Who To Trust And Hospital Big Business

The doctor at my clinic is not only a fertility specialist, he's a Reproductive Endocrinologist (RE). An RE is trained to specifically evaluate and treat hormonal dysfunctions as it pertains to infertility. Typically a vital doctor to have on your side when dealing with PCOS.

We all know hospitals and fertility clinics are BIG business. This clinic specifically is a member of Society for Assisted Reproductive Technologies (SART). Being a SART member means the clinic reports everything, participates in specific protocols and is regulated by the FDA.  I didn't think much of it at first, but the longer I've had to process things, the more concerned I become. Why does there need to be governmental interference in this process?  What is the advantage to the patient by using a SART clinic?

If things on my end look so good and they can't guarantee that my husband's issues are causing our losses, then what's the deal?  Why the big rush to the most expensive option? At our first appointment before they had conducted any tests of their own, they handed us a 3" binder filled with IVF information. It was quite obvious where their focus was.

I have researched all of the results I had access to.  I also found many of my results were not even posted to my online portal, even though ALL test results are supposed to appear there. That's when I began to find that what they were calling "good", weren't necessarily big-picture good.  The Anti-Mullerian Hormone (AMH) test can be done at any point in your cycle and while it can't tell the quality of your eggs, it can measure quantity. Results between 5 and 15 are considered normal.  I am 34 and started my cycle early in age so I expected to have come back with a lower than typical number, but him saying my results at a 3.73 were "good" was misleading. In terms of a normal woman's fertility, those results are low.

When I found a document in the big binder giving what their acceptable range of results were, the light bulb went off.  I was at the very high end of acceptable in their book for nearly all of the results I've actually been able to see. Just because I fit in those IVF-able numbers, it means there is nothing wrong with me?  Of course it doesn't. To them, it only means I'm a candidate for IVF.  They don't actually care what my numbers look like in terms of my health or ability to have a child without intervention.  They don't care that I'm ovulating on my own. They don't care really what my body is doing naturally at all- they have meds for that.  I truly believe I'm only a statistic to them and their main concern is how I will contribute to their reporting. A cynical way to look at things? Perhaps. But, it makes complete sense to me.

I think it's a rare thing to find a doctor you truly like and trust.  You always need to have your eyes open and be sure of what they're telling you. Second opinions and research are vital. Right now, my biggest concern is staying pregnant. All of the injecting of good sperm in my eggs mean nothing if I can't stay pregnant. I would be totally monitored, which is great, but can't I just be monitored by doing this on our own? 

So, I've decided I'm going to take this all back to my OB. He originally referred us because of my husband's issues, but now I want him to take a look. And, if he won't, I'll find someone who will.

Changing Your Mindset

I love blogging. I don't do it often enough, but I enjoy going back to re-read my previous posts to see how I was feeling at a particular time.  After re-reading my last fertility related post, I realized I was angry and frustrated. It was valid anger and frustration, but I am that way so infrequently that reading it makes me smile a little. It shows me I'm still IN this, still fighting for it.  Sometimes it takes a while for the brain to process and emotions to follow.

My husband's second semen analysis using the more accurate protocol came back much the same as the first.  Out of 500 total sperm tested, in batches of 100 at a time, only 1 out of every 100 are considered normal. We're looking essentially at 1%, where a fertility specialist wants to see nothing under 4%.  When talking about abnormal, we found it doesn't necessarily mean his are freakish by any means. What we found was mildly encouraging. They aren't crazily misshapen, no double heads or tails, no missing tails, no coiled up or odd shapes. The nurse said "yours aren't too bad. We see some crazy sperm sometimes".  Most of what was considered his abnormal were wedge-shaped heads, or a little thickening of the area right under the head.


Unfortunately, there is not enough known about the process of what attracts sperm to an egg. "They" say the egg has almost a signaling beacon of sorts which only attracts perfect good sperm. "They" also say abnormal sperm are still able to penetrate an egg and make a perfectly healthy baby. My doctor actually said "I can't guarantee that his morphology issues are the reason you aren't staying pregnant". My confusion level skyrocketed. So, are his sperm our problem or not?

They came to my test results.  Shockingly, after a crazy number of vials of blood and testing, everything with me came back in their normal range. I'm still not sure how that is at all possible, but he literally said "there is nothing at all we would treat you for".  Even all of my testing for PCOS issues like testosterone and androgen hormones all came back normal. He said my ovarian reserve testing came back "good". I happened to see the number they had down for that AMH test, and it was a 3.73.  I didn't know what that meant at the time, but if they say it's good, it's good, right?

This doctor was quite specific with his recommendations. IVF is most highly recommended (about $15,000 for a 42.9% chance at a live birth), followed by a monitored cycle with Clomid (a ovulation inducing medication) followed by an insemination ($6,700 for a 20% chance). Last on the list, and not recommended, would be a monitored Clomid cycle without insemination, but with timed intercourse instead. The nurse said right away that it's not recommended because really it's no different than what we've been doing already.

After our appointment, we were both left feeling a bit frustrated and lost. It also led to a pretty big disagreement over what to do financially and whether or not to put a price tag on our future child(ren). After a lot of soul searching and discussion, we've come to the conclusion that barring any new information we may gain with a 2nd opinion, we'll wait out the rest of 2012, in hopes of doing this on our own. He's agreed to get healthier, diet with me, stop his caffeine and start his vitamins.  My hope is that now that we're at least established patients with the fertility clinic, they'll be really on top of monitoring me at the next positive test. Hopefully if there is some yet-undetected issue with me, they'll catch it early and we can make the next one stick. 

I'm currently on cycle day 19, and should be ovulating any day now. Bring it!

Make Me A Believer

Caution- long post ahead. My apologies in advance...

I'm a skeptic. A big one.  I'm always looking for the logic behind things because it keeps my world orderly. If it weren't for my questioning of things and my incessant research to find the answers to anything and everything, I'm sure I'd have a little more free time in my day. I recently had an experience which left me questioning, but also provided some insight and answers, if I choose to believe. 

