I didn't know anyone read this, anymore, but a few days ago, someone asked for an update. I'm touched that anyone cares, and at the same time, conscious that I don't want to hurt anyone out there on her own journey, who still finds it painful to hear of others' successful journeys or confused by the fact that people who are pregnant still find things to complain about. I must warn you--we do.
There have been a lot of things I've thought about writing since I got pregnant. A lot of funny things. Pregnancy has its own little weirdness, it's own moments of hilarity.
But it had its heartache too. It hasn't been easy. It wasn't easy when I started bleeding at 14 weeks, and was told I had a subchorionic hematoma and a 60-70% chance of losing the pregnancy, that there was nothing I could do but wait. I hemorrhaged and cried and held tight to my husband and to my hope--but I didn't lose them.
It wasn't easy at 26 weeks, when a funky test result suggested I might deliver in the next two weeks, with dangerously premature babies. I had a steroid shot to mature delicate little lungs, and I held my breath and try to stay calm--but I didn't deliver.
So now here I am, 34 1/2 weeks pregnant, and hoping and ALMOST ready to expect that in a matter of a couple weeks, I'll be the mother of two beautiful baby boys. But you know what? Life stayed complicated. I still fear, sometimes, that they're not going to be born. Or something is wrong with them. Or I won't be a good mom.
I know it a blessing, a blessing, to be here. But the update is--life goes on. And I'm still wishing the best for all of you out there, on your own journeys.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Just a Regular Pregnant Person
When I used to ponder whether I'd ever get pregnant, I worried about the uncertainty that came with it-the lack of assurance of staying pregnant and having a baby. I'd talk to friends who had children about moving from the uncertainty of infertility to the uncertainty of pregnancy. And they'd say knowingly, "Get ready, because it's going to be that way for the whole nine months." Which caused me to believe that being pregnant would be just as stressful as infertility.
That, I can say with some experience, is bullshit.
Not to say I don't worry during pregnancy. Not to say that I don't have trouble sleeping the night before an ultrasound, before I'm going to make sure my babies (yes, babies! Two!) are still growing the way they're supposed to. But the fear of holding on to something you already see within your reach, with a steady, steady heartbeat, with hands and arms and legs, is so different than the fear that you'll never get that chance at all. There's a lot of uncertainty in pregnancy, but there's a lot of reason to be hopeful too. Whereas infertility is a time of such immense fragility, where the unknown hits you again and again with such disappointment that you must protect yourself from believing it will ever be different, or risk of coming completely unglued. For me personally--I can't even compare the two.
At first, I tried. A few weeks ago, when I first "graduated" from the infertility clinic, I was complaining to a friend about what little attention I was going to get from my ob. Two ultrasounds! Two, the whole pregnancy! Whereas during IVF, you have them every other day, and that's just to look at your frickin' OVARIES, not babies. (Of course, I paid a pretty penny for those daily glamour shots.) And what she said was, "Yeah. I guess you're just a regular pregnant person now."
In a way, I guess I am. I made it through the first trimester, and I didn't develop a rare complication, and my babies don't look deformed, and they kept growing and their hearts keep beating. It went the way it was SUPPOSED to go, something a person who's experienced infertility can never really believe will happen.
And so now, I feel like I've been blessed with a wonderful gift. And as much as infertility is a challenging, developing, deepening experience, no one can call it a gift.
Which I guess is why I don't think I can blog here anymore. This blog is about making it through infertility, and that's something totally different than making it through pregnancy. I know all my good friends out there who take the time to read this--the same ones who took the time to call me, or cry with me, or hold my hand literally or figuratively through infertility--I know they'll also celebrate this new chapter in my life with me. To them I say, Thank you a million times over. I can't wait for my children to know you. I hope you will teach them like you've taught me.
But I guess I want my last message here to be to those women who are still fighting the fight of ovulation predictor kits, catheters of sperm, counting follicles, shots of progesterone in oil. Or maybe, letting go of this dream, or finding a new path to motherhood. To them I say, Yes. It really is as hard as you think it is right now. It is not illogical, it is not blown out of proportion, it does not continue this way forever. Know that getting to the end of this road doesn't mean you forget your journey through infertility. It will always be a part of you. And I hope your next road leads you somewhere exciting, taking with you the same blessings I feel infertility is given me.
That, I can say with some experience, is bullshit.
