On Defeat

18 months. That is how long we've been doing this, tomorrow. I've read that I would know when I couldn't take it anymore. And up until a couple days ago I couldn't imagine getting to that point, giving up. It felt selfish, short-sighted etc....

I don't know what changed. Nothing monumental. I'm tired of feeling like a failure. I'm tired of being disappointed, of feeling estranged from everyone because they don't understand what we're going through. I'm tired of not having money to pay bills because I spent it all on treatment. I'm tired of the emotional rollercoaster.

Two more cycles or the end of the year, whichever comes first and then I'm done. At least till we can afford IVF or to adopt.

I hate feeling like a quitter.

Until next time,

G

On Birthdays

I didn't marry the guy who has an elaborate plan or surprise for a birthday. I did marry the guy who, upon realizing that his wife is slightly miffed because he worked late on her special day, hastily attempts to bake his first cake ever. 

He didn't marry the prettiest girl he's ever dated, but he did marry one smart enough to know that next year she will just tell him that she wants to go out to sushi. And that there is no sense in telling him the cake kinda tasted like cornbread.

On Numbers

On Love and Migraines

My husband is amazing. He didn't give me a shiny rock when he asked me to be his wife, he has bought me flowers maybe twice in the last six years. But when I have a pounding headache that seems dangerously close to migraine territory and I'm crying because I can't take my  medication during the two week wait, he lies quietly with me and draws circles on my back. To feel so loved at your lowest moments, who could ask for anything more?

On Fall, Follicles and other F words.

I've recently made a concerted effort to limit my screen time, which has resulted in considerable radio silence here on the blog. Already I've let enough time lapse that I'm sitting here wondering where to begin, but here is my best effort at an update.

So last Tuesday was my follicle check ultrasound, and it was a disappointment. One ovary didn't respond at all to the 150 mg of Clomid- and the other's "lead" follicle was just .9 mm. You need 1.6 minimum to trigger. I was admittedly skeptical on the timing of the ultrasound, CD 13, since the (only freaking) two times I've confirmed ovulation it was on CD18. After some pleading I convinced my doctor to check again on Thursday morning, but I could tell as I left that she was pretty convinced it would prove to be a waste of time. 

I drank an inordinate amount of water, and took the supplement (myo-inositol) that some studies have suggested help increase oocyte size and quality in women with PCOS. And I visualized going in, looking at that screen and seeing a bigger follicle. Cheesy? Maybe. But studies suggest that positive visualization can actually be a powerful tool. Besides, you could tell me to sit in a tree and sing the alphabet in french and if you could show me even anecdotal evidence it would help me get knocked up....I'd probably do it.

Well, SOMETHING worked. That sucker grew, and faster than studies say it was "supposed" to in two days. It was 1.6 mm, an adequate size for trigger. I was SO excited! My doctor was surprised, and suddenly much more positive and upbeat about my prospects with the trigger. The timing was a little crazy, sure- I mean I was due to get on a plane in a few hours to spend a long weekend with my in-laws and was about to undergo a treatment that may or may not make me vomit and nothing says sexy time like being sick to your stomach in your in-law's guestroom but.... I'm sorry, what did you say? Could you repeat that? What do you mean there isn't any Ovridel in this town and the soonest you could get it here would be 24 hours?

No, I'm not kidding. I swear. I'm just that girl! I couldn't bring myself to disappoint my in-laws and cancel the trip. I tried to focus on the positive overall message, which was that one ovary responded to the stimulation and could possibly be triggered next cycle. And there is a decent chance that the follicle popped out on its own. Mostly, I've succeeded in maintaining that focus. There were just a few F words that flew out as I drove away from that appointment. I'm sure studies suggest that's healthy once in a while, right?

It's fall here now. My favorite time of the year. Woodstove/quilt/hoodie/apple cider weather. I'm resolved to make sure I enjoy it, to choose happiness instead of sadness in spite of what we face. I do believe it can be a choice.

