Just breathe

source

Just a little reminder to myself...

Stop

Breathe

Take it all in... 

It's going to be OK

Your own advocate

I have never been shy. Lets just get that out of the away. I've always been outspoken and proactive in my day to day life. If I saw something I didn't like you bet I was going to be the first one to do or say something about it. Then I was diagnosed with infertility and that changed. My usual firecracker personality was overshadowed by a blanket of doubt and uncertainty. 

I was intimidated by the process. It all seemed so complicated, too complex, too exhausting. The first couple of months I went to the appointments, listened to what the doctors had to say, nodded and went on my way with a little bag full of goodies (read progesterone suppositories and shots) and a lot of questions still unanswered. I guess there are different types of doctors, the ones that like to communicate and those who don't. I was stuck with the second one. I knew what my diagnosis was, but aside from that I wasn't very outspoken in the process. I felt I wasn't supposed to question or contradict a doctor. I assumed we were in good hands and I left it at that.

As time went on I realized this wasn't a good approach at all. After my first miscarriage that old firecracker spark started coming back. I wanted to know why, the more I knew the better. I know that sometimes consulting Dr. Google can be a little bit tricky but where else could I go? I needed to feel that I was doing something, that I was being an active part of the process, not just a quiet patient. The doctor didn't seemed concerned at first. I guess they see so many cases on a day to day basis, that for them is a normal thing. But for the person that's going trough it, it's heart wrenching and life changing. Then the second miscarriage happened and I couldn't take it anymore. I wasn't going  down like that. If we were to continue treatments I was going to do it differently. I became an advocate for myself.

After taking some time away I came back full force. I demanded to have the Laparoscopy and Hysteroscopy. And guess what? They found endometriosis. I demanded to have the Repeated Loss Panel and guess what? It turns out I came back positive for Lupus Anticoagulant, which can certainly cause miscarriages and complications in pregnancy.

Aha! After all the back and forth we had some answers... answers we wouldn't have if I didn't push for the tests.

Now I feel more confident in challenging doctors opinions, because many times they can be too laissez faire. I can't sit idle anymore while my life passes me by. I am in charge. We are in charge. After all we are the ones paying crazy amounts of money, we are the ones being poked and prodded, we are the ones with our dreams and hopes on the line.

So be your own advocate. There is nothing to loose!

Did you know...

                                                                              source

that I've cried myself to sleep more times than I can count?

that I've had my heart broken month after month for the past three years?

that I try to smile trough tears, because it's all I can do sometimes?

that I am infertile?

And all I need is some encouragement and possibly a hug. I don't need empty words or wishes... All I need is your support and understanding...

That's all!

If you want to know more about infertility and how you can support a loved one who is going trough this horrible experience please visit Resolve.

Talk to them honestly and listen to them. It will mean more that you could ever imagine...

National Infertility Awareness Week

So, as many of you may now, this week we celebrate the National Infertility Awareness Week. The slogan for this year is Join the Movement.

But what does this mean?

Joining a movement can mean so many things. It can mean being a part of the dialogue, being an advocate for yourself and spreading the word. Not so long ago the last thing I wanted to talk about was infertility. I knew it was there but I didn't want to acknowledge it. As time went on I realized that I wasn't alone in my journey. I was unknowingly a part of an amazing community. A community of strong willed women and men all around the world. A community of fighters who are leaving no stone unturned in their efforts to build their families. That's when I decided to start writing this blog. I needed to vent and share my story in a place without judgment. By far it has been one of the best decisions I have made in the last year. It has opened up a creative outlet for my emotions and it has also made me realize that there are people out there who understand exactly what I am going through.

So, as far as this year goes I feel like I have "joined the movement". I have made an effort to be more open about our struggles and share our story, both online and in real life. But then a little voice whispers and asks: Are you doing enough? Am I exploiting my full potential as an infertility awareness advocate? Am I educating and reaching enough people? The answer is probably not. Because there are some days in which I am so sick and tired of everything that my first instinct is to throw in the towel. To shut down and wallow in my sadness. There are some days in which I can't bear to spread not even an insightful comment or a quick remark. There are some days in which all I care about is surviving that moment. Then the next day the spark is back and I go in full force. And that's OK. There is no one keeping tabs. We deal as best we can with what life has thrown at us. I have learned that just by living our lives day after day we are amazing. Just by enduring what we have to go through we are an example of strength and willpower. Our resilience is what keeps us going against all odds and that is an incredible movement in itself.

