Yes, this is sappy.. so if you're not up for that, just stop reading now ;) I don't tend to post uber-mushy stuff to my husband on here. (I actually tried to post it on Facebook, but FB was having all kinds of issues.) But every once in awhile, it feels right to give him a public 'thumbs up.' So, here goes.
Dearest Bradley,
There are times in my day, when I just stop and think, "I am SO lucky." Not just lucky to be married to you, but lucky to have you as a friend, a support system, and my comic relief.
You have amazed me in your ability to adapt. To grow with me, instead of separate from me. Always supportive of my dreams, my whims, and my sometimes drastic changes.
You've managed to not skip a step as I went vegetarian, quit a job without a backup plan, shaved my head, started a business, jumped out of a plane, went vegan, gone through the ups and downs of fertility meds, financial hardships, and even tossing around the idea of moving several states away (if not Canada).
I can't say you never questioned me, but you've mastered the ability to question me, without doubting me or pushing against me.
I'm not sure there's another man out there that would have gotten through all that, let alone while remaining completely supportive and on-board for all of it.. and you somehow managed to be closer to me at the end of it, than when we started.
We just keep getting better. And I love the fact that our story, though now several years in, is still just getting started. But even if the worst should happen, I know today.. that I have been completely loved. Inside and out. Good and bad. You have made me feel loved. Perfectly and totally loved. For that, I thank you, more than you'll ever truly know. And I can only hope that I've made you feel the same.
So, to the man who will drive all over town to find my chai tea, will go to every appointment with me so I don't have to feel alone, and accepts that 'tickle wars' are only one way battles; and that tickling me back is off limits.. Thank you.
Thank you for all those things. And for all the challenges that we've yet to face, because I know you'll still be there, unwaivering. Thank you for always being in my corner.
I still choose you. <3
Monday, August 27, 2012
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Meant To Be?
So, this is sort of a follow-up post to yesterday.
As is usually the case, whenever I post about bad news.. or 'unsuccessful' news, people are pretty supportive and encouraging.
But, I had a lot on my mind as I was posting yesterday's blog.. and even moreso, after reading the responses on my Facebook page. So, this may all seem a bit jumbled, but I'll do my best :)
First, I know anyone that has been down this road can relate to the sheer annoyance when someone tells you to, "Just relax, and it'll happen." or "I bet if you stopped trying, you'd get pregnant."
Usually, you smile and nod.. because debating the true logistics of things, just isn't worth it. Still, it's annoying, at the very least.. when someone speaks about perhaps the most trying thing in your life, as if you just told them that the grocery store was out of bread.
"Just be patient. It'll happen."
What these well-intentioned people don't realize, is that you already had a couple years of 'not trying' or 'not stressing.' Guess what? It didn't happen. Or that your body literally won't ovulate without medical intervention. So, 'waiting it out' will do nothing.. but waste time.
Then, of course, there's this assumption that you're not getting pregnant, because you're stressing about it. Alas, I'm really not. I'm pretty calm about the whole thing. I have bad days.. but that's it. Just a day or two, and I move on. In fact, it's sometimes so far in the back of my mind, I nearly forget to take the medicines. Clearly, a far cry from 'over-whelming' my daily life.
Which leads me to another set of comments that also gets thrown around a lot. "If it's meant to be, it'll be." or "It'll happen when it's supposed to happen." or "Things always find a way to work out."
These are perhaps the statements that get under my skin the most.
First, I don't believe in destiny or a divine plan. I think life happens, and it's up to us how we respond to it. We create the perspective; or the framework.. if you will. It's not that things 'always work out for the better.' It's that we choose not to dwell on the negative, and instead, focus on the positives. Why? Cause it makes life bearable.
Things just don't always "work out." As much as we like to tell ourselves that.. to make us feel all warm and cozy. It's simply not true.
It's called life.
Those of us lucky enough to not currently be starving, or watching our loved ones die in bloody conflicts or terrorist bombings on a daily basis, get to wax philosophical about how if you wait long enough, everything gets better. But the reality is, it doesn't.
The truth is, for us, if something doesn't work out, we have the luxury of moving on, trying something else, and forgetting about the failure. In other words, things don't get just 'get better.' Our reflection on them gets better. Our perspective improves. Our coping mechanisms adapt.
Also, these "meant to be" statements, backhandedly are saying.. "If you don't have a kid, it's because it's not meant to be." That's a real nice and uplifting sentiment, right? I suppose the drug addicts that I see on a regular basis, are "meant to" have a dozen kids.. because they do.
Again, I know these remarks are meant to be inspiring. But honestly, they're belittling.
