Welcome!

A few things to note: First, I swear sometimes. If profanity offends you, you might not want to keep reading. Second, this is an infertility blog. This means that I will occasionally write about my ovaries (because you can't make babies without them!). If this freaks you out, you might not want to keep reading.

If you're still here, and you do want to keep reading, you might want to check out the abbreviations post. It will help you understand some of the confusing acronyms and terminology I use.

Sometimes, what I write in this blog can get angry and emotional. For those of you who have never experienced infertility, I can't expect you to understand what I'm going through. But I can ask that you respect my emotions. Infertility is a life crisis. It's traumatic, painful, and a roller coaster ride that none of us want to be on. To learn more about coping with infertility, including information for friends and family, visit RESOLVE.

Happy reading!

Welcome, ICLWers!

Most of my story can be found here in last month’s ICLW intro and in the column to your left, under “Timeline”. Right now, we are gearing up for IUI#2. I have an u/s scheduled for Monday morning to check my follie growth, and if all goes well, I’m guessing the IUI will take place on Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. I hope this brings me extra luck.

This is my second time participating in ICLW. I met some amazing bloggers the first time around, and I am looking forward to meeting even more this month!

emo katie

Emo Katie is back. The crying fits have returned.

I tend to like Angry Clomid Katie better than Emo Estrogen Katie. Why? This is mostly because I can control Angry Katie. Emo Katie, on the other hand, can appear at any given time.

Since this is Thanksgiving week, there will be plenty of opportunities for me to make a complete ass of myself by bursting into tears in front of large gatherings of people for no apparent reason.

I wish I could say I knew what set it off. Some of the obvious things are babies, pregnant women, baby clothes, commercials with babies, and pretty much anything having to do with children. But even certain songs, smells, and facial expressions make me cry. There’s just no telling when the waterworks might turn on.

Last night’s crying episode was self-induced. I made the mistake of going on a person’s Facebook page (a person who is pregnant) and reading the comments about how “wonderful it is to be a parent” and “there’s nothing like it.” Which of course leads me to the immediate reaction of, “WHAT IF I NEVER FEEL THAT?!”

No, really. What if I never feel that?

love & support

(I'm "reposting" this from Jin's blog.)

Allison at My Journey with Endo lost her baby yesterday at 18 weeks. If you get a chance, stop by and send her some love.

I don't know Allison personally, but I imagine she needs all of the support she can get right now. I hate hearing stories like this.

how did i get here?

Do you ever have days where you feel like you've been sleep-walking through everything that's going on around you?

Today is one of those days for me.

I am not with it. Blame it on the post-Clomid-induced haze. Blame it on the estrogen. Blame it on that fact that I've been creating and editing parts of a writing/grammar textbook all week.

My. brain. is. fried.

I'm exhausted. I've been getting out of bed later and later each morning, meaning my poor husband has been getting out of bed earlier and earlier to help me get my things together for work--including making my lunch. What would I do without him?

1.5 more work days. Then I get to enjoy the weekend: freelance project (?), football, New Moon, and pajamas. Oh, and hopefully a couple of large follies growing inside my belly, too.

sweet, sick innocence

I have a friend who, at the beginning of this journey, was extremely understanding and supportive. She would always call and ask how I was doing, or e-mail me to check in on the status of my latest doctor’s appointment. Now, she doesn’t write and when she does call, she never asks how I’m doing. Last week, she called to tell me about her sister, who was about to give birth. After five or ten minutes of non-stop talk about labor and babies, she said, “Childbirth sounds pretty scary. Are you sure you want to have kids, Katie?”

I kind of paused, not knowing what to say. When I regained my breath and collected my thoughts, I just mumbled, “Yeah, I’m sure.” Then, she stuck the nail in the coffin: “Well, don’t worry. You’re still so young.”

Are you joking?

I shot back, “Yeah, and every day my eggs get older and my chances of having a kid go down.” That was the end of THAT conversation.

The only thing I can blame this on is sickness: People are sick of my infertility.

Infertility may consume me, but it certainly doesn’t consume my conversations with people in real life. The only person I will bring it up to spontaneously is my husband. If he isn’t around and I feel like venting, that is what my blog is for. I tweet about it too, occasionally. But I never bring it up to friends unless they ask me about it first. This is for two reasons: 1) Rehashing every single doctor’s appointment, every fear I have, and every time I get a negative on a pregnancy test to every friend I have isn’t going to help me and 2) I don’t want people to get tired of hearing me talk about it or feel sorry for me.