During my short-lived college career, one of the things I learned was to read tarot cards (hey, I was learning something!).  It was fun for parties and people were always impressed by my skills.  But, it was just that...a skill.  I don't claim to be any sort of psychic and when learning tarot, I recognized there was a process involved. Anyone willing to get a tarot card reading is of a certain vulnerability. They want answers, they want their future told, they want to believe, all of which works to a reader's advantage. If you actually study the meaning of the cards, you'll find they're just generic enough that their meaning can be interpreted many ways. Basically, the magic comes with the reader's ability to sense and follow the direction of the person being read. Everything from facial expressions down to the jewelry they're wearing are all indicators for a reader to follow.  My sister was also involved on the back-end of production in television, so I know the stuff that goes on "behind the scenes" of the psychics you see on TV. It is the magic of television, afterall.  When you put all of that together, it can make it difficult for a skeptic to believe in these things. I do believe that sensitive people exist. I believe in spirits. I also believe that anyone who advertises themselves as such is probably a big fat fake.

When my best friend announced she was taking me to a psychic for my birthday I was a bit hesitant. I didn't want her to waste her hard-earned money for nothing.  I reluctantly agreed to go but I wanted to know the woman's name. I also wanted to make sure my friend didn't provide excessive information over the phone which would have allowed this "psychic" to research anything in advance. As it turns out, she only asked for my friend's first name, and didn't ask mine at all. Ok fine, score one for her.  

I went researching. After a quick Google search of this woman's name plus "psychic", I found no results. After searching the name of the city she was located in plus psychic, I found 10 results in the surrounding area, but no mention of her. After a Facebook search, I found her name, found her page but found NO mention of her abilities. She was a normal 40-ish woman who likes animals and Barnes and Noble. I found her address, which lined up with the address I was given. I even know how much her house is worth. It was nothing extravagant, which also served to make me a bit more comfortable that she's not out taking advantage of people while living it up in a mansion. Good. 

As the day approached, my friend was getting excited. I was encouraged by my earlier findings, but I still wasn't planning on putting much stock into what was said. I was just going to go with the flow. 

We pulled up in front of a cute little house.  When we walked in, she asked my first name. She had just a chair and couch, coffee and end tables and one tiny candle burning off to the side next to a bowl. No incense, or heavy drapery or crystal balls to be found. The room was painted a soothing light green and the furniture was big and overstuffed with lots of pillows. She was so "normal" you'd never pick her out in a crowd.  She asked us to have a seat on the couch.

We sat quietly for a moment while she started scribbling on a notebook. I saw her write 7 and boy. She looked right at me and asked if I had a 7 year old son. I shook my head no and she looked shocked. She said nephew? I said no. She looked confused. She said wow, he is definitely here. He got here before you walked in. He is very strong around you. She kept writing on her notebook.

I waited a bit, trying to figure out this 7 year old and just couldn't make a connection. I was trying to calculate what year that would have been but I didn’t want to miss anything she was going to say, so I just shook my head. She shook it off and said maybe we’d come back to it.  She asked if I was dating/married. I said yes, married.  She asked his name.  I said “Tom”.  She said “what is his full birth name?”  I told her and her eyes got big. She had circled the name Ray on her piece of paper.  Tom’s middle name is Ray, and his grandpa’s name was Ray.  She looked a little confused for a minute and shook her head again. She said she might have to come back to that.

She asked if I was in school. I said no. She said "hmm, I see you in school, do you teach? I see you surrounded by children". I just kept shaking my head but she said “young children... they love you, they are drawn to you. I don't know what you do, but teaching is very good for you”.

What she didn't know was that I originally started college with intentions of a major in elementary ed. I ended up on another path, but I think about it often. I also had been given the "assignment" of signing up for a class, any class, from my boss at my last review which I still haven't yet done.

She asked if I was self-employed.  I said no.  She said “you don’t run a business?”  I said I used to.  She said she feels I’m solitary, that I work for myself. Well, technically with the way things are set up here, since I’m a department of 1, I am solitary…a little island. And, I do freelance from time to time.  She said she sees me in business for myself.

She said I have a golden path, that I’m starting a new birth year, then she paused and said “when is your birthday?” and I said “tomorrow acutally”.  Her eyes got big again and she smiled…she said “you really are starting a new birth year right now then!”

She said she feels I have to do something this year, that whatever it is, to work for it but don’t worry about it, that the path is there for me to take.

Then she said she felt trauma around me and I needed to identify it. She asked if there was connection between kids and trauma.  I gave in at that point a little and mentioned my losses, but provided no details. She asked if I was afraid of something each time and of course I was...afraid of losing the baby. She pressed a bit. “But what are you actually afraid of? What has made you afraid?”  I said with the first one that I had just found out before getting on an airplane and that I was scared to death to get on that plane because of it.  She said “ok, but that’s where you were projecting your fear. The airplane wasn’t causing your trauma”.  I got it after that. It made sense. It wasn’t my fear of the airplane at all, but just the knowledge told to me that something was wrong with me and that any pregnancy would be difficult to attain. 

She believes the trauma was caused by my first doctor diagnosing my PCOS and telling me that if I didn’t have kids right away that I never would. She talked about the fight/flight/freeze in us and how if our energies are not being focused correctly and we hold trauma in physically, it can certainly have an effect on us physically.

She gave me the name of an author who has a book with skills for removing that stress and trauma. Peter Levine. One book specifically she mentioned has easy exercises to help, including one to identifying sensations and applying descriptions to them until they move or leave entirely. Interesting.   

She said my husband and I have a very bright path and that she sees a lot of happiness around you. She asked if I was creative. I smiled and said I was a graphic designer. She said that doesn't fulfill all your artistic needs though, does it? I said no. She said to make sure I have a lot of creative outlets for my art energy. She said there are creative people, mostly women since it’s a feminine attribute, but others are finger-printed as artists. She said creative people need an outlet, but true artists need many outlets. She described me as a glass of water or a water balloon. That if I don’t have enough places for my creative energy to go that it overflows or blows up and makes a mess.