Because the bitter truth is that it's a very real possibility that we won't have children. We may not be able to afford the treatments. My body may never respond like it needs to. If I get pregnant, I may have a miscarriage. And so on, and so on.
But IF we DO have a child, it's not cause it's meant to be. It's because science worked. The medicine made my hormones rise and fall at exactly the right time. My husband's genes mixed with my genes.. without critical flaw. Cells multiplied. And there it was.
Not a miracle. Not a divine right, or gift from above. Just... science playing the odds.
So, I'll say it again and again. Call me a pessimist (I prefer realist). I was never "meant to be" a mother.. any more than I was "meant to be" a singer or a coal-miner. The difference is, I think I'd be a good mother.. and I'd like to see if I'm right.
As is usually the case, whenever I post about bad news.. or 'unsuccessful' news, people are pretty supportive and encouraging.
But, I had a lot on my mind as I was posting yesterday's blog.. and even moreso, after reading the responses on my Facebook page. So, this may all seem a bit jumbled, but I'll do my best :)
First, I know anyone that has been down this road can relate to the sheer annoyance when someone tells you to, "Just relax, and it'll happen." or "I bet if you stopped trying, you'd get pregnant."
Usually, you smile and nod.. because debating the true logistics of things, just isn't worth it. Still, it's annoying, at the very least.. when someone speaks about perhaps the most trying thing in your life, as if you just told them that the grocery store was out of bread.
"Just be patient. It'll happen."
What these well-intentioned people don't realize, is that you already had a couple years of 'not trying' or 'not stressing.' Guess what? It didn't happen. Or that your body literally won't ovulate without medical intervention. So, 'waiting it out' will do nothing.. but waste time.
Then, of course, there's this assumption that you're not getting pregnant, because you're stressing about it. Alas, I'm really not. I'm pretty calm about the whole thing. I have bad days.. but that's it. Just a day or two, and I move on. In fact, it's sometimes so far in the back of my mind, I nearly forget to take the medicines. Clearly, a far cry from 'over-whelming' my daily life.
Which leads me to another set of comments that also gets thrown around a lot. "If it's meant to be, it'll be." or "It'll happen when it's supposed to happen." or "Things always find a way to work out."
These are perhaps the statements that get under my skin the most.
First, I don't believe in destiny or a divine plan. I think life happens, and it's up to us how we respond to it. We create the perspective; or the framework.. if you will. It's not that things 'always work out for the better.' It's that we choose not to dwell on the negative, and instead, focus on the positives. Why? Cause it makes life bearable.
Things just don't always "work out." As much as we like to tell ourselves that.. to make us feel all warm and cozy. It's simply not true.
It's called life.
Those of us lucky enough to not currently be starving, or watching our loved ones die in bloody conflicts or terrorist bombings on a daily basis, get to wax philosophical about how if you wait long enough, everything gets better. But the reality is, it doesn't.
The truth is, for us, if something doesn't work out, we have the luxury of moving on, trying something else, and forgetting about the failure. In other words, things don't get just 'get better.' Our reflection on them gets better. Our perspective improves. Our coping mechanisms adapt.
Also, these "meant to be" statements, backhandedly are saying.. "If you don't have a kid, it's because it's not meant to be." That's a real nice and uplifting sentiment, right? I suppose the drug addicts that I see on a regular basis, are "meant to" have a dozen kids.. because they do.
Again, I know these remarks are meant to be inspiring. But honestly, they're belittling.
Because the bitter truth is that it's a very real possibility that we won't have children. We may not be able to afford the treatments. My body may never respond like it needs to. If I get pregnant, I may have a miscarriage. And so on, and so on.
But IF we DO have a child, it's not cause it's meant to be. It's because science worked. The medicine made my hormones rise and fall at exactly the right time. My husband's genes mixed with my genes.. without critical flaw. Cells multiplied. And there it was.
Not a miracle. Not a divine right, or gift from above. Just... science playing the odds.
So, I'll say it again and again. Call me a pessimist (I prefer realist). I was never "meant to be" a mother.. any more than I was "meant to be" a singer or a coal-miner. The difference is, I think I'd be a good mother.. and I'd like to see if I'm right.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Third Time's A..
So, I just got home from my ovarian ultrasound.. This was my third round on Femara/Letrozole. As you might recall, it worked the first cycle (I got a mature follicle), but didn't work the second time.
Given the 50/50 outcome, I wasn't sure what to expect on the third try.
So I took my meds, did my yoga.. everything the same as both times before.
On Tuesday afternoon, I got a call from the doc's office, saying that no ultrasound tech was going to be in Lafayette on Friday, so I'd have to come to Indianapolis at 8am to get it done.
