I’m tired, Internet. I’m so tired. I’m tired of failing at trying to make a baby. I’m tired of the pills. I’m tired of the how-do-you-do ultrasounds. I’m tired of the injections. I’m tired of handing over money to the RE and having nothing but pain to show for it. I’m tired of these perfectly timed cycles always ending on a Friday, ruining the awesome that is Friday. I’m. Just. Tired.
After not-a-lot-of discussion (which helps make this decision feel more right), Rob and I decided to take at least one cycle off the nose-to-the-grindstone business of infertility. No RE visits, no fertility drugs, no pressure.
I don’t ovulate on my own, and I still need to talk with my doctor about what would be best for me, but I want to go as med-free as possible. I don’t want to take birth control to prevent me from downward spiraling when my body starts missing the progesterone that ovulation produces – not that I don’t want to prevent that downward spiral, but what if? What if my body – FOR ONCE – decides to act as I’m told it was designed, as so many other bodies act without someone telling it what to do?
It’s a big What If, but I’m willing to try it out, if only to feel like I’m not entirely not-trying to make a baby.
So we shall see on that front.
Other than trying to be med free, I have other things I miss that I haven’t had the brain capacity or ability for along with all the infertility crap.
I want to get back to eating right – for me, that mean a low-GI diet. That’s kind of the opposite of the Old Wive’s Tale Diet for Making Babies, which includes pomegranate juice (sugar!) and pineapple core (LOTS OF SUGAR).
A diet of low-GI foods isn’t nearly as fun as eating potatoes and ice cream, but you know what? I FEEL SO MUCH BETTER when I have my carbs under control. I actually can’t wait to cut the sugar and get back to feeling like a normal person instead of a CarbMonster who is sluggish.
I want to get back into a good workout regimen. I fell off that horse with some emo-ness, and I haven’t gotten back on. I keep thinking, “What if I get into a good routine and then am too afraid to continue, two weeks in, if I find out I’m pregnant?” (not entirely rational, but SHUT UP, I THINK THAT.) Anyone will tell you those first two weeks of a new workout regimen are the hardest, so I’m too lazy scared nervous hopeful hesitant to even start.
Plus, when I’m feeling emo, I’d rather sit and mope. Or play Wii. Or sleep.
I want to read a book. My brain has been ALL OVER the damn place with all the infertility stuff bouncing around in my head. I just can’t concentrate enough to read more than two pages at a time. This does not get books read. I’ve been working on ONE book for more than a month now, and I’m only on chapter three.
Finally, I need something positive in my life, more than just the day-to-day awesome that is the people in my life.
Rob and I recently got a great opportunity (through Rob’s connections) to make over our kitchen for around $500. We spend nearly that much out of pocket each cycle with the RE, so instead of spending it at the doctor this month (or saving it, which you might say is smarter), we’re going to put it toward making our kitchen better fit us.
I AM SO EXCITED, INTERNET. We’re getting some new cabinets, putting in a tile backsplash … it’s going to be so fun. And? I’m going to get to store my kitchen stuff IN MY KITCHEN and not in the guest-room closet. AMAZING.
We’re raising most of our existing cabinets and installing a floating shelf at the height of what’s currently the bottom of the cabinets. Some cabinets will be entirely replaced because there’s no way to add to them. I’m still a little not-so-clear on all the exact details, but I promise to document the progress and keep you updated on everything.
So!
I’m sad that I failed again. Of course I am. But I’m not as sad in the past. It’s not that I expected it, but I’m becoming quite numb to the failure. That isn’t good. That tells me I’m too far down and need a breather.
I’m worried that taking time off is telling the world, Mother Nature, God, that I’m over it and that I’m throwing in the towel. That isn’t the case. I just need a break, and I need to get my feet back under me.
Mainly, I feel good about our decision to step back. It feels like a sigh of relief, and I just hope it doesn’t turn out to be a mistake in which I have Serious Issues from letting my body do its own thing.
Internet? I want to thank you for being there for me through all this. You make something that is so hard so much easier to face. You make me feel like I am doing something positive with my negative – sharing it with you, which makes the negative that much easier.
Thank you for that.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bU-_y9RCYWM&hl=en]
Why can’t we get on the same page?
I feel like you enjoy it when people are proactive in their lives and do things for themselves instead of just asking you to take care of it all. This is why I’m regularly visiting my RE, popping pills and stabbing myself in the gut with injections.
I’m trying. Really hard.
Where are you?
I know you’re here because you’re the head cheerleader in my personal Cheerios squad. You lift me up when I fall after another failed cycle. You keep me positive and focused when I start a new one. You’ve been part of my marriage and keep things between Rob and I smooth as butter so we can face infertility together instead of against one another. You’ve blessed me with a wide net of support, and you’ve managed to bribe them into sticking by me.
God, not only am I medically/physically trying, I’m mentally and emotionally trying So Very Hard. It would be So Very Easy to let the failure keep me down, to snarl and foam at the mouth as I witness the endless parade of positive pregnancy tests, big ultrasounds and amazing, sweet babies who grow into fun, wonderful kids.