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...

Open letter to infertility

We have known each other for a couple of years now. Those have been some long years in fact. Throughout our relationship we've had our ups and downs. More downs than ups, really. At first I took your presence as a joke. Something to not worry too much about. As time passed by you had the ability to etch your mark deep inside my soul. Your roots have settled deep. 

You are a thief and a liar. You have taken away bits of my hope... my faith now dangles by a thread and my sanity... barely there. You have whispered false hopes, curling up beside me reassuring me that everything is going to be OK. Nonsense! It was all a ruse to make me more comfortable, more at ease with you. You have taken away my ability to be truly happy. You have robbed us of our hard earned savings. The little money that we make is for you. You greedy monster! You have wrecked havoc inside my body and mind. You are such a bitch and you know it. There's nothing good or redeemable about you. 

There are days were your presence is just a mere afterthought. Those days are few and far in between, though. On most days your presence resonates strong and loud in all the corners of my home. Those corners which should be filled with laughter and giggles are blanketed with sadness. 

There were times in which I thought you were finally coming around. You showed me in brief flashes what it would be like to be at the other side, without you sucking all of my time and strength away. There were times in which I believed that I was free of your conniving ways, but no... you were always there. Lurking and ready to pounce. Always have been. At the slightest glimpse of a smile you showed your face again. You can't see me happy, do you? You can't stand the thought of me getting away from you for good?

Well, I've got news for you dear friend. You have also given me something invaluable. You have given me strength and determination. I am going to fight you back. And I'm going to win. So prepare yourself because you have created another monster. I will not back off. I will be your worst nightmare. So enjoy your stay while you can, because those days of torturing and tormenting me are numbered. They are over!

Mental health and Infertility

I've talked a little bit about my experiences with anxiety here. I think I can blame it on my occasional type A personality and my everlasting curiosity to always be in the know. I want to know what's going to happen, I want to know about the future, I want to hold the answers to all the questions in my life. Unfortunately we all know how well that turns out. It is impossible to be on top of everything. With time (and some help from meds) I was able to let go little by little of my anxiety and everything seemed OK again. I was living my life as carefree as I could.

Enter infertility (imagine ominous music, horror movie style). With every passing month of me not being pregnant, red flags started to pop up everywhere. I tried to put it in the back of my mind but it was obvious that there were deeper problems that we had to address. We were going to have to put heart and soul (and our savings) into our baby making dreams. At first it was exciting, we were doing something, we were being proactive. When months kept passing by, one after another, without the much awaited results, my old friend anxiety was waiting in the shadows to come back. It started creeping slowly until it made a full blown appearance after my first miscarriage. Since then I've been struggling with it on and off. Sometimes I am completely fine. I can go weeks and even months without a hint of anxiety, but then... BOOM there it is. It is a never ending thing. I've come to accept it and deal with it, because what else can I do. I don't think I will ever get rid completely of it.

I've have often asked myself if it is possible to go trough this infertility/loss journey without loosing your mind, even just a little bit.

Since infertility is a topic that is hush hush in our society and even taboo in some cultures or circles, imagine adding to that a mental health component. They are both personal and intimate topics, so talking about it openly is difficult... for some even impossible. I am guilty of keeping it silent. I haven't shared my struggles with many people in real life, only close family and a couple of friends know. Even then, they don't know the full extent of my emotional struggles. I don't expect them to understand completely either. This is one of those things that, unless you've been there you can't really comprehend. How it toys with your mind, the emotional and physical impact that it has. The insecurity and loss of control that comes with it, amongst many other things.

By opening up I've been offered support and words of wisdom, but I've also received rude comments or simple minded solutions to my problems like the well known "relax" or the "if you adopt you will be able to get pregnant, it's just stress". I know it comes with the territory, you gotta have patience and be able to take deep breaths to keep the urge to smack people over their heads under control. Insensitive comments and the inability to connect with other women left me unsure of myself. I was scared of sharing too much and them thinking that I was going crazy... I was ashamed. 

