They should really have a separate number, like a hotline or something, to call when dealing with infertility stuff, because it really sucks having to explain each and every time that you are trying to get pregnant but can't. Just sayin'...
So I called my doctor's office after I'd gotten my period in June and asked to leave a message for Kathy. What was the message, the receptionist asked. I said that Kathy had told me to call her in June if I still wasn't pregnant and, well, I wasn't, so... The receptionist asked if I was trying to get pregnant. Well obviously! Would I be calling to give that message if I WASN'T trying to get pregnant? I didn't want to go through it all with some random person, I just wanted her to leave a message for Kathy to call me back.
When Kathy called, she was very sympathetic. She kind of talked me through the different tests and things we'd do initially to try to narrow down the cause, after which we could talk about treatment options. It was a bit overwhelming, so when she said she was transferring me to the front desk to get scheduled, I wasn't entirely sure what we were scheduling at that point. Apparently the person at the desk didn't get the full idea of what needed to be done either because she asked me what I needed to schedule. I kind of stammered around a bit and said I thought I remembered something about an exam...? Or, a test of some sort? She finally put me on hold to go talk to Kathy and figure out what was needed. When she came back on the line, she said I needed to come in for an appointment with Kathy to do an "infertility work-up."
So there it was. The dreaded "I" word. I realized that until that point, I'd been kind of lying to myself about it. I wasn't struggling with infertility, I was just, you know, trying to have a baby... Hearing that word out loud for the first time, in reference to me, was a bit of a blow. I work in a cancer center, and I am by no means trying to compare my situation with that of a cancer patient, but I do think that being labeled "infertile" is a bit like hearing you have cancer for the first time. It becomes reality to suddenly have a name attached to you and whatever symptoms you are experiencing. Hearing the word "infertility" made it official, in my mind. I was officially a statistic. Officially a member of the sad, vacant uterus club.
I didn't want to wear the label of infertility. I didn't want to be part of the club. I didn't want to be going in for a "work-up." But at the same time, I was tired of not doing anything. I wanted to have forward progress of some sort - if not pregnancy, then at least a plan to achieve that. And maybe some answers as to why doing it the old-fashioned way wasn't working for us...
Monday, November 28, 2011
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Thanksgiving - A Time to Remember
Thanksgiving will forever be a time that I associate with my Nana. Growing up, we alternated feasting with my mom's side of the family (Grandma and Grandpa) and my dad's side (Napa and Papa). Both families lived in the same town as us, so we'd sometimes mosey over to the other one's house after dinner to spend time with them and maybe eat leftovers for supper. While my Grandma always made wonderful Thanksgiving meals, that is not the holiday I associate with her. Grandma's specialty, in terms of holidays, has always been Christmas Eve. When I think of Thanksgiving, I think of Nana. There are several years of memories stashed away in my mind of Turkey Days at Nana's house, but perhaps the most significant are from her final three years...
It was 2006 and I had just begun dating Paul. Although not a requirement to spend the holidays with someone you've been seeing for only two months, Paul was adamant in his intention to spend Thanksgiving with me and my family. He had to work the night before though, so I had driven on down to Greenville and the plan was for him to join me on Thanksgiving. He got up at 5:00 a.m. to drive the four hours to southern Illinois. This was a big deal. He had already met my mom and Grandma - they'd come up to visit me over Halloween weekend the previous month. This trip would not only be his first to my hometown, but he would be meeting the majority of my extended family on both sides. I was excited but nervous. I had an inkling at that point that he just might be The One, which meant that first impressions would be of utmost importance.
As I was drinking coffee in Nana's kitchen and watching her begin the various preparations for the day, she asked me how things were going with Paul. She asked if I thought this might be "serious." I think she knew. Paul arrived around 9:30 that morning. Nana was impressed at his timeliness. So far so good. The rest of the family started to trickle in over the next several hours. Cousins, aunts and uncles, my great grandmother, etc (my parents and brother were living in New England at the time and usually only traveled back to the Midwest for Christmas). Turkey Day 2006 was a success. Nana's food was, as usual, outstanding. The house was filled with warmth and laughter and I felt like Paul's presence amongst all of us was quite natural. My cousins, uncles, and Papa all grilled him mercilessly and I was pleased to see that he held his own. Nana liked him immediately and gave me several knowing looks throughout the day. Paul's impression of it all: he liked everyone so far but he DEFINITELY felt comfortable with Nana. She was good at that - making people feel welcome and at ease. The word stranger was hardly in her vocabulary and we almost always had "extras" at our family dinners (friends, random college students, and others who had nowhere to go for the holiday). Thanksgiving 2006 marked the beginning of a more serious phase in my relationship with Paul.
The following year, 2007, we were again in Greenville for the holiday. The memories of that year are now bittersweet. Paul and I were engaged by that point, and the wedding plans were underway. About a week before Turkey Time, Nana called to ask me if I had any special requests for the meal. She always made sure to serve everyone's "favorites." I asked for her made-from-scratch creamed corn and we chatted a bit about travel plans. She was coughing a lot, so I asked if she'd been sick. She brushed it off, saying that it was just a bad cough that she couldn't quite seem to shake. I don't remember if she had had an x-ray or if she was going in for one soon, but either way she didn't seem worried. I didn't think much else of it either and the next thing I knew it was Thanksgiving Day and we were arriving at Nana and Papa's. That year's feast was another success, as always. There was some grilling of Paul, but there was even more talk of wedding plans and engagement pictures. It was a happy, care-free day. It was also, as it turns out, the last truly happy and care-free holiday we ever spent with Nana. She was officially diagnosed with advanced-stage non-small cell lung carcinoma (lung cancer) on Christmas Eve that year. Looking back, I will always be grateful that we went to Greenville that Thanksgiving. We had talked about celebrating with Paul's family in Michigan, but I had felt a strong pull towards Greenville and I am so glad we ended up there for one last big, happy, Nana-style Thanksgiving.
Nana's last Thanksgiving was actually in 2008. By then, Paul and I were married, an occasion that Nana had been able to attend in spite of her on-going battle against the cancer. We were so blessed to have had her there. That had been September. By November though, her situation was declining. She had had to go on oxygen the week after our wedding. The last picture I have of her, actually, is from the weekend after the wedding when we had just returned from our honeymoon and were in Greenville for a second reception. She had wanted to give us our gift in person and waited until we were at the house afterwards to give it. The pictures I have from that day are of us opening the gift and hugging her and Papa. She is wearing her oxygen in the pictures and for some reason, I've never been able to take those photos off my camera. I've never displayed them anywhere either - they are not in with my other wedding/post-wedding photos, nor on any of my online albums. They just sit on my camera's SD card, frozen in time. I cannot bring myself to delete them but at the same time, it is as if by not displaying them, I don't have to remember her that way, looking truly weakened and sick, at all.
