Yesterday, I had the unfortunate experience of having my annual GYN exam. And, it wasn't for the reason you might think. As an infertile, I've had my hoo-haw looked at and poked at more times than most women twice my age. So, clearly I don't mind the exam.
What I do mind, however, is the following:
1. As soon as I sit down in the waiting room, I come face to face with a very cute and very pregnant gal across the way, who proceeds to rub her belly, stand up, walk around and make sure that everyone is noticing how uncomfortable she is.
2. I have major bones to pick with my doctor's office scale. I swear it's at least 15 pounds heavy.
3. The fact that the medical technical asked me what birth control I'm on. Really...
4. The fact that my doctor asked me what birth control I'm on. When I told her it was impossible for me to get pregnant, she actually argued with me a little bit. Note that this is not my fertility doc, just my GYN. "It could happen, Lu." Again, really?
5. That my doctor, who just came back to work after having her second child, complained to me about how difficult it is to parent two children almost the entire time she was in the exam room. Really?
It took all I had not to make a snarky remark about how she should just thank her lucky stars that she has been able to give birth to two healthy kids because some of us have never and will never be able to.
I would like to propose that at OB/GYN offices, any women who are pregnancy virgins or have challenges childbearing, should have bright yellow stickers on their files folders or a flag on the electronic medical record that indicates that we are infertile. I think that would eliminate a lot of unnecessary questioning and awkward answers. Better yet, I would be happy to do some sensitivity training for these docs with a lack of appropriate bedside manner. Truly, it's not that hard. Instead of asking us about birth control and getting pregnant, just discuss the weather or how lovely our cervixes are.
And, visibly pregnant ladies, please don't parade that belly right in front of me.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Pent Up Parenting
When you're closing in on 39 years of age and you want a child, but have never had one, the need to parent can become overwhelming. Since I started trying to have a baby almost seven years ago, that's a lot of mothering that I've needed to get out of my system. At least, that's where I find myself right now.
Sure, I consider myself an excellent mother to my adopted son, who still isn't here. I have never given up on getting him home and spend hours working with our attorney and Senator staffers, strategizing, doing paperwork, praying, worrying and dreaming about his future.
But, I need to be childrearing in person. My poor dogs and cats are treated as though they are my tots walking around on four legs. When they get in trouble, I send them to time outs and I also restrict their TV and computer time. (Note: this doesn't seem to affect their behavior much).
When I talk to friends or colleagues about their kids, it's all I can do to not give out my own parenting advice. A work friend was telling me how he didn't want his kids to focus on just one sport or activity just yet. He wanted to give them an opportunity to try lots of different things before settling on just playing baseball or the clarinet. I really wanted tell him that I thought that was a good idea and that I hope to do that with our own child. But, I think that would just be weird.
In Church, it's all I can do to not scold unruly or loud kids, and the same is true when I'm in Target and see a kid whining about wanting a toy and stomping his feet.
Conversely, I not only want to parent kids, but I want to give advice to their moms and dads. When I see kids not strapped in seat belts, I roll my window down and give the "parent" a piece of my mind. The same is true when I see a mom buying four boxes of the sugariest cereal on the market to feed to her crew (this happened just last week).
I am not saying I will be a perfect parent by any means, but the desire I have is palpitable right now. It's all bottled up and it has very few places to be expended. I'm like a dormant volcano whose top is about to blow.
My dogs don't understand what I mean when I ask them to put their toys back in their box and they're pretty good about eating everything on their plates.
So if you see me coming toward you or your kid you might want to watch out. I just might tell you to put your kid's hood up and wipe the milk mustache off his face.
Sure, I consider myself an excellent mother to my adopted son, who still isn't here. I have never given up on getting him home and spend hours working with our attorney and Senator staffers, strategizing, doing paperwork, praying, worrying and dreaming about his future.
But, I need to be childrearing in person. My poor dogs and cats are treated as though they are my tots walking around on four legs. When they get in trouble, I send them to time outs and I also restrict their TV and computer time. (Note: this doesn't seem to affect their behavior much).