It wasn't until I started reading other infertility blogs and learning about other peoples stories that I felt right at home. The more I read the more I felt like I wasn't alone. There were thousands of women going through the exact same thing at the exact same time as me and that was comforting to know.  That has helped a lot to keep my anxiety in check, to think positive and be more open with my feelings. I'm very grateful for it.

Knowing that there is so much support out there in this community has left me with a yearning in my heart. I want to be able to support others in their journeys as well. Where I live there are no support groups for infertility or miscarriages. The only option is going to a Psychologist or a Psychiatrist, which are great and necessary resources many times. They have helped me on countless occasions. Although having professional help is amazing, there is nothing compared to having someone who is walking through the same road as you, who can relate to the loss of control, to the ups and downs and everything in between. Whom have felt deep inside their souls the same type of heartbreak or joy. How many women are silenced by their fears or their shame? Where are all those women going for support? Are they even getting support? Are we passing each other by on the streets wrapped up in our own struggles? 

Since online support has been a big help for me, I've been playing with the idea of starting a local infertility support group. I don't know if people are even going to come, but I have to at least try. I don't have all the answers to all the questions, I don't have a magic solution, I only have my experiences and my desire to connect and be able to help each other... so I hope that is enough to guide me along this path.

*If someone has had experience with infertility support groups (good or bad) and want to share it, you are more than welcomed to do so in the comments.

Update

I have been missing from this blog for a little while. Things have been a little crazy so I've taken some time to regroup. Good thing is I had the laparoscopy/ hysteroscopy this last Friday. It was a completely new experience since I've never been under general anesthesia. I was super scared about that whole bit, but it wasn't as scary as I thought. One moment I was talking with a nurse and the next I was completely out of it. I woke up all groggy and disoriented. I was also experiencing a fair amount of pain so I was given some pain meds immediately. Apparently the anesthesia made me nauseous and I couldn't keep anything solid down that day. I was also cramping and bleeding a little bit afterwards. Right now I am only spotting and the pain is almost gone. I only have some discomfort when I make sudden moves or bend down to pick up something. 

The doctor wasn't available immediately post op because he had another procedure scheduled, so I am still awaiting on the report. I have an appointment next Thursday so that will give us a clearer picture of what they found, if anything. Fingers crossed everything is OK.

I have been resting and taking it easy. A has been super helpful with everything. I think he was even more scared than I was of the whole thing. My parents have also helped a lot these days. I feel so lucky and humbled to have such a great support system through all of this.

So, that's one more thing checked out of the list. Next!....

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.

Sans Apologies

Many times I find myself doubting my responses to others when it comes to the direction my life has taken in these past few months. I've found myself over explaining my feelings or over simplifying my thoughts. Why? Just to make others feel comfortable?

Ever since my last miscarriage, I have felt as if I was smack dab in the middle of a crossfire. Dramatic, I know. But really, I know that I am being judged by people who know what happened. Some people may wonder why have I changed or why I don't seem as upbeat anymore. I have been approached in more than one occasion with a barrage of questions or with dubious looks. How do you proceed to explain, really? Is it my responsibility to teach everyone I come in contact with about infertility or loss? No. It would be exhausting. Is it my purpose in life to talk my head off, bitching to others about the shit fest that we've been trough. Nope... that's why I have this blog : )

I have watched myself apologize for stupid things, in order to make myself look better... in order to not appear too sad... not so torn. The other day I caught myself talking on the phone with my mother in law in an overly chirpy tone (mind you, I have never in my life been described as chirpy). "She must not detect sadness or pain in my voice, so she doesn't start to speculate or worry"- I told myself mid talk. Ugh! Who am I fooling with this behavior? Only myself, obviously. I know better than to live my life trying to please others, but it is so difficult to not go in that direction. We are social beings, we want to be accepted, so we pretend many times, in order to fit in.

I was perusing a forum recently, where someone said that infertility was the hardest thing she had ever had to go through. That it had changed her to her core. It really struck a cord with me, because I felt just as she did. I wanted to reach over the computer and hug her, because I identified so much with her words. This experience really changes you. It has changed me for sure. It's not that I'm a ball of sadness 24/7 or that the only thing prevalent in my life is my infertility... or the fact that I've lost two pregnancies. But lets be real, when you go trough this kind of stuff, you are changed forever.

