Special Torture (or how to grin and bear it)

Late

October 4, 2012 | life | Permalink

I was walking through the cemetery this morning and I came upon a single monarch butterfly. It was flying about 15 feet above my head and in a perfectly straight line. It was flying south. No kidding. Contrasted with the cloudy sky, the orange of that thing nearly knocked me off my feet.

I remembered a friend telling me about the monarch migration he witnessed last week, one state south of us. “Hurry up,” I said out loud, “you have to catch up” and then I burst into tears. First, because I realized there was a very good chance that butterfly would not make it and then because I realized I feel like that poor, late insect almost all of the time.

Well Received News

October 3, 2012 | infertility, life | Permalink

I found out last night that one of the founders of my Resolve support group is finally pregnant. After 3 years and 11 assisted attempts. After almost completely giving up. She spoke often about how she was so close to being done with the whole process. That THIS IVF would be her last. And I guess it really was.

Interestingly, I did not react to this news as I have so many times before, with tears and a dull, horrible ache in my heart. I gasped and then found myself flushed with genuine excitement and joy. That was a nice, welcome feeling, cause I seriously do not have enough joy in my life right now.

So, does this signify a shift? Am I done being miserable about all the pregnancies around me or more likely and I simply OK with this one because it’s not really around me at all. It’s not like I am going to be seeing this woman at the support group. I guess the true test will be when I learn of the next pregnancy in my group of close friends and OH, I am sure it is a’comin.

Speaking of such things. Steady diet of Grapefruit juice – check. LH surge – check. Ovulation in 3… 2…

20 years

September 28, 2012 | infertility, life | Permalink

My 20 year high school reunion is coming up. Got the email invite from an old friend. He hoped I would want to go. Not in a million years. I mean, yes, I want to go. I want to see those amazing wierdos so bad, but no. Just no. I can’t imagine how whincingly, gut wrenchingly terrible it would be to have to sit there and answer questions about my life and hear the stories and see the photos of everyone else’s [children] lives. At least I can’t imagine doing it without consuming dangerous, dangerous amounts of alcohol. And of course, that would without fail lead to the public humiliation of bursting into tears after the 10th old girlfriend told me about her 5th set of twins. So for my mental health and for the benefit of all of my old pals who do not need to know how beleaguered and desperate I have become, I am not going.

But you know, as impending 20 year reunions are want to do, this has really gotten me thinking. About all sorts of stuff. Of course, I am doing the fruitless, perdictive comparisons – My job VS their jobs. My tiny two bedroom apartment VS their house in the suburbs. All that nonsense, but more, I have just been coming back to the reality of that length of time. 20. god. damn. years. A life time.

After two decades, I don’t have a degree or a career. Don’t own a house. I am not married and I don’t even have a driver’s licence. I have about $175 dollars in my savings account. So by a lot of standards, I am a pretty pitiful adult, but the fact that I have spent the last 20 years without all that does’t bother me all to much. I have a lovely home. I’ve the good fortune to be surrounded by the most staggeringly brilliant friends a girl could hope for. I managed to land a sweet, talented, inhumanly patient boyfriend. One who has generously offered to father my offspring AND gives me frequent back rubs. Oh and for a brief few years in my mid 30s, I was genuinely and terrifically happy. That ruled. Mostly, I have been pretty lucky.

So generally speaking, I don’t regret all of the choices, failures, and small successes that got me were I am today. I don’t even truly regret not having started to try to have a family any sooner. I am not ready now. I sure as shit was not ready in my 20s or early 30s. So why am I so unsettled by the fact that 20 years has passed? Yeah, I am getting older, but so is everyone else. What can’t I put my finger on? It’s definitely related to womanhood and age and this crazy journey I have been on these past 15 months…

I guess it just boggles my mind that I had, that any human woman has, more then 20 years to procreate. My jaw wants to drop every time I think about that. What a long lived species we are! I could have had 10 kids by now or one that was old enough to drink. In some insane, but plausible alternative reality, I could be a grandmother by now. 20 years is a long time… And it went by in the blink of an eye. It feels really off that I am so close to the end of the reproductive stage of my life, yet I still feel so fucking young, so inexperienced, but also so expectant. I have barely gotten started being an adult and yet my chances of becoming a biological parent are almost gone. So when was my adult life supposed to start? I guess deep down, I thought it would start when I became a mom. Oops.

Also, am I middled aged yet? When does that happen?

Ok. Enough random rambling. I am not going to my reunion.

