaining three were still a mystery. I assumed, since Mr. Right was not in college with me, he might be harder to find than I thought. But, don't think I was obsessing about this. I was young and really more interested in experiencing life. Plus, I had already fell in unrequited love. Oh, yeah.
     My junior year of college I spent a semester abroad in Greece. I absolutely loved my three months there! I lived in an apartment in Athens, with 7 other women. I made a terrific friend and had the best adventure bopping around the island of Crete in a tiny stick-shift car with her. And I fell in love. Tragic love. I studied abroad with the Brethren Colleges Abroad program, since the college I attended was a Brethren college - makes sense, no? So, with other students also from Brethren colleges throughout the U.S., we were scattered around the same community in Athens and attended the sister college to a school in L.A. - La Verne University. It was in a swanky community in northern Athens (about a 45 minute commute one way from where we lived). One of the sons of the college President (they were American ex-pats) lived in the apartment below mine and served as a guide to the students and an assistant to the director, Aphrodite (no made up name here!). On the weekends we would take trips out of Athens to see more Greek history. I loved it all. And I fell in love with Abe. He was insanely tall (6'7" - or something unbelievable like that) and really goofy. I fell hard. He knew about it too, I'm no good at keeping my emotions hidden (I would say play poker with me, but I am a terrible card player and it just wouldn't be any fun). As you guessed by now, I ended up leaving Greece and crying for nearly the entire 12 hour flight home (I certainly didn't sleep much!). It took me a long time to "get over" this first love of mine and it managed to deeply scar my already delicate self-esteem. I think of Abe from time to time and wonder about what might have been - although admittedly, I think less and less about him since I have Flaco now.
    So, perhaps this experience was what had me thinking, "Five years from now, I will be back from the Peace Corps for 3 years and either in grad school or working a great job I love." I gave next to no thought about being in a relationship. The reality is, I came home from the Peace Corps a little early (I had an issue with a woman in my community, the Nicaraguan woman the Peace Corps paired me with, and Flaco and I actually broke up - it's a really, really, really long story) and I came home married. Within 8 months of returning home, I was working two jobs and bought a home. I was 24 years old. I was in the home alone for about 6 weeks until Flaco's paperwork was finalized and he received the appointment to go to the U.S. Embassy in Managua to plead his case for a Visa. I flew down to facilitate this appointment and guide Flaco through the very grueling process. I did this without batting an eye; just marched right through the process and got it done. It was hard to do, it was a nail-biter right to the end when the woman at the Embassy said, "ok, come back on Friday to get the Visa," the day before we were scheduled to fly back to the States. So, this changed the picture of my future again.
     Flaco arrived in the United States on October 19, 2006. It was a cold and windy day when we drove home from Baltimore to our house. And, if you had asked me this day where I would find myself in 5 years, I would have said something like, "Flaco and I will have moved or be in the process of moving to a bigger house in the country to make room for our growing family. I assume we will have at least one child by that time." And here we are. We are approaching the fifth anniversary of Flaco moving here and officially starting our lives together, yet things are once again different from how I imagined them.
     I suppose, if we could go back in time to ask me at the time if I felt things would work out, I might say "no." When you are in the midst of an issue, it is hard to understand that it will end at some point. When I was leaving Greece, it was hard to imagine less than two years later I would be in Nicaragua and less than three years later I would have met the man I would marry. It was next to impossible to imagine when Flaco and I broke up, that less than a month later he would propose and we would be making plans for him to move to the U.S. So, perhaps in another couple of months or years, I can write about the new change in my life - becoming a mommy. My story is not complete, the final chapter has not yet been written. . . .

This month

This month, I will not calculate when I may or may not be ovulating.
This month, I will not try to figure out when my due date would be, if I were to get pregnant.
This month, I will not time when we have sex and insist we make love even when neither of us really feels like it.
This month, I will not write down in my planner every time we have sex.
This month, I will not obsessively "look" for signs of pregnancy or impending menstruation.
This month, I will not torture myself by day dreaming of my baby in my arms.
This month, I will not imagine conceiving a baby when making love to my husband.
This month, I will not stare longingly at pregnant women or women with babies.
This month, I will not sob at the sweet little babies on the diaper commercials.
This month, I will not draft a nasty letter to the Clear Blue Easy company because my test never shows positive.
This month, I will not try to convince myself the spotting is implantation bleeding.
This month, I will not watch the show "I Didn't even Know I was Pregnant."
This month, I will not watch the show "A Baby Story."
This month, I will not sob inconsolably when I get my period.
This month, I will not get angry with God over being infertile.

This month, I will enjoy spending time with my husband.
This month, I will smile at a baby in her mother's arms at church, the grocery store, or at work.
This month, I will have sex with my husband when the mood hits me/us.
This month, I will laugh a little more and cry a little less.
This month, I will spend time doing something I like and makes me happy.
This month, I will take the dogs for more walks.
This month, I will count all my blessings.
This month, I will take care of my body by eating healthier.
This month, I will live my life.