Thanksgiving 2008 was a quiet one for Nana. My aunt and her family were in town that year, and they had a small meal, prepared by my aunt. Nana was not able to eat much, from what I hear, and she was also not able to talk much without coughing violently, but she was still smiling. Paul and I were in Michigan with his family. On Friday, we got the call from my mom that Nana had been admitted to the hospital. I don't recall if it had actually been late Thanksgiving night or early that morning. I was panicked. I wasn't ready to admit it to myself or to Paul, but deep down I new this was the beginning of the end and I was suddenly desperate to get to Greenville. We were on our way to a Detroit suburb to visit a friend, but Paul offered to leave then and there and drive all the way. After talking more with my parents, I decided I could probably wait to return home as planned later that evening and then drive down on Saturday. I made it to Greenville Thanksgiving weekend, 2008, to see Nana for the second-to-last time. I returned once more, two weeks later, to say goodbye. She passed away hours after I left to head home.
It is now Thanksgiving morning, 2011. I still miss my Nana every day, but I no longer feel sadness about this holiday. I am able to think back to all the happy years and memories and picture Nana as she was then - a big smile on her face, wearing an apron, and stirring up magic in the kitchen. I am a big believer in traditions, and so this year, I am making Nana's famous creamed corn. We are celebrating with Paul's parents, grandmother, and uncle this year. My mother-in-law and I are sharing the cooking duties and everyone will be coming to our home later this afternoon. I am looking forward to serving them Nana's creamed corn and when I do, I know that she will be looking down from heaven and smiling.
It was 2006 and I had just begun dating Paul. Although not a requirement to spend the holidays with someone you've been seeing for only two months, Paul was adamant in his intention to spend Thanksgiving with me and my family. He had to work the night before though, so I had driven on down to Greenville and the plan was for him to join me on Thanksgiving. He got up at 5:00 a.m. to drive the four hours to southern Illinois. This was a big deal. He had already met my mom and Grandma - they'd come up to visit me over Halloween weekend the previous month. This trip would not only be his first to my hometown, but he would be meeting the majority of my extended family on both sides. I was excited but nervous. I had an inkling at that point that he just might be The One, which meant that first impressions would be of utmost importance.
As I was drinking coffee in Nana's kitchen and watching her begin the various preparations for the day, she asked me how things were going with Paul. She asked if I thought this might be "serious." I think she knew. Paul arrived around 9:30 that morning. Nana was impressed at his timeliness. So far so good. The rest of the family started to trickle in over the next several hours. Cousins, aunts and uncles, my great grandmother, etc (my parents and brother were living in New England at the time and usually only traveled back to the Midwest for Christmas). Turkey Day 2006 was a success. Nana's food was, as usual, outstanding. The house was filled with warmth and laughter and I felt like Paul's presence amongst all of us was quite natural. My cousins, uncles, and Papa all grilled him mercilessly and I was pleased to see that he held his own. Nana liked him immediately and gave me several knowing looks throughout the day. Paul's impression of it all: he liked everyone so far but he DEFINITELY felt comfortable with Nana. She was good at that - making people feel welcome and at ease. The word stranger was hardly in her vocabulary and we almost always had "extras" at our family dinners (friends, random college students, and others who had nowhere to go for the holiday). Thanksgiving 2006 marked the beginning of a more serious phase in my relationship with Paul.
The following year, 2007, we were again in Greenville for the holiday. The memories of that year are now bittersweet. Paul and I were engaged by that point, and the wedding plans were underway. About a week before Turkey Time, Nana called to ask me if I had any special requests for the meal. She always made sure to serve everyone's "favorites." I asked for her made-from-scratch creamed corn and we chatted a bit about travel plans. She was coughing a lot, so I asked if she'd been sick. She brushed it off, saying that it was just a bad cough that she couldn't quite seem to shake. I don't remember if she had had an x-ray or if she was going in for one soon, but either way she didn't seem worried. I didn't think much else of it either and the next thing I knew it was Thanksgiving Day and we were arriving at Nana and Papa's. That year's feast was another success, as always. There was some grilling of Paul, but there was even more talk of wedding plans and engagement pictures. It was a happy, care-free day. It was also, as it turns out, the last truly happy and care-free holiday we ever spent with Nana. She was officially diagnosed with advanced-stage non-small cell lung carcinoma (lung cancer) on Christmas Eve that year. Looking back, I will always be grateful that we went to Greenville that Thanksgiving. We had talked about celebrating with Paul's family in Michigan, but I had felt a strong pull towards Greenville and I am so glad we ended up there for one last big, happy, Nana-style Thanksgiving.
Nana's last Thanksgiving was actually in 2008. By then, Paul and I were married, an occasion that Nana had been able to attend in spite of her on-going battle against the cancer. We were so blessed to have had her there. That had been September. By November though, her situation was declining. She had had to go on oxygen the week after our wedding. The last picture I have of her, actually, is from the weekend after the wedding when we had just returned from our honeymoon and were in Greenville for a second reception. She had wanted to give us our gift in person and waited until we were at the house afterwards to give it. The pictures I have from that day are of us opening the gift and hugging her and Papa. She is wearing her oxygen in the pictures and for some reason, I've never been able to take those photos off my camera. I've never displayed them anywhere either - they are not in with my other wedding/post-wedding photos, nor on any of my online albums. They just sit on my camera's SD card, frozen in time. I cannot bring myself to delete them but at the same time, it is as if by not displaying them, I don't have to remember her that way, looking truly weakened and sick, at all.
Thanksgiving 2008 was a quiet one for Nana. My aunt and her family were in town that year, and they had a small meal, prepared by my aunt. Nana was not able to eat much, from what I hear, and she was also not able to talk much without coughing violently, but she was still smiling. Paul and I were in Michigan with his family. On Friday, we got the call from my mom that Nana had been admitted to the hospital. I don't recall if it had actually been late Thanksgiving night or early that morning. I was panicked. I wasn't ready to admit it to myself or to Paul, but deep down I new this was the beginning of the end and I was suddenly desperate to get to Greenville. We were on our way to a Detroit suburb to visit a friend, but Paul offered to leave then and there and drive all the way. After talking more with my parents, I decided I could probably wait to return home as planned later that evening and then drive down on Saturday. I made it to Greenville Thanksgiving weekend, 2008, to see Nana for the second-to-last time. I returned once more, two weeks later, to say goodbye. She passed away hours after I left to head home.
It is now Thanksgiving morning, 2011. I still miss my Nana every day, but I no longer feel sadness about this holiday. I am able to think back to all the happy years and memories and picture Nana as she was then - a big smile on her face, wearing an apron, and stirring up magic in the kitchen. I am a big believer in traditions, and so this year, I am making Nana's famous creamed corn. We are celebrating with Paul's parents, grandmother, and uncle this year. My mother-in-law and I are sharing the cooking duties and everyone will be coming to our home later this afternoon. I am looking forward to serving them Nana's creamed corn and when I do, I know that she will be looking down from heaven and smiling.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Part 6: Going Public
Soon after Bex's announcement, I had plans for a phone date with another friend, Lyn. Lyn had a daughter already, and had been hinting that she and her husband were thinking of trying for #2. All this to say, Lyn was not necessarily the first person to whom I was planning to disclose my sad little secret. Not that I was worried she would be rude or unkind about it. But it made sense that it would be hard for her to understand my situation, given that she'd already succeeded (rather easily, of course) in getting pregnant once before. Imagine my surprise then, when Lyn began telling me that she was having a hard time with Bex's news. It turned out, she was struggling with secondary infertility (a term I was not familiar with at that time but have since learned refers to women who experience difficulty conceiving following the birth of one or more biological children). Lyn and her husband had been trying for nearly a year at that point, and Bex's pregnancy hit her hard.