So, after contemplating what she had to say to me, she made me a believer. Those were things no one could have known. Heck, they're things even some of the people closest to me don't know.  My friend had similar results. This woman was completely on target for her, though I had to laugh because what she told her was stuff I've been telling her for years.  So maybe I'm a little psychic after all?  ;)

Our entire session was well over 2 hours even though we were supposed to be there only 45 minutes each. This poor woman desperately needed a nap after she was done with us...she looked exhausted. All in all, she made me a believer...in HER, anyway. If nothing else, I ordered the book she mentioned. After doing a little excerpt reading, I realized that if there was even a slight chance that she was right, some coping skills to get rid of some of the traumatic events of my life would be good for me no matter what.  Perhaps if I can eliminate some of the baggage, I'll be healthier all the way around. 

A Man Named Murphy...And His Law

Those who know us know that somehow, if luck is to be had by either of us, it will be bad luck. Small odds? We got 'em! 

In the last two weeks, two additional freak incidents of low percentage odds were thrown our way.  At this point, if it weren't so darn heartbreaking, someone would probably find it amusing.

First, I had my HSG to ensure my uterus looked normal and my tubes were clear. They were, in fact, perfect.  As I'm not accustomed to hearing anything of mine being normal, much less perfect, so I was happy despite the terribly uncomfortable procedure.  My doctor did not give me antibiotics for the HSG (which involves icky things like a speculum, catheter and contrast dye) but I had heard from others who had not been prescribed them either and figured all was well.  After some research, I found only 2-3% of women who have this procedure done end up with an infection. Those are some small odds!  One day after the test and I knew something wasn't right. Yup, I'm one of the 2-3%.  Super. Because the test had to be done when it in my cycle, did the infection was really coming close to affecting our timing for the month. I was worried, anxious and unhappy.

But, we had our consult with the infertility doctor coming up in 2 days. I didn't have much time or energy to dedicate to being frustrated over the infection because it was STOMPED on by the anxiety I had for this appointment. I was worried. More than worried, actually.  I was straight-up freaking out. These people have the future of our potential children in their hands. I know what walking into a fertility clinic means to most people, and I also know the generalized push to shove every woman immediately into their big money-maker, IVF.  We had already discussed our position on IVF and knew we wanted to try everything possible before going down that road and were hopeful that they wouldn't immediately tell us we have no other viable option. 

When we arrived, we were quite happy with everyone. The nurses were great, doctor was great, even their finace lady was helpful and friendly.  They gave us a tour, went over everything we needed to get started and asked if we wanted to at least get our bloodwork going that day.  Since the clinic is a full hour's drive away, we figured we'd go ahead and get the ball rolling with the blood draws.  I am typically a terrible blood-giver.  My veins (if they can even find one) suck and I have never had good luck.  Well, even this nurse proved that getting blood from stone was possible when she got me on the first stick and there wasn't even a tiny pinch of pain. My arm did give up after the first 9 vials and she had to move to my hand for the rest, but that was still major progress.  She told us no news is good news, so we would only hear from them if there was something we needed to take care of. 

They did push IVF as I expected, but it wasn't a hard-core sales pitch at least.  Her words basically were that they wanted to give us the highest possible odds of walking out with a baby in our arms and technically with a 50% success rate, IVF makes the most sense in that regard. Even with that, we felt comfortable and really taken care of. They wanted to redo my husband's sperm analysis in hopes that the first test was incorrect and getting me the meds I need by running all of the correct tests (finally!) all at once. 

The next day, I saw the now-familiar phone number come up in my phone. It wasn't an immediate feeling of dread, nor did I really think about why they would be calling.  In a cheerful voice, the nurse says "Well, we got the first of your bloodwork results back...and..." was all I had to hear before my heart sunk.  I remembered the "no news is good news" comment and knew immediately this was not going to be a pleasant call. 

Apparently, the doses of the MMR (Measles, Mumps & Rubella) vaccine I was given when I was 1 & 5, has worn off.  One of the "important" tests the clinic is required to run is to ensure every woman has an up-to-date Rubella (German measles) vaccination.  They are not allowed to continue to treat a patient until they are properly immune.  Rubella can cause serious issues while pregnant, including miscarriage and severe birth defects.  While that is all fine and good, it's also ridiculous. There were 3 cases of Rubella in the entire United States in 2009. Three.  Small odds? I think so.  Also, what are the odds of a vaccine wearing off?  They can't be big.  Another win for me.  And, even more frustrating?  It pushes back our efforts even more. I cannot even attempt to conceive for 30 days after the vaccination since it's a live-virus vaccine.

To say I'm disappointed, irritated and angry doesn't even begin to describe it. Those brick walls just keep popping up out of nowhere.  And no offense, but if I hear another person say "everything happens for a reason" or "it'll happen when it's supposed to happen", they might be looking at a fist in the face. So, now I go on Wednesday to get a pointless vaccination for something I'd never likely even be exposed to.  Oh, wait...with my luck and odds, perhaps I would have come in contact with the 1 person in the US who might have it. 

Unfamiliar Territory

I expected to have fertility problems. I have crappy cystic ovaries, I'm overweight, and I haven't taken the best care of myself over the years. I expected it, prepared the best I could for it. While you might never truly make yourself "ok" with an infertility diagnosis, you deal with it the best you can and remain hopeful that you'll be blessed despite your body's faults. That your overwhelming drive and desire to be a parent will triumph over the hurdles you face.

Today I received a call with news that all of my pondering, all of my worry and concern over my own fertility wasn't prepared to handle. My husband is the one who is being referred to a fertility specialist. Not me... Him. How did that happen?

When you spend so much energy and focus on your own issues and you have to refocus on a new hurdle, it's overwhelming. Not to mention the emotional baggage which comes along with it. No man wants to be told they are less than perfect. It is a blow to the ego of even the least self-conscious guy.

So while my own fertility is still in question, we need to refocus. Spend some time and energy on him. I guess perhaps I'm a bit thankful in this instance for my own struggles, if it at all helps me provide emotional support to him.

