Monday, June 30, 2008


I came home from work last Thursday, and Babe said to me, "I read your blog today."

(Gasp!) What did you think? (He hasn't read it since my first post)

"I think you sound like you are doing fine on paper."

So you don't think I'm doing well in real life?

"It just sounds like on paper you can sort out what is realistic and logical and what isn't, but in real life, you're having a hard time with that. I'm also surprised you didn't bash me on your blog since you always seem to be so angry. It seems I can't say or do anything right. I don't know how to fix this."

I love you, Babe. I know I'm having a really hard time with this. I'm sorry. I don't know how to compartmentalize all these irrational and negative feelings that I have.

"You know I love you, right?"


"You know I'll love you whether we have a baby or not, right?"

I hope so.

"I do love you. This infertility does not define you. I love you. Why can't you understand that?"

(through massive tears) I'm not me. I don't love myself right now.

"But there is suffering in life, and there are defeats. No one can avoid them. But it's better to lose some of the battles in the struggles for your dreams than to be defeated without ever knowing what you're fighting for." (Paulo Coelho)

Wednesday, June 25, 2008


I returned from my Vegas vacation Saturday evening after a very, very long drive and was exhausted. I felt grumpy, agitated, irritated, and questioning why I went because I felt completely drained.

I assumed it was my exhaustion.

Sunday morning and afternoon I spent most of the day catching up on work email since I knew this week was going to be long, and I had been vacationing the previous week. Sunday evening I went to a co-worker's house for dinner with several other colleagues that were in town from out of state. I felt grumpy, agitated, irritated, questioning why I went (I had to go), and needing some time alone.

I assumed it was my exhaustion.

Monday I started my day at 4:30 AM and didn't finish work obligations until 11:30 PM when I dropped my boss off at her hotel. I got into an argument with Babe once I returned home and had nightmares: I was shot in a drive-by with a gun aimed directly at me, my doctor told me I was never going to get pregnant, my unwed best friend told me she is pregnant, and I locked myself in my bedroom for days (even though I was already dead) and was content with not talking to anyone. Thank goodness (I guess) this was all a dream. I felt grumpy, agitated, irritated, questioning why I went (I had to go), needing some time alone, and sad because I had a bad feeling about this cycle.

I assumed it was my exhaustion.

Tuesday I started my day at 5:30 AM. I went to my doctor at 7:30 AM, only to discover that the ultrasound didn't look so great, he was worried I had already ovulated, and this cycle was going to be cancelled. Received a call at 12:30 PM from the doctor saying I had ovulated, my progesterone was high (because I ovulated), this cycle had to be cancelled (no frozen transfer), and I couldn't try again with another cycle until September (3 days before my thirtieth birthday) because of the clinic's frozen transfer schedule. I spent my afternoon trying to hold back tears, had to go to dinner with out-of-state co-workers, and didn't get home until 7:30 PM. I felt grumpy, agitated, irritated, questioning why I went (I had to go), needing some time alone, sad because I had a bad feeling about this cycle and knew I never should have hoped in the first place, and questioning My God and why He would allow me to be so miserable if He really loved me.

I know it is me and not my exhaustion.

So here I sit this Wednesday evening ...
  • Where do I go from here? Who the hell knows?
  • Why do I ever have hope that things are going to eventually work out? I don't.
  • Why have I lost my faith in God- that He will answer my dreams of becoming a mother? Surely my gracious and loving God would not make me suffer this much if He truly existed.
  • Why have I stopped praying? Because I no longer hope? Yep, probably so. Hope is dead.
  • Who am I and who have I become? Definitely not someone I am proud of right now. I'm not sure who I am, but I know I don't like "her."
  • How do I get the "old me" back? She's dead. She won't ever be back, even if I do become a mother?
  • Why can't my husband understand how I feel and at least try to empathize? I guess he's too busy trying to avoid me because I'm cranky and cry or get irritated easily.
  • Why can't I love myself? I'm no longer worthy of love.
  • Why can't I get enough energy up to be happy for others when they get a positive pregnancy test? I'm too sad for myself.
  • Why should my marriage suffer because I want a child? It shouldn't, but it does. I haven't learned to get past my own disappointment and my husband is fearful of how long this journey could continue.
  • When is enough enough? In my eyes, not until I have a baby in my arms.
  • Why can't I just let it all go? I can't. I just can't.
  • Why am I in so much emotional, physical, spiritual, and mental anguish? Because I deserve it.
  • Is it the end of the world? Nope, but I have to keep on going. Every day. Smile on my face. It's not the end of the world, but I want to be swallowed by it.

I know it is me and not my exhaustion.

"A man can be destroyed but not defeated." (Ernest Hemingway)

Saturday, June 14, 2008


I'm sorry it has been a while since I posted, and I appreciate some of you checking in on me. I actually went to the beach with some college friends and assumed I would be able to post, but I didn't have Internet access. I missed blogging and realized what an outlet it has become to post as well as read about others' adventures. I am leaving town again tomorrow for a week so I wanted to post an update before I left. . .

Before my trip to the beach, I realized I had not had a period in about forty-five days. I had taken a pregnancy test (negative results) because I was undergoing some x-rays. I called my doctor, and he assumed I hadn't ovulated but asked me to come in for a mucus test (doesn't that just sound disgusting?) and ultrasound. The results showed us that I had not ovulated; he put me on Provera for seven days to start my period.

While on my fabulous beach trip, I spent time with three friends, two of which have children. As much as it killed me to hear stories about their children's adventures, I also know this is their reality. They spend most days home with their young ones and had great stories to tell. Often when they spoke of their kids, I could feel myself withdrawing and being quiet. What was I supposed to say? They have every right to talk about their children.

I broke down once at dinner and was mortified. I don't want attention. I don't want people feeling sorry for me. I don't want anyone to pity me. But at the same time, I want people to think before they speak.

One day as we took a beach stroll, I ventured to my quiet place as they spoke of their kids again, and I began noticing the beautiful shells on the beach. For some reason, I was drawn to the sand dollars. There were sand dollars of all shapes and sizes- some big, some small, some perfect and whole, and others broken and cracked. These sand dollars were like my friends and me: The perfect and whole and complete ones represented my friends with children. The cracked and broken ones represented me, the infertile one. But there was even more to this comparison than not having children. The sand dollars that were broken or cracked had character, they lacked something, and they were incomplete. I so desired for them to be complete every time I picked one up on the beach. I felt they deserved to be whole. I felt they had been through tough times. I felt they were just like my life without children: broken.

Upon returning home, I started my period and headed back to the doctor for my baseline ultrasound since I'll be undergoing a frozen transfer cycle in July. My doctor saw me on cycle day 1 because I was going to be out of town when he wanted to see me. As he viewed the ultrasound, he told me he wanted my follicles to all be less than ten. He began rattling off numbers to the nurse- the thickness of my lining, the size of my ovaries, the size of my follicles, etc. Two follicles were slightly larger than ten. He explained that I had the possibility of this cycle being cancelled- something to do with too much progesterone and possibly needing Lupron to shut my body down next time if this doesn't end up working out in July. He also mentioned that it was early in my cycle and things could change, which is why he doesn't like to see patients on cycle day 1. I begin my estradiol injections when my period is nearly finished, call him, and then will return for another ultrasound and blood work when I get back in town that will give us more information on whether we will proceed with the next cycle or not.

My doctor's comments flew above my head and his words swirled around me. My brain could only visualize those sand dollars, that walk on the beach, and my reality of broken.

"I guess when your heart gets broken you sort of start to see cracks in everything. I'm convinced that tragedy wants to harden us and our mission is never to let it." (Anonymous)