In a moment of solidarity, I blurted out that it had been over a year for us. Breaking my silence to Lyn was oddly liberating. It was not something I had planned, and yet I felt instant relief. Confiding in Lyn was absolutely the right thing for me to do in that moment. As much as I would never wish this pain on anyone, knowing that Lyn was going through something similar (albeit not exactly the same since she'd already had one baby) helped me feel a little less alone. If nothing else, she understood my lack of enthusiasm for Bex. Paul was supportive of my decision to talk to Lyn. Until that point, I don't think either of us realized just how much pressure we were putting ourselves under by keeping it a secret.
I wanted to tell my mom in person. She was coming to visit the end of May. That did not happen. The day after she arrived, Gibbs (our one year old silver lab puppy) got into a fight with the fence... and ripped a nine inch hole in his side down to his ribs. We spent the rest of her visit dealing with the aftermath of that trauma. In the midst of all that, I couldn't bring myself to discuss yet another painful topic. Soon after my mom's visit, I made the dreaded call to Kathy at my doctor's office (see next post for details). I originally thought I would wait until after we'd seen Kathy to call her, but with the appointment looming, I knew I needed to just get it over with.
I called Mom and immediately warned her at the start of the conversation that I would probably cry. And I did. I told her how long it had been. I told her about talking with Uncle K and accidentally telling Lyn while trying to cope with Bex's news. I told her I didn't know much yet, but I hoped, more than anything, to have some answers after the appointment with Kathy. I admitted the thing that scared me the most was the possibility that there might be no answers. I told her that I wanted her to know so she could be praying for our appointment. But I also told her that I didn't necessarily want to talk about it on a regular basis. I felt like I was obsessing over it enough internally and with Paul - I didn't want infertility to dominate yet another relationship in my life. It was really hard telling my mom, and it sucked that it had to be over the phone. But in the end, I was glad I went through with it.
The only other person I wanted to tell before the appointment was my best friend, B. Telling B was just as hard as telling my mom. I told her in the car as she was dropping me off at home after a riding lesson. And I cried again. And it sucked. Again. But I noticed that with each telling, the pressure began to lift ever so slightly. I had been suffocating under the weight of keeping it a secret and letting it go, just a bit, was like getting a fresh breath of air. It wasn't like I suddenly wanted to shout it from the rooftops or anything, but I definitely felt okay about the decision to go (semi) public.
In a moment of solidarity, I blurted out that it had been over a year for us. Breaking my silence to Lyn was oddly liberating. It was not something I had planned, and yet I felt instant relief. Confiding in Lyn was absolutely the right thing for me to do in that moment. As much as I would never wish this pain on anyone, knowing that Lyn was going through something similar (albeit not exactly the same since she'd already had one baby) helped me feel a little less alone. If nothing else, she understood my lack of enthusiasm for Bex. Paul was supportive of my decision to talk to Lyn. Until that point, I don't think either of us realized just how much pressure we were putting ourselves under by keeping it a secret.
I wanted to tell my mom in person. She was coming to visit the end of May. That did not happen. The day after she arrived, Gibbs (our one year old silver lab puppy) got into a fight with the fence... and ripped a nine inch hole in his side down to his ribs. We spent the rest of her visit dealing with the aftermath of that trauma. In the midst of all that, I couldn't bring myself to discuss yet another painful topic. Soon after my mom's visit, I made the dreaded call to Kathy at my doctor's office (see next post for details). I originally thought I would wait until after we'd seen Kathy to call her, but with the appointment looming, I knew I needed to just get it over with.
I called Mom and immediately warned her at the start of the conversation that I would probably cry. And I did. I told her how long it had been. I told her about talking with Uncle K and accidentally telling Lyn while trying to cope with Bex's news. I told her I didn't know much yet, but I hoped, more than anything, to have some answers after the appointment with Kathy. I admitted the thing that scared me the most was the possibility that there might be no answers. I told her that I wanted her to know so she could be praying for our appointment. But I also told her that I didn't necessarily want to talk about it on a regular basis. I felt like I was obsessing over it enough internally and with Paul - I didn't want infertility to dominate yet another relationship in my life. It was really hard telling my mom, and it sucked that it had to be over the phone. But in the end, I was glad I went through with it.
The only other person I wanted to tell before the appointment was my best friend, B. Telling B was just as hard as telling my mom. I told her in the car as she was dropping me off at home after a riding lesson. And I cried again. And it sucked. Again. But I noticed that with each telling, the pressure began to lift ever so slightly. I had been suffocating under the weight of keeping it a secret and letting it go, just a bit, was like getting a fresh breath of air. It wasn't like I suddenly wanted to shout it from the rooftops or anything, but I definitely felt okay about the decision to go (semi) public.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Part 5: Seriously?!?!??
I had known it would happen sooner or later, I just didn't know exactly when. But I knew that eventually, another of my friends would announce they were pregnant. I had friends who had already had babies, long before we ever started trying. That didn't bother me. Although, the knowledge that all of them had gotten pregnant easily (within the first couple of months), or even by mistake, was a little hard to swallow. I wasn't really sure how I would react when the next one came along. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately - since I like to be prepared) I did know that it would be difficult. Another of my friends (I will call her AJ) had been struggling with infertility issues for a while, a fact which she had first disclosed to me when we were co-hosting a baby shower for another of our friends.
AJ and her husband had been married the longest of that particular group of friends. Although they had never been in a hurry to start a family, most of us suspected it would be happening soon. They were both done with school and gainfully employed. They had recently moved to the suburbs and bought a house with a big yard and plenty of space for kids. AJ hosted my bridal shower in their new house, during which another friend (let's call her Lil) announced she was pregnant. Whether it was by design or mistake remains a debate amongst our group - Lil has never confirmed one way or another. Personally I suspect it was an oopsie but with Lil's reputation for being a super control freak, I think she couldn't admit that, even to herself, and so tried to pass it off as intentional. But regardless, it was clear that getting knocked up had not been a problem for her. When Lil announced she was pregnant, I happened to catch a look that passed between AJ and her husband. I didn't know, at that point, whether or not they were having problems or even if they were trying. But the look made me wonder...
Fast forward 6 months or so from my bridal shower and AJ and I were at a restaurant setting up for Lil's baby shower. AJ and I had co-planned it and were the first to arrive to put out the decorations and everything. She seemed a a bit down for some reason, quieter than usual. As we waited for the others to show up, I asked how she was doing and she kind of sighed and averted her gaze. She then proceeded to say that she was just having a hard time with the shower, given that she and her husband had been trying for over a year to have a baby and it clearly wasn't working. I had suspected as much, although I didn't know it had been that long. She went on to say she was scheduled to undergo surgery, a laparoscopy, in the near future to try to determine the cause of her infertility issues. I don't know what else, if anything, they had done up to that point. I didn't know enough about the process to even know which questions to ask. She explained just how difficult it was to hear about how Lil and our other friend (MG had a toddler-age daughter) had gotten pregnant so easily. MG had managed to do it the very first month they tried. As if that wasn't bad enough, here she was helping host Lil's baby shower.
