Fertile vs. Infertile

     I have been thinking today about the fertile world, where pregnancies can happen accidentally and pregnancy is something to vigilantly guard against. This is a world in which stopping all methods of birth control (or sometimes even while taking birth control!) quickly and easily results in babies galore! In contrast, the infertile world is a land of extreme highs and lows where the wait for a baby can stretch on indefinitely. It is a place where all extreme methods of conception are considered and tried, often times repetitively.
     In these two worlds, the route to motherhood is drastically different. For instance, in the fertile world 85% of women can expect to be pregnant roughly a year after tossing out the prophylactics. In the infertile world a woman never knows when the fertility gods will smile upon her, open her womb, and bring forth a new life. A fertile woman might feel nauseous and constipated with sore breasts and a propensity to vomit at strong smells during the first trimester of her pregnancy. An infertile woman might experience sore breasts, cramps, hot flashes, headaches, nauseous, and crazy-hormones just trying to achieve pregnancy. Fertile women might complain about their morning sickness and extreme discomfort as her body grows and stretches to accommodate her growing baby. Infertile women might suffer in silence as they endure grueling medication, invasive and reptative testing, and monthly disappointment, knowing they would do anything to have a baby. Fertile women worry about labor and delivery; infertile women worry they might never feel a new life forming in their belly. Fertile women prepare a new room for their baby, carefully selecting the right colors and themes. Infertile women redecorate the extra bedroom to look like anything but a space for a baby they might never have. Fertile women count the days until they find out the sex of their baby while infertile women count how many cycles they have been trying to get pregnant. Fertile women talk incessantly about the new thing their child is doing. Infertile women wonder if they will ever get to attend parent-teacher conferences, baseball games, or dance recitals.
     Tomorrow I have my saline ultrasound (weather pending - we are looking at 1/2 an inch of ice coming our way) and more blood will be drawn. For whatever reason, this round of Clomid has caused excessive heat flashes, headaches, and only a few dizzy spells. My breasts are not sore yet, but I know they will be in another week or so. We will see if I am ovulating and they will tell us when to have sex. And I still have to get the 2 hour glucose test done. I am doctor weary and would just like to be pregnant already!