Now this is funny

September 27, 2012 | Uncategorized | Permalink

Googling “what medications affect cervical mucus?” yields this in the top three results. Wow, yes, ‘Drugs Which Affect the Cervical Mucus’ brought to you by The United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. Why, thank you Sirs!

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PS : Did I just use ‘Googling’ as a gerund? I am actually not sure. Grammar is confusing to me.

At least you have….

September 27, 2012 | health, infertility, life, pain | Permalink

…Your Health…

The sundry adults in my life must have used that phrase a lot when I was a kid, because whenever things are all fucked up and can’t seem to get much worse, my brain stupidly and automatically says to me, “Well, at least you have your health”. Seriously. I say that to myself like once a week. It makes me want to punch myself in the face.

Now I readily admit that I don’t have it anywhere near as bad as I could. But for the love of Pete! At last count (though I am sure I am forgetting someone) I have under my belt nine different types of doctors.* I have pain everyday. More money leaves my bank account for health related things then for rent. I am infertile and clinically depressed. I can tell the difference between four types of headache**. No make that five types*** AND -this is fun- I can have more than one type of headache at the same time. Impressive, no?

I have a lot of things, but what I do not have is my health.

So I need to change this up. I need to alter this silly, automatic response to reflect something that I do truly have. Something positive, reliable, and that has only ever brought goodness into my life. And I know exactly what that is. So next time my brain needs to use a simple turn of phrase to try to make itself feel better, let it offer this up –

At least I have my Interventional Radiologist! THAT at least is true.

______________________________________________________

*My GP, Neurologist, Pulmonologist, Rheumatologist, Dermatologist, Gastroenterologist, Reproductive Endocrinologist, Interventional Radiologist, and a Perinatologist (yup! that’s a real thing!)

**Migraine, sinus, tension, and good old fashioned hangover.

***Post-dural-puncture headache. shudder.

The Dream of Constant Okayness

September 25, 2012 | infertility, life | Permalink

“It’s not impermanence per se, or even knowing we’re going to die, that is the cause of our suffering, the Buddha taught. Rather, it’s our resistance to the fundamental uncertainty of our situation. Our discomfort arises from all of our efforts to put ground under our feet, to realize our dream of constant okayness. When we resist change, it’s called suffering. But when we can completely let go and not struggle against it, when we can embrace the groundlessness of our situation and relax into its dynamic quality, that’s called enlightenment, or awakening to our true nature, to our fundamental goodness. Another word for that is freedom—freedom from struggling against the fundamental ambiguity of being human.”

– From Living Beautifully with Uncertainty and Change by Pema Chodron

HOO BOY. Like manna, those words came across my FaceBook Feed… I know this sentiment could speak to anyone, at anytime, suffering from any manner of trial or travails, but they seems especially poignant for the person dealing with infertility. I have read a little Pema Chodron and she seems to talk a lot about groundlessness. I get that. I have not felt ground under my feet in 15 months. And all of the time, living in this terrible half life, stuck between the life you had and the one you are trying to achieve. It’s overwhelming, frustrating, and so fucking sad.

Ok, Pema, I’ll try to let go a little. Release a tiny bit and fall into the -oh I love this phrase- ‘the fundamental ambiguity of being human.’ Ok. Yeah so, in the words of my dear sister’s tattoo, ‘Si je puis’.

If I can.

UT-OUCH

September 8, 2012 | health, life, pain | Permalink

I guess we should count our lucky stars that the stupid amount of sex we need to have in order to try to get me knocked up does not result in urinary track infection every month… Yes, we should be thankful, but that’s hard to remember when I am peeing white lightening. Stupid e-coli. Stupid urethra. Stupid UTIs.

Birds and Bees, you say?

September 7, 2012 | infertility, life | Permalink

After I got over my “why is that bee a dude?” knee jerk reaction, I found these pretty dear. And a little sad. Mostly, I am glad they are being made.

Check ’em all out : Birds and Bees – The Real Story

And ok, this is awful in a lot of ways, but also, so sweetly funny :

Cervical mucus thick as peanut butter? Yeah, they went there.

Lydia Deetz!

September 6, 2012 | life | Permalink

I KNOW IT’S A GIRL BECAUSE I YELLED SUSAN B. ANTHONY AT THE MOMENT OF CONCEPTION

-Tracy Jordan (30 Rock Season 4 Episode 09 – Klaus and Greta)

For a long time my Beau and I playfully honored this 30Rock oddity after our attempts. Mostly cause it’s funny and absurd, but partially because we secretly hoped it came from the bizarro mind of Tiny Fey. And who does want to think about Tina Fey (or perhaps more appropriately – Liz Lemon) immediately after sex? Hot stuff. Then, a few months ago, after a late night screening of Bettlejuice, we decided that our true hopes for conceiving a daughter might be better realized by invoking the name of a more contemporary heroine. LYDIA DEETZ, we implore you, please grant us a little girl!