Fast forward ahead another couple of years, and it is now April and I had decided to give the Mucinex a month off. The sun was shining, spring seemed to be (finally) just around the corner. Paul and I were headed south to join the rest of my family for my great-grandmother's 100th birthday celebration. In spite of the months of failed attempts, I was in pretty decent spirits. And then my cell phone rang. It was my friend from college (Bex). I actually felt my stomach drop as I answered the phone. I knew what she was calling to say. Bex always came to visit in December, and that past December she had mentioned that she and her husband were planning to start trying soon. She was calling to say she was pregnant. A miraculous thing happened as I answered that call - my signal started to fade in and out and as a result, the conversation had to be cut short. But it was long enough for me to get the gist of it all - she was pregnant after going off the pill and trying for one month. One month. First try and BAM! Bun was in the oven.
I bawled my eyes out the whole rest of the drive south. I was glad the signal had cut out on the phone - I was pretty sure I wouldn't have been able to handle a full half hour's worth of details on short notice like that. And the chopped-up dialogue had helped to hide the cracks in my voice as I struggled through the obligatory "Congratulations - I'm so excited for you!" I felt terrible that I wasn't 100% thrilled for Bex. If I had to be honest, I wasn't thrilled at all. I was hurt, and angry, and jealous, and sad. And on top of all that, I was frustrated with myself for feeling this way. On some level, I knew that Bex's situation had nothing to do with me. She didn't get pregnant to taunt me or to brag about it or to make me feel terrible. She didn't even know what we were going through since we still hadn't told anyone. But none of that made me feel any better as I curled myself into a ball in the passenger seat of our truck and sobbed my way through the miles. Seriously??!!?!? One month. She only had to try for ONE MONTH and she was allowed into the club. Whatever happened to the 6 month average? Where was the fairness in that?
Paul was at a loss for words. He held my hand and waited for the storm to pass. When the worst of it was over, I told him I had to do something. I needed to tell someone about our situation. Not a medical someone, but a friend or family member. It was starting to eat me up from the inside out - I was going crazy from the stress of holding it all in. There were days (usually whenever AF decided to make an appearance) when I wanted to stay in bed all day. And sometimes I did. In fact, I'd called in sick to work on at least 2 of those occasions, and not because of the cramps. I had called in because I simply could not face the thought of going in to work and going about my day as if nothing at all was amiss. I couldn't lie to everyone, so instead I lied (sort of) about being sick. I knew this wasn't healthy and that sooner or later I was going to have to come clean to someone. After Bex's phone call, I realized it needed to be sooner rather than later. She may have been the first but she would not be the last of my friends to get pregnant. It probably wouldn't get any easier for me to hear, in which case I would need someone to help cover for me if I wasn't exactly up to gushing over ultrasound pictures or planning a shower.
But how do you tell someone, even someone you are close to like your mother or best friend? How do you put into words the roller coaster of emotions you experience as you start to realize you are about to fail the simplest most natural test of being a human? How do you explain how it feels to have your whole world shaken to the core, how all of a sudden, the family that you have always hoped for and dreamed of (and assumed you would eventually have) is no longer a guarantee.
AJ and her husband had been married the longest of that particular group of friends. Although they had never been in a hurry to start a family, most of us suspected it would be happening soon. They were both done with school and gainfully employed. They had recently moved to the suburbs and bought a house with a big yard and plenty of space for kids. AJ hosted my bridal shower in their new house, during which another friend (let's call her Lil) announced she was pregnant. Whether it was by design or mistake remains a debate amongst our group - Lil has never confirmed one way or another. Personally I suspect it was an oopsie but with Lil's reputation for being a super control freak, I think she couldn't admit that, even to herself, and so tried to pass it off as intentional. But regardless, it was clear that getting knocked up had not been a problem for her. When Lil announced she was pregnant, I happened to catch a look that passed between AJ and her husband. I didn't know, at that point, whether or not they were having problems or even if they were trying. But the look made me wonder...
Fast forward 6 months or so from my bridal shower and AJ and I were at a restaurant setting up for Lil's baby shower. AJ and I had co-planned it and were the first to arrive to put out the decorations and everything. She seemed a a bit down for some reason, quieter than usual. As we waited for the others to show up, I asked how she was doing and she kind of sighed and averted her gaze. She then proceeded to say that she was just having a hard time with the shower, given that she and her husband had been trying for over a year to have a baby and it clearly wasn't working. I had suspected as much, although I didn't know it had been that long. She went on to say she was scheduled to undergo surgery, a laparoscopy, in the near future to try to determine the cause of her infertility issues. I don't know what else, if anything, they had done up to that point. I didn't know enough about the process to even know which questions to ask. She explained just how difficult it was to hear about how Lil and our other friend (MG had a toddler-age daughter) had gotten pregnant so easily. MG had managed to do it the very first month they tried. As if that wasn't bad enough, here she was helping host Lil's baby shower.
Fast forward ahead another couple of years, and it is now April and I had decided to give the Mucinex a month off. The sun was shining, spring seemed to be (finally) just around the corner. Paul and I were headed south to join the rest of my family for my great-grandmother's 100th birthday celebration. In spite of the months of failed attempts, I was in pretty decent spirits. And then my cell phone rang. It was my friend from college (Bex). I actually felt my stomach drop as I answered the phone. I knew what she was calling to say. Bex always came to visit in December, and that past December she had mentioned that she and her husband were planning to start trying soon. She was calling to say she was pregnant. A miraculous thing happened as I answered that call - my signal started to fade in and out and as a result, the conversation had to be cut short. But it was long enough for me to get the gist of it all - she was pregnant after going off the pill and trying for one month. One month. First try and BAM! Bun was in the oven.
I bawled my eyes out the whole rest of the drive south. I was glad the signal had cut out on the phone - I was pretty sure I wouldn't have been able to handle a full half hour's worth of details on short notice like that. And the chopped-up dialogue had helped to hide the cracks in my voice as I struggled through the obligatory "Congratulations - I'm so excited for you!" I felt terrible that I wasn't 100% thrilled for Bex. If I had to be honest, I wasn't thrilled at all. I was hurt, and angry, and jealous, and sad. And on top of all that, I was frustrated with myself for feeling this way. On some level, I knew that Bex's situation had nothing to do with me. She didn't get pregnant to taunt me or to brag about it or to make me feel terrible. She didn't even know what we were going through since we still hadn't told anyone. But none of that made me feel any better as I curled myself into a ball in the passenger seat of our truck and sobbed my way through the miles. Seriously??!!?!? One month. She only had to try for ONE MONTH and she was allowed into the club. Whatever happened to the 6 month average? Where was the fairness in that?
