Thursday, July 21, 2011

My three-year gestation period

I kept procrastinating writing this post because I keep thinking that if I don’t write it, it won’t be true. Well, it is. Last week, marked the third anniversary of the day that we were matched with our precious little boy who is still stuck in a hellhole of an orphanage in Southern Vietnam. He was 7 months old when we first learned about him and saw the picture of him with his shock of black hair and full cheeks, and it was the second time in life I experienced love at first sight. He's now 42 months old, and he's still not home with us.

So, instead of just morning sickness, I have a never-ending nausea in the pit of my stomach with worry about how he's doing - if he's hungry, thirsty or in need of the comfort of a parent's arms. I would trade this never-ending paper pregnancy for swollen ankles that would rival a rhinosaurus, stretch marks that never disappeared and hemorroids hanging down to my knees if it meant my son would be home tomorrow.

This time last year when I wrote a similar post, I likened the wait to the time frame it takes for the elephant to gestate (the longest pregnancy for a mammal: two years); however, it seems that not only could I have given birth to a pachyderm, but also a manatee. Thirty-six months -- in which time I could've also given birth to 2.8 children.

I have felt the nesting urges big time lately - had the carpets cleaned and painted two doors and floor boards, and I'm so itching to go buy 3T clothes, toddler toys and sippy cups. But, I won't because I don't dare jinx getting him home before he grows out of more PJs and T-shirts that I've bought him.

Although I have never conceived, I can only imagine that my wait is something like the last four weeks of pregnancy, when you're so eager to meet your child you can barely stand it and every day that passes feels like a month.

I just hope my water is about to break.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Going to the dogs

Blood work, ultrasounds and constant doctor's appointments - such is the life of an infertile woman going through fertility treatments - or such is the life of a pedigreed dog trying to conceive.

My girlfriend has one of the top dogs in the country (in her breed) and she decided to have a litter of puppies this summer. I had no idea that it was quite such a procedure. I mean dogs are well known for getting busy in the backyard and ending up pregnant.

Not this dog - since a dog can't tell you when she feels like she's ovulating and it's a bitch (pardon the pun) trying to get them to pee on an OPK stick, multiple vet visits for blood work and ultrasounds are done so that they can identify her peak fertile days and have her hook up with the stud dog.

My friend's dog's mother was also going through her "fertility identification" at the same time, but instead of the traditional method of trying doggie style, she was artificially inseminated.

Then, the waiting period. I guess you have to wait a full 30 days to know whether or not a canine is knocked up, though my girlfriend said that she was pretty sure her gal was since she seemed horomonal. More blood work and ultrasounds confirmed it (again, chasing your dog around a yard with a HPT could prove quite challenging.)

It seemed quite bizarre to me that I was following this lovely dog's progress in getting pregnant since part of if so closely matched when I was doing timed intercourse cycles.

The biggest difference is that she got pregnant x 6 or 7 and I never did.