Just breathe

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Just a little reminder to myself...

Stop

Breathe

Take it all in... 

It's going to be OK

Surrender

When I used to think about the word surrender I always associated it with defeat. After all, most people will say that when you surrender you are giving up, you aren't fighting anymore.

I disagree. Surrender for me has meant accepting... letting go, not holding onto false expectations. When I started this journey every step was full of exciting unknowns. Every trip to the doctor was an adventure, a baby making adventure. After all, I thought to myself, my problems weren't too bad... it was going to be a walk in the park. The novelty of the treatments quickly went away. That excitement had turned into crippling fear and depression. Then I started questioning myself, I questioned my ability to become pregnant and carry a baby to term. It seemed almost impossible.  I faced my reality... I was indeed infertile. At first I saw myself as a passerby trough the world of infertility. I had told myself on countless occasions that what we were going trough  was just a rough patch... that I just had some trouble getting pregnant, that's all. I was afraid of facing my infertility head on. I was in denial and as a result there was only pain and disappointment.

Every month that passed by was another month of defeat. I developed severe anxiety in the middle of my IUI cycles. I kept spiraling down... lower and lower. But I just kept pushing myself month after month. Against my own better judgement, I went ahead. I kept pushing myself even when my heart wasn't truly in it. Specially after my first miscarriage, all I wanted to do was stop for a while. But how could I?... I had to keep going. I just wanted it to be over, get pregnant and leave all of this behind. Even though emotionally I felt I couldn't face another cycle, I did it anyway. I ended up being a shadow of what I once was. My body became exhausted, my mind was floating away in a daze.What I had failed to learn was that you just can't push or rush things.  Life doesn't work that way, specially infertility.

I pitied myself and our situation. I was embarrassed of the fact that it was my body that kept failing... my body was the one keeping us from having a baby. My internal turmoil was on it's peak. Something had to give. I couldn't keep doing this to myself... to us. So A and I sat down and had a heart to heart. There was little doubt that the best option for us at this point was IVF. I have to say, IVF terrified me. I swore myself that we wouldn't get to this point. That's why I pushed myself so hard in the IUI cycles. I wanted to prevent IVF at all costs, as if such things could be controlled. So there we were. And it's at that moment that everything fell into place. I realized that yes, this is me... this is my life and these are the cards we were dealt with. There was no point in fighting this anymore. I surrendered. I surrendered to my circumstances and strangely enough I had never felt more at peace during this journey. Everything made sense. This is were we are supposed to be. This is what we are meant to be doing. Even if it doesn't work, which we know it's a possibility, we are following our hearts.

Having said that, it doesn't mean that my fears and anxieties are gone. I think that's almost impossible. I still have doubts. Our journey is still full of unknowns. I still break down from time to time. Just yesterday I had a big meltdown about some blood tests that came up on the high end, which means that I probably have lupus antibodies. I kept saying to myself  "not again" "there can't be anything else wrong with my body". My heart ached for a while. But if that is the case, if more tests keep coming up positive, then I am grateful that they have caught it at this point and are able to give me the adequate treatment for it.

This morning I woke up and looked myself in the mirror and was able to smile, so that was a good thing. In the middle of this madness, I have the ability to feel hope again. Something that I had lost a while ago.

 I am no longer fighting against the tide. I am swimming in it.

Getting there

This week has been an emotional one for me. OK, lets be real... lately all weeks are emotional ones around these parts. It started by me having a meltdown at a couple of pharmacies, after I went looking at Lupron prices for my endo treatment.  Turns out that a monthly Lupron dose costs $900-$1,000 and it's not covered by my insurance. Add to that the bitchy pharmacist who told me laughing  "Oh, you are going to have a heart attack when I tell you the price" and "You are going to be broke by the end of this" to set the mood for a complete loss in rational capacity. I wanted to yell at her "really! thanks for reminding me that this process is leaving us broker by the minute... have a nice fucking day". But no, thankfully I restrained myself and took it like the composed and calm woman that I am. Right.... So needles to say I spent Monday and Tuesday moping around, lamenting our financial situation and feeling sorry for ourselves in general.

