Extra! Extra! Read All About It!

Back in January O and I decided to let the most important people in our lives know that we were struggling to have a child and were seeing an infertility specialist. We were tired of dodging questions and trying to keep track of who knew what.

So one evening I sat down at the computer and poured out my heart in a letter which we e-mailed to our very closest friends and family. Towards the end of that letter, I wrote the following:

“The one thing we ask is that you please not share what we’re going through with anyone. Infertility is such a personal thing. It’s awkward talking about it with those closest to us. It’s absolute torture to have to discuss it with anyone else.”

I was very specific about that request because we live in a small town where everyone knows everyone and gossip spreads like wildfire. I wasn’t interested in our pain being fodder for anyone’s idle chatter.

Even having spelled that out, in the past few months I’ve still been caught off guard several times by people who shouldn’t have known anything about our IF but clearly did, and who were simply bursting to talk about it.

That has happened twice this past week.

The first was an e-mail I received from my husband’s cousin’s daughter. O and his cousin are almost like brothers, so of course we included him and his wife when deciding who to share our IF with. Well, apparently they chose to forward our e-mail on to at least one of their daughters. Her note to me began:

“I know that several months back you sent us all an e-mail concerning some pretty private information about your journey to have a child.”

Ummm, no. I actually DIDN’T send you an e-mail. I sent it to your mom.

She was actually lovely. She’s going through infertility issues of her own and wanted to share the address of a message board that she’d found really helpful and supportive. I very much appreciate the gesture, and that she chose to reach out to me.

Then last night O and I went to a concert. It had been a long day. I went for allergy testing and was there for 3 ½ hours being poked and prodded and stuck with needles, so I was looking forward to getting together with friends, sitting on the lawn of the tiny little park where the concert was held, and listening to the music as the sun set. We were there with our best friends, and a couple of their friends joined us. We’ll call the “friends of our friends” David and Susan. I’d met them once before, 3 ½ years prior at a Superbowl party. They have a son who is 2 ½ and he was there with them – just a darling redheaded bundle of energy. Of course we talked about him for a few minutes, and then Susan looked at me and said, “So, are you and O still trying to have a baby? I heard you’re having some problems with that.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

She too was very nice, saying that she was “sure it will happen” for us. To be honest, I have no idea what else she said because I was too pissed to pay much attention.

PISSED!

I can only assume that the people who have chosen to open their BIG FAT MOUTHS and share our personal, private struggle with others simply have no idea of the pain they cause. I am shocked by it, though. I guess I shouldn’t be, but I am.

Perhaps instead of trying to keep all this under wraps, I should just put my journalism degree to use and write an article for the local paper announcing it to the world.


Local Couple Can’t Seem To Get Knocked Up

Wednesday July 25, 2007

Dateline: Big Fat Mouth, Southern State

A local woman is shoving thousands of dollars up her ha-ha in an effort to do what most others find effortless, conceive a child.

Handsome Husband and his wife Infertile Myrtle have spent the last year or so hoping, wishing, praying, and trying to have a baby. They have tried potions, positions, and prescriptions, but to no avail. They have sought out the help of experts who have poked, prodded, extensively studied their bodily fluids, and stuck cameras in their special places. Yet, Infertile Myrtle remains as barren as ever.

Though they have no child to hold in their arms, they do have a year’s worth of wonderful memories. Handsome Husband had a particularly intimate date with a specimen cup. Infertile Myrtle has been sent screaming from the doctor’s office twice, fearing she was riddled with cancer. Let’s not forget the morning that they had not once but TWO false positive pregnancy tests that left Myrtle crying in her car in a Target parking lot. How about the side effects of the drugs Myrtle takes, where she is either wanting to eat, wanting to cry, or wanting to eat while crying? Fun is had by all! And oh the joy of realizing month after month that Myrtle’s body has malfunctioned once again.

Husband and Myrtle realize that many in town are inordinately interested in this, their private business, so they will be holding a town meeting on the 31st at the Big Fat Mouth Senior Center. Come prepared for an evening of fun when their personal heartache will be discussed ad nauseum. There will be a slide show, a question and answer period (PERIOD - HA!!!), and a suggestion box where you can tell Husband and Myrtle exactly what YOU think about their infertility. Of particular interest will be a craft segment where Myrtle will share how she built a doghouse entirely out of used pregnancy and ovulation predictor test sticks. Don’t forget that the Big Fat Mouth High School Band Parents will be selling hot dogs and hamburgers as a fundraiser for their trip to Daytona, so bring your kids (the younger and more adorable the better), bring your appetite, and bring your opinions to INFERTILITYPALOOZA ’07!

