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...

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.

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!

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.

Sunny Sundays

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Hope you enjoy this little bit of sunshine!

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.

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.