You would think if you were trying to have a baby, you wouldn't be on birth control. It seems kind of self defeating. Which is precisely why I had a prescription written months ago and couldn't bring myself to fill it. IT JUST FEELS WRONG.
However, I really should have taken something to stop cycling after I got "cleaned out" last November. And I didn't. I guess I even I, the wonder-skeptic have been affected by all those eye witness/my mom's sister's friend's aunt stories I hear about people waking up after their laparoscopies, looking at the nearest man's junk, and instantly becoming mothers.
Long story short: I have put in a good 10 or so cycles of old fashioned trying post surgery. My endo symptoms are worse than ever, and getting worse by the cycle. My cycles are an unfortunate 23-26 days SHORT, which means between ovulation and periods, I have only a few good days each month where H remembers why he married me, and gets the courage to stick it out with the psycho for another round, bless his brave heart. And, realistically, IVF is the last trick in my hat, so I may as well preserve my parts until that occurs. So tomorrow: For real: I am going to fill the prescription and start taking it. Oy.
A lot of my hang-ups about it have to do with the guilt that comes from doing something so self-serving. I LOVE THE PILL. I have missed you my sweet friend and companion. I take the packs back to back for months at a time so I only have a few periods a year and it is absolute endo sufferer's bliss! Again, I feel like the downside is I now have zero chance of having a free pregnancy, but realistically, were my odds that great anyway? So my hypothetical accident baby will have to be replaced by my Pill baby. Call me an unfit mother because it sounds like a good trade to me.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Good Progress
I am happy to announce that we are finally moving forward in two major areas:
1. Our adoption/foster licensing is officially under-way. We have been assigned a licensor, and are working hard to hide all our imperfections, guns, ammo, rabid dogs, choking hazards, and hard liquor.
I will keep you posted as the actual homestudy draws near.
2. We are going to get the ball rolling regarding doing IVF in the Czech Republic next May. I have thought long and hard about this one, and after quite a bit of research on all possibilities-such as doing here in the States at various clinics, and all the viable and reputable foreign options, I feel so good about trying it out in Czech. The cost of the entire trip would be about 2/3 the cost of just the procedure alone here. And honestly, I think I will cope better with the stress of it if I can trick myself into thinking: "It is not IVF, it is a fun vacation which may result in a new family member" Yes, I am that basic.
Here is a link to the website if you are interested: http://www.myivfalternative.com/ The program is run by a chica who has an incredible story of perserverance.
Here is a link to a blogger who chronicled her experiences with IVF in Czech. She has great faith and a good attitude and I need to bump up my game in both areas. http://tidwell-babymakingjourneytoczech.blogspot.com
I have this feeling that big things are in the works, and great things are going to happen, but I can get so overwhelmed wondering what exactly I should be doing to help things along.
I guess the best progess that has been made is that H and I both feel like each of these steps are the right ones to be making, and we both are happy and content thinking about the many ways our children will come to us.
1. Our adoption/foster licensing is officially under-way. We have been assigned a licensor, and are working hard to hide all our imperfections, guns, ammo, rabid dogs, choking hazards, and hard liquor.
I will keep you posted as the actual homestudy draws near.
2. We are going to get the ball rolling regarding doing IVF in the Czech Republic next May. I have thought long and hard about this one, and after quite a bit of research on all possibilities-such as doing here in the States at various clinics, and all the viable and reputable foreign options, I feel so good about trying it out in Czech. The cost of the entire trip would be about 2/3 the cost of just the procedure alone here. And honestly, I think I will cope better with the stress of it if I can trick myself into thinking: "It is not IVF, it is a fun vacation which may result in a new family member" Yes, I am that basic.
Here is a link to the website if you are interested: http://www.myivfalternative.com/ The program is run by a chica who has an incredible story of perserverance.
Here is a link to a blogger who chronicled her experiences with IVF in Czech. She has great faith and a good attitude and I need to bump up my game in both areas. http://tidwell-babymakingjourneytoczech.blogspot.com
I have this feeling that big things are in the works, and great things are going to happen, but I can get so overwhelmed wondering what exactly I should be doing to help things along.