I am OK with not being the same person anymore. Experiences mold you. Granted, they don't define you, but they have the ability to reshape your character... to redirect goals... to change perspectives. There is no magic pill to erase what you've lived trough. It's better to embrace it. For better or for worse.

So I... just as I am, will have to be enough. And that's that.

What dream$ are made of...

If you have undergone any kind of fertility treatments you should know by now the financial aspect that comes with it. The truth is that unfortunately most insurance companies don't cover these procedures, so people who are battling infertility are left paying out of pocket for almost everything.

When we first started treatments, our doctor wanted to see how I responded to the least invasive procedures first. Least invasive meant cheaper, so we were fine with that. These "least invasive" treatments didn't yield the expected results, so we moved on to injectables and IUI's. The prices rapidly started going up.

It's odd when you start this roller coaster. It's like you can't stop. Once you are in it, you are in for good. You keep telling yourself  "one more time", with the hopes of it working out, while your bank account and patience deflates.

Last year we spent close to $10,000 in medical procedures, pills, shots, sonograms, tests.... you name it. To us this was a lot financially speaking. We had the support of our family, but it was still hard. Some lovely nurse helped too, donating left over medicine from other patients. But seeing all that money disappearing so fast, often left me out of breath. It's in those moments when you realize how much you really want to be a parent... how much this means to you and how far you are willing to go. 

In our fertility clinic, the area where you pay is flanked by countless baby pictures, smiling couples holding their bundles of joy and letters of gratitude from the happy parents. So, while you are swiping your card, a cute little baby photo is staring directly at you, as if giving you one last hope. It cheers you on. "Your baby's photo can be in here too" it says, so you do it, without hesitation, hoping to be adding your obnoxiously smiling photo to the list. It’s all about "the dream", right?

Right now we are on a break, mostly because of financial reasons. And that drives me mad. If I had the money you bet I would be cycling yesterday. But we are faced with more tests and more procedures, just to find out if I have something else going on. The doctors highly suspect I have endometriosis, but the diagnosis can only be made trough hystero laparoscopy, which costs close to $4,000. There's also a long list of blood tests which are pretty pricey. I can't go through another IUI or IVF (which at this point is what we are leaning towards) until I have these tests performed. So more waiting and more saving for us.

 

When you stare at the facts, it's all about money. Your dreams of becoming a parent, dangle by the thread of cold hard cash. 

Is it fair? no. I believe that fertility procedures should be covered by insurance companies. As simple as that. I know that our health system is pretty fucked up. It's not at all about the health and happiness of the people but about greed and money. It's simply a business and we get caught in the middle. We are way behind... way behind.

In theory, healthy people make happy people, and happy people make a healthy and productive society. But when said people are going into debt, just to cover medical expenses, it's utterly ridiculous.

In terms of fertility treatments, some believe that if you can't afford to pay for the procedures, then you simply shouldn't have a baby. Or that fertility problems are not medical problems, therefore no insurance coverage for you. Oh, really? How considerate of you fertile asshole, thanks! You see, most fertility problems are caused by underlying medical conditions or disorders. So, how can you tell me it is not related? How can you separate two things that are so intricately connected?

I bet that most of those who've had kids without fertility treatments, would be shocked if someone said to them that in order to keep their child they should come up with $10,000 on the spot. Most wouldn't have that kind of money tucked away to spend on a seconds notice. And that it's not a reflection on their right to be parents.

It's not as simple as being able to be financially responsible for a baby. It's about the kind of money you have to spend just to be able to play the game. If we were to conceive naturally right now (yeah right!) we wouldn't have much problem taking care of the baby, because it's a gradual thing. We would be able to adjust and save. Sigh! 

The truth is we don't care, though. That's why we started this in the first place, right? If it's gives us the opportunity of having a baby, all will be put aside. I believe most people facing this journey feel the same. We would still spend all the money they tell us too, we would go into debt, apply for loans, whatever it took, because it is our dream. We won't give up.