Until next time,

Grace Elizabeth

On Being A Family (Of Five)

I was raised Christian, and married by a minister, but I will admit to not being terribly religious. I do consider myself very spiritual, with some components of religion thrown in there- my own special cocktail. There have been times in the past year and a half that my faith has seriously wavered. Good things happen to good people? I wasn't so sure anymore. I'd always liked the idea that people I'd loved and lost were watching out for me from up above. What grandpa, you don't think I'd make a good mom? What gives? Despite my best efforts to be positive and handle this ordeal with as much serenity as possible- there have been times that I have straight up been angry at God/The Universe/Cosmic Muffin/Whatever Works For You for not delivering the miracle we so badly want.

On Friday August 26th at around 7:30 in the morning, my 13 year old brother and one of the greatest gifts God ever gave me, was rolled out of his hospital room and into surgery to remove a very large tumor resting on his optic nerve. Having succeeded in putting on a brave, optimistic face for him in the two days leading up to the procedure that we spent in the hospital- I finally fell apart as he disappeared from view. My baby brother was having brain surgery. I sobbed and sobbed, and told God that my brother and his surgical team could have all my miracles.

And then I pulled myself together, and went down to breakfast in the cafeteria. Because that's how I was raised, that's how this family works. We keep moving forward, putting on brave smiles. As I sat around the table with my sister and parents, I reflected on how much Harry has changed out family. A mid-life "surprise" for my parents, he's nearly 15 years younger than me so naturally much of my childhood was spent as a family of four. Would we still go on family vacation together every year? Would we still spend all of our holidays together? Or would other priorities shift to the top? Would I have come home from California and gotten together with my now-husband if I didn't have a little brother telling me he really, really missed me and wanted me to come back?

The five hours that he was in surgery actually went by quicker than I expected them to. I sat with my family in the surgical waiting room for awhile after breakfast, and then wandered back to Harry's room for some alone time. Just when I was finally wondering why the promised updates during surgery hadn't come, and feeling like I might vomit imagining why that might be, his nurse came in and told me that he was being "stitched-up" and would be back in the room in 20 minutes. 

The next 48 hours were tough. The procedure went perfectly, Harry spiked a tiny fever that first night but other than that had zero complications. He didn't wake up blind, which was a risk. But he was miserable. He'd been so positive and upbeat about the whole ordeal going in, but was dismayed when he came to and realized that he was actually in much worse pain than he was pre-surgery. We took turns reading aloud to him, and that was when he seemed the most comfortable. Familial nerves frayed a little as we all worried, and wondered how we could fix it for him. For a short while he was convinced that he was dying, and we were keeping it from him, and that was the low point for me. 

Have you ever heard of someone having brain surgery on a Friday and going home on Monday? Me either. But somehow, that is exactly what happened. Late Monday evening the option was presented to my parents in front of Harry, go home tonight or in the morning. Needless to say, my sleep-deprived parents deserve some sort of medal for packing up in record time and making the journey back home on the fly. And my brother was perhaps the happiest person ever to be sleeping in his own bed that night.

There's so much more to say about this experience, and I'm sort of overwhelmed trying to adequately document all that happened and how I feel about all of it. We were so supported by our community of friends and family, and I truly believe all the prayers and positive thoughts helped us all get through it. We got the pathology report back on Wednesday, and it confirmed that he doesn't need any further treatment. His eyesight is compromised, and we don't know that if that is caused by pressure that should alleviate in the next 6 to 8 weeks- or if this is something he'll have to learn to live with. 

But he's alive, and he's my miracle.

Until next time,

Grace

On Waiting

On Levity

My boy dog, Miles, is a great dog. And he's worried about me, clearly- as I've spent a lot of time crying in the past 36 hours. He just curls into my side, occasionally nudging his nose into my lap and looking at me with his big soulful brown eyes. Maybe he knows more than I give him credit for, because he randomly just ate the paper that my doctor had jotted down the IVF clinics contact info on. I can't ever remember him eating paper before, not even when he was a puppy.

Nobody can make it go away. But he makes it a little better.

Until next time,

Grace 

I'm pretty upset right now, and I'm going to keep this short. I went in to my OB/Gyn's office today because it's CD40 with no AF in sight. We're still going to try one last cycle of the increased clomid (hopefully in conjunction with an hcg injection) but that will be the end of the road for our fertility treatments here in town. The next step is IVF, which means travelling to Boston and spending 24k+.

It all just feels really unfair right now.

