I had a brief thought during dinner with some wonderful friends tonight about the injustice of fertility testing – how men get the fun part of that equation and women are subjected to the poking, probing and prodding, needle sticks and sometimes surgical interventions. Just doesn’t seem right.
I must be hormonal (self-created, not from any biologic or synthetic additives to my system. Remember, I’m sitting this cycle out. Instead, our Nest is dealing with that stuff.). While I’m on the topic, and now feel like ranting a bit, there are other injustices throughout the infertility journey. Probably the biggest one is the injustice of responsible people wanting a child and not being able to conceive one when there are plenty of drug addicts (and I don’t mean those of use who start going into a withdrawal without our fertility medications), deadbeats and other not-fit-for-owning-a-fish-let-alone-a-child mamas and papas out there who seem to get pregnant without even trying.
There’s also the injustice of the financial burden put on most of fertility-challenged females. Very few insurance companies will cover even one iota of fertility testing or treatments, but most will cover drug addicts, smokers and others with health issues that are self-inflicted versus those of us who can’t do anything to control our lack of procreation. Many insurance agencies will even cover abortion surgeries – so they’ll cover the expiration of a child, but not the conception, but that’s as much as I’ll say on that volatile subject.
I know there are others, but my brain is fried. I’m really not that bitter about this stuff because I’ve lived with it for the last five years and it’s just part of our daily life, but sometimes it’s good to get that off my not-engorged-from-being-pregnant chest.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Superstitious
I’ve been a little bit superstitious since I was a kid. Ever the athlete, I had lucky socks that I would wear for basketball games, lucky underwear (no, not that kind of lucky underwear – I was a kid) that I would wear on the days I had volleyball games or math tests, and a lucky pre-track meet meal of a Pizza Hut personal cheese pizza.
These pseudo-illogical ways disappeared for the most part during college and my twenties. My only momentary lapse was buying a plastic statue of St. Joseph, the patron saint of home and family, and plant him in the ground upside down next to your “for sale” sign. You then say a prayer to him every day for nine days and your house should sell more quickly. So, maybe it’s more religious than superstitious, but you get the idea. Anyway, Jack Bauer and I tried this method to sell our house in Atlanta and it worked.
And then I started trying to get pregnant.
Since I originally thought it would only take a few months, six max, to get pregnant, I started buying cute unisex onesies, décor for the nursery and other baby belongings. We’d buy baby souvenirs while we were on vacation, too.
When I started the hard core fertility treatments, I went into overdrive (maybe it was the fertility drugs), buying even more infant equipment because I was convinced that it would work and I’d soon need Diaper Genies and teething toys.
After three ovulation induction treatments didn’t work and the first IVF didn’t take, I started reverting back to those old superstitious ways, and wondered if buying all the baby stuff was actually inhibiting my ability to get pregnant. So, I went cold turkey and stopped the shopping spree. You would’ve thought I was a heroin addict, I’d get the shakes when I’d pass a Gymboree.
Then we got the call last July about Nate, and those baby buying tendencies picked right back up. My girlfriends almost had an intervention with me after one trip to an Outlet Mall – I tore threw Oshkosh B’gosh and Hartstrings like there was no tomorrow, estimating how big Nate would be when would get to bring him home. Then, as you know from the NonBio Baby post, all progress to get him home stopped.
So I had to go into withdrawal once again. But, I have stuck to my guns and haven’t bought any baby-related stuff for more than a year and a half, except for shower gifts for friends, which is incredibly hard to do.
Here’s hoping that I’ll have trips to Pottery Barn Kids in my near future.
These pseudo-illogical ways disappeared for the most part during college and my twenties. My only momentary lapse was buying a plastic statue of St. Joseph, the patron saint of home and family, and plant him in the ground upside down next to your “for sale” sign. You then say a prayer to him every day for nine days and your house should sell more quickly. So, maybe it’s more religious than superstitious, but you get the idea. Anyway, Jack Bauer and I tried this method to sell our house in Atlanta and it worked.
And then I started trying to get pregnant.
Since I originally thought it would only take a few months, six max, to get pregnant, I started buying cute unisex onesies, décor for the nursery and other baby belongings. We’d buy baby souvenirs while we were on vacation, too.
When I started the hard core fertility treatments, I went into overdrive (maybe it was the fertility drugs), buying even more infant equipment because I was convinced that it would work and I’d soon need Diaper Genies and teething toys.
After three ovulation induction treatments didn’t work and the first IVF didn’t take, I started reverting back to those old superstitious ways, and wondered if buying all the baby stuff was actually inhibiting my ability to get pregnant. So, I went cold turkey and stopped the shopping spree. You would’ve thought I was a heroin addict, I’d get the shakes when I’d pass a Gymboree.
Then we got the call last July about Nate, and those baby buying tendencies picked right back up. My girlfriends almost had an intervention with me after one trip to an Outlet Mall – I tore threw Oshkosh B’gosh and Hartstrings like there was no tomorrow, estimating how big Nate would be when would get to bring him home. Then, as you know from the NonBio Baby post, all progress to get him home stopped.
