Friday, July 27, 2007

I Got You, Babe.

Happy Anniversary, my love. I cannot put into words how much it means to me that we have made it this far. If we have to go through this mess, I am glad we are in it together. You have been endlessly patient, upbeat, and tolerant through it all, and hopefully it will all pay off in the end.

But if it doesn't, we're definitely taking that big trip to Europe.

Love,

J



Today is it...the big number five!

The Man and I were lying in bed together this morning, and ended up spending most of the early afternoon holed up together- still in the bed, lounging and talking.

The general concensus was that it has been a good five years, and that on the whole, we're two very lucky people. Lucky to have found each other, lucky to have supportive families and wonderful friends, and a nice house.

Unfortunately, somehow counting my blessings made me think of the one thing that we don't have. I started to tear up, and The Man immediately and wordlessly held out his arms and wrapped them around me. I managed to keep my cool, and somehow pulled back from the brink.

I feel incredibly selfish. Why do I have to remind myself that five wonderful years with the love of my life should be enough? And while we both want children more than anything, would we have been able to sleep in and spend the day together and sort of drift through the afternoon if we had kids? Probably not. Would we be able to pick up and go away for the weekend at a moment's notice? Definitely not. Evenings out at nice restaurants would be forsaken, unless we could scrounge a sitter.

We went out tonight for a lovely celebratory evening, where I ate a positively ridiculous amount of food (although we skipped both lunch and dinner in favor of staying in bed today) and had creme brulee for dessert. No alcohol though, because hey, hope springs eternal.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Expect the Unexpected

So, we've been diagnosed with unexplained infertility.

July 27th will be the anniversary of the day The Man and I got married...nearly five years ago.
At the end of November, he was deployed to the Middle East. Before he came home the next May, he asked me not to go to the doctor to get my pill prescription refilled.

He was readyfor kids, and I wasn't quite there yet. But he came home, we had lots of unprotected sex, and we bought a house with three bedrooms and a big yard and access to the best schools in town.

When a year had passed and there was no sign of children, I went to the doctor. He checked things out, said everything was in working order. I read books. I charted. I took blood tests. Of course, if you are reading this, you probably know the drill. At this point, they like to check your husband, so the Man got checked. Outwardly at least, we were both supposed to be in stellar health and should have been a shoo-in at baby-making. It was baffling.

Another year went by. I graduated from lying in bed with my hips elevated to trying Clomid, Clomid with Metformin, and peeing on ovulation predictor sticks. A tenative diagnosis of PCOS came up empty. I was disgustingly healthy. My period was never even one day late. My doctor sent me to get an HSG to check to see if my tubes were blocked.

As it turns out, the procedure showed a blockage in my right tube. My wonderful OB/Gyn sent me to a fertility specialist (who has the bedside manner of a dead flounder) to get laprascopic surgery to open things up.

I didn't find out until three weeks later, at my post-op checkup, that the tube was actually open the whole time, and the surgery was unnecessary. Having seen this surgery as something that might solve our problems with starting a family, I was stunned, and crushed.

The specialist had dropped that bombshell, and I guess he wanted a "Plan B" right there and then. He started throwing around percentages and likelihoods and dollar amounts, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I had been cornered by a used car salesman.

It left a really bad taste in my mouth, and took a few more months to come around, and decide that we needed more medical intervention.

My third IUI was today. It was my last cycle with Clomid, and I am up and starting this blog because I can't sleep. I feel like I am being kicked in the left ovary. Repeatedly. By a cross-eyed mule.

Just like last month, I have three big fat follicles on the left side. Just like last month, I slipped into the stirrups and scooted down, and had to be coerced into splaying (I hate it. I hate the splaying) and the lady administering the syringe said, "Well, you're definitely ovulating!"

It made me feel like I have a vaginal version of the Krispy Kreme "HOT NOW" neon doughnut sign in there.

So between the Clomid, the ultrasound, the Ovidrel injection, the IUI procedure, and the prenatal vitamins, baby aspirins, and progesterone suppositores, I am feeling like a walking talking (screaming, crying, bubbling mess of crazy) lab experiment.

At least I know it's working. I can tell by the fact that the way my poor husband is trying to cook chicken is infuriating to me. The RN tells me that three follicles on my Clomid dosage is a big deal, that my husband's counts are amazing! Everything looks fantastic. It's going to be this month! Third time's the charm, she can feel it. I asked her about the next move, which drugs, and she just shook her head. "Focus on this cycle," she said. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

I am the type of person who's like, "What? There's a bridge? Is there a body of water or just a gaping chasm? What about a flesh-eating troll? Can I get a Mapquest printout?

Anyway. On the way out of the office, she wished me luck. So did the other RN, the lady who does my ultrasounds, the two bubbly check-in desk girls, and the lady who took my check for the procedure. It was sort of like that "Good Game!" handslapping thing that kids do at the end of a ball game, except more heartfelt.

I know, I need to be positive. But the thought of what last month was like when our hopes were dashed is making me reluctant to open myself up to it. I need to open myself up to possibilities! And if that means crying inconsolably in my bed for two days again, then so be it. I can't accept the good things in life when I am curled up like a frightened hedgehog, hiding my vulnerable middle from the world.


Right? Right?!!

Saturday, July 7, 2007