The Blue Gown Brigade

A couple of days after the RE appointment in Birmingham I had to go to one of their satellite offices for another blood draw. By that time, I had already scheduled a mammogram at my hometown hospital to investigate whatever it was that the NP felt in my right breast.

Now, you'll learn this about me in time, but I do not handle even the slightest prospect of having something life-threatening wrong with me in a good way. TRANSLATED: I completely freak out and obsess and my life, for the most part comes to a screeching halt until I am given the "all clear" about whatever it is.

Yes, I am aware that this is unhealthy. Yes, I am aware that there are more productive ways to handle situations such as these. Yes, I still freak completely out.

So of course, rather than waiting for my mammogram, scheduled several days in the future, I called my gyn to see if I could get an immediate appointment. She was able to work me in that same day, but I had several hours to kill before I could see her. It was agony. I was just thinking-thinking-thinking and watching the clock.

By the time the appointment arrived, I was a mess but was trying my best to be cool.

She came in and did the exam. She felt what the NP felt, but said that she wasn’t concerned about it – that she thought it was just from the weight loss. However, she said that since I was “between things” with the infertility treatments, she’d write the orders for a mammogram and ultrasound. Dammit!

Although the last thing she said when she walked out of my room was, “I’m not concerned about this at all” I couldn’t help still being scared. I was leaving yet another gyn appointment with something to wait and wonder and worry about. Shit!

I went back and forth, still freaking out, canceling and changing mammo appointments until I finally decided to just put on my Big Girl Panties and go have the tests done this past Thursday. I was anticipating a 15-30 minute visit but noticed on the sign-in paperwork that I could expect to be there for two hours. I was being seen on what I guess you could term “call back day”, where women who’d had abnormal mammograms had been called back in for further testing.

As always, I was super early for the appointment and sat in an absolutely packed waiting room for what seemed like forever. I looked around a little bit and imagined I could feel the undercurrent of fear and uncertainty in the room. I mostly pretended to be reading my book and wished to be done with this particular hurdle on what I hope will be my path to mommyhood.

They finally called me and another woman back, and we were taking to changing rooms to put on gowns and sit in a smaller waiting room with probably ten women, all dressed in blue hospital gowns and trying not to let their concerns show on their faces - trying to pretend that we weren't all sitting in a room with a bunch of strangers in blue gowns, with our boobs flying free.

The x-ray tech who did my mammogram was really nice. We talked about my weight loss, and she said you could really see it from my 2005 x-rays. When she did the right breast, she said, “It looks all clear to me, but I’m not a doctor, of course. Your breasts are just like mine – you can see right through them.” So I finally felt some relief. She went and showed the films to the radiologist, and he didn't want any additional pictures of anything. The ultrasound was the same - no further views needed.

Two days later I received a letter in the mail telling me that my mammogram was normal. I felt so deeply grateful. I’ve thought back several times to all the other women who were in the office that day, who spoke to me or smiled at me or laughed with me as we released a bit of our built up anxiety. I hope that they are all feeling the sense of relief that I am today, and can look back on this as a small bump in whatever path they are on.

Gentlemen, start your engines! (Or more correctly put - Lady, start your Prometrium!)

I truly cannot believe that we have arrived at this day. Cannot. Believe. It.

Today we take our first steps into the fun-filled world of assisted reproductive technology. I have my Prometrium bottle sitting on the desk as I write this, and can’t help but glance at it from time to time.

The reason that I am shocked to be here might surprise you. It’s not because I thought I’d get pregnant at the drop of the hat and can’t believe we’ve had to resort to ART. Rather, it’s because there is a huge part of me that has never believed I’d have a baby – that I could ever produce one. That feeling isn’t based on anything other than a long history of non-existant periods – periods that have been regulated for the last three years by meds. I am, in all honesty, shocked because I'm actually starting to think that we might just have a chance to become parents.

I feel like an imposter meeting with doctors as they talk to me like I was anyone else who had just hit a few bumps along the road to motherhood. Can’t they see that I’m broken and that I don’t have what it takes to grow a child within my body? Can’t they see that they’re wasting their time with all these tests?

Isn’t that so bizarre?!?!

I suspect that this belief is one enormous defense mechanism designed to protect me from heartbreak. If I never truly believe that there’s hope, maybe it won’t hurt quite so much when I find out that motherhood isn’t in the cards for me.