So I had to go into withdrawal once again. But, I have stuck to my guns and haven’t bought any baby-related stuff for more than a year and a half, except for shower gifts for friends, which is incredibly hard to do.
Here’s hoping that I’ll have trips to Pottery Barn Kids in my near future.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Tired of Being in Limbo
I just got off the phone with my beloved sister. We were chatting about this week’s news about Nate and the Nest’s pending embryo transfer. And how tough it is to wait, even just a couple weeks, for all these potential baby bringing breakthroughs.
I’ve spent an awful lot of time waiting during this whole five-year process. I don’t mean the actual, entire five-year span, though of course, that is a long time, like one-seventh of my life. I mean the waiting for your period to start (in the case of getting ready to start an IVF, IUI or OI cycle) or waiting for your period not to start (in the case that maybe you’re pregnant). One week you’re shooting up fertility drugs waiting for your follicles to mature, and the next week you’re waiting for the conjoined sperm and egg to divide and conquer into as many cells as possible. Then you’re biding time until the transfer date comes up.
The next ten days you’re waiting for the possibility that maybe, just maybe an embryo stuck -- hoping not to feel cramps or bleed, thinking that your boobs are sore from a possible pregnancy and not from the fertility drugs, praying that the mild nauseated feeling is morning sickness.
If things work out, especially if you’ve had fertility challenges, you’re next waiting for the other shoe to drop and not make it though the first trimester. And if that embryo didn’t stick, you’re back to counting the days until you can try again. All the while, waiting, waiting, waiting.
During my IVF and OI cycles, I became obsessed with my calendar, nervously tracking potential start days, counting backwards from my last cycle, pondering if my upcoming business trip would impact me getting my requisite blood work and ultrasound on time, or if I’d have to wait one more month to give it another try.
Once, a few years ago, I even tracked a cycle while I was in a budget planning meeting at work. Hopefully, no one could make sense of my cryptic scribble and I don’t think that blurted out anything like “Trigger shot on day nine” instead of “Bigger presence of the brand on-line.”
Who knows how long before we know whether we can bring Nate home or not? At least there is a not-too-long timeframe for us to know whether the Nest gets pregnant. T-minus seven days and counting until her last ultrasound to check her lining, 11 days until the transfer and 22 days until the Nest’s beta test.
Patience is a virtue and not one I have.
I’ve spent an awful lot of time waiting during this whole five-year process. I don’t mean the actual, entire five-year span, though of course, that is a long time, like one-seventh of my life. I mean the waiting for your period to start (in the case of getting ready to start an IVF, IUI or OI cycle) or waiting for your period not to start (in the case that maybe you’re pregnant). One week you’re shooting up fertility drugs waiting for your follicles to mature, and the next week you’re waiting for the conjoined sperm and egg to divide and conquer into as many cells as possible. Then you’re biding time until the transfer date comes up.
The next ten days you’re waiting for the possibility that maybe, just maybe an embryo stuck -- hoping not to feel cramps or bleed, thinking that your boobs are sore from a possible pregnancy and not from the fertility drugs, praying that the mild nauseated feeling is morning sickness.
If things work out, especially if you’ve had fertility challenges, you’re next waiting for the other shoe to drop and not make it though the first trimester. And if that embryo didn’t stick, you’re back to counting the days until you can try again. All the while, waiting, waiting, waiting.
During my IVF and OI cycles, I became obsessed with my calendar, nervously tracking potential start days, counting backwards from my last cycle, pondering if my upcoming business trip would impact me getting my requisite blood work and ultrasound on time, or if I’d have to wait one more month to give it another try.
Once, a few years ago, I even tracked a cycle while I was in a budget planning meeting at work. Hopefully, no one could make sense of my cryptic scribble and I don’t think that blurted out anything like “Trigger shot on day nine” instead of “Bigger presence of the brand on-line.”
Who knows how long before we know whether we can bring Nate home or not? At least there is a not-too-long timeframe for us to know whether the Nest gets pregnant. T-minus seven days and counting until her last ultrasound to check her lining, 11 days until the transfer and 22 days until the Nest’s beta test.
Patience is a virtue and not one I have.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Maybe Baby
I got one of those phone calls today that I thought only happened in movies. One of those where you think all is lost only to find out that there’s now hope. Over the weekend, I explained our plight in trying to adopt our baby boy waiting for us in Vietnam.
Things have gone from bad to worse over the course of the last ten months and in April we learned that because of the continued issues surrounding our case, we’d probably get a letter from the U.S. State Department that our case would be denied. So, every day we come home expecting to see a letter with a certain Washington D.C. address, but thus far we still haven’t gotten one.
But, in a turn of events that I can only liken to being as much a miracle as me actually getting pregnant, things have suddenly turned up.
Part of the reason for the pending denial was the fact that they could not locate Nate’s birth mom (a requirement of the U.S. is having DNA proof that the person who drops off the babies at the clinics are actually their birth mother). They’ve been searching for her since Oct. 08 with no luck.
But, today we learned that they not only located his birth mom, they matched her DNA to Nate. It may not seem like big news, but it’s a huge step forward.
There are still some major hurdles to get over, but we have achieved a huge milestone – hope.