So, onward we go. Uncharted territory for both of us.

Doctors Are Supposed To Make Patients Feel Better, Right?

To say I've had my fair share of doctor problems over the years is an understatement.  I have had everything from doctors who had terrible schedules, to a doctor who actually used to ask me what I thought was wrong with myself...you know, because I am really a doctor in hiding, of course! I've had doctors who blamed everything on my weight and treated me poorly. Doctors who were uncaring and ones with terrible bedside manner.

I don't believe I'm particularly more needy or demanding than any other patient, in fact, I don't enjoy being a "bother" and certainly don't want to become one of those patients who the doctor rolls their eyes at whenever they hear they called again about something.  So even when I'm ready to rip their hair out, I don't show it.  It's an area that I suffer silently (er, well...silent to them, anyway).

After having really high hopes for a great doctor, I thought I got so lucky with this guy. He had been amazing at my first appointment. It was productive, I had done everything he wanted me to do...got all of my paperwork released from my previous docs, I went in for my ultrasound, hubby went in for his semen analysis...all was well. I just had to wait for results.  We've discussed the impatient-factor I have before, but I WAS patient. Very patient. 11 days patient.  I waited out those results, praying every day something would be posted in my online portal. Wishing for a phone call. Making sure my phone was charged and right next to me at every moment, just in case.  During that time, I was also in the 2ww and obsessing about what I was hoping was going to be my BFP, so that I didn't have to wait and worry anymore anyway. 

I had high hopes this cycle, we had taken the route my new doctor prescribed...less frequency, better timing. Turns out we had perfect timing according to his schedule for us. I had an amazing looking chart. My temp kept going up, up, up! Best looking chart in over a YEAR! I started testing at 9 dpo, looking for any hint of a line so I could call and they could get me in for a level check.  Nothing. 10 dpo: Nothing. 11 dpo: HUGE temperature drop, and since I'm a glutton for punishment, I tested anyway and got another big fat NOTHING.  And, "Aunt Flo" (I really need another nickname for her...Aunt Flo sounds much too friendly) made her appearance that very day. 

My doctor had instructed me to make sure I called right away on the first day of my next cycle to get my HSG (AKA hysterosalpingogram, a test where they place a dye which runs through the uterus and fallopian tubes to ensure everything is clear and there are no abnormalities or blockages) scheduled. So, being the very obedient patient I am, I call.  And that's when everything starts to fall apart. 

The next several days consist of me being angry and impatient. First, I am told there is no order in the system and that they have to have an order before they can schedule the HSG. Ok, fine. But why is there no order? He specifically told me to call on CD1. The receptionist tells me she will have to talk to the nurse first. At the same time, I ask her if I can get the test results I've been waiting on for 11 days.  Oh sure! The nurse will call me back to talk to me about that. The rest of the day goes by...no call back. The weekend passes...no call. I pushed everything to the back of my mind and we tried to enjoy ourselves.  It's nagging in the back of my head still though, so I call again this morning and again am told I'll be called back by the nurse.  

After finally hearing back from the nurse late this morning, I'm even more frustrated than I was to begin with. Apparently she has to coordinate my schedule (which I told her was 100% open...certainly I am not the issue) with the radiologist's schedule with my OB's schedule. She tells me she will call me back with some options because Dr.'s schedule was "a little fuller than I'd like to see".  When she calls me back, she tells me that she has me tentatively scheduled for Jan 30th, at 1:00 (ha, so much for "options"), but that she needed to confirm my doctor would be able to do it that day. Otherwise I would have to wait for yet another cycle.  Uh, so I'm not really scheduled, now am I?

She asks if there is anything else she can do for me, so I ask again about the test results. "Oh yeah!" she says.  "Ok, it looks like you have a 1.5 x 1.7 cm cyst on your right ovary. We expected that but we want to monitor it with another ultrasound next month. It could be nothing." My response was "Ok, just one cyst?" I mentioned that my last U/S showed tons of cysts, so if I'm down to one, that's pretty good.  She says "Oh, well, I'm not sure because it looks like they couldn't get the left ovary at all".  Say WHA?!?!?!?  That U/S tech took a bazillion pics as she was clicking away at her computer but she didn't get ONE shot of my left ovary?? NOT ONE???????  What complete and utter nonsense. Obviously it's in there SOMEWHERE, keep looking!!!

At my original appointment, I had spoken to this nurse and she was very sweet and kind.  I really liked her a lot. She told me that she wouldn't be able to release hubby's results to me because of HIPAA. Ok, totally understandable. So, when we got to that point, I assumed she was going to tell me that she would have to talk to him about the results like she told me earlier. I was expecting it.  But, no. She just starts rattling it all off.  Not that I care (in fact, it was the only thing that got me a bit off the ledge), but so much for HIPAA standards, I guess.

Out of the 5 things she rattles off, hubby is normal in 4 out of the 5.  His morphology (normal shaped sperm) is a bit low, but she tossed out an odd number that I had never seen in my research. Typically you see a small percentage number, but she told me his was 24 and they want it higher than 29.  She tells me that might still be totally ok with the rest of his results, but that the doctor would review it in the morning. Ha.  Not holding my breath for that one. 

So, my frustrations continue. It's great that I LIKE the doctor, however if there is this much dysfunction involved with everything, I'm not sure liking a doctor is enough.  Not that I have much choice. *sigh*

The Two Week Wait (2WW)

It is amazing that we can live as women for so many years not having a single clue what is really going on in our bodies during our cycles.  Health class may teach you the basics, but at that age you have no desire to really pay attention to what is going on...you're far too busy being embarrassed by being an early developer ("Oh no! Is that a hair...THERE?!") as I was at age 9, or you're embarrassed by being a late developer (*pout* "All my other friends already started!") at age 16, or you're grossed out in general by this obnoxious thing that happens/is going to happen to you every month for the foreseeable future until you are OLD. You know, it's not often you see anyone excited for this monthly visitor.  We dread it, the cramps, the bloating. The uncontrollable emotions...oh yes, those uncontrollable emotions!!