I have felt this way about other things.

For most of my life I believed that I was just one of those women who would never marry; never have someone to love and be loved by. I was missing whatever piece of the puzzle was required to accomplish that.

I was wrong. O is truly the kindest, dearest, and most loving man I could ever imagine.

I also believed that I didn’t have what it took to lose the weight I needed to. Yes, I knew logically that my body would release weight like anyone else’s. I simply didn’t have the drive and determination to ever accomplish it.

I was wrong. I’ve lost 110 pounds, only 80 more to go.

So . . . gosh, I’m struggling to even write these words but . . . . maybe I’m wrong about the baby thing too. Maybe my body really CAN create and sustain a life. Oh my God, could that really be true? I would be absolutely floored.

I am actually hopeful. (Gulp!!!) And I am SCARED to death as a result!

Dear Family and Friends

Through this whole process, it's been hard to know who to share our suspected infertility with. Do we tell our parents and get their hopes up? Do we tell our friends and open ourselves up to well-meaning but hurtful comments? Just who do we invite into our very personal, private business?

Initially, I told my closest girlfriends, and occasionally kept them updated via e-mail about the basics of what's going on. Yes, even from them there were comments that left me shaking my head.

"You just need to relax and get out of your own way."

"You've spent a fortune on other things. Spend a little money on making a baby."

"If you take my kids for the weekend, you'll be thanking God for your lack of eggs."

There are more, but I get all riled up thinking about it.

Anyway, once we met with the RE, if became pretty clear that we wanted to share this with our very closest friends and family. It's going to be a big part of our lives (heck, it already is!!) and to keep it from them would be a bigger job than we wanted to take on right now.

Plus, there is the "small town" factor. O's best friend knew that we were trying to have a baby. He mentioned it to his sister, who mentioned it to me in front of ten people at a Christmas party. Given the way that gossip spreads like wildfire in this small town, we were legitimately concerned that his parents would find out about all of this standing in line at the local Wal*Mart.

So here's the letter. It was from the heart.

Dear Family and Friends,

Because you each mean so much to us, we wanted to share with you something that we’ve been struggling with for a while now. Since last summer, we have been trying unsuccessfully to have a baby.

I spent the fall taking a low-level fertility drug that had no effect, other than it made me burst into tears whenever I saw puppies and toddlers on TV commercials. It was certainly an interesting, if not terribly helpful, side effect. (My husband is a saint.)

We did have a moment of absolute joy just before Thanksgiving when I had a positive pregnancy test. Our hearts were broken just a few hours later to discover that it had been a false alarm. As I told my sister-in-law at the time, I really wanted to just crawl under the Thanksgiving dinner table and cry for a while. But, we got through that disappointment and continued to follow the plan my doctor laid out for us.

Just after Christmas, we exhausted all of my doctor’s available treatments and set up an appointment with an infertility specialist. We saw Dr. H. for the first time on Tuesday. We were there for three hours and could not have been more pleased with the doctor, the staff, and the clinic. I spent years working in medical environments and I have never encountered a more professional, organized, friendly, and educated group of people.

With this first visit, we confirmed what we already knew – that the problem is not with O, but rather is with me. How ironic that the girl voted “Most Likely to Overachieve” in high school has an underachieving reproductive system. I guess you never know . . .

Dr. VA. explained our options as she saw them and answered all of our questions. With her guidance we, at the very least, now have a plan.

I go back to the clinic in a couple of weeks for one final test, and if that comes out okay, I’ll begin the actual fertility treatments in about a month.

There is a lot to be hopeful about. All of my blood work came back “beautifully”, as one of the nurses told me, so that’s a good starting point. There is also reason for concern. Success rates in women my age (almost 39) are about 25%.

We know for certain that there are lines we won’t cross in this process, be they emotional, physical, financial, or ethical. We’re just not quite sure where those lines are right now. Hopefully we’ll be successful before we reach them. If not, we’ll have to make some hard choices in the months to come.

This has been really difficult for me – I feel lonely and frustrated and in darker moments, terrified.