But think about it: Does it ever occur to anyone that I get tired of talking about it? Or thinking about it? Or getting probed by the ultrasound wand? Or popping pills? I get tired, too: physically, mentally, and emotionally. I’m effing exhausted trying to remember which drug I’m supposed to take on which days, when my appointments are, and how I’m going to pay for current and possible future procedures.

I didn’t ask to be like this.

The friend, the one who hurt my feelings last week, has my blog address. She doesn’t read it. Most of the friends who I’ve given my blog address to don’t read it anymore.

When you’re young, you are innocent enough to believe that you will meet the person of your dreams, “marry”, buy a house, get pregnant, and become one, big, happy family. You think you’ll be friends with the girls or boys you hung out with on the elementary school playground forever. Each time a person wrongs you—whether that person be a friend, a lover, a parent, or another family member—a piece of your innocence dies. Each time you receive bad news, experience a family tragedy, are diagnosed with an incurable medical condition, a piece of your innocence dies.

The last of my innocence died last week.

I’m not bitter, or angry, or sad. I just am. I know I will never get that last piece of innocence back. Not now. Not after the things I have seen and heard and experienced. I will never be the person I once was: so sweet and naïve that I couldn’t see the truth of what was actually in front of me. It’s just not in me. Instead, I will be more aware of the questions I ask about other peoples’ personal lives. I will never tell someone that I “know” something will happen. I will never try to make excuses for others. I will be the best wife, daughter, sister, and friend I can possibly be.

Part of me wishes I had kept my diagnosis to myself. The other part of me knows that, despite the few bad apples, I’ve gained a world of support from others—both inside and outside of the IF community.

I don’t want people to get sick. I want them to understand. And as much as I want my innocence back, perhaps I’m better off without my rose-colored glasses.

alive

Thank you all for your advice yesterday. I'd also like to say that I appreciate none of you scolding me. I promise I did enough of it on my own! I have an appointment for Wednesday, December 23. This one will stick unless something opens up sooner or I get pregnant. (Please let it be the second option.) Oh, and no more Googling for me.

Tomorrow is the last day of the Mid, and then I start the estrogen. I'm definitely feeling some side effects this time--mostly hot flashes. And I'm feeling some tugging in my ovaries that I didn't feel last time. Other than that, I'm doing okay. T-minus six days until my next appointment. I'm trying not to focus on it. Instead, I steer my mind toward other things. Right now, it should be steering toward work.

talk me off of a ledge

If you are a long-time reader, you might remember that around the same time I was diagnosed with infertility, I was diagnosed with mild cervical dysplasia. You also might remember that I was scolded by my RE back in October for blowing off my six-month follow-up. I promised him I would make an appointment with a gyno for another pap that day.

Well, I did, but due to the scheduling of other doctor's visits (ones that involve making a baby) and my lengthy and sometimes erratic AF bleeding and the fact that my RE forbids me from having a pap during my 2WW, I've had to cancel three different appointments. This makes me an irresponsible liar with screwed up priorities. But whatever. I decided to either 1) get the pap right after this cycle if it's a bust, since we agreed not to do a third IUI over Christmas or 2) get the pap during my first exam with the new OB. I think we all know which option I'm really hoping for.

But today, while perusing the Internet, I come across a blog where the author had a colposcopy (like me) and then found out the precancerous cells had spread during her follow-up. Of course, this leads me to freak out and promptly call every gyno--including Planned Parenthood--in a 70-mile radius with the thought of, "I probably have cancer by now!" None of them had openings this week.

Will someone PLEASE calm me down? Convince me that I'm probably okay (and that I should stop Googling). Another month of waiting isn't going to kill me, right?

thanks, kelli-sue!

So the rules for Kreativ Blogger are:

1. List 7 things about myself others might not know.
2. Award 7 people with the award.

Thank you, Kelli-Sue, for this award!

1. I can play the piano.
2. I like to dip my McDonald's French fries in honey.
3. I am obsessed with watching shuttle launches.
4. I hate Skittles.
5. If I can't have children, I would love to move overseas.
6. I miss Nashville (sometimes).
7. I have three tattoos.