Some dreams have a price tag, but for us achieving this dream is priceless. I may bitch and rant about it, but when the moment of truth comes again, you bet I will be there swiping that card like there's no tomorrow. I will swipe that card until it's on fire. I will stare at that wall full of smiley pictures and show them how it's done. Our picture will be up there damn it.

PC- Oh fuck my life-S

That's how PCOS makes me feel every time I think about it.

PCOS affects millions of women across the world but the symptoms of this endocrine disorder manifest differently in each one of us. For me it's the following:

• Super irregular periods. I can go like three or four months without them. No ovulation= no baby
• Some lovely dark hair in my face. I pluck them away at the very sign of their presence.
• Pearl string appearance in ovaries when checked by ultrasound. Pearls... sounds fancy, no?
• Painful sex. Yes, sometimes when I have sex my ovaries feel like they are going to explode. And not with happiness or ecstasy. 
• Infertility. Enough said.
• Miscarriages 
• High cholesterol, although having a fairly healthy diet and lifestyle.
• High thyroid levels. Which are a "no-no when trying to conceive", says my RE.
• Mood swings, depression and anxiety.
• Hypoglycemia. Since forever. 

I think that sums up some of the things I have experienced thus far with PCOS. It has not only affected me in my tying to conceive journey, it has affected my quality of life also.

When I was doing treatments with my RE he did the fasting glucose level test and it came back normal, so he didn't prescribe me Metformin. After doing some research I discovered some articles that stated that Metformin has been proven helpful in non- IR women with PCOS. I was livid that he didn't recommend it. On my next cycle, after some bugging from my part he finally prescribed it. It was the only time in all my cycles that I produced more than two mature follicles. Coincidence? I don't know.

I have been taking Metformin on and off for a while now, because the side effects were pretty nasty. I started again recently, increasing my doses very slowly. So far my energy level is up, I feel more clear minded and relaxed. So we'll see how that goes.

It's pretty frustrating when you are diagnosed with this disorder. If you are even that lucky, because there are some women who are never diagnosed. With my first OB he just brushed it off, gave me contraceptive pills and called it a day. It was when I changed doctors that the word PCOS came into play. Even then, my new OB had no idea what to do, apart from the damn pill.

That just goes to show you how challenging having and managing this disorder can be. I'm in a process of finding a good endocrinologist who has experience in dealing with PCOS so that I can have a better support system. I already know the basics: eat healthy, low carb, exercise, etc. But I feel that there is more that I can do, that there is more to this and not knowing drives me crazy. I can't and won't accept to have a lower quality of life because of this. I want to be able to deal with this in a balanced way, no extremes, no going overboard. Is that too much to ask?

I'll keep searching, fighting, researching and questioning doctors. What else there is to do? Being static is not an option.

On grieving

When does grief starts to fade? Does it ever?

How on earth do you describe grief to someone else? Feelings are almost impossible to describe. How could I express in words the pain...sadness...emptiness? Hmmm, maybe I should explain it like this: It's like someone ripped your heart out and danced over it. Is that a clear enough explanation? Ugh!

My miscarriages are still such a sensitive topic. Sometimes it is addressed by others in a not so subtle way and it can be very shocking. I get mad sometimes because I consider myself to be a pretty strong woman, but when it comes to this stuff I am a complete blubbering, irrational mess.

Grief doesn't have an expiration date. It's not like someone can say to you "get over it", "it's been x amount of time, so your grieving process is over"... "keep on moving". Is this how people see grief? Like something that you HAVE to get over fast? Say it isn't so!

Sometimes, family and close friends who know about A and I's journey, want to be supportive. I know that they want for me to act and be normal again. I don't want to question myself because someone is telling me to get over this. Do you know how many times have I felt shame? Felt wrong about feeling sad, or appearing sad, or ruining someone's party because I don't feel like being Mrs. Sunshine. It's not worth it really. Deep inside I know that it's not wrong. My feelings are as valid as everyone else. 

Grieving is such an individual process. It may take me twice or half the amount of time that it took somebody else to get over the exact same thing, and that's OK.

It would be wonderful if I woke up one day with no memory of what has happened, but alas, such technology doesn't exist yet. And I am not sure that I would want to forget it at all. Yes, there is pain, there is sadness, but it has somehow made me an even stronger person. I appreciate the little, almost imperceptible things even more. Every step is an opportunity and I don't take anything for granted anymore. It's a really sucky way to learn stuff, but this is how life is...