Paul was at a loss for words. He held my hand and waited for the storm to pass. When the worst of it was over, I told him I had to do something. I needed to tell someone about our situation. Not a medical someone, but a friend or family member. It was starting to eat me up from the inside out - I was going crazy from the stress of holding it all in. There were days (usually whenever AF decided to make an appearance) when I wanted to stay in bed all day. And sometimes I did. In fact, I'd called in sick to work on at least 2 of those occasions, and not because of the cramps. I had called in because I simply could not face the thought of going in to work and going about my day as if nothing at all was amiss. I couldn't lie to everyone, so instead I lied (sort of) about being sick. I knew this wasn't healthy and that sooner or later I was going to have to come clean to someone. After Bex's phone call, I realized it needed to be sooner rather than later. She may have been the first but she would not be the last of my friends to get pregnant. It probably wouldn't get any easier for me to hear, in which case I would need someone to help cover for me if I wasn't exactly up to gushing over ultrasound pictures or planning a shower.
But how do you tell someone, even someone you are close to like your mother or best friend? How do you put into words the roller coaster of emotions you experience as you start to realize you are about to fail the simplest most natural test of being a human? How do you explain how it feels to have your whole world shaken to the core, how all of a sudden, the family that you have always hoped for and dreamed of (and assumed you would eventually have) is no longer a guarantee.
Part 4: The Mucinex Diaries
So in honor of the new year, and having a fresh perspective on the whole getting pregnant thing (no need to panic yet, there was still time), I decided to look into the Mucinex theory. Uncle K had been right - it was hard to find any solid scientific evidence suggesting that there was any correlation between taking Mucinex and getting pregnant. And given that I work in the field of medical research, I am kind of a stickler about that kind of thing. But at the same time, the theory did make sense. The active ingredient in Mucinex is gauifenesin, an expectorant that helps to diminish congestion in the airways by liquifying mucus so that it can more easily be coughed up and cleared away. The theory is that if it works on mucus in the airways, it ought to also work on mucus elsewhere in the body, such as in the cervix.
Cervical mucus naturally changes consistency over the course of the menstrual cycle. This is the basis for the cervical mucus monitoring method of predicting ovulation. When ovulation will be occurring soon, cervical mucus thins and becomes more liquid-y so as to allow the sperm to maneuver through it more easily. During other phases of the cycle, the mucus is thicker and more sticky to help defend against infection. If you are using the mucus method to monitor for ovulation, you are supposed to observe your cervical mucus once a day through the end of your cycle and keeping a log of the changes in thickness, color, clarity, stretchy-ness, etc. This way you will be able to recognize your body's individual patterns and correctly identify when you are about to ovulate. In case you haven't figured it out by now, this requires you sticking a couple of your fingers inside your va-jay-jay every morning to "retrieve" some of this mucus for "observation." Truthfully, I have done/seen much worse in my lifetime. Nevertheless, the idea never really appealed to me.
But I digress. The point of the theory is that if you take Mucinex for a period of time prior to your anticipated date of ovulation you should be able to thin your cervical mucus enough to help aid the swimmers in their race. Although this seemed to make the most sense if you already knew your mucus was too thick, the general consensus was that it could benefit anyone trying to get pregnant by reducing one more barrier to the safe passage of sperm. I even read on a few sites where women being treated by reproductive endocrinologists (REs) with various forms of assisted reproductive techniques were also told to take Mucinex for the 5-7 days prior to ovulation. I figured that if the REs believed the theory enough to recommend it to their patients, it had to have some scrap of truth to it. Besides which, it seemed like a pretty tame drug to take with few, if any, side effects (aside from the desired ones, of course). So... I went out and stocked up on Mucinex.
Although there were varying suggestions of how and when to take it, most websites recommended following the directions on the box beginning about 5 days prior to ovulation and continuing for 24-48 hours after. I did my first round of Mucinex that January. Let's just say, it DEFINITELY made a difference. At least in terms of the state of my cervical mucus. It actually became so runny that I found myself running to the bathroom more than once to assess the cause of the leaky feeling. And not to get too graphic here, but even Paul noticed a difference. I was optimistic. Although I hadn't officially been diagnosed as having the wrong type of cervical mucus, I couldn't help but wonder if that had been the problem all along. I tried not to get too excited about the possibilities, but it was hard not to have hope. The Mucinex was definitely doing SOMETHING, so that had to be a good sign.
Sadly, January came and went and AF returned to harass me again. I felt my excitement droop just a bit, but was determined to stay positive. I took the Mucinex again in February and in March. Both times, AF returned right on schedule in spite of the continued impact the Mucinex was having on my mucus. By that point, the feelings of despair were beginning to creep in. I decided I would take a break from the Mucinex after that. Although I wasn't experiencing any major negative side effects, it was kind of a hassle to drink all the extra fluids you were supposed to drink when taking the drug. Which did result in a few more stops along my daily commute. In any case, I was beginning to be weary of the whole process and had started to wish it was June already so I could call Kathy and just get on with it. Although I had no idea what "it" could be, I was desperate to get some answers. I'm the kind of gal who likes to have all the information in front of me, regardless of whether it is good or bad.
Cervical mucus naturally changes consistency over the course of the menstrual cycle. This is the basis for the cervical mucus monitoring method of predicting ovulation. When ovulation will be occurring soon, cervical mucus thins and becomes more liquid-y so as to allow the sperm to maneuver through it more easily. During other phases of the cycle, the mucus is thicker and more sticky to help defend against infection. If you are using the mucus method to monitor for ovulation, you are supposed to observe your cervical mucus once a day through the end of your cycle and keeping a log of the changes in thickness, color, clarity, stretchy-ness, etc. This way you will be able to recognize your body's individual patterns and correctly identify when you are about to ovulate. In case you haven't figured it out by now, this requires you sticking a couple of your fingers inside your va-jay-jay every morning to "retrieve" some of this mucus for "observation." Truthfully, I have done/seen much worse in my lifetime. Nevertheless, the idea never really appealed to me.
But I digress. The point of the theory is that if you take Mucinex for a period of time prior to your anticipated date of ovulation you should be able to thin your cervical mucus enough to help aid the swimmers in their race. Although this seemed to make the most sense if you already knew your mucus was too thick, the general consensus was that it could benefit anyone trying to get pregnant by reducing one more barrier to the safe passage of sperm. I even read on a few sites where women being treated by reproductive endocrinologists (REs) with various forms of assisted reproductive techniques were also told to take Mucinex for the 5-7 days prior to ovulation. I figured that if the REs believed the theory enough to recommend it to their patients, it had to have some scrap of truth to it. Besides which, it seemed like a pretty tame drug to take with few, if any, side effects (aside from the desired ones, of course). So... I went out and stocked up on Mucinex.
Although there were varying suggestions of how and when to take it, most websites recommended following the directions on the box beginning about 5 days prior to ovulation and continuing for 24-48 hours after. I did my first round of Mucinex that January. Let's just say, it DEFINITELY made a difference. At least in terms of the state of my cervical mucus. It actually became so runny that I found myself running to the bathroom more than once to assess the cause of the leaky feeling. And not to get too graphic here, but even Paul noticed a difference. I was optimistic. Although I hadn't officially been diagnosed as having the wrong type of cervical mucus, I couldn't help but wonder if that had been the problem all along. I tried not to get too excited about the possibilities, but it was hard not to have hope. The Mucinex was definitely doing SOMETHING, so that had to be a good sign.