On Insanity

I'm sure you all have heard the quote that insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome, or something to that effect. I've mused about this quote quite often- because my doctor has been slow to change my regimen even when it's clearly not working. And I'm slowly going insane.

I'm weary. So when I went into the office and the nurse told me that the billing ladies upstairs wanted to see me immediately, I groaned. What now? Well it would seem that my "luck" (I struggle to feel lucky about anything in the fertility department) where my doctor was coding my bills as "low complexity visits" had run out. She'd officially changed my diagnosis to "infertility" (uhm....duh) and now my insurance was kicking everything out and refusing to pay. Nothing like having to cough up 150+ on an unexpected bill the day before vacation. My shoulders slumped, and I fought back tears at the unfairness of it all. How can infertility treatment be deemed an elective thing, like liposuction or breast implants? Totally insane. The woman, who clearly felt bad, patted my hand and said that many patients are in the same boat as me. She meant well, but it didn't make me feel any better.

By the time I stripped down on the table and was waiting for the doc, I was feeling pretty discouraged. I didn't have good news for her, unlike the two months prior. She came in and I told her that my chart last cycle was a flat as Kansas- and that for the life of me I couldn't figure out what I had done differently from the two cycles earlier where I had miraculously O'd. I took my supplements, I exercised, I drank my 100 oz of water. I checked my blood sugar religiously to make sure I didn't let it get too high. What gives, I asked? She tapped her pen against my chart, sighed heavily- and told me she was upping the dosage of both medications and wanted to monitor me mid-cycle so she can give me a trigger HCG injection. Amen.

So I went and picked up my prescriptions, which YAY cost a bunch of extra money because they are a higher dosage. I went to the natural food co-op and bought the super expensive fish oil capsules that I have to take. I texted my husband and told him that we would be eating scrambled eggs and water all week on vacation. And even though it may be insane, I hoped.

Until next time,

Grace

On Perfection

 “Meeting you was fate, becoming your friend was a choice, falling in love with you I had no control over.”

Today is our first wedding anniversary. We've had a quiet weekend, puttering around the house. We have a family commitment tonight, so we opted to celebrate last night. Our budget is pretty limited right now, so I wound up driving across town in my pajamas to pick up cheap-ish takeout to bring back to our humble little abode. I took the food out of the styrofoam, and my husband lit a candle. Fancy, huh? We ate at the table (something of a rarity for us if we don't have people over) before returning to the couch and watching our shared guilty pleasure- forensic crime shows. We snuggled, and my husband played with my hair. We smiled at one another a lot. It was un-fussy and quirky and perfectly US.

It actually reminded me a little bit of how we got engaged. We'd just returned from Hawaii, and had been up for 36 hours. I'd had my nose in my book for the entire trip back to Vermont, and was just getting to the climax of the story when he came into our bedroom and said my full name. I thought he was about to teasingly admonish me for ignoring him all day, which would have been justified. But he got down on one knee and said some things that were private and special and that I will never forget. And then he asked me to be his wife, and I remember being somewhat surprised at how nervous he looked, because we'd already been living together for three years at that point. I slid off the bed and hugged him for a minute before he asked "so that's a yes, right?" To which I laughed and wholeheartedly agreed. Definitely a yes. There was no ring, and he told me that he'd considered doing it  in picturesque Hawaii- but I assured him that how it happened was perfect. Perfectly US.

My version of our wedding day inspired by my new favorite blog: 

Parenting. Illustrated with crappy pictures.

We're not perfect as individuals, our relationship isn't perfect- but we're perfect for one another and perfectly US. And he'll always be the best thing that ever happened to me. That, as far as I'm concerned, is perfection.

Until next time,

Grace

On Miles

As I've mentioned before on this humble little blog, I have two dogs. Two short-legged, English Jack Russell Terriers to be precise. Miles, my little man and the older of the two, was my 21st birthday present to myself. His arrival in California marked the beginning of our little family, and he is quite simply the best companion a girl could ask for.