Not to say I don't worry during pregnancy. Not to say that I don't have trouble sleeping the night before an ultrasound, before I'm going to make sure my babies (yes, babies! Two!) are still growing the way they're supposed to. But the fear of holding on to something you already see within your reach, with a steady, steady heartbeat, with hands and arms and legs, is so different than the fear that you'll never get that chance at all. There's a lot of uncertainty in pregnancy, but there's a lot of reason to be hopeful too. Whereas infertility is a time of such immense fragility, where the unknown hits you again and again with such disappointment that you must protect yourself from believing it will ever be different, or risk of coming completely unglued. For me personally--I can't even compare the two.
At first, I tried. A few weeks ago, when I first "graduated" from the infertility clinic, I was complaining to a friend about what little attention I was going to get from my ob. Two ultrasounds! Two, the whole pregnancy! Whereas during IVF, you have them every other day, and that's just to look at your frickin' OVARIES, not babies. (Of course, I paid a pretty penny for those daily glamour shots.) And what she said was, "Yeah. I guess you're just a regular pregnant person now."
In a way, I guess I am. I made it through the first trimester, and I didn't develop a rare complication, and my babies don't look deformed, and they kept growing and their hearts keep beating. It went the way it was SUPPOSED to go, something a person who's experienced infertility can never really believe will happen.
And so now, I feel like I've been blessed with a wonderful gift. And as much as infertility is a challenging, developing, deepening experience, no one can call it a gift.
Which I guess is why I don't think I can blog here anymore. This blog is about making it through infertility, and that's something totally different than making it through pregnancy. I know all my good friends out there who take the time to read this--the same ones who took the time to call me, or cry with me, or hold my hand literally or figuratively through infertility--I know they'll also celebrate this new chapter in my life with me. To them I say, Thank you a million times over. I can't wait for my children to know you. I hope you will teach them like you've taught me.
But I guess I want my last message here to be to those women who are still fighting the fight of ovulation predictor kits, catheters of sperm, counting follicles, shots of progesterone in oil. Or maybe, letting go of this dream, or finding a new path to motherhood. To them I say, Yes. It really is as hard as you think it is right now. It is not illogical, it is not blown out of proportion, it does not continue this way forever. Know that getting to the end of this road doesn't mean you forget your journey through infertility. It will always be a part of you. And I hope your next road leads you somewhere exciting, taking with you the same blessings I feel infertility is given me.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Do I REALLY Feel Sick?
A few years ago, when living in Bolivia, my husband and I went with our host family to watch their children dance in a school festival. They were very excited about it ahead of time, yet strangely, due to circumstances not relevant or explicable here but perfectly logical in Bolivian culture, we didn't make it in time for the show.
But we stayed to watch the rest of it anyway. And about halfway through, I realized I needed to be sick (not an uncommon thing for me in Bolivia). But I didn't know where to do that. So I sat very still, looking green and breathing deeply. I watched the last hour of the show, and I rode home in a small van filled with 20 other people (this is a Bolivian "bus") on a dirt road for half an hour more. And then, the minute we were home, I literally ran to the bathroom and threw up.
All that to say, it seems I can hold it when I need to, and that comes in handy. (Can you see where I'm going with this?)
Even at just six weeks pregnant, I've had some weird nausea, and I'm dead tired. But I was hanging out with some family members recently, and they were suggesting that maybe me feeling sick so early in the pregnancy was just psychosomatic. I almost agreed. But then the other day, I get on a plane to LA in the morning, and there was some wind when we landed, and it was a little bumpy. And I keep thinking to myself, a la Bolivian dance recital, "I have GOT to throw up." But I didn't. I sat there with the same steely resolve for the 15 minutes it took to land and taxi. And then we landed, I ran off that planed and thanked God that for some reason, there was an empty, single stall handicapped restroom in front of me. And I puked my guts out so that little blood vessels around my eyes popped and I have these small red dots on my face.
Psychosomatic, my ass.
But we stayed to watch the rest of it anyway. And about halfway through, I realized I needed to be sick (not an uncommon thing for me in Bolivia). But I didn't know where to do that. So I sat very still, looking green and breathing deeply. I watched the last hour of the show, and I rode home in a small van filled with 20 other people (this is a Bolivian "bus") on a dirt road for half an hour more. And then, the minute we were home, I literally ran to the bathroom and threw up.
All that to say, it seems I can hold it when I need to, and that comes in handy. (Can you see where I'm going with this?)
Even at just six weeks pregnant, I've had some weird nausea, and I'm dead tired. But I was hanging out with some family members recently, and they were suggesting that maybe me feeling sick so early in the pregnancy was just psychosomatic. I almost agreed. But then the other day, I get on a plane to LA in the morning, and there was some wind when we landed, and it was a little bumpy. And I keep thinking to myself, a la Bolivian dance recital, "I have GOT to throw up." But I didn't. I sat there with the same steely resolve for the 15 minutes it took to land and taxi. And then we landed, I ran off that planed and thanked God that for some reason, there was an empty, single stall handicapped restroom in front of me. And I puked my guts out so that little blood vessels around my eyes popped and I have these small red dots on my face.