Since I was a very early developer, I was quite lost at the beginning of my journey to womanhood. Mom wasn't much of a talker about these personal subjects. We just never had that kind of relationship. She was young, had me when she was 20, and if I look at where I was at 5 years ago at age of 29 I'm not 100% sure I would have been the most comfortable talking to my 9 year old about such things either. And I definitely wasn't going to ask my friends...I certainly would have died from humiliation. So, I went about life. I figured this thing was going to come and go every month and I'd live my merry little life.  And, it did for about 11 years. 

When I was first diagnosed with PCOS, I researched it to death. Everything I could get my hands on, but eventually I stopped. There was only so much happening medically, and I knew what was working to manage mine. When my cycles started to get regular again, I just let it happen and went on with life. I only knew by the approximate time of the month when things might happen, but there were never any clear-cut signs.

Fast forward to the beginning of our journey trying to conceive. When I think about things now, I am amazed at how in-tune you can become with your body. How fascinating the actual ovulation process is. How all of these little things that you never even realized, are happening. 

After enough tracking, you start to overanalyze every little thing...every twinge, every headache, each different type of cervical fluid, every cramp...we walk around feeling our boobs looking for soreness, even at work. We are SURE this is it this time! I'm breaking out...this is GOT to be it! Ooh, I have a metallic taste in my mouth...I HAVE to be pregnant! Backache...pregnant. Bloated...pregnant. Constipated? Pregnant! Diarreah! Pregnant! Heartburn!! Pregnant! Irritable! Pregnant! Nausea!!!! PREGNANT!!!!!!!!!

Many women have spent time tracking just like I have, putting their cha-ching into the symptom jar each month for every twitch and ache. Filling our charts with symptoms until it looks like a rainbow threw up.  Yet, again and again, we are faced with disappointment.  Dang, that chart looked SO good! Look at all those symptoms!  Ok, so if they weren't real symptoms, what exactly were they?  Backache? Maybe I just slept wrong. Bloated? Too much salt. Constipated? Too much cheese. Diarreah? Too little cheese?  Heartburn? Oh yeah, I get that plenty the other two weeks of the month too.  Nausea?  The female brain is one powerful bitch...we can manufacture the craziest of things.

But rest assured ladies, that chart may not need to be so full and colorful afterall. In the recent days, weeks and months, I've had quite a few friends both online and in real life who have found out they are pregnant.  A large percentage of them had or have very few symptoms at all. One would think this would calm my need to go symptom searching. But that doesn't mean I didn't check to see if my boobs were sore 3 different times while typing this post.  I've gotten quite good at not making it obvious.

Where Do We Go From Here?

It's been a while since I last posted.  Life has continued to be a crazy roller coaster over the last few months.  In October, we faced our third loss of 2011.  This one hit me very hard. 10/11 was supposed to be MINE.  I did a lot of pretending I was ok in order to get through. I stopped tracking, stopped caring, and just stopped everything.

Normally the holidays would have snapped me out of it, or at least allow me to focus on everything which needed to get done.  Unfortunately, I sprained my ankle badly which threw a wrench into those plans. I spent all of my time in bed or on the couch trying to be positive, excited for the holidays, happy that my awful 2011 was finally coming to an end. But it was forced and I was as far from happy as I could get. 

With news that my husband's insurance would be changing Jan 1, I knew I needed to do something. But, being near that edge of giving up while pretending to everyone that I was ok, I faced a big decision.  Do I go in and see what a new doctor can do? Do I give up or keep trying? I spent some time wondering, wishing for the right answer.  

First, I knew if I was going to continue trying, I needed to find a doctor who was going to do more than throw unmonitored meds at me, one who was going to be available when I need them.  Someone who was going to HELP me, LISTEN to me, and hold my hand through this process. Someone who was going to actually LOOK at everything in front of him/her and do something for me. I had just 3 choices. After watching their video introductions, I already knew one of the doctors and didn't love her. The other two were men.  The first was already in his 60's (strike one) and a “jokester” (strike two). Really, I don't want someone playing/joking around with me and I want someone who is going to take me and my situation seriously.  That obviously narrowed my options down.  I made the only choice I had left and called for an appointment. After being told his first available appointment wasn't until early January, I thought "oh great, here we go...another doctor with crappy availability". 

While waiting for the appointment, Christmas came and went. Time flew on the good days and dragged ass on the bad days. But I still wasn't committed to doing this just yet. Would I feel more in control of my life if I just said "screw it"? Or, would I regret not trying? I got a couple unexpected kicks in the gut from family over the holidays which finally made my decision easier.  I HAD to do this thing! I recommitted to my weight loss, bought my digital ovulation predictors, got myself ready for a nice sticky baby in 2012. 

My appointment was last week. Meeting a new doctor, especially one who is going to know you so intimately, is bad enough.  Add in my previous awful experiences with crappy doctors and I am a bundle of nerves. All the deep breathing in the world didn't help...my normally regular BP was 150-something over 109.  The nurse asked if I had hypertension or if I was just nervous. Uh yeah, nerves were definitely playing a part in those numbers.  

When he walks in the room, he's a big guy, in his 40s. After introducing himself, he sits down and pulls out his pad of paper and starts asking questions (you know, the ones I've already answered on the new patient paperwork AND to the nurse who was just in a few minutes ago).  But, much to my surprise, he's actually writing my responses down. Taking notes! Detailed notes! That's already an improvement over my last 3 doctors...they may occasionally scratch a note down, but nothing like this. We both start to get a little more comfortable with each other. He's looking me in the eye (also something I've struggled to find) and talking to me directly.  I am amazed he hasn't mentioned my weight. With the exception of my very last doctor, this was always one of the first things mentioned. He talks to me about my PCOS, asking me my symptoms. And, he knows what they are! Bonus!  My last doctor came straight out and said she didn't know much about polycystic ovaries, but because they had a fertility specialist on staff, she wasn't worried. :/

I had printed my last years’ worth of charts out for him to look at. It was a big stack which my last doctor barely glanced at one month of, and I wouldn't have been surprised if he did the same thing. But no! He went through everything, every month, sheet by sheet. Asked questions about timing, or things he saw were off.  After telling me he felt the months we had our timing right were the only months we actually got short-lived positive tests, I was ecstatic! He said we were trying too hard and that we needed to adjust our timing and schedule.  After he said those words, I figured that was going to be it. He'd tell me to give that a shot and come back in a few months. But no! Instead, he wants to rule out that there's nothing wrong with hubby and nothing physically wrong with me.  Really?!?! You mean, you're actually going to DO something?? 