I've been a bit emotional about the fact that Monday marked his 7th birthday. Many JRTs live to be twice that age, but there is no denying the fact that he is no longer a young dog. The universe seemed to be manifesting my concerns about my beloved buddy aging when on Monday afternoon I came home and didn't find him eagerly greeting me at the door. He cried pitifully when I tried to prop him up on his feet, and seemed unable to use one hind leg and one front leg. I carried him outside and placed him on the grass, and he simply trembled.

Needless to say, I hardly slept on Monday night. My husband and I took turns massaging him, and carrying him outside to see if he needed to relieve himself. He was still eating and drinking water, and that was the only reason that I didn't take him to the emergency clinic. The thought of losing him was unbearable, and having lost a relatively young furry family member to cancer as a teenager, I definitely thought the worse. I was terrified that the trip to the vet would put me in the awful position of ending his suffering, something I firmly believe in.

My husband was able to get him into a nearby vet first thing on Tuesday morning, and was enormously relieved to discover that "all" he had was an acute infection from level 1 Lyme's disease. His joints were painfully inflamed, and he has a temperature of 104.1- but 21 days of antibiotics and he should be back to his normal self.

We're two days into the treatment so far, and I've mostly stayed home with him. He's jumped down twice now to greet my husband as he comes through the door, and last night began happily gnawing on his favorite toy- a sure sign he was feeling better. He's still pretty listless, so we've spent the better part of the last two days just curled up together. The vet was of the opinion that, aside from the infection, he was in excellent health and was surprised at how old he was. So with any luck, we'll be curling up together for many years to come.

Finally, I would be remiss not to acknowledge that my hometown experienced a terrible tragedy this week. I fully intend to write about this once I've better gathered my thoughts about it, but for now- just know that my thoughts and prayers are constantly with those affected by the shooting at the Brattleboro Food Co-Op.

Until next time, may peace be with you,

Grace

On Sweetness

I have three nieces, with a nephew expected around Thanksgiving. I love being an auntie, even if sadly with two of the three it is via long distance. E is my only local niece, the daughter of friends who have become part of our chosen family. I held her when she was just hours old, on our wedding day. The minister who married us, and who knew of our fertility struggles, saw the fact that she decided to arrive on that particular day as a good omen for us. That theory has yet to prove true....so anytime universe. Really. I'm ready.

So, like my first wedding anniversary, E's birthday is coming up in a week. Today was her party, and since her mother and I share an affinity for owls I decided to make owl sugar cookies. This blog needs a little levity- so I decided to take pictures of the process and share them.

I'm no slouch in the kitchen, I've worked in foodservice on & off since I was 15 and cooked professionally for about 5 years. I much prefer cooking over baking, so this was actually my first foray into decorating sugar cookies. When people compliment me on my cooking, or lament their own lack of finesse in the kitchen- I tell them truthfully that it has very little to do with innate talent and a whole lot to do with researching, planning and remaining level headed when your plan goes awry because it frequently will- especially if you are trying something new! Allrecipes.com is your friend. If 5,000 people have rated a recipe as excellent, chances are it's going to work. There's no need to waste time and money on trying to reinvent the wheel! Above are my weapons of choice for this particular project. High quality gel food coloring, squeeze bottles with a variety of tips on them and a copper cookie cutter.

A bunch of the reviewers of the recipe I'd chosen cautioned against making sugar cookies in hot, humid weather. There's a reason sugar cookies are popular at Christmas & Valentine's Day! I did what I could to combat the sticky factor, including using wax paper as my rolling surface and chilling the dough for several hours before I began to manipulate it. After several frustrating attempts at transferring the dough cut-outs onto the baking sheets I finally accepted that my best plan of attack would be to cut out the wax paper underneath each one and transfer them that way. This wound up being great for the whole process; cooling, decorating and bagging. I battled against the elements and won, this round anyway- and left the cookies to cool for 8 hours.

Once the cookies were completely cool (and I'd completed a last minute nanny job) we began to outline the cookies with brown icing in a #1 tip.. After allowing the outlines to cool for a short while my husband flooded each one with slightly thinner icing in a thicker tip while I attached the white fondant eyes. So far, so good.

I attempted to do the beaks and feet before going to bed, and that was a mistake. The brown of the bodies wasn't hard enough and they ran. Bummer! My vision of professional-looking cookies were dashed, and slightly frustrated I went to bed- setting my alarm for four hours later. I was able to salvage some of the beaks, and after doing some of the bellies had a flash of inspiration and decided to make an E instead in honor of the birthday girl. Live and learn!