I was a kid once, too. I’m somebody’s baby.
God, I know that each pregnancy I see, each baby I meet, each kid I play with – they’re going to grow into their place in this world, and each place is one you have planned out. That’s why I’ve never once wondered why one baby was born to one mother and father and not to me and Rob. That’s their time and place, not ours. You don’t run a baby factory that they stole from what you had designated for me. Their baby does not have a single thing to do with our no-baby. Well, except that their baby reminds me of our no-baby. All the time.
I just wish I could see your plan for me.
Am I wrong to seek medical help? Am I wrong to time things, to take medication? Should I wait for you? Are you waiting for me?
God, I don’t know what to do next. I don’t know if I should back off and not try so hard; if I should let you take over and see if you want to do this on your own. I don’t know if that’s giving up or being faithful. I don’t know if I should try harder and seek further medical interventions.
Am I trying too hard? Am I not trying enough? Is this just not the time? Did we already miss the time you had planned for us?
God, what’s got me down most is that you know my heart. You know the bruising it’s taking with these repeated failures. You know how I question my worth as a woman and a wife, how my husband can bring to the table wonderful test results and prognoses, amazing odds, and I continue to bring failure after failure. No matter how good results are, my body refuses to put them to use.
God, you certainly haven’t given more than I can handle, but I’m exhausted. I’m emotionally drained. I’ve gone numb to the negative pregnancy tests, and I have to work harder to enter each new cycle with high steps and no dragging feet.
I’m tired of delivering bad news to my husband, family and friends. I’m tired of building hope only to have it crushed. I’m tired of fighting my demons, those rare but ugly bitter feelings.
If you and I were married, my friends would suggest a divorce. God, this relationship has to work both ways. You can’t expect me to try and try and try without you putting in your share of the effort. We haven’t taken the medical intervention to the max, but we’ve done A Lot of work. Without you, though, it’s all for nothing.
My patience is wearing thin, but I’m afraid to give up just as you’ve decided I have paid my dues and done what you planned for me. I’m afraid to keep going because I don’t want to fail if you’re testing my faith in you rather than medicine (though you know I believe you work together).
I know you’re there, and I know you’re listening. I truly appreciate gentle pats and boosts you’ve given me. I’m not so down this time around and have shed minimal tears. I don’t need the pep talk this time.
I need answers.
Yours,
Jenny
My wonderful friend Rema sent me this cute, thoughtful note to cheer me on while I battle infertility.
*****
I’m writing this on a whim without taking time to ask permission for posting pictures of my friends, so you’ll have to enjoy this through my words alone.
My friends. They are AWESOME. I’m not sure Rob and I would have survived to this point without my friends. I question Rob’s survival because I might have knifed him in a psychotic rage (not *at* him, but he’d probably be a bystander-victim) if I didn’t have my friends to talk me down, make me smile, lift me up and, in general, keep me sane.
They understand when I e-mail them something that looks like this:
A#$%^&*)(&^%$%^%$^&5^&#@$%^&*^()_)*
And, amazingly, they can translate that call for help and send back an always-appropriate response.
They send me sweet cards telling me how unfair things are and how proud they are of me.
They give the best squishy hugs, both in person and over the Internet.
They ask questions when they don’t understand part of my treatment – they actually care and want to know details and don’t just say, “Good luck!”
They respect my bonkers feelings, whether it be obsessing over any phantom symptom I can conjure up or staying far, far, far from the subject.
The key there, though, is they respect me. They respect my sometimes need for distance, but they also recognize my need for being checked up on. They don’t all understand what I’m going through, but they respect that my feelings are valid and real and are just as much a part of me as my smart-ass attitude and my silliness.
Most important to me right now is that my awesome friends completely understand that part of my struggle is being a good friend back to them. Being a good friend is hard, and it’s especially hard when you live with something that requires a selfish amount of attention.
I feared infertility would cost me some friendships along the way, but so far, with the majority of my friendships, it has only made them stronger.
Friends, if you’re reading this, thank you so much for always standing by me and letting me be a piss-poor, needy friend sometimes. Thank you for filling my life with laughter and happiness and underlining it with a soft cushion for when I fall. Thank you for not giving up on me and for being the best cheerleaders I could ever ask for. You’re my personal Cheerios (Glee!), and even Sue Silvester would have a hard time finding things about which to bark at you.
I promise I’ll someday soon return to being a less selfish friend. Until then, I’ll keep adding to my stack of IOUs.
(pee ess: Rocky got to the card & nommed off one of the scalloped pretties. jerk!)
When I was wee, I forever wanted to cut the flowers in outside our house and put them in a vase inside. My mom rarely allowed me to do this (though I sometimes snuck some into little containers in my Barbie houses, where they’d stand in as giant flowers and out of Mom’s view), much to my chagrin.
Now I’m all grown up and have my own flowers. And I don’t like to cut them out of my flowerbeds. But I did just this once. And now they’re dead in their vase. Stupid flowers. Why do they like it outside so much more than they do inside?