Sadly, January came and went and AF returned to harass me again. I felt my excitement droop just a bit, but was determined to stay positive. I took the Mucinex again in February and in March. Both times, AF returned right on schedule in spite of the continued impact the Mucinex was having on my mucus. By that point, the feelings of despair were beginning to creep in. I decided I would take a break from the Mucinex after that. Although I wasn't experiencing any major negative side effects, it was kind of a hassle to drink all the extra fluids you were supposed to drink when taking the drug. Which did result in a few more stops along my daily commute. In any case, I was beginning to be weary of the whole process and had started to wish it was June already so I could call Kathy and just get on with it. Although I had no idea what "it" could be, I was desperate to get some answers. I'm the kind of gal who likes to have all the information in front of me, regardless of whether it is good or bad.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Part 3: Should We Be Worried?
As the holidays approached, I felt myself becoming more and more concerned that something really WAS wrong. I was also struggling with starting to feel depressed about things. I had thought that by the time the holidays rolled around that year, I would be pregnant, probably even showing. At the very least I had fantasized about delivering the good news to our parents via one of those cutesy picture frames that says something like "Merry Christmas Grandma & Grandpa!" I had hoped to have an ultrasound picture to put in it. This was not to be the case.
My annual gyno exam has always been in December. I had my first one in December of my first year out of college after my health insurance from my first job kicked in and I had asked around to get recommendations. Since I was scheduled to return to see Kathy, I figured I would wait until then to ask her opinion about how things were going and see whether or not we needed to be concerned. My exam was uneventful, which I suppose was good. She then asked how things were going. [Let me pause again to gush about how much I love my NP, Kathy. She is just the best. I started seeing her after I'd been with the practice for about 3 years when my original doctor had left to move out of state. She remembers all kinds of details about me and my life and never seems to be in a hurry to finish my appointment.] Anyway, I admitted to her that I was worried. It had been 9 months since I had gone off the pill and we had been seriously trying for more than 6 months.
Kathy wasn't worried, however, and assured me I shouldn't be either. We talked about whether or not I was ovulating, and I told her that according to the kit, I was. She asked how often we were tango-ing and I described our ideal schedule as well as the difficulties with Paul's work schedule. Overall, she said that 6 months is only an average, which means that for some it takes a bit longer while others succeed right away. But in general, she said it was premature to worry and that we should keep at it for a while still. If I wasn't pregnant by the following June, I was to give her a call. I left feeling somewhat reassured. But somewhere, in the back of my mind, there was still a voice telling me something was wrong.
My uncle is a family practice physician who has delivered 100s if not 1000s of babies over the years. I actually got to observe and assist him during 2 different caesarean section births one summer during college while shadowing him in his practice. I had thought about contacting him before, but hadn't ever gotten around to doing it. The week between Christmas and New Year's, our families all got together to eat, sing, and be merry. I had had this thing on the back of my neck, just below my hairline, for a while. It felt like a small cyst or a really large zit that had gotten hard. It had been there for months but was starting to bug me when I brushed my hair or when my necklace rolled over it. I asked if my Uncle K could give it a look and when he did, he proclaimed it to be a blocked oil duct. He offered to take care of it and so we traipsed off to his clinic office, which was just around the corner from the house. I hadn't really planned to ask him about the fertility stuff right then. Uncle K would be the first person (aside from my doctor's office) that I told about our problems. We hadn't even told anyone we were trying to conceive. But the timing was perfect, we were alone and I had his full attention so, I decided to go for it.
I asked how long we should try to conceive before becoming concerned. He said a year, give or take. It wasn't that I hadn't believed Kathy, but it was reassuring to hear him give the same answer. He then asked what was going on and I said it had been over 6 months. He asked about whether or not I was ovulating and I said that I was, as near as I could tell. He then talked me through what would happen if we got to June and still no baby. He went over the different things that can go wrong and how they test for them. He said in vitro fertilization (IVF) is pretty much the worst case scenario and that really, there are a number of things (tests, drugs, procedures) that can be looked into before you have to cross that bridge. He encouraged me to try to "relax" as much as possible about it because stress, in and of itself, can inhibit all sorts of normal hormonal activities. Overall, my conversation with Uncle K helped me to feel even better about our situation. Everything was fine. And even if it wasn't, I knew what would come next. We had 6 more months to keep trying the old-fashioned way.
That night I admitted to Paul that I'd told Uncle K. He said he'd wondered if I would and he was fine with it. He agreed that it made sense to get his opinion on matters. I explained what Uncle K had gone over with me, and described one of the random suggestions he had mentioned that I hadn't heard of before. Apparently there is some thought that taking a decongestant, specifically one containing guaifenesin such as Mucinex, can help improve the consistency of cervical mucus to enable the passage of sperm to the fallopian tubes. Uncle K admitted he knew very little about it, and that to date no actual clinical research had been conducted to prospectively examine the concept. But he had said if I was interested I could probably google it and find out more details. Paul and I talked about and decided that I should look into it when we got home. It had to be worth a shot, right?
My annual gyno exam has always been in December. I had my first one in December of my first year out of college after my health insurance from my first job kicked in and I had asked around to get recommendations. Since I was scheduled to return to see Kathy, I figured I would wait until then to ask her opinion about how things were going and see whether or not we needed to be concerned. My exam was uneventful, which I suppose was good. She then asked how things were going. [Let me pause again to gush about how much I love my NP, Kathy. She is just the best. I started seeing her after I'd been with the practice for about 3 years when my original doctor had left to move out of state. She remembers all kinds of details about me and my life and never seems to be in a hurry to finish my appointment.] Anyway, I admitted to her that I was worried. It had been 9 months since I had gone off the pill and we had been seriously trying for more than 6 months.
Kathy wasn't worried, however, and assured me I shouldn't be either. We talked about whether or not I was ovulating, and I told her that according to the kit, I was. She asked how often we were tango-ing and I described our ideal schedule as well as the difficulties with Paul's work schedule. Overall, she said that 6 months is only an average, which means that for some it takes a bit longer while others succeed right away. But in general, she said it was premature to worry and that we should keep at it for a while still. If I wasn't pregnant by the following June, I was to give her a call. I left feeling somewhat reassured. But somewhere, in the back of my mind, there was still a voice telling me something was wrong.
My uncle is a family practice physician who has delivered 100s if not 1000s of babies over the years. I actually got to observe and assist him during 2 different caesarean section births one summer during college while shadowing him in his practice. I had thought about contacting him before, but hadn't ever gotten around to doing it. The week between Christmas and New Year's, our families all got together to eat, sing, and be merry. I had had this thing on the back of my neck, just below my hairline, for a while. It felt like a small cyst or a really large zit that had gotten hard. It had been there for months but was starting to bug me when I brushed my hair or when my necklace rolled over it. I asked if my Uncle K could give it a look and when he did, he proclaimed it to be a blocked oil duct. He offered to take care of it and so we traipsed off to his clinic office, which was just around the corner from the house. I hadn't really planned to ask him about the fertility stuff right then. Uncle K would be the first person (aside from my doctor's office) that I told about our problems. We hadn't even told anyone we were trying to conceive. But the timing was perfect, we were alone and I had his full attention so, I decided to go for it.