When I talk to friends or colleagues about their kids, it's all I can do to not give out my own parenting advice. A work friend was telling me how he didn't want his kids to focus on just one sport or activity just yet. He wanted to give them an opportunity to try lots of different things before settling on just playing baseball or the clarinet. I really wanted tell him that I thought that was a good idea and that I hope to do that with our own child. But, I think that would just be weird.
In Church, it's all I can do to not scold unruly or loud kids, and the same is true when I'm in Target and see a kid whining about wanting a toy and stomping his feet.
Conversely, I not only want to parent kids, but I want to give advice to their moms and dads. When I see kids not strapped in seat belts, I roll my window down and give the "parent" a piece of my mind. The same is true when I see a mom buying four boxes of the sugariest cereal on the market to feed to her crew (this happened just last week).
I am not saying I will be a perfect parent by any means, but the desire I have is palpitable right now. It's all bottled up and it has very few places to be expended. I'm like a dormant volcano whose top is about to blow.
My dogs don't understand what I mean when I ask them to put their toys back in their box and they're pretty good about eating everything on their plates.
So if you see me coming toward you or your kid you might want to watch out. I just might tell you to put your kid's hood up and wipe the milk mustache off his face.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
I found video tape in the closet
It seems that more often than not, I run across some random piece of paraphinalia from my fertility treatment days. It has something to do with me not cleaning out Usually, it's an old ovulation detection test or an expired box of icky progesterone cream. However, I got quite the eyeful when cleaning out a closet which hadn't been touched in years.
I found several video tapes (yes, for a video cassette recorder, so you know it was years ago). No, these weren't those kind of videos, though I think I may have preferred that to what I found. In addition to some old tapes of me playing volleyball in college ('cause you know that those are going to be viewed again), I found one that listed my fertility doctor's name, my name, and the date 06/05/04. Yep, it was a video of my surgery when I had some tumors and adhesions removed from my uterus, that for some bizarre reason, we kept.
Why the heck did we keep that of all things? And, why did I leave the hospital with this odd momento? Was it to remind myself that I had a kickass laproscopy? To add to a future child's baby book as the beginning of our conception process? To be completely grossed out at will?
Perhaps it was the residual effect of my anethesia that led me to put it in my purse to bring home?
Whatever the reason, it was quite a flashback to the days when "trying" was still fun, when I didn't know I would have issues conceiving, and when I still had hope. On June 5, 2004, I was completely clueless about the seven-year hellish journey that we've been on to bring a child into our family.
I'm sure now they give you a DVD or jump drive with video of your insides.
I found several video tapes (yes, for a video cassette recorder, so you know it was years ago). No, these weren't those kind of videos, though I think I may have preferred that to what I found. In addition to some old tapes of me playing volleyball in college ('cause you know that those are going to be viewed again), I found one that listed my fertility doctor's name, my name, and the date 06/05/04. Yep, it was a video of my surgery when I had some tumors and adhesions removed from my uterus, that for some bizarre reason, we kept.
Why the heck did we keep that of all things? And, why did I leave the hospital with this odd momento? Was it to remind myself that I had a kickass laproscopy? To add to a future child's baby book as the beginning of our conception process? To be completely grossed out at will?
Perhaps it was the residual effect of my anethesia that led me to put it in my purse to bring home?
Whatever the reason, it was quite a flashback to the days when "trying" was still fun, when I didn't know I would have issues conceiving, and when I still had hope. On June 5, 2004, I was completely clueless about the seven-year hellish journey that we've been on to bring a child into our family.
I'm sure now they give you a DVD or jump drive with video of your insides.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Frequent flier miles junkie
Sorry that I've been a bit MIA lately, but the adoption stuff continues to be an emotional nightmare that I can't even coherently explain. Anyway, back to regular programming...
I used to fly for work pretty often and I even worked for an airline for a while, and that's when it began -- a subtle, but definite desire to accumulate as many frequent flier miles as possible. Jack Bauer and I love, love, love to travel, so acquiring kilometer after kilometer only fed into our "fix." I still know my FF#s for two different airlines by heart (those along with the phone # of my fertility clinic, which I haven't dialed in more than two years, but I often can't remember how old I am).
