Welcome Mama!

I've thought about so many different things to write about in the past 24 hours, but now that I am sitting here, none of them seem to be tangible.

I had a really nice dinner with my mom last night. I feel like it has been so long since I've been able to just sit and talk with her. I've been wanting to show her my blog for ever, and finally, after dinner last night I was able to tell her about it and pull it up on my iphone so she could see it. She is so wonderful and supportive and I am so lucky that we get to be connected as mother and daughter.

So, Welcome to my blog Mama!

Ohhh - and Sister and Bestie, You are now welcome here too!

You three have been so incredible and patient and kind and understanding and available to me during this journey and I am forever grateful.

So after dinner I was walking back to my car and noticed that the light was on at the massage place. This massage place is awesome - they offer hour long foot massages for $25 that are really a full body clothed massage that includes a hot water bath for your feet. I wandered across the street and found myself laid out in the chair enjoying an impromptu massage. I thought about so many things but successfully kept refocusing on the music that was playing. It felt so good to just stop and do something that was just for me. Then after the massage, I got my hair cut! I figured that I was already there, and I'd been wanting to get my hair trimmed for like the past year. The lady washed, cut and blew out my hair, and, it felt so nice.

I have a spa day all set for October 16th, with my sister and a few friends. (anyone want to join us? :) and another spa day scheduled for me and my mama the first week of November. My mama reminded me that I have got to be taking care of myself - thanks mama!

If everything proceeds as planned, we'll be getting started with treatment pretty quickly after getting the results of the FNA next Friday. I am trying so hard to let this journey be what it is but I seriously can't wait to get moving on what comes next. The sooner we start treatment, the sooner we get to Someday, and the sooner I get off this freakin roller coaster.

*** A perfect moment to share: ML and I called my grandma before stopping by her house the other day. She was so glad to hear from us and to hear that we were headed over. She asked if we could do her a big favor and run by the grocery. "Of course," we say, "What do you need grandma?" She replies "a bottle of Kettle One vodka!" 

Omg, I love you grandma!!! 

My Scarlet Pain

My Scarlet Pain

I’ve been thinking about how to say these things all week. I’m going to try my best to get it all out on paper, but I know it is not going to make sense the way I need it to. It will sound contradictory and whiney, but there is a feeling that I need to communicate, so I’m going to give it my best shot.

I realized last weekend when my girlfriends and I had that discussion about hope that the people around me don’t have any idea how much pain I am in. They know that I am having a hard time in this struggle, and they are so kind and loving, but they just can’t comprehend it. My boss is wonderful and so accommodating and says nice things like “even at your worst, you are better than most of the people we work with at their best”. I couldn’t ask of anything more of the people in my life, but they just don’t know.

They are all looking to me for guidance as to how to be supportive and helpful. I don’t have anything to offer them. 

They are all watching my mood to gauge how I am doing. And when my mood is low, they can see that I am in pain. I need for them to know that I am in pain. I need them to know that I am struggling. Somehow their acknowledgement of my pain makes it real, makes it legitimate, makes it valid. Somehow it is easier to carry this feeling when it is acknowledged by others, and the only way they know to acknowledge it is to see me sad.

I feel like this infertility (aka pain, loss, fear, etc) is now a part of who I am, and yet I am struggling to incorporate it into the self that I was and to emerge in some sort of balanced way. 

I am so done with feeling so low. I am so ready to let some sunlight in, to let some bright warm light shine on my soul. and Yet I am struggling with how to acknowledge the pain, while letting happiness in. 

When I smile and act happy, people around me think that everything is okay.  It’s as if there is no pain, there is no sadness, I am not scared or worried, there is no unfullfilled purpose. If I am happy, then those other emotions must not exist. This is such an oversimplified view, but it is the best I can do to explain it. 

I know that all of these emotions can co-exist together. That I can experience happiness and sadness, pleasure and pain all in the same moment. Emotions are not mutually exclusive, they are not black and white.  I know that. 

But somehow, I feel like I am betraying my pain by wishing to make room for other feelings, by letting other people see that there is room for other feelings to fit. How could my pain possibly be as big as I say it is if there is space to experience pleasure and joy?

I wish that there was some way that I could visually show the world just how big and real this struggle is. Some way that even as I laugh or dance, that everyone will see that I am burdened by this additional powerful emotion. Even if they can’t comprehend my experience of this struggle, I want them to know that it is always with me.