Success!

August 30, 2012 | health, infertility | Permalink

It worked. The recanalization was a success. Dr R even shared 4 super cool xray images from the procedure. Look :

1) HSG #1 or an attempt to push fluid through my tubes. Only the right tube fills and spills.

HSG pre recanalization : Right tube open. Left tube blocked

2) Dr R inserting a tiny wire into my left fallopian tube to clear blockages.

Passage of wire through left tube!

3) Dr R sending fluid through the now recanalized left tube.

Selective injection into tube post recanalization

4) The repeat of the first process. A complete HSG with both tubes functional!

HSG post recanalization. Both Tubes fill!

Also – Look at my funny little uterus! How bizarre.

So there is no guarantee that my tube will remain open, but at least for a few months I have a greater chance of getting pregnant. Word.

Migraine Mondays

August 27, 2012 | health, life, pain | Permalink

I wake up with migraines on Monday mornings more often then on any other day of the week. What the hell? Talk about adding insult to injury.

I have had 5 migraines this past week, which I hope is only related to that fact that this was the first 7 days of my menstrual cycle. Hormones be damned. Before that, I had gone almost two weeks without a headache, which is amazing and I assumed a benefit of the botox treament I had on August 1st. Now that I am looking to the second half of my cycle, I dont know if I can expect any continued positive affects or if everything is just back to normal. My first botox treatment, the one in April, only resulted in about a fortnight of relief, so perhaps that’s all I’ll get out of round two as well. I suppose the next few days will tell.

Tomorrow – day one of vacation. So far, the only things on the agenda are to sleep in, clean the fish tank, make a pie, have dinner with friends, and go to bed early. Sounds busy already!

One Week!

August 23, 2012 | infertility, life | Permalink

7 days until the recanalization!

Also next week I decided to take 3 days off (Tues/Wed/Thurs). Grant it, one of these days will be spent at the hospital and groggy from sedation, but three full days off is a treasure! Now, I just have to find ways to 1) not spend any money and 2) avoid all work that is done on a computer. Guess I should find a good book and pray the weather is nice, cause otherwise I do not know what the hell I am going to do with myself.

It’s been a really long time since I have taken any time off. I mean not doctor/hospital/occasional-holiday-related-long-weekend time off. I think my last proper vacation was October when I went to the midwest for 10 days. After that trip, I began a policy of accruing vacation time in case I got pregnant. I’d need as much paid time off as I could muster, so it made sense. Then at some point this year I realized that if I did get knocked up, I would be giving birth during the next calendar year, so it probably did not matter any more, but that never really sunk in. I just still continued to avoid vacation. I think it was/is some weird wishful thinking. Like if I steer clear of vacation time, I will mange to find myself gifted with some reasonable paid maternity leave. Ha. Unlikely. But mostly I was pretending I had a plan. I don’t.

The fact is I honestly do not know how much time is available to me. The lack of official vacation time policy with my company is a double edged sword. My boss has never insisted that we count or really keep any track of the time we take off. We just take it and don’t abuse it. That’s been very nice. But what does that mean? After 15 years, how much vacation time do I really have? Does it expires with the calendar year or does it carry over? I really have no idea. I am not sure my boss does either. I guess I should go about figuring that stuff out, but asking seems partially pointless. Why force a policy into place if I have no hope of ever getting pregnant? Why force a policy into pace when I really, really don’t want to know how bad that policy might be.

In any event, I guess what I am getting at here is that I should be taking more time off. I should plan for a nice big chuck of time off in October or November. It bums me out that I can’t afford to go anywhere, but that’s not that point. I don’t win anything for not taking the time off and I only lose if I don’t, so fuck it. I got some nice vaca ahead of me. Starting with next week. I think I am just gonna lay around and pretend that I am not broke, infertile, and in pain. It’s gonna be great. Deluded, but great.

Holy fuck, Premenstrual syndrome.

August 17, 2012 | life | Permalink

Day 25 of my cycle and it’s a doozie. I am glad I don’t have raw, emotional PMS every month, but somehow that irregularity makes it even harder to figure out what the fuck is going wrong with me every time I spend half a day bursting into tears every 15 minutes. It’s a really good thing I do not work in an office. I do not know how you ladies do it.

