A Strange Reaction

I haven't felt like blogging in a long time. Not because I don't have anything to say - I just haven't felt like saying it. I've been in a very strange place for the last three months. Not in an "oh I'm so picked on" or "woe is me" kind of way, just in the sense that I have felt unable to relate to anyone. Even on this blog, with a group of women who share common experiences and heartache, I have still felt like a foreigner.

So at church last Sunday, when the woman giving the Relief Society lesson spoke about her trial with infertility (sharing a struggle that was strikingly similar to my own) I would have thought my reaction would be one of instant bonding. This was a person who could truly relate to me. Someone who could completely understand exactly what I'd been through. We could be immediate and fast friends.

But my reaction was unexpected. As she told her story, I could relate, yes. But I sat there dry-eyed in a room full of sniffles and kleenex. Everyone was crying except for me (including my visiting mother-in-law, who elbowed me "knowingly" a time or two). It was very strange.

You would think I'd have wanted to run up to her after the lesson and have an instant heart-to-heart. But I didn't. I had absolutely no desire to do so. I didn't even want to meet her.

And I'm not sure what to think about that.

Deal With It

It's Christmas time. Family time. A little wistful for me (I've got to be honest), yet certainly full of quiet, contemplative moments where I am thankful for the amazing blessings I have. Things could always be worse, and I'm grateful they're not.

Driving home from the store one evening last week, we were commenting on Christmas decorations in the neighborhoods through which we passed. My son was in a particularly high mood. He felt magnanimous, and declared there were only two things he wanted for Christmas.

Me: What?
Him: I want the Lego Bionicle Fighter Jet. {We knew this one.}
Me: Okay, and what's the other thing you want for Christmas?
Him: I want a baby brother or a baby sister.

Twinge. Tight smile. "Keep praying for that," my husband commented. No matter how far away I think I am from it, I guess there will always be a little pain ready to pierce my heart at the mention of having children. Right now, it's also bittersweet; I know my son would make a great older brother. It's not terribly easy to hear a suggestion from him that I've been thinking about for the last six years.

An ironic part of the conversation sent my tight smile into a wry one when I reiterated how hard it is for some women to get pregnant and have kids.

Him: I just don't understand.
Me: You mean, you're confused about all the medical woman stuff?
Him: Yeah, pretty much.
Me: You're a boy, alright.

I didn't take offense. I dropped it. He doesn't understand or deal with infertility, although he does pick up on it. He empathizes as much as he can. But I do deal with it... for both of us.

I'm fervently glad it's a season of hope.

Essentially is Enough

I went to the Ob/Gyn today to talk about some ultrasound results. The doctor was looking for uterine fibroids. Not something I particularly care to find.

The nurse handed me a copy of the results summary from the lab after she took my blood pressure and ensconced me in an exam room. I had 15 minutes to mull over the latinate words and get worried over all-too-familiar terms like "cystic lesions" and "endometriomas." I've come a long way through the endometriosis journey. The excruciating pain that once so troubled me hasn't happened for seven years.

After I read through the results, I got a horrible sinking feeling. For the first time in years the weight of secondary infertility crashed down. I could feel sadness and despair wanting to edge into my heart. What if I'm not supposed to have any more children? I thought. Maybe I'm supposed to have only one child. The next inevitable thought of This isn't going to work I aimed at the dejection and turned it around. I wouldn't let the discouragement work. Whatever will come will come.

The doctor greeted me and we looked over the results. The only fibroid present was tiny, insignificant and uninterfering. The cysts were follicular: essentially normal in resolving throughout my cycle. The endometrium was normal. When I asked about my progesterone levels from a previous blood test taken five weeks earlier, the doctor told me that the normal range is 4 to 28, and my level was 16.

Wait a minute. Is she saying that essentially, things for me are normal enough?

As I sat there mystified, she dropped a bomb I hadn't even considered. "As far as infertility goes, it may not be you."

Hmm. It sounds like there may be a couple of more tests to run. And this time, they won't be on me.

And we begin again...kinda

Okay, I've done it. I finally called the most highly recommended fertility doc here in Uruguay (really, there aren't ALL that many, but still, he is supposed to be very good) and we have an appointment. Now, we don't plan on doing IVF until March or April, but we figured we better just go chat with him, make him aware of our prescence/plans, make sure there's no huge long wait we don't know about or something...

It was pretty hard for me to make the call. Mostly because it was in Spanish and, as I've mentioned before, I HATE talking on the phone in Spanish. But it went well. The other reason it was kinda difficult is just knowing that with this phone call, it all starts again. Maybe not for several months, but it's still the first step leading to IVF's physical and emotional ups and downs. And financial, though I really doubt there are going to be any "ups" involved there.

So that's that! Our journey begins again.

Dearest Bonnie

Now the Lord of peace himself give you peace always by all means. The Lord be with you.

2 Thes. 3:16

Try Try Again?

Six home tests and one official blood test later, the results are decidedly negative. I have had that nagging it-didn't-work feeling for awhile now, but you always hope that you are wrong.

I'm going to go bury myself in chocolate now. I may emerge to blog again sometime during the millenium.