He answered every question I had and was very direct.  He didn't bring up my weight until the very end, and he did it with care and compassion. He didn't talk down to me or make me feel bad. He told me he understands PCOS is the reason for my weight struggle.  When I told him I was already down 12 lbs or so from my previous appointment in June, he got a huge grin, stuck out his hand to shake mine and CONGRATULATED me on what I considered 12 measly pounds. 

So, hubby has his analysis and I had an ultrasound this week. At my appointment, I was hoping for some sort of clue from the tech, but got nothing. She said I'd be called with the results, so now I wait.

But, a bit of light is shining down at the end of my tunnel...finally.  I don't know where this road will take us just yet, pending our test results, but I am happy to have found someone who might just help us.

Time Heals All Wounds?

Where exactly did this saying come from? Whether you think it's an English Proverb or would rather believe it came from ancient Greece, I personally believe whoever said it, in whatever language it was said in, was full of shit.

After suffering another devastating loss in October, I've been just that...suffering. Each time it gets more difficult. Difficult to accept, difficult to move on, difficult to keep doing what I've been doing. My work is suffering, my home is suffering, my husband is suffering. Beyond all of the crazy hormonal issues, I'm just left with this overwhelming feeling of grief and sadness. How do you get over it? How do you continue on?

I am thankful beyond words for the friends I have who have been incredibly supportive and understanding, and for my amazing husband who knows just when to step back and give me some space or to step in and give me a hug. But all of the comfort in the world doesn't HEAL me.

I have broken, shattered little pieces of me all over the place and while I can pretend to sweep them up and start gluing them back together again, each time this happens I get a little more fragile. I have a real problem with pushing too hard, too fast. Even when I have an "ok" day, I'm finding I backslide very quickly. And even if those backslides leave as quickly as they come on, I'd much rather them not be happening at all. 

Yes, I know I NEED to grieve. But I don't WANT to. Instead I want to overwhelm my brain with things. Things to do, things to look at, projects to think about.  If I sit down with nothing to do or to keep my brain occupied, the negative thoughts start. The "I don't think I can do this ever again" thoughts. The "I don't WANT to do this anymore" thoughts. The "maybe I don't deserve this" thoughts. The problem I have though, is this is not my personality. I am not a "woe is me...life is so unfair" person. Never have been, never will be. I am strong. I KNOW I am strong. Fiercely strong. But sometimes, just sometimes, I'm not. I am ripped apart, I am heartbroken.

At the moment, I'm lacking my usual determination, my drive. It's a truthfully scary place to be, I am here so infrequently. I am stuck between wanting to reach out and wanting to hide in a tiny little black hole. Between giving this everything I've got and giving it up completely.

There are new doctors and test galore ahead and I cannot make myself pick up that phone to make the calls I need to make. It makes me infinitely sad to have failed at something again, especially when it's what I want most in this world.  I just need to keep reminding myself that I am not a failure. I refuse to be a failure. The catch-22 here is...if I don't try again, I can't fail again. Therein lies my dilemma.

My Love for Fall

Fall is my favorite time of year, filled with all of my favorite things.  Beautiful brightly colored leaves, followed by the crunch they leave underfoot as they drift to the ground. Pumpkins, followed by delicious pumpkin seeds and pumpkin pie and pumpkin spice lattes and pumpkin bread and, of course, pumpkin carving.  Halloween followed by Thanksgiving. Crisp mornings followed by  perfect sweatshirt-cozy evenings. Apples, pears, the season's best squash, and trick or treaters. 

It's a beautiful and rare 80 degree Friday here in WI.  And it is October. I should be appreciating every moment of what is probably going to be considered our Indian Summer, especially knowing what is looming with a flip of the calendar month. You know...that nasty, yet inevitable, 4-letter S word??
But for now, my focus is narrowed to Halloween. I thank my mother for my insane love for Halloween which began when I was a child.  Mom had a collection of decorations for each holiday season and for as long as I can remember, her mechanical witch was part of her Halloween collection.  I STILL love (and covet) that witch and have never seen one exactly like it. 

As young children, she made our costumes every year. Off the top of my head I recall a clown costume (even though I was horribly sick with a cold and my face makeup was smeared everywhere), a Care Bear, and a witch complete with homemade green face paint and a big fake creepy nose. When we were young, they would take us trick-or-treating, but as we got older we were allowed, in the good ol days ;), to go alone. Those were the days when you could trick-or-treat until long after dark and it felt like we would walk for miles and miles hauling heavy sacks of candy.  When we'd get home, mom and dad would have to inspect the candy and somehow when we got it back it was inevitably missing a few "potentially dangerous" pieces.

As I got older, my love for Halloween got stronger.  I started to grow my own collection of decor, picking things up here and there that I liked.  While mom's style of decorating was more "autumn country living", mine was focused on the creepier stuff out there.  Since then, I have amassed an enormous collection.  Each year I try to add at least one new awesome piece to the mix and once the first hint of cool air hits us, my brain is wired for Halloween.  I begin planning the (almost) yearly costume party and figuring out where I'm going to put things. We already have big plans for this year, which include my husband building some props.

When I met Tom, he hated Halloween. Not atypical of a man's perspective, he thought it was "stupid". He hated haunted houses- one of my favorite fall activities. He didn't care about handing out candy, didn't want to get dressed up for parties. He was definitely raised differently than I was and he is convinced he cannot be scared.