HSG

     This morning I had the hsg procedure. Flaco went with me, in case I was unable to drive home, but also because I wanted him there. He got to wear a pretty magenta protective apron while he was in the room with me. He wanted to leave, but I asked him to stay. The room was full of x-ray machines and even the entire ceiling moved! The nurses (both named Kim!) were very nice but the doctor was a little hard to understand (he had a pretty thick accent - at one point he told me I might feel some "clamping" which the nurse then whispered, "He meant to say "cramping."). So, basically I am on a very long metal bed with the million and one machines above and all around me (or so it seemed). I have to slide all the way down to the bottom to slip my legs over the stirrups (not for your feet, for your legs - it fit under my thighs). The doctor first swabbed everything with some kind of iodine or something (I hate that smell), then inserted this unique speculum - it was plastic and had some kind of battery that made it light up. It was a spec glow stick! Then the doctor shoved the catheter up inside, which was a slight pinch. I had to scoot back up the table back under the x-ray machine, at which point the doctor began pushing the dye into my uterus and fallopian tubes and the nurses began snapping photos like crazy. I was hit by an intense wave of cramps that felt like I had Giardia again (this is a parasite and I got it when my husband and I went to visit his family in Nicaragua - I had two weeks of terrible stomach cramps that made me feel like my stomach was about to fall out when I tried to stand up - quite painful). The doctor told me to rotate to my left and then my right and the cramps intensified. At this point the nurse announced that my tubes had indeed been blocked, but the doctor was able to open them with the dye. He had to use a lot of dye, which was why it was so painful. She told me I would get a full report from my Infertility Doctor on Friday.
     So, after I cleaned myself up (as you know, what goes up the whoo-haa must come down. . . .) and we found the car again (there was some question as to where we had parked), I called my mom. I told her what the nurse said and her response was, "Yeah! Oh, that's great! Oh, wait, how are you? Was it terribly painful?" She had this procedure done when she was struggling with infertility over 30 years ago and remembered how painful it was. She was excited to hear that my tubes were opened by the procedure and that there was no scarring that might require surgery. So, apparently it doesn't matter how many times I ovulate, if the little eggs can't meet up with some sperm in the fallopian tubes, then pregnancy cannot occur. I am not willing to get my hopes up, not willing to think "this is it!" and start celebrating a pregnancy. I am not taking any medication to make me ovulate this month, so I'm not sure if my body will manage to do that all on it's own. But, I am thankful that I did this procedure (I was worried I would have gone through this pain for nothing) and very very thankful that the doctor was able to open my tubes with just the dye. The nurse could not answer if there were any other abnormalities with my fallopian tubes or uterus. I suppose I will find out on Friday from my Infertility Doctor. So, the plan is still the same at this point. This month is a bye. Next month as well. Then in May we will try the Clomid again, hoping that the fallopian tubes being open, the metaformin regulating my insulin, and the Clomid to make me ovulate will be the winning team. Only time will tell. Right now I am just thankful the hsg is over with.

The Amazing Human Body

      Today I had a follow up appointment with the orthopedic doctor to check on the progress of my broken toe. They took a few more x-rays and the doctor showed them to me, which I thought was cool. With the image of the previous x-ray still fresh in my mind (with the obviously broken toe), I could see the amazing work my body had done. The break had been shaped like a half ‘w’ with the top ‘v’ tilting in a very abnormal fashion. Now, the top piece (in essence, the bone of my toe) has settled back into the ‘w’ fracture above the joint and it is melding back together nicely. A small fracture is still noticeable, but the doctor had to point it out to me, it was not something that jumped out as being “wrong.” I was simply enthralled to “see” my body in action; knitting back together an injury without any conscientious thought on my part. What an amazing creation!
     Yet, when it comes to infertility, I feel like my body is working against me. My body diligently mends my broken toe, but obstinately refuses to ovulate regularly or to create a new life. While I am grateful for my body’s ability to “fix” itself, I am still frustrated at it’s inability to create something new. Perhaps conception is more complex than sticking a bone back together? I am flabbergasted at the wonderment on one hand and the criticism on the other; two polar opposite emotional responses to the very same body – my own.
     Tomorrow morning, bright and early, I am having the hsg procedure done. I am not looking forward to this because I know it will be uncomfortable. Despite my distaste for the ‘h’ word, I am hoping that the results show nothing is wrong with my fallopian tubes or uterus. I am dreading having a million and one instruments shoved up the whoo-haa, but my degradation has long been surpassed at this point and though I hate it, more and more people are getting up in my “business.” I am sure there are more to come. (My feelings that the modern medical system strips people and women especially of nearly any feeling of privacy or “private parts” seems a rather old-fashioned notion – but it is my opinion and one not likely to change at any point soon).
     These past few days I have been feeling stronger and more like myself, yet there is still a part of me that does not seem to be bounding back. Even to my eyes, there is a sadness about me that seems impermeable. I feel like I have turned a corner somehow and I now find myself in a land devoid of color. Like the opposite of the Wizard of Oz, I have gone from a bright and colorful world to one of differing shades of gray, black, and white. Perhaps this is depression? Perhaps this is another wall I have erected for protection? I can still feel joy and happiness, but it feels more superficial and does not reach down into the core of my being. I do not feel miserable and the heartache has gone back to being tolerable, yet there is an unshakable feeling of being resigned to an undesirable fate. Today I caught myself thinking about this month and mentally calculating when I might ovulate (if I do) and just as quickly as this thought popped into my head, I shot it down. I will not let hope push me down that road of insanity again. I can’t say about next month, but this month there will be no surprise when Aunt Flo comes a-knockin’ because I am not giving myself the chance to “hope” to be pregnant. This is the only way I know how to take a break mentally. Optimistically thinking; I will be able to hold onto my resolve as the month marches on. . . . .