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