I will praise thee for I am fearfully and wonderfully made - Psalm 139:14

     Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations. Jeremiah 1:5

     So, this week I made it to church. I was so proud of myself that I nearly twisted my arm out of the socket to pat myself on the back. Until I got there that is. . . . I was sitting by myself, enjoying the space, when a young couple came in during the praise and worship singing and sat next to me. They have a beautiful baby girl, maybe around a year old (I am bad at guessing baby ages - you know, probably because I don't have one or something like that. . . .). She is precious and adorable and was wiggly and inquisitive today. She cooed and talked to herself, grabbing her mothers cell phone and delightfully dropping it to the floor repetitively. And she was sitting right next to me. Smiling at me intently. It took everything I had not to start sobbing at every glance. I love babies! But, for my own sanity I find myself tuning them out, ignoring their baby talk, and just generally not paying any attention to any baby in my midst. I suppose that is slightly better than breaking down into a slobbering, sobbing, mess every time a baby looks at me. Slightly.
     I listed the Bible verse from Jeremiah above because it was mentioned during the service today. And of course, at this point I ceased to hear the sermon, but rather began thinking about destiny and how God has a plan for each one of us before we are even born. This is something I have always struggled to understand, now more than ever. My poor finite brain cannot grasp how God can have a plan for everyone, how the journey can be all mapped out, yet we are all given free choice and can make our own decisions at every fork in the road. God knew, when my mother conceived me (after 5 years of trying and then giving up - I guess it runs in the family), God knew I would be sitting here today pondering my own infertility, waiting for my own baby. Perhaps it is not for me to know, but I do wonder why this would be part of the plan. Is there something I have to learn in enduring this trial of infertility? Is it because I am not ready to be a mother? Is there something we need to do before we are prepared to be parents? Like perhaps win the lottery or something . . . Maybe, it is just to make me more grateful when I have that baby in my arms; to know the tortuous wait and worry so I can truly understand the miracle that is having a baby. I will never take my baby for granted, never think fertility is a given.
     This lead me to thinking about the Bible verse I used as the title of this post. I have always held a certain disdain for my own body because I am a large Marge and was teased mercifully in school (this could be a whole blog in and of itself by the way. . . . ). My sister is like Barbie, all skinny and perfect. So, no surprise that I haven't been terribly praisefull about how I have been made. Now, however, I have plummeted to new depths of self-deprecation. I start at the beginning of the month sweet talking my body into ovulating and snatching up a little swimmer. I try to cajole, bribe, threaten, and convince my uterus to accept the egg-sperm conglomerate. When this does not work and I am faced with my period and the cramps, moodiness, and general uncomfortableness that comes with it, then I begin berating my body. Why can't it just "work" like a normal female body? As the reality of another failed month settles upon me, I begin the self-flagellation of wondering why I have done wrong in my life that my body is so against me. I don't believe enough or I am not deserving enough. I wobble between the two. And I curse my inability to reproduce. I rebuke my broken lady parts and lament my predicament.
     I suppose all of my doubting does not help my sanity. I want to stay positive and I want to let myself go; go over-the-top, crazy-lady, ridiculously hopeful that this month is my month! But, the higher I soar in hope the deeper the crash and let-down; it is sheer torture. Therefore, I keep my hope small, like a mustard seed, and temper it with reality, that it might not happen. Before I started Clomid for the first time in August, I prayed with my pastor and his wife that God might open my womb and accept new life. I thought for sure this would be it! God would certainly want to showcase this conception in such a miraculous manner! Right before I am scheduled to start infertility treatments, viola!, I am a pregnant! After three months of not ovulating, God reached down and flipped the switch, releasing an egg which met with some sperm and resulted in our baby. The estimated date of my period ticked by and with each day I let hope grow. I took a home pregnancy test and it was negative. But, I had HOPE and I BELIEVED wholeheartedly that is must be some fluke. I went to see my doctor and got a blood test. This too was negative. Hope deflated, leaving me alone with despair, weeping for the audacity to think it could be that easy. I had to take progesterone to start my period and then the Clomid,. And here I am today. My arms are still empty, my heart is still broken and I am tucking that little, tiny minuscule of hope deep down into my heart of hearts to keep it from dropping me to the depths of despair yet again. . . .

Keeping Romance Alive

     I think my husband and I have a pretty good sex life. I mean, I'm satisfied and I believe he is too. But, sometimes I feel like it is just a means to reach a specific end - a baby. There have been numerous times in the past two years when I just demand we make love because it is the most fertile time of the month. I try to keep things fresh, but honestly, it begins to feel like a chore after awhile. And now we are going to have a nurse and doctor telling us when to have intercourse. Sometimes, I miss the spontaneity - just having sex for the sake of having sex - and not always thinking like, "This could be it! We could be 'making' our baby right now!" Often times, I am not even remotely in the mood but we have to "do it" the weeks between my period for the best chance of pregnancy.
     We have tried every position we can think of to achieve conception. I purchased pre-seed thinking that it would help the little swimmers reach their destination easier. Too bad I didn't know there was nothing for the little fellas to meet; just the vast, empty, infertile space within my barren womb. I have looked into some homeopathic options to take for infertility, but have never really known what to take. I've heard raspberry tea leaves work and some Chinese herbs. And cough syrup improves cervical mucus. I guess I never knew what was wrong with me, so I didn't want to go trying random remedies. I think now I would be willing to give it a try as long as it doesn't interfere with my other medications.
     So, this morning I called the lab to see about getting my 2 hour glucose testing done. They said they did it on Saturday's as long as I was there and seen before two hours before they close. So, despite a raging headache, I got out of bed, dressed, and ran over to the lab. I sat there for half an hour and they kept taking other people ahead of my because they had appointments (no mention of appointments being needed when I called them). So, I ended up leaving because it was beyond two hours before they would close. And now I don't know when I will be able to do this test. . . Ugh! I just want to get it over with already!