So Tired

Yes I know it’s been a while. There just hasn’t been much to say on the IF front since I took my last pro*metrium. If you’ll recall, they doubled my dosage in hopes of generating an extra-special-super-size period within ten days so that maybe, just maybe I could finally start injectables. Well, flash forward exactly four weeks and nothing. Absolutely nothing. Breathtaking isn’t it? And the most ironic part? I am desperately hoping that I’m NOT pregnant.

My asthma flared up a little bit about ten days ago after a failed attempt to get an outside dog. (We won’t go into that.) It wasn’t too bad – no wheezing or coughing, but I definitely felt tightness in my lungs so I went and got a steroid shot and a prescription and while I was there they did 2 chest x-rays to make sure I didn’t have bronchitis. I didn’t, and the asthma was very mild so I was feeling back to normal within a couple of days. Since this was only the second time I’ve needed treatment for asthma as an adult, I can’t complain too much.

So . . . period 21 days late + 2 x-rays = one worried me. It’s just so damned ludicrous.

Anyway, I am pretty sure that rather than being pregnant, my body is simply protesting the high dose of pro*metrium. When they gave me a progest*erone in oil shot a few months ago, designed to cause the mother of all periods, nothing happened then either. Or perhaps it’s the steroids. I poas on Friday and it was negative, so I’ll give it a few more days and see what does or doesn’t happen.

I am so tired of all of this.

Big Blue Eyes and Hope

First, THANK YOU for all of the wonderful advice I got re: my last post. I have, for the moment, decided to remain with my current RE and see how things go. She went out of her way to try and undo the damage her NP caused and I couldn’t ask for more than that.

But to be perfectly honest, I’ve been thinking about discontinuing infertility treatments. Or perhaps better stated, I’ve been thinking about discontinuing trying to START infertility treatments.

I’ve been seeing my RE since January and have yet to get the okay to even begin my first round of injectables. Being told month after month that my body has failed once again has taken its’ toll. As I’ve sat on the sidelines watching my friends and “blog buddies” go through cycle after cycle, I’ve felt less and less reason to hope that that will ever be me. That, along with last month’s unwarranted cancer scare has simply left me exhausted and wanting to throw up my hands and walk away from the whole thing.

I love my life. My marriage is wonderful. We have fantastic friends. I adore the home we’ve created together here on this beautiful property. We are healthy. Our families are healthy. O has a great job that he enjoys and that allows me to stay home if I so choose. I am forever excited about some project or other – cooking/entertaining, gardening, writing, photography. I am even considering starting my own food business. I am happy.

So a couple of weeks ago as I took my pro*metrium and crawled into bed one night, I laid there and wondered if pursuing infertility treatment was even worth it. I’ve had months of disappointment, of money spent, of taking drugs that will do who knows what to my body in years to come, of absolutely dreading each RE appointment. I have very little hope remaining to balance it all out.

Do I believe that I’ll ever be able to cycle? Do I believe that O and I will ever be parents? I guess my answer to both of those questions has come to be “probably not”. I’m starting to believe that it simply may not be in the cards for us.

Last weekend O and I attended my family reunion. It’s our yearly opportunity to get together with all my mom’s crazy fun relatives and visit, laugh and eat way too much. My favorite cousin was there with her family, including twin boys who are 1 1/2. They are darling and social little creatures who worked the room and charmed everyone they encountered. As lunch was being served, one of them wandered over to our table and became enchanted with my digital camera. I turned the viewfinder completely around so he was able to see himself upside down on the screen. As we say here in the South, it absolutely tickled him to death. His face just lit up every time he caught a glimpse of himself. Needless to say, we became good friends and I enjoyed every minute of the time I spent with him.

Afterwards, O and I did some antiquing in my hometown and we had a lot of fun, but my thoughts kept returning to that darling little boy. Even as my head was telling me that I’d never be a mom and that I should give up and walk away from the whole infertility mess, my heart and that little boy’s blue eyes urged me to just hang in there for a little while longer and see if maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance for us. So I’m still here, still trying to get off the bench and into the game, still trying to find some hope to sustain me as the next RE appointment looms . . . for a little while longer.