The Longest Wait Ever

I swear this has been the longest wait ever between a transfer and a pregnancy test. The time is just dragging, and I am going crazy. I won't even admit to how many home tests I've done so far (all negative, of course). Knowing it's still too early to test isn't enough to stop me. It's like there is some sort of magnetic pull between my fingers and the box of pregnancy tests in the closet. I can't seem to get the logical part of my brain to override the urge to keep on testing.

I don't even know if I will still be alive by the time the actual blood test rolls around. I think I've managed to age 80 years in the last nine days.

Isn't there any way we can speed up the clock?

It Really Is Something In The Water

So I guess we all need to move to Australia and go swimming in the Kununura waters. Or maybe we just need to be Nicole Kidman.

I find it so fascinating how people connect random things together as if there is a cause/effect relationship going on, when really it's just a coincidence completely unrelated to any sort of mystical phenomenon.

Of course it would be wonderful if there were these sorts of supernatural fertility cure-alls. But if things like this really worked, don't you think it would have made it into some scientific journal by now?

I don't believe in all the fertility voodoo and other nonsense that is out there. But I do believe in miracles and tender mercies. And I strongly believe it is essential to recognize the miracles in our lives as gifts from God, and not gifts from Mother Nature.

The Need to Create

There are lots of weird methods to help a woman get pregnant--my most favorite of ludicrosities which involve aromatherapy and standing on my head. What the authors of these methods never say is that they don't work because they're offered up to and used by women who would have gotten pregnant with their husbands in the next room shouting out sweet nothings. I know women who can get pregnant faithfully using birth control. (No comment. We won't even go into that.) Standing on their heads? That would have mattered as much as a rainbow to a blind person.

The best advice for an infertile person always comes from a fertile person. It's so useful. It's so understanding. Really, the compassion of such people never fails to boggle my mind.

One of my mother's best friends had secondary infertility. She's an incredibly creative person who could put her mind to a project and accomplish it. She taught herself how to upholster furniture, make cabinets, frame portraits she had painted, sew formalwear and other crafts and arts I forget the names of. Her creative impulse was more than that--it was a drive channeled through her hands. I understand that drive to create; it speeds me along, too.

Her mother was one of those sensitive and understanding fertile people I previously mentioned. Impatient with her daughter's infertility, she pushed her into doing IVF. The cycle failed. Her mother pushed her into doing another IVF cycle and she got pregnant with triplet girls. Halfway through the pregnancy, she lost all three girls. She was heartbroken. I remember going to her house months and months after it happened and being frozen in front of a shadow box hanging on her wall containing three little girl dolls with large eyes as their only features. So much pain. In my head echoed words of her testimony she had borne about eternal families and resurrection... mentioning nothing of the emotional tragedy she had suffered. I respected her an incredible amount for being able to get up and smile each day--for being willing to be grateful for what God had given her: one healthy son.

She refused the third IVF cycle her mother wanted her to go through and ended up adopting a son. It's a good thing I never met her mother.

I learned from her many things about endurance, but mostly this: that I can be creative with whatever materials God sees fit to bless me. If it's a child, wonderful. If it's paint, wonderful. She never let the perceived limitations from others stop her. She needed to create, to make something come alive with its own vibrancy. And she never thought for once that working with her hands was a substitute for raising a child, or vice versa. They were boths arts. They were both equal endeavors of talent.

And she was right.

It Must Be the Water

Provo is a very odd place. I suppose I could stop there while everyone nods in silent agreement, but I feel compelled to explain myself. I'm 31, have been married nearly 8 years, and have one not-quite-two-year-old daughter; in most parts of the world this would be considered quite normal, but around here I'm way behind the curve. Most of the women I meet who are around my age have three or four (or sometimes more) children, and I still can't wrap my head around the fact that nearly half of the women I see in grocery stores are pregnant. It really must be the water. Or maybe the air. Or something.

(Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I am nearly 13 weeks pregnant with our second child, but, as with all the other fantastic women on this blog, getting there has not been easy. My husband and I tried for about three years before we had our first; it was only after a wonderful doctor properly diagnosed me as having PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome) and prescribed the correct medication that my daughter made her way into the world. We were blessed to conceive this baby much more quickly because we already know the issues we face and how to treat them. Thank you, thank you, Dr. Ivey-Crowe.)

When I look around at the many expectant mothers here in Provo I assume that most of them are excited to be bringing another life into the world. But I do wonder if some of them fully comprehend the miracle that is occuring within their bodies. I will admit that I do not like being pregnant; my first pregnancy was tough for various reasons, and this one is following suit. But I am always cognizant of the fact that something incredible is happening here. I look at my toddler and contemplate the fact that she started as nothing but two tiny cells; now here she is, approaching two, full of personality, independence, stubborness, and fun. She's her own little person, completely and totally.

I like to think that my experience with infertility has made me more aware of this utter miracle; often, the harder we work for something, the less likely we are to take it for granted. It will never be easy for me to have babies, but I'm grateful that the solution to my problems is relatively simple. I will always need medication in order to conceive children, so the label of "infertile" will always be with me. But I no longer begrudge that label because it has helped me to recognize my children for the miracle they really are.