Psychosomatic, my ass.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Screw "Cautiously Optimistic"
When I had a chemical pregnancy, I was told to be "cautiously optimistic," even though there was no reason to think things would work out.
Now, with my numbers rising normally but still so, so early in the pregnancy, the nurse is again telling me to be "cautiously optimistic."
I say, screw cautiously optimistic.
I say, it took me two and a half years and $30,000 and three rounds of IVF to get here.
I say, I have no control over whether this will be a healthy pregnancy or not.
I say, I might as well enjoy being pregnant while I am.
I say, if it doesn't work out, I'll bawl my head off whether I try to be cautious or not.
So that means that I say, I might as well just enjoy this moment, right now, at a place I've never been, at a place I had to fight so hard to get to. So I'm optimistially optimistic. Done with that caution shit.
Now, with my numbers rising normally but still so, so early in the pregnancy, the nurse is again telling me to be "cautiously optimistic."
I say, screw cautiously optimistic.
I say, it took me two and a half years and $30,000 and three rounds of IVF to get here.
I say, I have no control over whether this will be a healthy pregnancy or not.
I say, I might as well enjoy being pregnant while I am.
I say, if it doesn't work out, I'll bawl my head off whether I try to be cautious or not.
So that means that I say, I might as well just enjoy this moment, right now, at a place I've never been, at a place I had to fight so hard to get to. So I'm optimistially optimistic. Done with that caution shit.
The Death Star
Okay, warning: This story is going to be sort of crass and gross. You can't say I didn't warn you.
So like all women who have fought and pushed and shoved their way through infertlity, I find it almost impossible to believe I am actually pregnant, and that I will actually stay that way. So two days ago, when I noticed just a little spotting, I was terrified. It was bright red. I'd heard brown was okay, but not bright red. Bright red is bad.
So I called my nurse. She said, in a serious, this-could-be-bad voice, "It's possible you just have some irritatation from the suppositories." For those of you who don't know, women who go through IVF receive supplemental progesterone. I get it two ways, lucky me: a morning shot in the butt, and an evening suppository.
I have to admit, by the time I put those suppositories in, I'm deleriously tired. Maybe not so careful. But I'd never bled before. My nurse said, "every cycle is different," but I wasn't sure. And then she told me to put the suppositories in the other hole.
Ugh. They were uncomfortable enough in the accommodating hole, but I did as told. I swear, it was like the Death Star. If you don't know what I mean, just recall that there was a tractor beam that sucked unwilling ships in, and then they lodged there uncomfortably.
But there you go--it's what I had to do, and I did it. And it turned out she was right. Because I didn't have any more spotting, and I went in for a "peace of mind" beta, and it's all normal. Hard to believe, right? Me, normal.
So like all women who have fought and pushed and shoved their way through infertlity, I find it almost impossible to believe I am actually pregnant, and that I will actually stay that way. So two days ago, when I noticed just a little spotting, I was terrified. It was bright red. I'd heard brown was okay, but not bright red. Bright red is bad.
So I called my nurse. She said, in a serious, this-could-be-bad voice, "It's possible you just have some irritatation from the suppositories." For those of you who don't know, women who go through IVF receive supplemental progesterone. I get it two ways, lucky me: a morning shot in the butt, and an evening suppository.
I have to admit, by the time I put those suppositories in, I'm deleriously tired. Maybe not so careful. But I'd never bled before. My nurse said, "every cycle is different," but I wasn't sure. And then she told me to put the suppositories in the other hole.
Ugh. They were uncomfortable enough in the accommodating hole, but I did as told. I swear, it was like the Death Star. If you don't know what I mean, just recall that there was a tractor beam that sucked unwilling ships in, and then they lodged there uncomfortably.
But there you go--it's what I had to do, and I did it. And it turned out she was right. Because I didn't have any more spotting, and I went in for a "peace of mind" beta, and it's all normal. Hard to believe, right? Me, normal.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Here We Go
I can't help it. I love musicals. They're generally mindless and fun and are great for singing in the shower. I can belt out "Dance: 10, Looks: 3" from a Chorus Line, or listen to my husband mimic Jean Valjean from Les Mis, and I can't help but be in a better mood.