I am going to tag Kelly, Rita, Katie, Jen, Elizabeth, JC, and Erin. Enjoy!

taking a break

It's been an eventful weekend so far, and I'm taking a little break from my work to write about it.

My CD 2 u/s went well yesterday. The nurse told me to show up early in case I could be "squeezed in" between surgeries (my RE's clinic will only allow the doctors to perform ultrasounds). I showed up at 8, and was out of there by 8:30. My ovaries look great. I have five follies on each side and no big, Clomid-loving cysts. So today was day one of round two of the Mid, 50 mg. The only thing we are doing differently is adding in the estrogen earlier to boost my lining and I have to use OPKs starting on CD 9, since my next u/s isn't until CD 12. If everything looks good, and if I haven't gotten a +OPK by then, I'll trigger that evening and my turkey will be basted the day before Thanksgiving.

I arrive at work in a great mood and check my e-mail to find that a friend and former coworker has recommended me to someone for a freelance editing/proofreading project. If I haven't mentioned this before, I make my living as an editor for an educational publisher, but I have been looking for light freelance work over the last few months--proofing papers, editing resumes, etc.--just to make a few extra bucks. This first project couldn't come at a better time, when we are about to fork over another $500 for an IUI and meds.

And last, my amazing husband took me out last night on a beautiful dinner date to one of my favorite restaurants, Seasons 52. It's one of those restaurants we only go to for special occasions, but we splurged. After a hellish start to the week, we deserved it. I drank wine AND I ate dessert, two things I rarely do when we are out to eat. We sat in a private room in the back of the restaurant overlooking the lake. It was so relaxing, which is exactly what I need to focus on this cycle: relaxation.

Speaking of relaxation, it's time to turn my peaceful "nature" music back up and get on with the editing.

the label

Sitting in the waiting room at the RE's office is an interesting experience. When I'm there, I feel like I'm a member of a secret society--a society where age, race, sex, religion, and socioeconomic background simply don't matter. We all sit quietly with our heads down. Occasionally we look up, glance around, and exchange an empathetic smile with another "member." We are all aiming for the same goal. Our membership cards come in the form of small, white pills and syringes. There are expensive dues that come along with this society, but we hope the payout will be worth it.

When one of us gets bad news, we know only the other members can truly understand the pain and suffering deep within our hearts. When one of us gets good news, we are sensitive to the others, who are always the first in line to congratulate us. Because they are the only ones who know how hard we've worked. We often don't need to say a word for other society members to understand how we feel. A look or a moment of silence is all we need to convey our emotions.

Some of us arrived here with our partners. Others came alone. Some of us were born into this society, and all of us will die as members--regardless of whether or not we achieve our goal. Some of us will remain positive until the very end, finding hope and joy in every step along the way. Others will become calloused and bitter, angry at members who reached their goal and sad about the loss of something they have never felt. Some of us wear our membership on our sleeves. Others hide it beneath their layers of clothing, bringing it out only in their home or doctor's office where they feel most comfortable and secure. We are branded for life: infertile. It's like the scarlet letter. The letter, which was originally meant to shame her, becomes a symbol of Hester's identity. Instead of feeling guilt and isolation, she feels strength. Infertility is like this. We can let it make us feel like outcasts, or we can use it for good--to feel powerful when this disease makes us feel so powerless.

I curse my fate a lot. I've done it on this blog many times, to my husband, to my friends and family, and in the confines of my own head and aching heart. But being in the waiting room at the RE's office today made me feel at peace, like I was home with my people. As I sat there listening for my name to be called, I thought, I'm kind of proud to be infertile. I'm proud to be part of a group that is so amazing and caring toward others. I'm proud to be part of this club where we can all cry together, laugh together, and burn baby shower invitations together (that last one is for you, Rita). I'm thankful to have the support system that I do in the IF community. I have never met any of you, but you have been there for me in ways my real-life friends simply can't be.

There's an unspeakable bond between us that can never be broken.

From IF to When

Welcome!

Welcome, ICLWers!

emo katie

love & support

how did i get here?

sweet, sick innocence

alive

talk me off of a ledge

thanks, kelli-sue!

taking a break

the label

About Me

Timeline

Creme de la Creme

Blog Archive

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