I guess the best progess that has been made is that H and I both feel like each of these steps are the right ones to be making, and we both are happy and content thinking about the many ways our children will come to us.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
My Ocean
I think a lot of people have sorrows in some form or other. I have made it this far in life blessedly unscathed. I am often caught up in thinking how good I have it. I do have infertility and it has given me a glimpse of what living with sorrow is like. I say glimpse because infertility is a sorrow that can easily be avoided.
If I lived on the beach, my infertility would be the ocean. Always there, huge and vast, but so familiar that it is almost forgotten in my day to day life. I look out my window, watch the waves for a moment, and go back to living. Sometimes, on days I am feeling brave or contemplative I will walk along the beach and even let my feet get wet. To remind me I am not past feeling.
Once or twice a year, despite my efforts to coexist peacefully with the ocean, storms brew and the waves seem to catch me no matter where I am.
My storms always come in August. October is my infertility anniversary, and I start mentally preparing for it in August. I can't explain why, it is just a strange coping mechanism that started unconsciously, so that by the time October hits, I have already made it through the storm.
This August, as we were driving home from a weekend with my in-laws, me and H discussed our plans about IVF and adoption, and our frustrations with our family's seeming impatience with our plight. This is a common conversation after spending time with our family, and I knew, as I vented, that I was swimming into deep water, but I kept going. This will be our fifth anniversary. Five was such a big number to me as I had just spent days with my sweet little nieces and nephews, all remarkable tiny humans, all born in the years since we first began trying. All making my monthly, intangible losses so real. And so sad. And suddenly I was drowning in my sorrow.
I sobbed uncontrollably and screamed at the top of my lungs. I was wracked with all the emotions I had ignored successfully for so long. The pain of loss. The weight of the many decisions that were in my hands and terror of facing the ones that weren't. My anger that well meaning people kept offering me solutions to my infertility like one hands out a band-aid for a paper cut. My rage about the judgements I sense from those would crumble after a few months of this unpredictable life. My embarrassment for still hoping.
Given that I live every day by that ocean, you would think that I would know how deep and cold it can be. I had no idea.
I am safely on solid ground again. And strangely, still thankful for my ocean.
If I lived on the beach, my infertility would be the ocean. Always there, huge and vast, but so familiar that it is almost forgotten in my day to day life. I look out my window, watch the waves for a moment, and go back to living. Sometimes, on days I am feeling brave or contemplative I will walk along the beach and even let my feet get wet. To remind me I am not past feeling.
Once or twice a year, despite my efforts to coexist peacefully with the ocean, storms brew and the waves seem to catch me no matter where I am.
My storms always come in August. October is my infertility anniversary, and I start mentally preparing for it in August. I can't explain why, it is just a strange coping mechanism that started unconsciously, so that by the time October hits, I have already made it through the storm.
This August, as we were driving home from a weekend with my in-laws, me and H discussed our plans about IVF and adoption, and our frustrations with our family's seeming impatience with our plight. This is a common conversation after spending time with our family, and I knew, as I vented, that I was swimming into deep water, but I kept going. This will be our fifth anniversary. Five was such a big number to me as I had just spent days with my sweet little nieces and nephews, all remarkable tiny humans, all born in the years since we first began trying. All making my monthly, intangible losses so real. And so sad. And suddenly I was drowning in my sorrow.
I sobbed uncontrollably and screamed at the top of my lungs. I was wracked with all the emotions I had ignored successfully for so long. The pain of loss. The weight of the many decisions that were in my hands and terror of facing the ones that weren't. My anger that well meaning people kept offering me solutions to my infertility like one hands out a band-aid for a paper cut. My rage about the judgements I sense from those would crumble after a few months of this unpredictable life. My embarrassment for still hoping.
Given that I live every day by that ocean, you would think that I would know how deep and cold it can be. I had no idea.
I am safely on solid ground again. And strangely, still thankful for my ocean.
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