I’ve thought a lot about posting this. I’ve been back and forth and in the middle, and I’ve felt like I shouldn’t put all of this out there for the world to see but at the end of the day– I just can’t hold it in anymore.
It’s been three years, since we have been trying to have a baby. We’ve been together since 2004, but I was always on birth control.
In August of 2011, right after we bought our house, I went to my first OB appointment after years of trying naturally, and wondering what the hold up was. I made it with a Dr. that I really thought I wanted. I got stuck with his partner. I was apprehensive at first, but after five minutes with him I felt like I was in better hands than I had ever imagined.
When someone is staring at your vagina and it doesn’t feel totally awkward and scary- you can rest assured that you’re with the right person. Significant other, or OB.
He told me what I already suspected. I had PCOS. Polyc Cystic Ovarian Syndrome. There are many ways this asshole of a disorder manifests itself, mine is mainly centered around insulin resistance. Which makes sense. From 2007 until now, I had put on over 70 lbs. Seriously. I started getting acne again, and once I got off of birth control my cycles ranged from 60-90 days.
No matter how hard I worked out and dieted, nothing worked. I only maintained a weight that far surpassed anything I ever thought I would see on the scale. Luckily, my amazing OB recognized that something needed to change and put me on a drug called Metformin. Which has helped me lose over 30lbs, quickly. I will say though, the side effects made my life miserable. So I switched to the extended release version, which helped the side effects but slowed down the weight loss. Which is fine, because there is no “simple fix” when it comes to losing weight, so it’s time to hit the gym and start eating better (blah!).
In September of 2011, we tried Clomid. I was so hopeful, but we quickly realized it wasn’t going to be so simple.
We decided then to try things with our fertility center, on Valentines day. They were amazing. More wands in my vagina, and more talk about sperm and eggs and what our options were. IUI was the consensus. I researched night and day, we did our blood tests, I started levothyroxine for my thyroid and we prepared for IUI.
Then we took a month to relax before the big show, and vacationed in Vegas. We all know what happened next. I was pregnant. Then things took a turn for the worse before I knew it, and BAM. Here I am.
Now what? It feels like my failures are all summed up in a few paragraphs. These words hardly do justice to what it feels like to know that my body is broken. That this can’t possibly be happening to me. The nights spent crying after attending a beautiful birth make me a bad person, how could I be so sad when something so wonderful just took place right in front of my eyes? That I could smile when my friends get pregnant, and then hangup and want to crawl into a hole and never come out, seems so pathetic and ridiculous.
I’ve had to look at my life through a lens I never thought I would need to. Examine my failures and successes with scrutiny, trying to find out where I went wrong. Am I being punished for being so lucky in other aspects of my life? Is the universe trying to tell me to wait for some ambiguous reason? Am I meant to adopt? Are we supposed to be childless? What is the fucking problem here?!
All of those thoughts send me spiraling into a sometimes counterproductive cycle of sadness/jealousy/anger.
I’ve found other ways to cope with this frustration though. Much of which stems from my seriously awesome group of friends. I can’t even begin to describe how grateful I am for them. They listen to me when I want to spend hours ranting and give me support and advice that is invaluable.
Of course Louie is awesome. I don’t even need to go into how grateful I am for him. It’s just obnoxious how wonderful he is.
Why haven’t we done IUI since I had my miscarriage? Well there’s a pretty simple answer. I’m entering my last semester of school. If I got pregnant on my own, I would be beyond elated. But I’ve learned by now what happens during a typical semester, all-nighters, energy drinks, stress, pressure and time. All of which I would be willing to sacrifice for a pregnancy that happened on its own, but I don’t want to be subjecting myself to all of those things PLUS countless doctors appointments, procedures and medication. Not to mention the emotions that go into a treatment. There is this sense of hope that can be debilitating, that tangles up all feelings and notions of what the future will hold. Hope is a double edged sword. The buildup is incredible, but the letdown is magnified. I know that waiting is for the best, but trust me, I hate knowing that I have to go even one more day not being pregnant.
So that’s my story. We are still young, 24, and have time. That is the bright spot in this journey. One more semester isn’t going to kill me, just torture me. Hopefully I can turn that frustration into motivation, and go out with a bang and another semester on the deans list. Until then, I’ll try to keep my sense of humor strong and continue to see the beauty in my life, no matter how childless it may be.