Secrets

     When we first started trying to conceive, we did not tell anyone. I don't know why, really. I guess we just wanted it to be a surprise - a really nice surprise! For the first year only one friend knew we were trying. But, the first year ticked by and then the second year began and our optimism began to fade. Slowly, I began revealing our difficulties. I told my mother and my mother-in-law and some close friends. But, I haven't "come out" to everyone yet. And, I feel I have good reason not to, given some results after telling people I trusted. It's really a self-preservation thing.
     I also struggle with the "do you have any kids question?" or the "are you guys planning to have any kids?" To the first question, I usually answer, "just furry kids!" then laugh like it's such a funny joke. If I am in a particularly delicate mood I answer "no" in a way that does not encourage further questions. To the second question, generally I sigh then say, "when God wants." For some reason this always prompts the question asker to wonder what this means. It means, whenever God feels like letting my egg meet Flacos sperm and then letting this precious bundle of new life settle into my uterus, we shall then have kids (or at least a kid). When the asker is particularly nosey I finally just tell them straight out - we are struggling with infertility (so leave me the hell alone, ok?). I guess that is all I have to say tonight . . . . :)

Journal

     When we first began this little journey, I went out and bought a journal intended to be written to the baby as he/she grew. Dreams we had for him/her, how excited we were to meet him/her, and lots of cutzie things that bring a happy little tear to your eye. I recently found this dust-covered journal, empty of course, waiting two long years to get an entry. As I sat down to thumb through the pages devoid of my rambling script, a few tears of regret and heartache escaped and trickled down my face.

     When I was graduating from college, someone had asked me where I saw myself in 5 years. I was 22 years old and I couldn’t imagine how my life would be different without homework and reports and classes. By this point, I knew I was going to be in the Peace Corps for the next two years and then I was thinking I would most likely go to grad school. I figured since I didn’t find my husband at college (like so many of my friends) that I was unlikely to find “him” until I was in grad school or beyond.

     In the beginning of August of 2004, I received notice that I was selected to join the Peace Corps as a Food Security (aka Agriculture, aka Aggie) Volunteer in Nicaragua. I would be leaving the end of August for Miami to officially join the Peace Corps and then two groups (the Aggies and the Environmental Education group) would be off to the largest and poorest country in Central America. I was so excited. In my junior year of college I had studied abroad in Athens, Greece and absolutely loved it! I just wanted to see another part of the world. Well, as you can imagine, Nicaragua is drastically different than Greece in just about every way.

     I survived the first three months of training (I lived with a host family who only spoke Spanish and my host mom made me soup for breakfast – Ramen noodle soup with crema (like sour cream) and ketchup with bananas or plantains in it – I kind of miss that soup) living near other volunteers and having regular daily contact with other English-speakers. Then I was sent off to a dusty, hot, dry farming community in a section of the country known as “the oven.” I wanted to be in the mountains, where it is cooler and gets more rain. I got the opposite. I was living with another host family, but they were not as familiar with “gringas” as my first host family (with my first host family, I was their fifth aspirante – aspiring volunteer). Instead of soup for breakfast, I got a sweet bread that was loaded with ants (not on purpose, but they are hard to keep out of things down there – oh yes, live ants), which I gallantly picked off the bread and threw to the (dirt) floor for the chickens to squabble over.  

     Things got better when I moved into my own house (it is nearly unheard of for a single woman to move out on her own) and could cook for myself. I would spend the hot afternoons reading and napping in my hammock. In the evening I would go to the neighbors well to draw a bucket of water to bathe. I was making friends and my Spanish was improving. I had two good friends in the community where I lived. Juana was a petite woman and mother of 5 children. Her eldest daughter, Masiel, was my very first friend in the community and introduced me to her mother. Martina was vibrant and fun-loving. She was also a mother, but her two children were younger. We went to a quinceñera together and that is where I met Juana’s eldest child. We danced together and he kissed me. He declared we were boyfriend/girlfriend and I thought he was joking (he had been drinking guaro – and so had I). Two weeks later he showed up at my door and the rest is history. This was my Flaco. To make a very long story short, we ended up getting married and he moved here to the U.S. four years ago.