I asked how long we should try to conceive before becoming concerned. He said a year, give or take. It wasn't that I hadn't believed Kathy, but it was reassuring to hear him give the same answer. He then asked what was going on and I said it had been over 6 months. He asked about whether or not I was ovulating and I said that I was, as near as I could tell. He then talked me through what would happen if we got to June and still no baby. He went over the different things that can go wrong and how they test for them. He said in vitro fertilization (IVF) is pretty much the worst case scenario and that really, there are a number of things (tests, drugs, procedures) that can be looked into before you have to cross that bridge. He encouraged me to try to "relax" as much as possible about it because stress, in and of itself, can inhibit all sorts of normal hormonal activities. Overall, my conversation with Uncle K helped me to feel even better about our situation. Everything was fine. And even if it wasn't, I knew what would come next. We had 6 more months to keep trying the old-fashioned way.
That night I admitted to Paul that I'd told Uncle K. He said he'd wondered if I would and he was fine with it. He agreed that it made sense to get his opinion on matters. I explained what Uncle K had gone over with me, and described one of the random suggestions he had mentioned that I hadn't heard of before. Apparently there is some thought that taking a decongestant, specifically one containing guaifenesin such as Mucinex, can help improve the consistency of cervical mucus to enable the passage of sperm to the fallopian tubes. Uncle K admitted he knew very little about it, and that to date no actual clinical research had been conducted to prospectively examine the concept. But he had said if I was interested I could probably google it and find out more details. Paul and I talked about and decided that I should look into it when we got home. It had to be worth a shot, right?
Part 2: Doing the Baby Tango
Having decided that we were going to officially start trying, I read up some more on basal body temperature tracking methods and tricks. I knew to take it before getting out of bed, but I didn't realize how important it was to do so at the same time every day and preferably without even standing up. Determined to get it right this time, I set a daily reminder on my cell phone for 5:30 a.m. I also read up on the recommended frequency for, ahem, doing the baby tango. Although there were mixed reports, it seemed that the general consensus was to do it as much as possible during the 24-48 hours around when I expected to be ovulating. I also learned that the spike in temperature is indicative, not predictive, of ovulation. In other words, we shouldn't wait to see the spike before doing the tango.
At this point in our journey, the tango was still fun. Sure, there were days we were supposed to do it more than others. But in general, it didn't feel regimented and I daresay we were almost giddy about it still. Ignorance is bliss, yes? The first month passed by and AF returned to visit. I was bummed, but not alarmed. I had heard it can take a while for your body to reset, so I just assumed that was what mine was still doing. The second month came and went and... nothing. Well, except for AF of course. I wasn't surprised however, because Paul's schedule had been horrible, timing-wise, that month. He is usually on 24 (hours) and then off for 48. But for whatever reason, that month he had been doing more like 48 on and only 24 off. I was pretty sure we'd missed the window during one of those 48-hour shifts. No big deal.
The third month was May, and incidentally, the month in which we all celebrate motherhood. I don't know if it was because of that or because I was certain we'd managed to time the tango right, but for some reason I had a feeling it had worked. I actually went out and bought pregnancy tests. I had one left over from while I was still on the pill and had a couple of "scares", but I figured I ought to stock up just in case. I don't remember now what was happening that Memorial Day weekend, but I was definitely going to be attending some event where there was a good chance I would be offered a drink. In light of that, I decided to pee on a stick beforehand. It was about 3 days before when I would otherwise expect to get my period, and the instructions said the test was valid for up to T minus 5 days pre-AF.
[Let me pause here for a minute to discuss the logistics of peeing on a stick. The instructions said I should start peeing, put the tip of the stick in the urine stream, and continue peeing for another 20 seconds. Do you have any idea how hard that is? Have you ever tried to control your pee rate so as to stretch it out for a set length of time? The only time I ever pee for 20+ seconds is around 10:00 a.m. when my morning coffee has finally filtered down to my bladder. However, the instructions also said that I should test with my first urine of the day after having neither peed nor taken in any additional fluids for at least 4 hours (i.e. while sleeping overnight). So since my coffee-induced pee was out of the running, I opted for the only feasible alternative: pee in a clean cup and dip the stick in that. Much easier, aside from the tricky moment when you have to maneuver the (mostly full) cup of pee up between your legs and out of the toilet without spilling and/or dipping it into the toilet bowl water.]
So I took the test... I had splurged and gotten the fancy digital kind that gives you a readout on a little screen: PREGNANT or NOT PREGNANT. No fuzzy lines or symbols or holding soggy strips of paper up to the light to interpret. I like things simple and clear. I waited the 3 minutes after, which felt like an eternity, especially with Paul lurking outside the door. I was nervous, and kind of excited. Paul was excited too. Surely this was it! Except it wasn't. :( The screen flashed "NOT PREGNANT" repeatedly. As if I didn't get the message. That was the first month that I cried. Not because I thought it was proof of my infertility but because I had gotten my hopes way up for some reason. I also learned a hard lesson (albeit one that I would have to learn a few more times for it to stick): testing early is a both blessing and a curse. It is a blessing, I suppose, if you aren't trying to conceive and/or don't want to be pregnant. But for me, it was a curse. I knew what was coming (AF) but because I tested early I had to sit around and wait for her to show up. It was a sucky 3 more days.
The months continued to creep by. I read up some more on ovulation prediction methods and decided to ditch the basal body temperature stuff. I could never tell if there was much of a spike anyway, and I was kind of a slacker about waking up to do it on weekends. I read about the cervical mucus method, but wasn't too keen on sticking my fingers up there. Then I remembered one of my friends (who has a daughter) had used digital ovulation kits, so I schlepped off to Walmart and, after a little searching, found some made by the same brand as the pregnancy tests. Holy expensive stuff, Batman! But I reasoned that the sooner I used them and got pregnant, the sooner I would be able to stop using them.
The kit proved to be fairly simple. Starting around day 10, you were supposed to test once a day, preferably with your first urine of the day (similar to the pregnancy tests). With the kit, you got a smiley face that indicated a surge in luteinizing hormone (LH) which indicates that you will ovulate in the next 24-36 hours. Tango time. I was reassured to learn that I was ovulating on a pretty regular basis - always around day 14-15. Before I had gone on the pill back in my teens, I had always had VERY regular periods. So regular, in fact, that I knew to take ibuprofen just before 1st hour in high school so that it would kick in just in time to head off the onset of killer cramps at the start of my period during 3rd hour. I kid you not. I cycled every 28 days exactly. It appeared that this was still true. I thought this was a good sign. If nothing else, it came in handy when planning ahead for Paul's schedule. In addition to being on shift every 3 days, he also works a few shifts a month at the department in our town. Since I could predict exactly when (assuming I wasn't pregnant) AF would arrive each month, we were able to count out days ahead of time and approximate when I would next be ovulating. Based on that, we could work his schedule around tango time whenever possible.
Sometime during the fall months, I was counting the days of my cycle and realized I was on Day 28. No AF. I felt a flicker of excitement. But I decided not to test. After all, I wasn't really late. Yet. Day 29 - still no sign of AF. I finally said something to Paul and he wanted me to test. I was hesitant. The memory of that first negative test was still painfully fresh. At least if I didn't know, then there was still hope. I decided to wait a bit longer. Day 30 arrived and I was jittery with nerves. I didn't FEEL pregnant, but then again, what did I know about what it felt like? Weren't there always those stories about women who never knew they were pregnant until suddenly there was a baby coming out? I couldn't wait any longer, so I tested. Paul was on shift that day. I left the bathroom while the test was processing and paced vigorously for the 3 minutes. I had to really psych myself out to go back in and look.