By Wednesday things seemed to pick up. I had an appointment with my RE, which I love, love, love! He's so positive and upbeat that it's impossible to not be excited as well. I brought a list of questions and he seemed surprised that I knew my stuff.  He told me that the extended Lupron treatment wasn't necessary in my case and that we could proceed with our plans. I was so relieved that we didn't have to spend ridiculous amounts of money on six months of Lupron... because we are saving those ridiculous amounts of money to start IVF. Finally we have a clear plan ahead! We are looking to start in May- June and I couldn't be more excited and nervous at the same time. I still have to do a couple of tests, mainly immunological tests due to past miscarriages and also he wanted me to have the E-tegrity test done. Thankfully I had an uterine biopsy done last September, so they still had that sample in their pathology office. All they had to do was send that sample to the lab. The test ended up costing about $600, so yeah... small change compared to everything else. If I end up testing positive for the test, he says that it's a fixable thing... nothing to worry about. He wants to eliminate all possible doubts before starting the IVF and I am happy about that. Although IVF is not 100% guaranteed I am more at ease by knowing that we are searching for things that in the end can hinder a positive result.

So that's what has been going on around these parts. We are slowly but surely getting there...

Sunny Sundays

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It truly is...

IVF

Those three little letters... so innocent on their own, right? When put together they are able to carry so many emotions. There is so much uncertainty when you deal with infertility. I only want to see the hope in those three little letters. Hope and strength... and ultimately, happiness. I really, really hope that it will all work out in the end. I hope that there is a happily ever after for us (even if I don't believe in fairy tales).

But I worry a lot also (shocker, I know... me worry and be all up inside my head? never!) I try to put all of the worries away with no such luck. The surgery last week broke down the wall I had so carefully built in the past few months. All the anxiety and doubts of cycling came crashing down on me about three days ago. I was doing well, I really was. But then something snapped inside me and all emotional hell broke loose. The lack of control, the unknown, it's enough to drive me crazy. It all started because I began to worry about the post op report. What did they find? Is it bad? Was there a lot of endo there? and so on. These questions will be answered next week but in the meantime it's worry central in here. Worrying has a domino effect for me. I start worrying about one little thing and a couple of hours latter I am in a full blown anxiety attack.

My biggest worry is the outcome of the IVF. I don't think I can face another disappointment. Of course I'm jumping way ahead here, but these are valid worries that I believe most people facing IVF have. There is no stress free way to navigate through this (if someone has found a way please tell me!). And then there's the money worries as well. There are loans and savings put into this. My parents are also helping us with a big portion of the money as well. That has been hard, letting them help us. They don't have any grandchildren and I know they would give anything to have one. Many times my dad has tried to reassure us. He keeps telling us that they are doing this out of love. I am so grateful but at the same time I feel guilty that it has come to this.

In the meantime I hope that I can keep my anxiety in check and not drive A crazy in the process. I'll try to focus on all the good things that are happening around us on hold on to dear life for the journey ahead.

Sunny Sundays

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Wishing everyone an amazing week!

On

It's been since September of last year, when we last set foot on our RE's office. It was a bittersweet visit because we knew we weren't going back anytime soon. As I said goodbye to the receptionist, tears welled up in my eyes, but they couldn't come out. I didn't let them. Enough tears had been shed in that place. We knew we needed a break, a time away from all the madness. But a part of me didn't want to let go. I knew that there was a slim to non existent chance of me becoming pregnant the "natural way". Stepping away from treatments meant a very strong chance of no pregnancy. Of course, there are some people who believe in miracles. There's always that urban legend meant to give people like us hope, about the couple who stopped fertility treatments and suddenly conceived. I consider myself way to practical to fall into that. Cynicism would be a better word to describe it. I knew what our problems were and conceiving the "natural way" seemed like complete bullshit at this point. Urban legends my ass.

Anyway, we stepped away physically from the process. And when I say physically it's because emotionally it's all I could think of. I know that for A it was easier to take a break. I was the one left with the physical emptiness of the miscarriage. I wanted that void to be filled fast. But there are no easy ways out when dealing with all of this. There are no sure remedies to mend a heart that has been broken into so many pieces. Time seemed like the only good idea.

Unfortunately there was no fool proof method to reset my mind in order to accept that we were on a break. True, we kind of lost our souls in the midst of that last cycle, but I felt even more lost when we stopped the treatments. The treatments had become my life. Giving myself the shots were a daily ritual... testing on cheap pregnancy tests had become my own kind of drug. Stopping felt so sudden. So forceful. The money was scarce... our hopes were down- what else was left to do?

We knew that we deserved to try at least to enjoy the holidays without the worries that another month of treatments would surely bring. The holidays came and went and although being able to drink was a nice change of pace, one which I took full advantage of, it still felt like moving trough quick sand. The much talked about, miraculous conception didn't make it's appearance. The relief of the stress was only an illusion. The absence of pain was only fleeting.