Reality Hits Hard

I never would have imagined how much it meant to receive so much love and support from all of you earlier this week. Thank you for walking this journey with me.

* * * * *

A few hours after my last post, I got a call letting me know that my Grandma had a stroke. She'd been at a writing class (no wonder I love writing so much!) and couldn't stand up to read her poem. Thank god that she was with so many people, because they called for help right away. She was able to get treatment very quickly. 

I adore my grandma. 

I am on night duty with her at the hospital tonight. We haven't left her alone since she arrive at the ED on Monday. Even laying in a hospital bed, with all of these iv's and monitors and bleeping lights, she is as graceful and composed as I have ever been. She really is an amazing woman. 

I miss my grandpa. His time with us ended just a few months after my wedding. He always was the family patriarch. We all looked to him for guidance and direction. What grandpa said was the way things were. He was so wise and strong. I miss him all the time. 

Grandma has been on her own since he passed. Its been hard for her, I know. But she is so strong. A military wife who raised four young ones while her husband fought for our county in wars where many soldiers never came home - yep she's a fighter. and I love her.

I cried when they sold the family home. We all did. They needed the money, and the house was too big. It had been grandma's parents home when they settled here. She lived there with the kids while grandpa was away at war. We lived there with grandma and grandpa when my dad got out of the army. That home was always home for me, for my dad, for grandma. 

My grandma is a beautiful woman. Really gorgeous. She was beautiful always, and has aged so gracefully. She told my sister this afternoon, "thank god her face looks okay, because that would just be too much." 

My aunt will arrive tomorrow. She is the youngest of the four, the only girl, and the one who grandpa left in charge of the affairs before he passed. She and grandma are hilarious together. Grandma loves it when Aunt comes to visit, and Aunt's heart breaks that she is so far away the rest of the time. 

You know, I dream of growing old with ML. I dream of celebrating our 50th wedding anniversary surrounded by our family, like we did for my grandparents. My grandma may be getting older, but she is not alone. Not tonight, and not ever. 

* * * * *

So on my way over to the hospital tonight, driving our 13 year old 275k mile minivan that we bought from my MIL 150k ago, I noticed the temperature gage was on hot. I called ML and he said not to panic, we'd deal with it the next day. It was just a few more miles so I continued. 

It felt like the car was losing power, but I was driving up a hill and at my exit anyway. As I roll up to the stoplight the car lost power. And then smoke started poring out of the hood, and into the cabin. I threw on the blinkers and jumped out of the car with my phone. Freakin Ay. 

Some guy stopped and helped me move the car out of way of traffic. My phone was nearly dead, my mom was waiting for me to relieve her from her shift at the hospital, I was so flustered that I couldn't figure out how to call for roadside assistance. Smoke continued to pour from the car.  I really was just down the road from the hospital so I grabbed my overnight bag, locked the car, and caught a ride to a safer location with the guy who had stopped. F. me - I'd locked the keys in the car. 

I called the roadside assistance and they said that they couldn't get a tow truck out until I had the keys. Gotta love it that our other car is currently in the shop. And just tonight we were talking about how reliable and trouble free the van has been. I should have knocked on wood.

I had my mom leave a note on the windshield, and have my fingers crossed that the CHP doesn't tow us tonight. ML will bike the extra set of keys over in the morning and we'll deal with it then. 

* * * * *

I felt so tired today. Like the delayed emotion of Monday's news was slowly catching up with me. Not in the sense that I feel sadder now, just that I feel a little drained emotionally. Tired. and a little hopeless again. It all just feels so futile, and pointless. Like the pain/happiness balance is out of wack and there is just too much hurt. I want to think that the happiness will come back around again, but it feels so far away. 

Journals from the Past

I reflected last week on the year anniversary of our first Semen Analysis and the devastating diagnosis we received. I've come a long way since then. At our Resolve meeting last night, yep I went again and it was awesome again, I was surprised by how confident and relaxed I felt. Today as I clean out some old files on my laptop, I opened an old journal to find some entries from last year, right after our first UR appointment. It's pretty powerful to read, and again a reminder of how far I've come on this journey. I wanted so much to share this with someone last year, but I wasn't ready to be so open. This seems like an appropriate place and time to share. Here goes....