NOT PREGNANT. But I was on Day 30. And still no AF. I immediately scoured the instructions in the box to determine the rate of false negative. It was small, but there was still a chance. All hope was not lost. Yet. I went about my day, obsessing about every little thing. Was that a twinge I felt? Could that be a sign? Was that leaky feeling the arrival of AF? Were my boobs more sore than usual? Less sore? Needless to say, I didn't get much else done that day. Sometime around 6:00 that evening, AF arrived. That b*tch (pardon my French). I was angry that my cycle had lasted 30 days instead of the usual 28. I was angry that I had been tricked. I was angry that I had caved into testing instead of waiting it out. But mostly, I was angry that I'd gotten my hopes up again.
At this point in our journey, the tango was still fun. Sure, there were days we were supposed to do it more than others. But in general, it didn't feel regimented and I daresay we were almost giddy about it still. Ignorance is bliss, yes? The first month passed by and AF returned to visit. I was bummed, but not alarmed. I had heard it can take a while for your body to reset, so I just assumed that was what mine was still doing. The second month came and went and... nothing. Well, except for AF of course. I wasn't surprised however, because Paul's schedule had been horrible, timing-wise, that month. He is usually on 24 (hours) and then off for 48. But for whatever reason, that month he had been doing more like 48 on and only 24 off. I was pretty sure we'd missed the window during one of those 48-hour shifts. No big deal.
The third month was May, and incidentally, the month in which we all celebrate motherhood. I don't know if it was because of that or because I was certain we'd managed to time the tango right, but for some reason I had a feeling it had worked. I actually went out and bought pregnancy tests. I had one left over from while I was still on the pill and had a couple of "scares", but I figured I ought to stock up just in case. I don't remember now what was happening that Memorial Day weekend, but I was definitely going to be attending some event where there was a good chance I would be offered a drink. In light of that, I decided to pee on a stick beforehand. It was about 3 days before when I would otherwise expect to get my period, and the instructions said the test was valid for up to T minus 5 days pre-AF.
[Let me pause here for a minute to discuss the logistics of peeing on a stick. The instructions said I should start peeing, put the tip of the stick in the urine stream, and continue peeing for another 20 seconds. Do you have any idea how hard that is? Have you ever tried to control your pee rate so as to stretch it out for a set length of time? The only time I ever pee for 20+ seconds is around 10:00 a.m. when my morning coffee has finally filtered down to my bladder. However, the instructions also said that I should test with my first urine of the day after having neither peed nor taken in any additional fluids for at least 4 hours (i.e. while sleeping overnight). So since my coffee-induced pee was out of the running, I opted for the only feasible alternative: pee in a clean cup and dip the stick in that. Much easier, aside from the tricky moment when you have to maneuver the (mostly full) cup of pee up between your legs and out of the toilet without spilling and/or dipping it into the toilet bowl water.]
So I took the test... I had splurged and gotten the fancy digital kind that gives you a readout on a little screen: PREGNANT or NOT PREGNANT. No fuzzy lines or symbols or holding soggy strips of paper up to the light to interpret. I like things simple and clear. I waited the 3 minutes after, which felt like an eternity, especially with Paul lurking outside the door. I was nervous, and kind of excited. Paul was excited too. Surely this was it! Except it wasn't. :( The screen flashed "NOT PREGNANT" repeatedly. As if I didn't get the message. That was the first month that I cried. Not because I thought it was proof of my infertility but because I had gotten my hopes way up for some reason. I also learned a hard lesson (albeit one that I would have to learn a few more times for it to stick): testing early is a both blessing and a curse. It is a blessing, I suppose, if you aren't trying to conceive and/or don't want to be pregnant. But for me, it was a curse. I knew what was coming (AF) but because I tested early I had to sit around and wait for her to show up. It was a sucky 3 more days.
The months continued to creep by. I read up some more on ovulation prediction methods and decided to ditch the basal body temperature stuff. I could never tell if there was much of a spike anyway, and I was kind of a slacker about waking up to do it on weekends. I read about the cervical mucus method, but wasn't too keen on sticking my fingers up there. Then I remembered one of my friends (who has a daughter) had used digital ovulation kits, so I schlepped off to Walmart and, after a little searching, found some made by the same brand as the pregnancy tests. Holy expensive stuff, Batman! But I reasoned that the sooner I used them and got pregnant, the sooner I would be able to stop using them.
The kit proved to be fairly simple. Starting around day 10, you were supposed to test once a day, preferably with your first urine of the day (similar to the pregnancy tests). With the kit, you got a smiley face that indicated a surge in luteinizing hormone (LH) which indicates that you will ovulate in the next 24-36 hours. Tango time. I was reassured to learn that I was ovulating on a pretty regular basis - always around day 14-15. Before I had gone on the pill back in my teens, I had always had VERY regular periods. So regular, in fact, that I knew to take ibuprofen just before 1st hour in high school so that it would kick in just in time to head off the onset of killer cramps at the start of my period during 3rd hour. I kid you not. I cycled every 28 days exactly. It appeared that this was still true. I thought this was a good sign. If nothing else, it came in handy when planning ahead for Paul's schedule. In addition to being on shift every 3 days, he also works a few shifts a month at the department in our town. Since I could predict exactly when (assuming I wasn't pregnant) AF would arrive each month, we were able to count out days ahead of time and approximate when I would next be ovulating. Based on that, we could work his schedule around tango time whenever possible.
Sometime during the fall months, I was counting the days of my cycle and realized I was on Day 28. No AF. I felt a flicker of excitement. But I decided not to test. After all, I wasn't really late. Yet. Day 29 - still no sign of AF. I finally said something to Paul and he wanted me to test. I was hesitant. The memory of that first negative test was still painfully fresh. At least if I didn't know, then there was still hope. I decided to wait a bit longer. Day 30 arrived and I was jittery with nerves. I didn't FEEL pregnant, but then again, what did I know about what it felt like? Weren't there always those stories about women who never knew they were pregnant until suddenly there was a baby coming out? I couldn't wait any longer, so I tested. Paul was on shift that day. I left the bathroom while the test was processing and paced vigorously for the 3 minutes. I had to really psych myself out to go back in and look.
NOT PREGNANT. But I was on Day 30. And still no AF. I immediately scoured the instructions in the box to determine the rate of false negative. It was small, but there was still a chance. All hope was not lost. Yet. I went about my day, obsessing about every little thing. Was that a twinge I felt? Could that be a sign? Was that leaky feeling the arrival of AF? Were my boobs more sore than usual? Less sore? Needless to say, I didn't get much else done that day. Sometime around 6:00 that evening, AF arrived. That b*tch (pardon my French). I was angry that my cycle had lasted 30 days instead of the usual 28. I was angry that I had been tricked. I was angry that I had caved into testing instead of waiting it out. But mostly, I was angry that I'd gotten my hopes up again.
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