It may have taken a lot of years, but apparently living with someone who is as obsessed as I am seems to have an affect on your own excitement toward something like Halloween.  Truthfully, he never had a chance. He is surrounded by it. He even comes to haunted houses with me now. He may pretend to put up a fight, I know he gets the same adrenaline rush we all get!

Just a month or two ago he came home with a surprise he had bought for me. A life-size wooden coffin.  To anyone else, that may have been the craziest gift ever, but it could not have been more perfect for me. Just another reason I am crazy in love with that man.

The Trying Game

I try not to be angry. I try not to be frustrated. I try taking my temp daily. I try taking medication. I try to lose weight. I try to eat healthy. I try to be positive. I try to be upbeat. I try anything and everything.

September marked one official year of trying to conceive for us. It was both a happy and sad milestone to reach.  Happy because we've learned a lot about my specific fertility concerns and for the most part, I've ovulated regularly.  Sad because despite that fairly regular ovulation, we've had only two successful starts which very quickly turned into losses.

But, the good news is that October is well underway and once again, we are trying. I'm channeling my mother with this statement, but... if it's meant to be, it'll be.  Waiting does not do anything to help with my issue of impatience, however.

Being well on my way to 34 means a few things. 35 is considered "advanced maternal age" and I dread seeing myself in that category. It also means I'm 10 years beyond when I realistically wanted to have our first child together. I keep thinking this infertility thing isn't so bad...we are managing things together and my husband is an amazing man who is always thinking positively and while I know he quietly and deeply shares my disappointment month after month, he is always my bright spot and my rock. 

If you are not part of the world of infertility, I imagine it can be very difficult to understand what we go through. Whether you don't want children at all, or maybe you are super-fertile and have never struggled, it CAN be tough to comprehend. How being infertile can be THAT bad? Just relax. It'll happen when you least expect it! They're common phrases women who have been trying to conceive have heard often.  But, we get angry. Bitter. Sad. Hurt. Our bodies have betrayed us. As women, we're put on this earth and given the bodily organs specifically made to CREATE babies. When our bodies fail us, WE fail. That's not to say there aren't some medical options for us, because there are. But for me, I'm going to have to hit a major desperation point to reach to those medical options.  I don't even particularly care for even the medication I am on, but that was as far as my desperation would allow me to go thus far.  I still feel like a failure month after month, but I let it roll off my back, pick myself back up, dust off and try again.

I am determined not to become one of those bitter and angry infertile women who lash out to those around her. To her support system, her friends, her family. So, I continue to work through the pain and disappointment with a good attitude. The best attitude I can muster.  I may occasionally have a "woe is me" day, but I do my best to make sure they are few and far between.  Instead, I focus on basking in the support and love I recieve on a daily basis all around me. I spend the weekends sleeping in (as much as the pups will let me, anyway!) because I know some day I'll not have that opportunity. I focus on making a strong relationship and a healthier body because I know both things will be very important.  I keep myself wrapped in projects because someday I hope I'm not going to have time to do them anymore.  I relish my free time, my quiet time, and our ability to pick up and do whatever we want, whenever we want.  THESE are the things which are important now because sitting idly by watching life move while being a bitter, angry, stick in the mud is just not what I'm going to do. 

Sometimes You Get What You Pay For

My husband and I celebrated our first wedding anniversary on Saturday.  Throughout the day, we spent some time reminiscing about what we were doing at that time a year ago.  "Ooh, right now I was getting my hair done" or "Right now we were running around like crazy people trying to get decorations up" or "It was ceremony time!" It was an emotional and fun look back at our special day, so I thought I'd share one of the more interesting stories almost no one knew about...

I was a VERY hands-on DIY bride (and let's face it... a total control freak), I had wanted as much as possible to be handmade. I was making most of the food, I had already hand-made every invitation and piece of wedding stationery, I was making my own flowers out of clay and I had collected every piece of glass for our centerpieces from multiple secondhand stores and rummage sales earlier that summer.  I had cut willow leaves for our "guest book" tree.  I had certain things in mind and wanted everything to come together in my "vision" from the beginning. 

Since I'm such a procrastinator, of course the few days before the wedding were filled with hectic decisions and I had to let a few things go.  We faced some major issues with my last-minute decision to hire a DJ.  We were already far over budget and neither of our families are big on dancing. To me, it was a silly way to spend money when we have things like iTunes, a laptop and a sound system.  After being continually badgered about it, I finally gave in and put an ad on craigslist to see if I got any bites. I wasn't paying much, but also was just looking for someone to basically hit the play button. Not rocket science by any means. The first reply I got was from a man who said he had professional experience but had been retired for a while now. He figured he would be able to manage hitting a couple buttons. I thought I had hit the jackpot!

He agreed to meet with me first and he picked a bar in a town just north of me. He never showed.  He called me later to say he had been waiting and I never showed.  Well, ok, so we just crossed some wires, right?  We chat some more and I ask how he is with technology and explain the laptop setup.  Seeing as he was communicating via email with me, one would assume he must know how to use a computer, right? We exchanged both emails and phone calls.  He seemed to ask the pertinent questions of me and I'm feeling good about the steal I got. When he asks whether I have a sound system or not, I say I might be able to get one but if he has one it would make things much easier since he should be familiar with his own equipment.  He says something about his equipment being in the basement, but he'd get it ready.

By this point, my time was valuable. My spare moments were spent making thousands of petals for my flowers, last minute panic at my dress being ready in time, food & favor prep and worrying about out of town guests.  I didn't have the time to be babysitting someone who should know what he was doing.  I start leaving confirmation messages about attire, start time, end time...all of the important details. I worried that I wasn't regularly hearing back from him, but again, I had more important things to worry about and in the end, if he wasn't there it wasn't going to be the end of the world to me.  I passed him off to my husband, thinking he could handle anything else that came up.