I’ve wanted to be a mom since I was 3 years old and got to hold my newborn cousin Eric for the first time. Of course, I didn’t really understand what it was to be a “mom” back then, but I distinctly remember thinking, “I want one of these.” Of course, that dream was put on the back burner until I found O, who I think would make the world’s best daddy one day. We worked so hard to get in better shape, and really thought everything had fallen into place. Sometimes, I suppose, God has other plans.

As for O, well you know O. He’s strong and supportive and as steady as a rock, but I know this is hard for him too. He may not have dreamed of having a child for as long as I have, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less important to him.

Each person we’ve told about this has asked how they can support us. The honest answer is that we really don’t know. We’re walking a path that we never hoped to be on, and we’re just figuring it out as we go. But we would appreciate your good thoughts and prayers, if you are so inclined.

The main thing we ask is that you PLEASE not share what we’re going through with anyone. I’ve already had a couple of conversations about this with people who shouldn’t have had the information that they did. It’s often awkward talking about it with those closest to us. It’s torture to have to discuss it with anyone else.

Other than that, just know that we’ll keep you updated when and if we have news to share. If you have questions, please don’t hesitate to ask us. It’s a pretty involved and confusing process even to us, and WE have a front row seat for it.

And if you happen to see me in the Walmart, sniffling as I stand in front of the TV’s watching puppies frolic in the grass, at least you’ll understand why.

If we are able to become parents, we already know that our child will be so very blessed, because he or she will have each one of you in its’ life.

We love you all dearly,

Us

We've received an outpouring of support from almost everyone. A couple of people have yet to respond, but that's okay. We're just relieved not to have to keep this secret any longer.

The Blue Bag

There is a blue gift bag laying on the floor just to the left of the desk where I'm sitting. It is filled to the brim with paperwork - brochures, instructions, forms, and other goodies - all a memento of our trip to the infertility specialist this past week. I haven't touched it once since I brought it home. In fact, I'm avoiding it like the plague.

I actually woke up the morning of our appointment with a fairly positive outlook, ready to drive the two hours to the ART (Advanced Reproductive Technology) offices and see what the doctor had to say. The visit was, in moments, encouraging, depressing, mortifying, informational, scary, maddening, and lonely. But we survived. My husband, O went with me and was his usual supportive self. I knew he'd rather be just about anywhere than a waiting room full of women with malfunctioning reproductive systems and their husbands who were studiously trying not to look each other in the eye.

I have to say, we were really impressed with the entire visit. They took us back on time and for the three hours we were there, we spent every moment with a staff member - the doctor, nurse practitioner, lab techs, nurse/ultrasound tech, and financial person (who had the grim job of reminding us that our insurance only covers the initial diagnostic visits. After that, we're on our own.). I spent years managing medical clinics I have never run across a more organized, friendly, professional, and educated office staff.

We first met with my new doctor, Dr. VA., and I really liked her. She's dealt with infertility issues of her own so I felt comfortable with her. I don't know that that makes her a better doctor, but I'd imagine that it makes her more empathetic, at the least.

I had already taken 3 rounds of Clomid through the fall with Day 21 blood draw results of 6.9, 6.1, and (drum roll please) .3 with the 150 mg dosage. My body clearly was having none of that nonsense! She said we could do one more round but that it wouldn't be appreciably different that what my ob/gyn offered. We decided that time was a wastin', so IUI it is.

Armed with a plan, they sent my poor darling husband off to date a specimen cup while I had my exam and ultrasound.

During the exam, the nurse practitioner noticed a lumpy area in my right breast and asked about it. She didn't seem terribly concerned but you know me (well, you DON'T know me, but I am a WORRIER of monumental proportions) so I talked to her about it a bit more and she said they would write an order for a mammogram. Yesterday I decided to go see my ob/gyn about it and she wasn't even a little bit concerned. She said it's where I've lost weight and the cells once full of fat have "deflated" and left a couple of lumps. But, she said that since I was beginning infertility treatments soon, we might as well go ahead and get a mammogram and ultrasound, just to make double sure.

Dammit!

Why do I always seem to walk away from every doctor's appointment with something else to wait and worry about? I swear it pisses me off!!! But, the last thing my doctor said as she left the room is, "I'm not concerned about this at all." Big sigh of relief! I'll have a nervous feeling in my tummy till I get the results, but I'm feeling pretty good about it - most of the time!

The ultrasound looked fine - perhaps the remnant of an old cyst on one ovary which could be why I wasn't ovulating. I don't think so, though. I've never had normal periods from day one so I suspect that something has been screwed up for a long time.