My frustration this week has largely been focused how I need a break. I am really tired. Of my job. Of trying to get pregnant. Of being in pain. Of being flat broke. And of just about everything else I can think of. I am tired of being tired. It all boils down to 4 simple words – I need a vacation. But in classic I-will-never-be-satisfied fashion, simply taking time off work (a stay-cation if you will) just does not seem like enough. I want to get AWAY. Away-away. I want to sit on a beach for a week. And not just any beach. I need some god damn space. I want it to be me, the people I am with (if any), the place I sleep and eat (house? tent? whatever) and nature. I want to escape!

I’ve been watching people’s FaceBook posts of their summer vacations and it’s been getting harder and harder to keep my cool. I’ve moved from genuine excitement for folks good fortune to uncomfortable jealousy to heartsick self pity. Today with my PMS induced depression has been the worst of it. I’ve actually found myself feeling persecuted, which is just stupid. Nobody is keeping me from taking time off and going on my dream vacation. No. No one is, but it still does feel pretty unattainable.

Of course, it’a all about money. I don’t have any. I’d have to put any trip I take on a credit card and I really don’t want to do that. I can’t do that. I still owe the hospital money. I owe my therapist money. I already have (albeit small, thank god) credit card debit. There really is no get-away in my future. And I guess that’s why I am all bent out of shape today. I want/need something I really have no way of responsibly providing myself. I hate that, but it’s the story of my life these days.

And I hate being so whiny, but I guess that’s mostly what this blog is about – complaining about how hard everything is. I guess I need to think about if this is really something that helps or hurts or just makes me seem foolish and weak.

OK now. THIS is the PMS talking. Signing off now. I think I am just gonna drink myself silly.

A Singular Bike Ride

August 16, 2012 | exercise, infertility, life | Permalink

I’ve read about this strange ritual before, but today was a first for me. I peddled 40 odd blocks across town with a small container of my partner’s seminal fluid tucked betwixt my boobs. Why would I do this, you may ask. For science of course! Where where you going, might be your next question. The new doctor is at 8th and Pine, you see. And as for the sensitive stowing of this precious parcel? The ambient outdoor temperate was too cool at 7:30am and one needs to keep the specimen as close to body temperature as possible. Obviously.

Home Practice

August 14, 2012 | exercise, health, life, pain | Permalink

I hate doing yoga or any other exercise at home. Just deplore it. I have tired all manner of activity – yoga, free weights, PT, aerobics, boot camp style workouts, stuff with that stupid exercise ball, DVDs, streaming video, worksheets, check lists, free flow workouts from my own imagination. Doesn’t matter what it is, I would rather eat glass than do it.

I have a litany of half hearted procrastinations – I don’t have enough time. I don’t want to get cat hair on my yoga mat. I don’t want to change into the appropriate clothes (and I sure as shit ain’t gonna do a workout naked or in my pjs). My beau is home (I can’t stand being walked in on). You name it and I will make it an insurmountable excuse. The good news is I normally convince myself there is housework to be done before I can begin, so most of the time, at least I am doing chores instead of exercising…

But OK, so lets say I have gotten passed all those hurdles and actually have willed myself to start – after 5 minutes I am feeling impatient, bored, frustrated, and discouraged. Not being a Buddhist nun, my natural state in life is to assiduously avoid these general feelings, so after 30 minutes (more often like 20 or 15 minutes) I stop. I have not enjoyed a single second of it and I never find a shred of inspiration to continue or try again. I really, truly hate it.

Why is that? What am I so upset about? Why on earth is this so threatening?

So far, the only thing I have come up with is that I eat, sleep, do my 40 hour a week job, and everthing else from my home. I mean, I really rarely leave. So maybe the last thing I want to do is a workout there too? Could cabin fever account for all my protestations? Maybe, but that all seems too simplistic. I brought it up in therapy the other day and found myself feeling a lot of the same unpleasant emotions. Just thinking about exercising at home made me feel impatient, frustrated, and discouraged. And I there too I met the same limited success. I did it – I talked about it – but I did not enjoy it and I certainly did not learn anything new.

There is some urgency here though. If I am ever going to heal my sciatica and move through this chronic pain, I am fairly certain that I need a home practice. I can’t go to most group classes and I can’t affords one-on-one instruction, so I really need to work this shit out on my own. It’s funny, as I sit here typing these words, I wonder to myself – will I practice the poses recently given to me to help me heal? Will I do it tonight? Nope. Seems 100% unlikely. Why? Seriously, why? I ask myself to answer truthfully and all I get is that I just don’t want to.

sigh.