Anyway, there's a few lines from a song in the musical Rent that have been stuck in my head all day.
Who knows where
Who goes there
Who knows
Here goes
There's lots more to the song. But it's about jumping into something new, not knowing where it leads.
Which is how I feel about what happens now. Because we got a call from our clinic like we've never received before. A call to say, "Congratulations. You're pregnant." Not kind of pregnant. Not with borderline numbers. Just normal, legitimate, pregnant.
So I don't know what it means--for everything that's come before, for everything that comes after. But for now, it means I stop talking about trying to get pregnant. Right now, I enjoy where we are.
Here we go.
Anyway, there's a few lines from a song in the musical Rent that have been stuck in my head all day.
Who knows where
Who goes there
Who knows
Here goes
There's lots more to the song. But it's about jumping into something new, not knowing where it leads.
Which is how I feel about what happens now. Because we got a call from our clinic like we've never received before. A call to say, "Congratulations. You're pregnant." Not kind of pregnant. Not with borderline numbers. Just normal, legitimate, pregnant.
So I don't know what it means--for everything that's come before, for everything that comes after. But for now, it means I stop talking about trying to get pregnant. Right now, I enjoy where we are.
Here we go.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Damn, This is Familiar
When I am NOT trying to get pregnant, life can be very zen. I can just go to the dog park and watch my Bolivian street mutt run wild, eat a delicious vegetrian Vietnamese dinner, and sack out on the couch around 10:30. (And that's a FRIDAY night.)
When I AM trying to get pregnant, I can do all those things, but then wake up at 2:30 in the morning and obsess. I have my first beta tomorrow. I have made two decisions:
1. I have to stop looking at anything fertility-related on the Internet. I am sure that if I looked hard enough, I could find a study that says I'm .0005% more likely to have a three headed baby because I did IVF. So you can imagine how easy it is to find stuff that tells me that all my treatment is destined to fail.
2. I will not take a home pregnancy test. Why bother? It's like Santa Claus--even when I have proof he doesn't exist, I still believe. Even when I get those BFN (big fat negatives), I think, "oh, maybe I drank too much water," or "this is a bunk test," or "maybe it's just a really FAINT line."
The funny thing is, what I'm really dreading is a call from the nurse on Monday that it didn't work. And the main thing I'm dreading is not that it didn't work, but that she has to TELL me it didn't work. I feel sorry for her. This is totally illogical. First, because I don't know whether it worked or not, so I'm throwing in the towel a little early, mentally speaking. And second, because whether it not it worked, she is going to be glad to get off work early on Monday. It doesn't matter to her, not really. And it shouldn't; I get it. It's a job. It's like when my clients get sued. Not my problem, even though I feel sympathetic. (And ultimately, in this perverse way, keeps me working.)
Maybe it's just a mask for my true emotions. Who the heck knows. But it sure felt good NOT to feel this for awhile. And I'm going to start making a list of all the things about my life, my life right now, that I love JUST THE WAY THEY ARE. So I can remember that I'm not always the crazy girl blogging at 4:00 a.m.
When I AM trying to get pregnant, I can do all those things, but then wake up at 2:30 in the morning and obsess. I have my first beta tomorrow. I have made two decisions:
1. I have to stop looking at anything fertility-related on the Internet. I am sure that if I looked hard enough, I could find a study that says I'm .0005% more likely to have a three headed baby because I did IVF. So you can imagine how easy it is to find stuff that tells me that all my treatment is destined to fail.
2. I will not take a home pregnancy test. Why bother? It's like Santa Claus--even when I have proof he doesn't exist, I still believe. Even when I get those BFN (big fat negatives), I think, "oh, maybe I drank too much water," or "this is a bunk test," or "maybe it's just a really FAINT line."
The funny thing is, what I'm really dreading is a call from the nurse on Monday that it didn't work. And the main thing I'm dreading is not that it didn't work, but that she has to TELL me it didn't work. I feel sorry for her. This is totally illogical. First, because I don't know whether it worked or not, so I'm throwing in the towel a little early, mentally speaking. And second, because whether it not it worked, she is going to be glad to get off work early on Monday. It doesn't matter to her, not really. And it shouldn't; I get it. It's a job. It's like when my clients get sued. Not my problem, even though I feel sympathetic. (And ultimately, in this perverse way, keeps me working.)
Maybe it's just a mask for my true emotions. Who the heck knows. But it sure felt good NOT to feel this for awhile. And I'm going to start making a list of all the things about my life, my life right now, that I love JUST THE WAY THEY ARE. So I can remember that I'm not always the crazy girl blogging at 4:00 a.m.
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