Anyway, O and I met back up with the nurse that had done my ultrasound and she went over my plan of treatment. I swear I have never received so much information in so short a time, not even in college. She was great though, and answered our questions and (even better) wrote everything down for us. There were some moments when I expected to look over and see O with his fingers stuffed in his ears muttering, " “La la la la – I can’t hear you! I’m not even here. La la la la! I’m at a football game. There are no ovaries for miles around! La la la la! The only periods in the world are at the end of my sentences! La la la!”

But he was great. I could tell it was a lot of information for him to absorb. I had the advantage of having done a lot of research so I knew what they were talking about most of the time. O is more of a “bottom line, let’s cut to the chase” kind of guy.

Happily, he has overachieving sperm, to go with my underachieving ovaries, so we were thrilled about that. Every bit of my bloodwork came back "beautifully" too, so maybe we'll have a fighting chance at this after all.

I'll start Prometrium in a couple of weeks to have a "good bleed" (bleck!), and will then schedule my HSG, to see if my tubes are blocked. There is no reason to think they are, but we don't want to mature and release eggs that have nowhere to go.

If all goes well with that, we'll begin shots to get those eggs maturing, and will go from there.

So that's about it. I tell ya, it was an experience. You just haven't lived until you’ve had a smiling stranger (and not even a DOCTOR!!!) look at you and your husband and say, “So we want you to make love between 3 and 6 a.m.. I recommend the missionary position. Prop up your hips for 15 minutes afterwards, and then take a shower, not a bath, and come immediately to our offices.” I kind of want to take a shower just thinking about it! (I would imagine any veterans of the infertility wars who are reading this are wisely shaking their heads, knowing that there are many many more uncomfortable, mortifying, and make-you-squirm moments to come.)

Today I am more scared than hopeful. Or more specifically, I am scared to be hopeful. I don't quite know what to do with myself.

Perhaps digging into that blue bag isn't a bad place to start.

The faint of heart are urged to step away from the computer immediately . . .

Today I am a lovely combination of BLUE and PISSED! I can’t seem to settle myself down to do anything. I just end up staring off into space. Bleck!

Tomorrow is our first appointment with the infertility specialist. I LOATHE anything to do with the gyn (as we all do) and I don’t want to go, even a little bit. But I know if I don’t, I’ll regret it and will always wonder “what if”.

Dammit!

AND my period just started on its’ own for the first time in a decade, so that will make for an even more lovely visit.

Dammit!

AND it’s supposed to be eleventy-thousand degrees below zero tomorrow as we’re walking all over hell’s half acre through parking garages and parking lots to get to this massive medical center. Couldn’t be 60 and sunny, could it? Nooooooo!

Dammit!

I hate that insurance pays for Viagra for men but doesn’t cover infertility. My biggest fear is starting down this road and then having to stop because we don’t have the f***ing money to do this.

Daammit!

I am almost 39 years old. The birth defect rates for mothers my age are rising exponentially as even as we speak!

Dammit!

And what is it about someone struggling to have a baby that causes the people around them to say absolutely inappropriate and hurtful things? WHAT IS THAT?

Dammit!

And to top it all off, I can’t even eat my way through this. I’d like a large pepperoni pizza with a bag of Hershey’s Kisses as a chaser, but I can’t even have that because then I would go on a food binge of gargantuan proportions and weigh 300 pounds again and be even MORE miserable.

Dammit dammit dammit!

That does it!!!! I demand a refund!

Where do we go to get a refund on our ovaries? I might even still have the receipt for mine somewhere, perhaps in my wallet stuck behind my COMPLETELY USELESS INSURANCE CARD!

DAMMIT ALL TO HELL!

Yes, I know I’m being unreasonable.

I know I should be grateful that reproductive medicine is as far advanced as it is.

I know that it’s GOOD that my period started by itself.

I know I should be grateful that I even HAVE insurance.

I know that most of the time people who say hurtful things just aren’t thinking or don’t know what to say.

I know that pizza and Hershey’s Kisses will only make me feel worse, no matter how delicious they may be at the time.

Blah blah blah! All I have to say to all that is DAMMIT!

Well, I clearly needed to get THAT off my chest. Now I have to go and try to find that receipt.