Things have gone from bad to worse over the course of the last ten months and in April we learned that because of the continued issues surrounding our case, we’d probably get a letter from the U.S. State Department that our case would be denied. So, every day we come home expecting to see a letter with a certain Washington D.C. address, but thus far we still haven’t gotten one.
But, in a turn of events that I can only liken to being as much a miracle as me actually getting pregnant, things have suddenly turned up.
Part of the reason for the pending denial was the fact that they could not locate Nate’s birth mom (a requirement of the U.S. is having DNA proof that the person who drops off the babies at the clinics are actually their birth mother). They’ve been searching for her since Oct. 08 with no luck.
But, today we learned that they not only located his birth mom, they matched her DNA to Nate. It may not seem like big news, but it’s a huge step forward.
There are still some major hurdles to get over, but we have achieved a huge milestone – hope.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Rantings from the Nest
The Nest and I were emailing back and forth today about important things like uterine linings, progesterone applicators and period cycles when her always sunny disposition turned into a little bit of a rant:
“Just for the record, I am going to be so mad if we don't get a baby! I
hate taking pills, now I'm up to nine a day, a shot in the belly, and I'm
flowing like the River Jordan. It just doesn't seem fair for someone to go
through this and not get a baby. I want a baby! Now, that I've had my
little fit, let's continue.”
I got the biggest kick out of it. She wasn’t complaining about going through the process or that she signed up for something she didn’t want, she was simply feeling the same way that I and millions of others have felt while going through this ridiculous fertility stuff.
And the key word in her rant, for me, anyway, was that she said she’d be “mad.” I was really happy to see that she’d be mad and not sad. Mad seems like a much more constructive emotion (though I completely understand being sad beyond belief – I’ve been there, too). When you’re mad, you might take a kickboxing class or scream into a pillow to get out your frustration. After one of my six medical quests to get pregnant didn’t result in a bun in the oven, I went out and ran a half-marathon (I do run pretty regularly, but hadn’t trained at all).
“I’ll show you, stupid uterus,” I thought to myself.
Since I wouldn’t have been able to run it if I was pregnant, I took it as an opportunity to show my body who was boss. It must have been some weird reversion back to grade school when we had to run at basketball practice if we made a mistake.
My most frequently used coping mechanism was to buy a bottle of Chardonnay and a packet of Oreos. I’d finish off both of them with in a matter of a day or two (yes, I realize that I don’t have the most sophisticated taste.).
And, since my rear end and stomach were already several pounds heavier from those awesome fertility drugs, my over-indulgence only added insult to injury, but something about it took the edge off.
I remember getting a call from my fertility doctor’s office telling me that my beta test was negative while I was shopping at a large department store. Stunned from the news, my immediate reaction was to hit the purse counter and I went over and bought an expensive impractically colored suede purse (which was a really bad I idea considering that we’d just spent thousands of dollars on fertility treatments, only for it not to work).
Another gal I know was so upset by her lack of procreation that she went out and bought a BWM in a semi-spontaneous fit of frustration. Now that’s what I’m talking about.
Ever do anything crazy to soothe your empty uterus?
“Just for the record, I am going to be so mad if we don't get a baby! I
hate taking pills, now I'm up to nine a day, a shot in the belly, and I'm
flowing like the River Jordan. It just doesn't seem fair for someone to go
through this and not get a baby. I want a baby! Now, that I've had my
little fit, let's continue.”
I got the biggest kick out of it. She wasn’t complaining about going through the process or that she signed up for something she didn’t want, she was simply feeling the same way that I and millions of others have felt while going through this ridiculous fertility stuff.
And the key word in her rant, for me, anyway, was that she said she’d be “mad.” I was really happy to see that she’d be mad and not sad. Mad seems like a much more constructive emotion (though I completely understand being sad beyond belief – I’ve been there, too). When you’re mad, you might take a kickboxing class or scream into a pillow to get out your frustration. After one of my six medical quests to get pregnant didn’t result in a bun in the oven, I went out and ran a half-marathon (I do run pretty regularly, but hadn’t trained at all).
“I’ll show you, stupid uterus,” I thought to myself.
Since I wouldn’t have been able to run it if I was pregnant, I took it as an opportunity to show my body who was boss. It must have been some weird reversion back to grade school when we had to run at basketball practice if we made a mistake.
My most frequently used coping mechanism was to buy a bottle of Chardonnay and a packet of Oreos. I’d finish off both of them with in a matter of a day or two (yes, I realize that I don’t have the most sophisticated taste.).
And, since my rear end and stomach were already several pounds heavier from those awesome fertility drugs, my over-indulgence only added insult to injury, but something about it took the edge off.
I remember getting a call from my fertility doctor’s office telling me that my beta test was negative while I was shopping at a large department store. Stunned from the news, my immediate reaction was to hit the purse counter and I went over and bought an expensive impractically colored suede purse (which was a really bad I idea considering that we’d just spent thousands of dollars on fertility treatments, only for it not to work).
Another gal I know was so upset by her lack of procreation that she went out and bought a BWM in a semi-spontaneous fit of frustration. Now that’s what I’m talking about.
Ever do anything crazy to soothe your empty uterus?
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