     So, the five years after college went by very quickly and without realizing it, I got what I wanted out of those five years and I arrived at age 27 with everything accomplished I had hoped I would accomplish. I was in the Peace Corps and saw a small slice of the world (and tried to help less-fortunate people) and I fell in love and got married. At the time we got married, I assumed that I would become a mother for the first time before my 30^th birthday. As I paged through this journal, the reality sank deeper and deeper into my soul. In order to be 29 when my first baby is born, I would need to be pregnant now. Instead,  I will be at least 30 when I have my first baby. This is not what I wanted at all. And I am struggling so much with this up-coming birthday (keep in mind, my birthday is in October). Generally, I only think about my birthday when it is upon us (you know, to remind Flaco how much he loves me and that I expect something nice for my birthday). But, now I am just dreading the big day in October. My mother tells me I am crazy that 30 is no big deal. But 30 means I am leaving my 20s and it feels like the tipping of the scales (also, Flaco is four years younger than me, so he will still be in his 20s for another four years, while I am in my 30s – ick!). I can't tell you why, but I find it so painful to be ?(nearly) 30 and childless. . . . .

     When I was younger, I always wanted to have a big family. I think they are cool and there is always someone around to hang out with and whatnot. Of course, when you are young you do not understand all that would go into having  such a large family. When I began baby-sitting I was about 12-13 years old and I began to realize that a larger family (and to me, large was like 10 kids!) was not as easy as it looks on TV! So, I scaled back to about 4 kids. And Flaco and I have decided we would like to have 3-4 kids. Ideally, I would like to have 2 years between each child. If I am 30 when the first baby is born, then I could potentially be 36 or older when the fourth child comes along. Of course, Flaco would only be 32. . . . . Maybe we should switch birthdays?

     The regret I have is that we did not start trying to conceive earlier. We would not have been ready if we had a baby, thus the reason we waited, but if we had started earlier then we might have been parents by now. Alas! Hindsight is 20-20 and foresight is blind.  So, here we are! I am beginning my 6^th round of Clomid to get my string of pearls (I read that sometimes this term is used to refer to polycystic ovaries because the cysts resemble a string of pearls around the ovaries – this makes it sound so much nicer than it actually is) to squeeze out a little egg. I tucked the journal back into the corner of my closet to continue waiting to be filled with our thoughts regarding our precious baby. Hopefully, this time will come soon! 

Nothing new to say, but I will write anyway

     Other than more snow, nothing new is happening here. I filled the prescriptions for the Clomid, antibiotic, and pain med today after work. And, because it seems do dam fitting, while I was receiving my fertility med a young mother (maybe a few years younger than me, not like a teenager) was cuddling her sweet baby girl as she dropped off her prescription. I couldn't help myself. I was staring at her wistfully while the pharmacist tech was asking me some mundane question. I had to bite my lip and dig my finger nails into the palm to stop myself from bawling. So silly.
     I stayed up too late reading a little booklet the doctors office gave me about PCOS. It was informative about the condition, but not too encouraging about the treatment for infertility. Clomid was choice number one. Been there, tried that, got hormonal and dizzy but no baby. Option numero dos is Metformin to reduce the amount of glucose made by the liver. If this does not work on it's own, it might be combined with Clomid. Should this concoction not result in two pink lines on the pee stick, then FSH or FSH plus LH are given. Of course, this can result in multiple pregnancy. Or, as our doctor said, "a Jon and Kate situation." My husband (bless his soul) thinks having a boatload of babies all at one time sounds like more bang for our buck. *** Please note, my dear hubby is from Nicaragua and he has a different idea on nearly everything! I would never consider pulling an octo-mom! *** Ok, so if these 4 meds do not work for the PCOS-dammed woman, then they do something called Ovarian Laproscopic drilling. Anything with the word drilling in it, is not something I would like to experience! Luckily, it is a surgery done under anesthesia. In essence it is drilling out the manly-man hormones on the cysts on the ovaries. This might cause scaring on the fallopian tube, thus impeding pregnancy. The final option is good ole IVF - in vitro fertilization. I went to bed, hoping (dare I say, praying) we would not have to go beyond medications. We shall see! Tomorrow, let the Clomid begin!