Time passed and the need to try again was strong. I kept it a secret from A since I didn't want to spoil the peace he had apparently found. He wasn't completely oblivious... of course he knew, because every time we would pass a pregnant woman he gave me that look, which in turn broke my heart a little bit more. In the meantime I tucked away my mommy dreams and focused on other things instead. Nothing filled the void, though. Time passed ever so slowly... painfully slow... but it passed nonetheless.

And that brings us to this point. We are on the verge of starting it all over again and if I'm being truthful, it scares the shit out of me. It keeps me up at night. The anticipation... the doubts... the unknown. Even though the idea of making that phone call to the RE's office to set up a new appointment was in part responsible for keeping me sane and hopeful all of this time, it's intimidating.  Starting up again... beginning from scratch. The shots... the trips (since the office is almost three hours from our town)... the blood tests... the possible surgery, everything seems more daunting this time. Because there's no blissful ignorance like there was in the beginning. That stage is over. I'm going into this already jaded. Scarred. But there are no options. This is it. If we really want this (and we do!) there's no other way. Calls will be made, appointments will be set, procedures will be scheduled and there will be not a single space for doubt. 

So the time is approaching. The time to close our eyes, cross our fingers and jump in yet again... hopefully we will land on our feet this time.

Sunny Sundays

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Light

 

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Suddenly it dawned on me... the date struck like a lighting bolt. It jolted me straight up from where I sat. I have been blocking this moment... this memory. I knew it was there, I just didn't let myself bring it back. But some things are way too powerful... they are way too much connected to your whole being. 

I should have been holding you right now... but I am not. I should be kissing softly your forehead, singing you to sleep. But I am not. Nine months... nine months since you came tiptoeing into our lives. You showered us with a new hope- one that we wold have never imagined to be deserving of. It's been nine months since you left us, with a soft whisper that lingered in our hearts, assuring us that your brief stay was real. Reassuring us that you chose us. Your soul was once one with mine, as it shall ever be. Your light was once with us, and it shall ever burn bright. 

From the outside

How many times have I felt like an outsider? It's a feeling I can't help, really. It comes unannounced at the most unexpected moments. Walking trough the aisles of a store... going to the post office... driving down the street. These are the kind of moments that leave you breathless and not in a good way. Seeing a mother snuggling their brand new baby... seeing families playing at the park... seeing my mother in law talking so lovingly about her grandchildren... sometimes it is enough to break my heart a little (OK, a lot).

You may think you are prepared to face those moments as an infertile. After all, we are a pretty tough bunch. But no matter how strong you may think you are, it's undeniable- those moments are a bitch. They make you feel like you don't fit in. Like you don't belong with the rest of the world. It makes it hard to relate to the "normalcy" of other peoples lives... to the effortlessness... the easiness.  After all, you've been so used to the endless fighting... the constant battling... the uncertainty of it all.

Looking in, it may feel so very strange what you see. It may look so unattainable.

Lately I've been feeling like I have been fighting for so long... I feel tired. I often look at the road ahead and shudder. Because I know that this journey it's not over.

I desperately want to be the one inside looking out. I want to leave all of this behind. Wouldn't it be so wonderful- to stop worrying and wondering? To stop imagining how it would look like and actually start living it?

There have been so many times were I wished I was the norm, I wished there wasn't something "special" about me. Fuck special and fuck being a statistic (I've never liked numbers anyway). I want to be sitting comfortably... inside. Please... pretty please! 

Universe take note!

Sunny Sundays

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Hope you enjoy this little bit of sunshine!

A one night stand

Yep, that's how my best friend got pregnant. I had to tell myself over and over again that it was a complete and cruel joke. After the call in which she proceeded to announced that she was pregnant by a guy much younger than her, after a drunken one night stand, I stood there almost speechless. I hoped she was joking, but knowing her, I knew she was telling the truth.

What was I supposed to do? Say congratulations? Good for you? Of course that's exactly what I did, before finishing the call, and crying at my job. Luckily no one saw.

The following months were super difficult between us. I couldn't stand the fact that it was so easy for her. After all, this was her third pregnancy. The other two ended in abortions. I don't pass judgment on that decision. It was a personal matter and that was that. I believe that every woman has the right to choose what's best for them. But when something comes so easy for someone and they see it as matter of fact, there will be no way in hell that they are going to be able to understand the sacrifice that some people have to go trough just to have the opportunity to be standing just where they are.  

Why was life so unfair? Ironic would have been a better word. Yes, I threw a pity party for myself. Yes, I did the whole woe is me dance.