I read everyday, but haven't been able to write. I want to contribute to the discussion, but I am struggling with balancing the need to connect with others who understand this experience and a strong desire for privacy. Even with screen names, the internet feels so public. 

We had our first consult with a reproductive urologist. I felt like an idiot, barely able to communicate, and definitely not strong for my husband. I had written out a list of questions in advance and actually handed the list to the Dr. My husband was great - following the discussion and asking relevant questions. I just sat there with tears running down my face. I'd prepared a letter to the Doctor and his staff to have put in our file, introducing my husband and I, reminding him that every interaction with him or his staff was highly emotional and stressful for us, asking for help in understanding the financial cost of any options that were presented to us, etc... and it had our picture on it. At the very end of the consult I handed the Dr the letter and it was like a lightbulb came on. He brought the patient coordinator nurse into the room to meet us, gave us the card for the financial counselor, and encouraged us to make an appt with the office counselor. The doctor was great before the letter, but after reading it remembered the humanity of us as a couple who were scared and in pain.
We are now waiting for results of hormones and genetic testing. I am putting all of my thoughts into hoping that the results show that we are lucky enough to move forward with a TESE, and trying to brace myself if that is not an option.
Speaking of bracing myself, I got a massage last week and realized that I was actually physically bracing myself for some sort of impact. As I started to relax, I started crying. I want to be strong for my husband. I need to hold it together at work. I honestly don't want to talk about any of this. But it is constantly swirling in my head. I am constantly in a state of apprehension. I am constantly on the verge of tears. I didn't realize how much I needed to be cared for. and how important it is going to be for me to figure out some ways to take care of myself - to create safe places where I can let my guard down. 

The physical exhaustion I've felt since getting the first SA results should have been a clue as to how much energy I am exerting to hold it together. Being at home with my husband is easiest. Being at work is okay if I can be focused on a specific task. I told my boss and direct co-worker that we had “some medical stuff going on... I felt like a zombie... I didn't want to talk about it.” They've been pretty respectful, but I know that they could ask about it at any time, and I hate that. With my irratinal emotional breakdowns and random days off for doctor appointments, I had to let them know that sometime was up and that it had nothing to do with them. Being around my one friend and two family member who know is okay. They want to be supportive, but I know that they can't understand. At least with them I know that I don't have to lie or pretend that everything is okay. Being around  friends and family who don't know is exhausting. I swear that talk of getting pregnant or babies comes up in every conversation. When we were trying, I had no problem lying and telling people that we were going to wait until I got better insurance, or until my husband got a better job, or that we just weren't ready yet. We'd wanted our trying to be private between us, as it is in fact among the most intimate and private activities that a couple ever engages in. Apparently I was so good at these fibs, when I recently told my best friend that we were having some problems, she was shocked. Ironically she was happy that her 22-week pre-nate wouldn't have to wait another 5 years for a friend, while I was considering for the first time in my life that I might never have a family. For whatever reason, when the topic comes up now I feel completely exposed and raw. and unequipped to participate in the discussion.  It takes everything I have to hold myself together so as not to let on that I want to run and hide and disappear.  We are married couples in our early 30's, so it really isn't an inappropriate subject. It's just that everything about it all of a sudden, to me, feels so invasive and out of control and, inappropriate.  I now brace myself for this part of the conversation everytime we hang out with friends. And it takes ….so.... much …. energy. 

Someone said that the first days and weeks after getting a zero SA are the worst, but it does get better. Thank you for that wisdom and encouragement. I think that I cried more in those first two weeks than I have in the past five years. For some reason driving was especially hard. Maybe the car is a private,  space where I was safe to let my guard down. I drive to meetings everyday at work, and I must have cried almost everytime I got in the car. Crying is exhausting work. I may have been physically present at these meetings, but I assure you that I was not mentally present. I was exhausted. And I couldn't eat. I've always had a hard time eating when I am under stress. It is so hard to swallow. To swallow the food, and to swallow the truth and reality of everything else that is hitting me. Besides, my stomach was in knots. Food really was not appealing. Breathing was hard too. It was as if I had to remember to breath. And as if the sobbing had hurt my diaphram, causing it to seize up everytime I exhaled. As I write this I realize that this has passed and that I can breath normally again. Reminds me of the saying, this too shall pass. 