As the big day crept closer, Tom asked if I had talked to the guy about what to wear.  I told him yes, I had explained it was very formal.  After saying "Well, he's asking if he can show up in a tuxedo shirt", I said that was fine. I didn't care if he didn't wear a jacket as long as he was in a decent button shirt, so I had no issue with that. He was going to be a bit hidden in the background anyway. 
On our wedding day, my sister suddenly got a call in the afternoon saying Tom couldn't reach the DJ. What?!?!?! At this point, we had not arranged for the second set of sound equipment because Tom had already confirmed he was bringing his and that he would arrive at 4:30 for our ceremony which was supposed to start at 5:30.  It's now 3:30 and no DJ.  Now it's 4:00, 4:30, 5:00- no DJ.  I'm pretty sure the guy got a thousand phone calls before finally calling my husband back at 5:15.  Oops, he had gone fishing and had completely lost track of time and sorry, he wasn't going to make it for the ceremony.  Oh, and if we could just use our equipment it would probably be better because he has to dig for his.  What?!?!?! 

I had already had a few meltdowns earlier in the day and I wasn't going to get upset about this because we were so close to ceremony time. Big deal...we have no ceremony music. I don't love the idea, but at this point I don't exactly have a choice.  Onward.

When the DJ finally shows up, it's 7:20.  He was wearing a tuxedo shirt alright...a tuxedo T-SHIRT. A faded, 1982 black screen-printed tuxedo t-shirt.  Yeah.  And, he was drunk from his fishing adventures and could not figure out how to run the laptop.  He continued to get even more drunk during the reception, and groped my bridesmaid. Ah yes, you certainly do get what you pay for sometimes.  Lesson learned! 

Part V - The Rest of The Story

Sitting at the most ultimate of crossroads, I knew any decision I made was going to be life-altering. Where was I going to go?  Did I really want to do this? Was I capable of doing it? My friend had already offered for me to stay with her but I didn't want to impose.  I knew I was going to meet resistance and it was going to be the battle of a lifetime. But, I couldn't stand the thought of being unhappy anymore.

I started to formulate a plan. I quit my job at the bakery.  I couldn't deal with the pay if I was going to be on my own. I went to a temp service and got a job working in customer service and started quietly to squirrel money away. The days were filled with constant arguing.  I began to separate myself, so far as moving into the second bedroom in the apartment and it became obvious. And, the more time I spent with my new friends, the worse my treatment at home got.  Then the threats started... "I'm going to kill myself if you don't come home right now" was common.  Binge drinking followed by violent outbursts. Some days I'm not sure how the cops didn't get called by the neighbors.  

Finally, after a phone call of "I forbid you to be friends with these people. These are not the kind of people we hang out with" it was all I had to hear. I hung up and started to throw everything I could into a bag. I just needed to get out.  Forbidding me from hanging around someone? I don't think so!! I was infuriated.  I used every ounce of that anger as strength. As I packed what I could and loaded up my car, just as I was turning the key, all hell broke loose. Suddenly my car was getting hit and kicked. Screaming ensued. Short of things being thrown at me, the abuse had yet to escalate to real physical contact, but there is no doubt in my mind it would have that evening. Had I been outside, I knew that pounding would have gone to me. I sped away, tires squealing.

I didn't make it far before I broke down completely and had to stop. Tears streamed and I was mentally exhausted. I knew this was far from over and I was already wondering if I was going to regret what I had done. That manipulation started to turn my head screwy. My phone rang non-stop. I knew the odds of my ex showing up at my friend's house was a real possibility and I didn't know how to avoid that.  At this point, I had enough saved for cheap rent and a security deposit, but not much more.  But it wasn't going to happen overnight.  What I was I supposed to do RIGHT NOW? 

I called my friend.  I explained what was happening and the risk of me showing up and what may happen if I do.  She assures me the two strapping men in the house can take care of any problem that shows up on their doorstep.  I am still hesitant.  While she knows the stories I've shared, I haven't shared everything. She doesn't have a clue to what extent this manipulator is capable of pushing things.  I am scared to death.  When I get to her house, I am a wreck. But I am accepted with open arms and ushered inside. I was safe for the time being. 

I used them as my sounding board. What could I say to get out? More importantly, to STAY out?  I had tried hundreds of times in previous years and always got sucked back in. I couldn't just ignore the situation; it wasn't going to go away.  Tom assured me he was there for me and would do whatever he could to protect me.

By this point, Tom and I had become fast friends. He was my rock.  He helped me take the baby steps I knew I needed to take. We spent the next day looking at apartments and I put a deposit down on a tiny little place. I couldn't move in for another 2 days, but it was a completed baby step.  Ok, now on to the next baby step...a new phone. Check. Change email. Check. He kept me safe and comforted.

I started to feel a great sense of freedom, one I hadn't had in a long time. But when I would finish work, I was still always checking behind me in the parking lot. When I'd walk anywhere, I was always looking over my shoulder for the car to come up alongside me. It was a constant worry and I didn't like to be alone.  My ex hadn't yet showed up at their doorstep, but I knew it was coming.  When it finally did, it was disgusting.  The vile things said, the threats, the anger...it was awful.  Pure evil.  Threats that I must be on drugs were made privately to my employer and, years later, I would find out to lots of other people in my original circle of friends.  Since I wasn't there to defend myself, the lies stood uncontested. 

The subsequent months were filled with stress. We still had possessions which needed to be exchanged and at every attempt things would get all riled up again. I struggled and struggled and struggled some more, but finally all ties were broken.  My ex was still boiling in the background, getting angrier, but I stopped engaging it.  I didn't return calls, I stopped caring about the possessions still there, I just quit all contact.  I knew I still keep an eye out, but I was hoping by limiting our contact the boiling would eventually slow to a simmer. Eventually, that's what happened. With no knowledge of where I was living or my cell phone number or my new email, the contact finally stopped. 

I said before Tom is my rock, and it's true.  Without him, I don't even know where I would be today or what my life would be like.  What I do know is that I am crazy strong. I had no idea the strength I had in me, but I do now.  And, as a bonus, I found true love. Ultimate, real, actual fairy tale true love.  Ah....so this is what it's supposed to be like??