We stopped talking. It was as if we stopped having stuff in common. Just like that, we couldn't relate to each other anymore. A relationship can't be defined by just one thing, but when is something so deep rooted and visceral as the desire to be a mom, and the inability to become one at that, self composure and rationality disappear. We were on completely opposite ends. I was madly chasing what she so thoughtlessly took for granted.

I resented her because she didn't take the time to ask me how I was doing with the treatments or wanted to know more about it. I resented her because she couldn't stop herself from making stupid comments about infertility. She resented me because honestly some days I really, really didn't want to hear all about how awful the nausea was, or how many kicks the baby did. It wasn't pretty at all. Some may call it selfishness... I call it life. It wasn't a proud moment for us, but we recognized it and acted accordingly.

We took a much needed time apart. There was not much else to do. We had each said our parts.

After the baby was born we sort of reconnected. The encounter was weird and we didn't have very much to say to each other apart from oohing and aahing at the baby. Sometime after that our friendship got a reboot. But there was this unspeakable rift already between us. There was no way we could see eye to eye on so many things that defined us as women and individuals. She found that her identity was being a new mom, devoting each waking moment and thought to her daughter. I felt that my identity was based so much on my infertility. I devoted a lot of time on forums, blogs, research and treatments. Two situations a world and a half apart.

I asked myself a lot of times if infertility was ruining my relationship with my best friend. I cried so many times over this. How could two people with experiences so profoundly different from one another ever have a functional relationship? We had become strangers to each other. We had each took a step back and retrieved into our own little worlds. But it felt as if we were slowly coming out from them.

Still the most important question remained.: Could we ever be how we were before?

After my last cycle at the RE, in which I miraculously became pregnant, I had my doubts about telling her. I knew it was early but I was excited, she knew that I was undergoing treatments again, so I told her. Suddenly it was like I had become a member of the imaginary mommy club, just like that. Yes, this club exists. That elusive group that you secretly loathe but would desperately love to be a part of. She started giving me tips on pregnancy and motherhood and I listened intently, open-eyed. So this is how this felt. It was easy. I was hoping like a mad woman for the pregnancy to be OK. Just this chance was all I asked for. For the moment, I was happily on shaky ground.

One week after that, I learned that the pregnancy was not viable. I was going to miscarry. My world shattered and the rift began opening once again. I was metaphorically kicked out of the mommy club. She said all the wrong things at the wrong time. She kept asking me what had happened, how could this be happening... over and over again. Wasn't I in some kind of magical treatment which prevented things like this from happening? She couldn't wrap her mind around the reality of miscarriage, truthfully neither could I, but I knew it was a possibility. 

See... for her, getting pregnant and having a healthy baby were such a given. For her, a pregnancy meant a sure baby nine months after. She had no idea. No idea about the fears of not being able to get pregnant and worrying to death about every little minuscule detail, scared, praying every night for everything to be alright. No idea about how infertility drags you down into the pits of uncertainty and pain. How losing what you wanted more than anything in life can leave you wounded forever. I don't blame her, though. That is how life works most of the time. I was an outsider, looking in. She was the rule... I was the exception.

It has taken some time, but we have remained in contact. We talk about random stuff, laugh, go out to eat occasionally. But there is the ever so present elephant in the room. We don't go into the deep parts of our journeys. We don't bare our souls to each other anymore. There is too much fear. So many buttons to push. I guess that doesn't make us text book best friends anymore.

So the answer is no.... we could never be how we were before. We have an unspoken agreement that our relationship has changed, that we are not as close as before. But strangely enough there is a level of caring and love for each other that will always be there. And that is enough for us... at least for now.

All in a year

Today it dawned on me that next week will be the one year anniversary of the start of our fertility treatments.  I think I started this journey with this preconceived notion that it was going to happen fast. I was going to get pregnant on the first try and be out of that depressing office full of women with sad faces. After all we were with one of the top specialists in our area. What could go wrong? Yet here we are, one year later... no baby yet. To my dismay I became one of those women on the waiting room with that worried expression I so much feared.

Seeing my body fail time and time again has rendered me a sobbing mess on the floor on more than one occasion. It has been hard, so hard. In one years time we have exhausted all of our funds for IUI's attempts (five in all). We have gone trough two miscarriages and countless nervous breakdowns. We've had our hearts broken. But because we have learned nothing we are planing and saving to do it soon all over again. This time we hope to add IVF to the mix for that unexpected fun twist. Here is to the next chapter. Cheers with a lot of wine. You have to do it while you can, right? Because soon it will be cocktails of Follistim and Lupron on the rocks. Yay!