I let the top detail layers harden for another four hours before carefully bagging each one for transport to the party. In hindsight it's probably inappropriate to pray that cookies don't break, so sorry about that universe...if you are in fact listening! The cookies were a hit, and overall I was happy with how they came out. Next time I may use different tools for the detail work, namely a paintbrush to help keep the lines smaller and more controlled.


Until next time,

Grace

On Disappointment

Disappointment is something I've really become all too familiar with. Every cycle starts with the hope that it will be the last, and the 15th was no exception. I was particularly excited this time around because the past two cycles I had an increased response to the medications- I ovulated, had an appropriately timed luteal phase etc, etc. Things that lots of women take for granted, and they'd only happened for me twice in 14 months. I thought I'd figured it out- the supplements, the water, the special glycemic diet, the exercise, the weight loss.

Nope. Today is CD24 and I haven't been able to confirm ovulation. I lie awake at night trying to figure out what I did wrong, what I did different from the two months prior. I don't have any answers. I doubt my doctor will, either. She'll just re-write the prescriptions and send me off to try again. And I'm really, really tired of trying.

Until next time,

Grace

On Distractions

I've been an infertility patient for 15 months now, and they have undoubtedly been the hardest of my life. Sometimes I beat myself up for feeling this way- for letting this enormous failure overshadow all the happy things. I went to Europe for three weeks late last spring; 11 whirlwind stops in Italy, Austria & Germany. I married the love of my life in a tiny backyard ceremony- on the same day that very good friends of ours welcomed their much anticipated first child! We bought our first house, a little bungalow that I adore. I went west this winter, and visited some of my very closest friends in San Francisco and Portland! Why can't I focus on these things? Well, because we want a baby- and I'm terrified that my body won't cooperate.

I remember distinctly the day (about six months ago) when I stumbled across a well written article on resolve.org that dealt with this very issue. The author stressed the importance of understanding and accepting that infertility is a crisis- one with no clear end in sight. That you can't bully yourself into snapping out of it, or being normal- that the best you can do is find a balance. Really accepting this as true has made a tremendous difference for me.

Key strategies for sanity have been to limit the amount of time I spend online researching and talking to people about fertility everyday. My friends might scratch their head at this, but I promise that I do actually TRY to talk about other things with you!

The past two months I've also gone out of my way to do things when I know I'm not pregnant that I wouldn't be able to do if I was. Does it take away the sting of disappointment? Hell no. But it does distract me. The month before last it was a nice date day centered around eating a bunch of sushi (I seriously love me some raw fish) and this month it was taking my little brother to a waterpark and doing a bunch of slides. They were both very nice days, where for a brief time I felt "normal."

Since I'm not rich- I can't spend all my days at amusement parks or sushi joints. Here's a list of my go-to distractions when I need to not think about all this stuff for awhile;

1.) Hanging out with friends. Pretty self explanatory. I find it much harder to obsess, fret, and worry about getting pregnant when I'm with other people. Oddly, and happily enough- this goes for hanging out with my friends that are new parents too. I really, really hope I never get to the point where being around babies is upsetting to me.

2.) Exercise. I walk 4 miles a day, and go to the gym to use the elliptical 5 days a week. I listen to ridiculous hip-hop music and daydream about crazy things that I refuse to admit to here. Even once the exercise is over, I find that I am able to be in a more positive and relaxed state of mind and I feel more in control.

3.) Reading. I read a lot of non-fiction- particularly true crime, biographies, stuff related to various monarchies throughout history. I also read....oh man am I going admit this? I guess so. I read fanfiction. It's bloody awful writing a lot of the time, but I akin it to chick flicks for lots of women. I appreciate that there is always a happy ending, wrapped up in a neat little package. Also, I can read it on my phone- which is handy since I nanny and often have time to kill while my charge is napping. 

4.) The Boston Red Sox. Some things never change, and in spite of all I've gone through, I'm still a sports nut. I watch every single game, and I yell at the TV. My husband reminds me that I have to kick this habit before we have kids, so I don't wake them up. Somehow I don't think I will struggle to remember that we have a baby in the house, dear.

