This entry is one that I've been procrastinating for a while now. It was in the back of my mind when I last posted in April, but at that point, I was still trying to pretend that it didn't need to be written. I have, however, spent a portion of this weekend reading another blog dedicated to the subject of infertility. It has helped me come to a realization: I need to talk about this. Sure, I have plenty of wonderful family members and friends with whom I can (and to some degree have) discuss[ed] this topic. But as anyone else who has blogged on the topic would probably agree, there are times when you just need to get it out of your system but at the same time, you just don't really WANT to talk about it. That is me. I want to talk, but I don't want to talk. So I think that this blog may be the best option for me at this point. If anyone out there in the blog world reads this, that is fine. If no one ever reads it, that is fine too. At this point, I'm doing this for me. Some day, if/when this nightmare is over, I may decide to share this with others in my life who know my story and/or who are traveling a similar path. But for the time being, I want to be anonymous. I just want a place to record my thoughts and feelings and not have to be concerned with how my family and friends are responding to it all. I think that is enough rambling about the purpose of this post - yes? So, in the interest of not procrastinating any longer, let me get down to the root of the matter...
I think, on some level, I always knew there was something wrong with me. In junior high, I was convinced that I would be the last of my friends to get my period (I was the second). After that, I worried that no boy would ever date, much less marry, me. That seemed to be partially true, given that I didn't go on many dates during high school or college. I did, however, have my first kiss in college. But as graduation rolled around and numerous of my friends, classmates, and former dorm-mates graduated with both a bachelor's AND an MRS degree (or at least got engaged), I started to worry again that I was doomed. That first year after college was rough, for many reasons. As the days passed by, I became more and more convinced that I was destined to become an old maid and live with cats (my roommate and I already had two!). I got sort of used to the idea. I like to be prepared and I think I was starting to accept my fate. After all, hadn't I always known something was wrong with me? It was almost a relief to be proven right.
Imagine my surprise then, when just a little over a year after graduation, I found myself dating a rather fantastic guy (Paul) who cast all sorts of doubt on my theories about spinsterhood. Not quite a year later, we were engaged. Another year after that, we were married at the age of 25. Although many of my childhood and college friends were already married (some for as long as 3-4 years), I was definitely not the last. I guess my fears were false - I was not a pariah after all. At least, not in terms of marriage... This left only one option. Infertility. I knew something had to be wrong with me and, by process of elimination, this was all that was left. Of course, I hoped I would be proven wrong about this as well.
I wanted to wait a while to start trying. I wanted to take advantage of the freedom of being young and newlywed. I was in grad school. It was a big adjustment having a mortgage and all those bills. I really didn't see any need to rush to add kids to the equation. But at the same time, I think I was afraid. I didn't want to find out for certain that, after all these years, THIS was what was wrong. Paul had other ideas. He wanted to start trying sooner rather than later. He often brought up making a baby. It took some convincing, but the more he talked about it, the more I bought into the fantasy. I agreed to talk to my OB/GYN at my annual exam in December, a few months after our one year anniversary. The exam was uneventful. I mentioned to Kathy, my NP, that we were thinking about trying soon, and that ideally we hoped I would get pregnant late spring/early summer. We talked about the logistics of when to go off birth control, when to start trying, how to predict ovulation, etc. At the end of my visit, she smiled and handed me a prescription for 3 more months of birth control - the plan was to start trying in April.
I took my last pill sometime in February. We planned to use the rhythm method for a month or so after that, to allow some time for my body to reset to normal. I had been taking the pill since I was 15 or 16 and started taking it to help manage my extreme PMS symptoms. So, I bought a basal thermometer and started charting my temperature each day. We weren't as careful as we'd planned to be that first month, but I wasn't too worried. I thought I saw a temperature spike, somewhere around day 14 or 15, but it wasn't much of a spike. I made all the appropriate markings on the graph and began the countdown to my period. That first one off the pill was pretty rough. I'd forgotten how bad it used to be. I was crabby and nauseous, the cramps were so bad I called in sick to work. All in all, it was enough to convince me to officially start trying the following month - I decided I didn't want to endure any more visits from Aunt Flo (or AF, as she is referred to in the World of Infertility) than were absolutely necessary...