And the diagnosis is . . . .

     . . . . . . Drum roll please! Ththththtththththth . . . . PCOS! Now, Johnny, tell them what they've won!
     Today Senor Flaco and I went to see the Infertility Doctor for the beginning of the testing we shall endure. First, we were taken to different rooms to have 9 (yes NINE) full vials of blood drawn. Then, Flaco had to pee in a cup and he was done. Next, behind door number two! Mrs. Flaco, you get . . . . a new car!! Er, no. A pelvic exam (with my period I might add, which was rather gross) and some swabbing. The doctor listened to my heart and then felt my thyroid. I know, how romantic. He said the right side of my thyroid was a little enlarged and I might need an ultrasound of my thyroid, depending on what the test results reveal. After the feeling of the thyroid, the nurse did an ultrasound of my uterus and ovaries. I had always thought the first ultrasound I would get would be to "meet" my growing baby. Nonetheless, it was fascinating. "Do you see this (black blob that looks like Slimey from the Ghostbusters)? That is your uterus." Then, "This (planetary system) is your ovary." And the doctor proclaimed it looks like I have polycystic ovaries because of the random bumps around my ovary.
     In two days from now, I will begin my 6th round of Clomid (100mg). Next Tuesday I return to the office for a saline ultrasound (for which I must take an antibiotic the day before, the day of, and the day after the procedure and I was given a prescription for a pain medication because it will "pinch" and cramp - fun!). They are also going to take more blood (they are vampires, I swear! Every time I see them they want more blood!). I have to take a 2 hour Glucose test (2 hours sitting at the lab! Seriously!) They are going to see me like every 3 days or so to follow my ovulation. They will tell us when to have intercourse or we can choose to have insemination. After all the tests results are back, the doctor will see us again to discuss everything and make some recommendations (if we don't get pregnant). I am swimming in paperwork and literature, not to mention prescriptions to fill and more tests to take!
     I know I should be glad to know at least one thing that is wrong and that something like one in ten women have PCOS. And it is apparently something that should be relatively easy to treat. I still wish I didn't have it. But, knowing is half the battle, so now we can begin trying to circumnavigate the broken parts to achieve pregnancy.
     As a side note : I was talking to a work friend today and mentioned having an appointment today after work. She knew about the struggle we've been having and asked how it was going. We talked a little bit and I told her I was losing hope. She told me I should pray for a baby. Listen, if I had a baby for every time I prayed for one, we'd be over-populating the state with more kids than the Duggars and Brangelina combined! Well, my friend says, "But, you have to pray correctly and have a relationship with God. And you have to be willing to make some changes. Then you will see the miracle, like we have seen so many times." Now, keep in mind, this friend is not trying to get pregnant at the moment and has no children. Her father is a pastor of a very small church. I'm sure it is my PMS-ing hormones, but I felt like saying, "Yes, you are right. I try to live a good life, have compassion, treat others kindly. I go to church and I seek a relationship with God (although, I do get angry with Him at times). I have accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. But, because I can't manage to pray correctly, some dirty crack whore is getting knocked up with her 4th child while I am doomed to suffer childlessly. I'm sure that was in some teaching from Jesus. Thou shalt pray correctly else thy baby be given to a homeless crack whore on welfare." I found it rather hurtful. Who are you to judge my relationship with anyone? I am not perfect, but neither are you. Because there is something I do that you don't like, I don't deserve to have a baby? Really? That seems rather harsh to me. While I learn how to pray and make changes to receive my miracle, perhaps you can pray for some compassion and understanding? Deal? Sheesh!! Sure feels good to get that off my chest!!!