5.) Project Runway. Say what? Admittedly, a clothes horse I am not. I am a jeans and hoodie girl and would have gotten married in my pajamas if I thought I could get away with it. But I seriously love this show- and I own seasons 4 through 8. When I'm having a crappy day, I curl up on the couch and watch hours and hours. I'm not usually a reality TV kinda girl, but there is something about how talented they all are and the zany challenges that just does it for me.

6.) Bones. My other favorite TV show. Until this past season, was blissfully a baby-free zone for me. Murder and funny one-liners...sexual chemistry. What more could a girl ask for? My husband also enjoys this show, so that is a plus. 

Until next time,

Grace

On Thoughtlessness

Tonight, an acquaintance who is at my house with some frequency this summer said to me "you're STILL not pregnant?" Humiliated, I excused myself from the table and joined my husband in the backyard where he was grilling dinner for everyone. This isn't the first time this particular person has said something negative or insensitive about my inability to get pregnant- and in spite of the fact that they are a longtime friend of my husband's he was ready to ask them to leave. Once I pulled myself together, I decided that it wouldn't be worth the drama- and ultimately isn't who I am. 

What would you do in my shoes? Would you speak up? Or take the higher road and just ignore it?

Until next time,

Grace

Funny Rap Video About Infertility

Some good friends of ours who know what we are going through brought me flowers yesterday. They have brightened what has been a difficult day. Supportive, understanding and positive people really make a difference and I'm lucky to have them in my corner.

I intend to write a post about the importance of distracting yourself later in the week, but for now here is a shot of me with my latest distraction from all things infertility- a 500+ page book on the last Imperial couple of Russia. Yes, I'm a huge history nerd.

On Faith

Tonight the room is spinning and so is my stomach and all I can do is remember that this isn't forever, and hope that it all will be worth it in the end.

Here's what my medication and supplement box looks like this week. It varies slightly depending on what part of the treatment cycle it is. I spend upwards of 100 dollars a month on the ones that don't require a prescription.

On Clomid & Coping.

I took my last dose of clomid for this round yesterday morning. Amen. I've gotten used to most of the side effects; late night headaches, insomnia, hot flashes and the occasional "visual disturbance" that temporarily leaves me wondering if someone slipped LSD into my water. Last night I thought I was being pulled over in my car by the disco police, and was lucky to be pulling into my driveway after a long day of driving when it started. I just keep telling myself that these things aren't forever, and frankly I'm prepared to endure a lot worse to make it happen. 

There's only one side effect of the clomid that I can't stand, and that is the uncontrollable mood swings. I was really surprised when after the first six or so rounds I read that less than 1% of women in clinical studies reported this side effect. The infertility message boards I frequent would suggest otherwise, but afterwards I spent quite some time reflecting on whether I was truly experiencing a side effect or rather on some level was giving myself permission to be moody. I'm someone that prides myself on being even keeled, on thinking things through, focusing on the positives, showing kindness and conducting myself in such a way that I can look back on and feel good about no matter what stress I'm under. You could forgive a man who married a woman like me for being a bit bewildered and annoyed when all of a sudden she becomes angry all the time, irritated by the most inconsequential detail and sometimes just plain mean. It was really for him, my amazing husband, that I wanted to know if this was truly something beyond my control.

So the next month I got to day 3 of the clomid, right when I'd typically start feeling the anger and frustration and impatience, and I tried my hardest to stay positive. To keep being the wife that I wanted to be, to be the person my parents raised me to be. Nope. The crankytrain express pulled into the station and hung out for over 48 hours just like it had in months previous. Either the research is flawed, or I'm just that special. 

Most times I apologize within a few minutes of snapping. Or I remind my husband that I'm not myself, and that I need his understanding. It doesn't work. We argue more each month from day 3 to 5 of my clomid therapy than we would in six months under normal circumstances. I believe it's made all the harder because for as different as we are, we RARELY argue. We were really good friends for years before we began dating, lived together for five years before we got married and enjoy a relationship that I recognize as rare and special.