When you go trough a loss so personal and intimate as a miscarriage, few people can really understand. It's very difficult for others to relate to the pain and sadness that a miscarriage can bring, maybe because it is such an intangible loss for them. People can understand better the grieving process when it's a father, a mother or a grown child that passes away, which are horrible and unimaginable losses on their own. But often the impact that miscarriages can have in a woman's mental health is overlooked.

When someone tells me not to worry about it, that I am young and have plenty of time to get pregnant again it's like being punched in the stomach. I know that, but they don't acknowledge that it was a loss for us. Never mind the fact that it has taken us almost three years to even achieve a freaking positive pregnancy test. It's like they are so uncomfortable with the topic, that they just want to brush it off as it never happened.

I have somewhat come to terms with the fact that you can't expect everyone to feel your pain, or to be considered towards your specific situation. There will be ignorant remarks, there will be stupid comments and advice, because somehow people believe that they have that right. But only you can decide what's better, what's normal, what's appropriate.  Some of the things people say may come from a place of caring and worry... but really please- don't tell me how I should process my loss.

We deserve to know that our feelings are valid. We must never feel that our process is shameful or strange or that it's taking too long. We must take the time and necessary steps to heal. Surely it won't be easy, but it's definitely possible. That's what I tell myself anyway. I know that I owe no one an explanation or apology regarding my experience. And I am fine with that on most days.

Maybe I will never feel "normal" again, but really... normal is way overrated...

Anxiety

It's a horrible feeling. You are drowning in your own thoughts. Your fears get the best of you. You start questioning yourself with every breath you take. At the same time your breath becomes shorter and more labored. Yep, you are experiencing a freaking panic attack. Throughout my life I have been acquainted with anxiety. Nothing serious but noticeable enough to keep it in check with the occasional meds. Unfortunately this infertility roller coaster has brought up the worst out of my once controlled anxiety.

Infertility seems to be so much about loss, no? Loss of control, loss of the opportunity to get pregnant each month the "natural way", the loss of experiencing the joy you see in expecting mothers. And in many cases pregnancy loss. Sometimes it's like you are in a constant mourning state.

After experiencing my last miscarriage those feelings of loss were heightened. It became more tangible. I was able to feel that smidge of joy I so many times envied. But it was all taken so forcefully from me. I remember waiting in the doctors office after the suspected ectopic pregnancy was confirmed- everything was so matter of fact. They explained to me the next step which was the dreaded methotrexate shot. Shock was an understatement. Was I doing this? Was I putting an end to this myself? Even tough I knew the pregnancy wasn't viable, in those moments all reason goes out the window. There were two lines in the HPT, I saw them. I had the cravings, the morning sickness- now they were telling me that it had to be terminated for my safety? I was living my worst nightmare. It seemed like a cruel joke.

I became a robot in the days waiting for it to be over. Just going trough the motions was enough to convince the people around me that everything was OK, when in reality I was falling apart inside. Once the bleeding had stopped it was as if the mental barrier I had put up to separate myself from what was happening came crashing down. A spiral of pity, sadness and panic awaited me. What if this was it? What if I wasn't meant to be a mom? What if.... what if? The uncertainty and pain clouded all my rational thoughts. The nights were particularly bad. There, without anything to occupy my mind with I was left alone with my racing thoughts. Even though I had all the support from A and my family, it wasn't enough. Nobody could feel my physical loss, the emptiness. I was alone.

It's been almost four months since then. Everyday is a struggle to keep the memories at bay. It's still hard to think about where I would have been if the pregnancy hadn't ended. My world would consist of buying baby stuff... planning for the birth. Occasionally I catch a glimpse of my body in the mirror and imagine how the growing belly would've looked like. It's still hard, but I can manage. The anxiety isn't so bad these days. I sought help, and slowly started picking up the pieces.

We women facing this treacherous road are strong... so strong. Maybe we don't realize it until it's happening, but the strength and will power it's always there. If it weren't for it we wouldn't be able to go trough it all, time and time again, hoping for our silver lining. May that strength hold us all up trough our journeys.