When we were going through our fertility treatments, the only and I mean only, redeeming factor was that we put most of the expenses on my credit card which turned points into miles in my frequent filer account. I got at least one "free" round-trip out of it, too.
Once a junkie, always a junkie, I guess. You'd think if I was going to crave something, it would be horse urine and estrogen after the years of being on the stuff. But, no, my frequent flier addiction hasn't gone away. I recently signed up to be a participant in on-line market research - I get emails and go through a series of questions and get rewarded with miles. It's a pretty easy way to rack them up.
So, I'm running through a number of questions the other day asking about health issues - narcolepsy - nope; diabetes - negative; cancer, sinusitis, epilepsy, foot fungus - no, no, no and no. Three pages of various conditions and I'm just running down the "no" column when I came to a screeching halt: INFERTILITY. Guess I didn't think of infertility as a "health issue" (although I am well aware that it is the inability for my body to do something that should be natural); Rather I look at it as something that plays emotional havoc with me on a daily basis.
If I have to answer a "yes" about having infertility, and I do that proud and standing tall, at least I can get a little closer to a ticket to Hawaii for it.
I used to fly for work pretty often and I even worked for an airline for a while, and that's when it began -- a subtle, but definite desire to accumulate as many frequent flier miles as possible. Jack Bauer and I love, love, love to travel, so acquiring kilometer after kilometer only fed into our "fix." I still know my FF#s for two different airlines by heart (those along with the phone # of my fertility clinic, which I haven't dialed in more than two years, but I often can't remember how old I am).
When we were going through our fertility treatments, the only and I mean only, redeeming factor was that we put most of the expenses on my credit card which turned points into miles in my frequent filer account. I got at least one "free" round-trip out of it, too.
Once a junkie, always a junkie, I guess. You'd think if I was going to crave something, it would be horse urine and estrogen after the years of being on the stuff. But, no, my frequent flier addiction hasn't gone away. I recently signed up to be a participant in on-line market research - I get emails and go through a series of questions and get rewarded with miles. It's a pretty easy way to rack them up.
So, I'm running through a number of questions the other day asking about health issues - narcolepsy - nope; diabetes - negative; cancer, sinusitis, epilepsy, foot fungus - no, no, no and no. Three pages of various conditions and I'm just running down the "no" column when I came to a screeching halt: INFERTILITY. Guess I didn't think of infertility as a "health issue" (although I am well aware that it is the inability for my body to do something that should be natural); Rather I look at it as something that plays emotional havoc with me on a daily basis.
If I have to answer a "yes" about having infertility, and I do that proud and standing tall, at least I can get a little closer to a ticket to Hawaii for it.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Nauseated, but not 'cause I'm pregnant
Seriously, if one more Facebook friend posts a "so excited about school starting"; "I can't believe little Suzy is in the third grade"; "saw my baby off on the bus" or "I'm going to miss the lazy summer days," I may just puke.
My lil' ol' barren uterus and bitter lil' brain just can't take one more status update like that. I think I need to retaliate, but with what kind of comment? Something subtly snarky would be good. Perhaps I should mention that instead of buying school supplies, I bought a sweet pair of red patent-leather wedges; that instead of going to meet my kid's teacher, I went to the hot new restaurant in town; that instead of prying my kid out of bed in the morning, I got a few more minutes in at the gym.
Yep, you got it. Really I'm just a wee bit jealous. Damn fertiles. If only I could pry my way from Facebook for the next week or so, I could probably put myself out of my misery. Yeah, like that will happen.
My lil' ol' barren uterus and bitter lil' brain just can't take one more status update like that. I think I need to retaliate, but with what kind of comment? Something subtly snarky would be good. Perhaps I should mention that instead of buying school supplies, I bought a sweet pair of red patent-leather wedges; that instead of going to meet my kid's teacher, I went to the hot new restaurant in town; that instead of prying my kid out of bed in the morning, I got a few more minutes in at the gym.
Yep, you got it. Really I'm just a wee bit jealous. Damn fertiles. If only I could pry my way from Facebook for the next week or so, I could probably put myself out of my misery. Yeah, like that will happen.
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