So why can't we figure those couple days a month out? I don't know. I hate feeling like I'm not myself, and I'm ashamed of my inability to control my emotions. I see it as a weakness, and in some respects it scares me. I also wish that my husband could help diffuse an argument instead of getting defensive and angry. But we're both human, and all I can do is keep trying my best and hope that next month I don't have to take what I now refer to as "the bitch pill." Or that I win the lottery and can afford to get a hotel room for a couple nights every month and leave my husband in peace.

Infertility is a crisis, one with no clear end in sight. There's no hard data about divorce rates among infertile couples, but I've read a few collections of stories on the subject. For some couples it brings them closer, and for others it drives them apart. We do know that 66% of divorced couples are childless, and that people with children are more likely to stay married. 

Irrational as it may be, sometimes I worry that my husband will leave me before we can get pregnant or run the course of treatment options and adopt. I've voiced these concerns to him in late night conversations, and he thinks they are ludicrous. I remind him that if he was with someone else he wouldn't be going through this, since I'm the one with the disease- and he tells me that he doesn't want to have children with anyone other than me. I ask him if he misses his carefree wife who would drink beer with him and could look at a pregnant woman without crying. He tells me that he loves me for doing this, and that he can't wait to see me as a mom. I tell him that I'm trying really hard to stay positive and pleasant and somewhat sane and that I'm really sorry for the times I fail, and he tells me that I am the strongest person he knows. I'm truly lucky, and despite those couple of days every month we definitely fall into the category of couples who have grown closer rather than apart. Cross your fingers for us that it stays that way.

It's over for this month, at any rate. Now it's time to anxiously await a positive OPK. More on that soon.

Until next time,

Grace

On foot in mouth disease.

Infertility can be a very isolating experience. I can only imagine that it was more so back in the dark ages before the internet- before we were able to go visit a message board and share our obsession, frustration and most recent wacky idea as to how on earth we can just get effing knocked up already. Eating the core of a pineapple in five equal parts for the first five days after ovulation? 20 minutes of sunshine daily? Eating exactly one Brazil nut everyday? Have sex while standing on your head and singing gypsy chants? Sounds crazy, and it probably is, but there they are....these women that *swear* that it was what made it "their month." Except for that last one, I totally made that up. Might be fun though.

I'm fifteen months in and I haven't had "my month" yet. I try not to complain, some ladies have been at it longer and/or have more obstacles than I do. Plus there is SO much that I have been blessed with in my life. I'm 27 and married to essentially the nicest man on the planet. No, seriously. And he's cute, too. We just bought an adorable little bungalow in one of my favorite neighborhoods. I have a great family, and terrific friends. I've been a proud "dog mama" to two incredibly funny Jack Russell Terriers for nearly 7 years. What more could a girl want?

A baby. Yes, I know they cry and poop and are generally quite needy. I know that I will be sleep deprived, and my nipples will feel like they might fall off from constantly nursing. What is it, exactly, that compels people to say things like "if you knew how much work they were you wouldn't want one so badly?" If I wanted a doll to play dress-up with, I'd go to the store and buy myself one. I'd come home, crack a beer and brew coffee simultaneously (lord knows I haven't had any caffeine or alcohol in forever), fall asleep without checking my cervical mucus and sleep way past the timeframe for me to get the most accurate basal body temperature in the morning. I'd skip my twice daily exercise routine, the myriad of medications I take and the 16 supplements I lug around with me. I'd drink as much or as little water as I please, and I certainly wouldn't test my urine twice a day. I'd have sex exactly when and in the position I felt like.

Please, do not tell the infertility girl how great she has it because she doesn't have to do the work involved with parenting. I'm doing an enormous amount of work just for the chance to be a parent. It's true that I don't have first hand experience (aside from nannying several infants who certainly cry and poop) but WHY on earth would you shove that in my face? Every woman goes into a pregnancy with pie in the sky hopes that will be dashed eventually, and I'm sure you were no exception. If anything, I've had lots of extra time to research different parenting methods and decide exactly which pie I'm putting up there in the sky.

Are you still reading? You're either crazy or you love me, or likely a combination of both. I promise this blog won't be all negative ranting. With any luck (or maybe a brazil nut) eventually I will be too busy and sleep deprived with my crying, pooping baby to even update this thing.

Until next time,

Grace