This week has been much better. I had a full day without tears. I worked past 5 a few nights and didn't feel as thought I would pass out from exhaustion driving home. Looking back I think it started last Sunday at breakfast where I was able to eat a full meal. It is crazy to me how severely the stress of this diagnosis has physically affected me. It is unreal. 

Happy Pills

Every night before I climb into bed I take a little pill. A magic little pill it is. I call these little pills my happy pills. They don’t so much make me happy, but they really do help me feel not quite so sad.

Seriously though, I’ve spent a lot of time reading the stories of so many other women who are living this life crisis and am a little shocked that no one else talks about this. Is it that no one else has a bottle of happy pills, or is it that no one else talks about it – even here where the most intimate details of our lives are shared.

The diagnosis of infertility is the worst news I have ever been given. It shook me to my core. It changed me forever. It was a trauma unlike any other that I have ever experienced. Everything about my life as I understood it, my purpose for being, my dreams my future, everything changed in that instant.

And yet I carried on, as best as I could, with my work, and my volunteer commitments, and my friends. Except, it was exhausting. I was exhausted trying to hold it together everyday. I walked around, going through the motions, yet the only thing I could think about was the overwhelming grief and the unspoken fears. Every time I got in the car, alone with the radio, I fell apart. I cried more tears in those first months than I have my entire life. But I managed somehow.

Waiting,

Appointments,

Waiting,

Tests,

Waiting,

Appointments,

Waiting,

Results,

Waiting,

Procedures,

Waiting,

Appointments.

Waiting.

It turns out I am stronger than I ever gave myself credit for being. I really am.

But it was so hard. And I was so tired. And the journey ahead felt like it was so far.

You know, we were seeing doctors, lots of them. But they were focused on the medical part of our infertility. The weren’t concerned with us, with how well we were handling the choices they kept giving us. And even if they had been, we were managing, we put on a good show, we were holding it together.

I suppose I could have gone on like that. Managing. Getting by. Going through the Motions. It sucked, but I was surviving.  We were surviving.

But then we got back the results of our second biopsy, the FNA map. I was hoping for good news that there was sperm and we could proceed with IVF. But I was also prepared for bad news that there was no sperm and we could proceed with DS IUI. We received the bad news, there was no sperm. But we also got a third option -6 months of hormone therapy to try and create sperm. I wasn’t prepared for the third option and it knocked me down hard. Six more months of waiting!?! Still no definitive plan!?! Thousands of additional dollars!?! I wasn’t prepared for this.

The idea of using donor sperm is so hard to accept. I started out thinking that it wasn’t even an option that I would ever consider. I even told my mom at one point early on that if we couldn’t use My Lovers’ sperm we were finished trying. Smart me, I reserved the right to change my mind about any decision at any time. At this point in our journey, I knew that we had to exhaust our options for full biological children before we could accept donor sperm.  I knew that I, we, still had some emotional work to do before actually moving forward with DS IUI, but it felt like an acceptable option for building our family, if we knew that My Lover’s sperm really wasn’t an option.

I wasn’t prepared for this third option and I just fell apart. I wasn’t strong enough to keep going through the motions. I just completely lost it. And I couldn’t pull myself back together. It was a combination of the sadness over the FNA results, the uncertainty of our next steps, and partly that I had just run out of energy.

My Lover and I had been seeing a couple’s counselor since we got the initial diagnosis, and she finally suggested that I ask my Dr. for a prescription for an SSRI anti depressant. Finally. Finally someone saw that I was suffering. Someone saw that the pain was overwhelming. Someone noticed that I could only tread water on my own for so long. Someone threw me a floatie.

The happy pills are my floatie. I’ve still got to tread water out here in this vast ocean. But I’ve got a little help. I’ve got a little more energy. I’ve got a little more perspective and the ability to feel beyond the pain.

It’s been at least a couple weeks since I cried. (I take that back, actually, because Dory’s comment about the Father’s Day cards had me going yesterday, but before that it had been at least two weeks.) Let me tell you I am so grateful for this break from the tears. I’ve spent time with friends, smiling and laughing, and ohhh is that nice.  I feel like me again, a changed me for sure, but me.

So, I suppose that this really long post is really to ask if I really am the only one with a bottle of happy pills, and if so why?

If the reason is that no one has noticed and offered a floatie, I hope that you’ll consider taking the one I am offering right now and make an appointment to talk to your Dr. I personally wish that I hadn’t waited so long.