Freaking fantastic.
I was immediately annoyed. Now I had to drive an hour out of my way, in rush hour traffic, to probably get news of absolutely nothing.
Luckily, my wonderful husband decided he'd go into work late, so that he could drive me.
So we got up at the crack of dawn to head towards Indy.. to an office in which I'd never been.
Upon our arrival, we made our way to the second floor of the medical building. Looking for the correct suite number.
Found it.
Paused.
This was a tiiiiiiiiny waiting room, filled with anxious women.
Literally, there were only 6 chairs, and the room was half the size of our bedroom. I immediately chuckled to myself as I thought, "This is going to be fun to write about later."
I walked into this tiny space, lit only by two very dim table lamps. There was a clipboard sitting next to a clock... just outside the receptionist's window. Nobody said hello. In fact, nobody said one word the entire time I was in there.
So, I signed in on the clipboard. Moments later, a mysterious hand reaches out from behind the sliding plastic window, pulls my name from the top, sets the clipboard back down.. then slides the window shut again.
No hello. No smile. The receptionist literally made no eye contact with anyone in that room.
This was the most bizarre waiting room I'd ever been in.
All the women huddled in the darkness, away from the silent/avoiding receptionist. The awkwardness was palpable.
No radio. No television.
Each woman pretending not to know why everyone else was there. Some nervously typing, with an annoying clicking, on their blackberry phones. Others, browsing Us Weekly. None of us making any eye contact with each other.
I sat there, wondering what phase these women were in. Which medications? How much had they spent?
And do I want to keep doing this?
This life of waiting rooms, debt, tension, sadness.. It never looked appealing. But this made it look dreadful.
I know some women will literally do "whatever it takes." I don't think I'm one of those women. I've never felt like I "needed" to be a mother. I just felt like I'd be a good one.
Just not sure how much I'm willing to spend.. in physical, emotional, and financial costs.. in order to prove myself right.
Finally, they called my name from behind the door. That's right, they didn't even walk out into the waiting room to greet you.
Two seconds later, I'm in an even smaller room, with the all-familiar stirrups. And the room was almost completely pitch black. Just the glow of one dim lamp reflecting off the assortment of medical instruments.
"Just get undressed from the waist down, and I'll be right back." said the big black woman who walked me here. Apparently, she was the ultrasound tech.
This routine, I knew well. Let the scanning begin!
Left ovary. Lots of follicles.. none large enough.
Right ovary. Lots of follicles.. none large enough.
Well, that was a waste of a trip.. and $200.
So, she instructs me to return to the waiting room, because I'll be meeting with a nurse.
Ah, maybe to discuss meds? Talk about costs of more intensive options? Who knows. So I wait.
"Carol." I hear from behind the door again. I open it to walk down the hall, and there's a nurse.. shoving an invoice in my face.
"Well, everything looks okay. Just hand this to Miss So-and-so and she'll get you taken care of."
Ugh. What?
Miss So-and-so was standing all of 6 inches from us.. so I turned and handed it to her. She stated the total, took and swiped my credit card. I guess that's all Miss So-and-so needed from me.. that the nurse couldn't directly hand to her. :/
And here's the WORST part.
As I'm paying my $220 ultrasound bill, the overly highlighted nurse says, "So, everything looks good here. So, go ahead and take your injection tonight."
I look at her probably with a mix of 'puzzled' and 'disgusted' across my face.
She looks confused, "You're on the booster shot, right?"
I sternly reply, "I didn't think any of the follicles were big enough... so..."
She looks down at the chart, scanning it up and down.. like a pre-schooler pretending to read. "Ummmm. Yeah. You're.. uh.. right. Sorry." Followed by silence as I'm signing my receipt.
Finally, as I go to grab my copy of the receipt and walk out, the half-comatose nurse murmurs to me, "Yeah, so.. we'll call you. We'll have to ask him about that."
Sure thing lady.
The whole experience at this office was so weird. From unprofessional, to strange, and right back to unprofessional. Luckily, I wasn't really on edge or emotional, or I probably would have burst into tears when I corrected the idiot nurse who's telling me to go ahead with the injections because everything looks "okay."
So, then the long drive home.
I wasn't really sad.. just left feeling like.. now what? Do we try the next step (injectables), or do we just admit that this isn't working, and accept a life without children?
It's hard enough answering that question for myself.. Let alone agreeing on a plan of action with another person who is equally involved in the matter... My husband.
About halfway home, I turned the radio off and asked, "So, what's next?"
He didn't know any more than I did.
We talked about the costs. Injectables cost $3000-5000 every cycle. A far cry from the $300-400 we're spending now.
But, they're much more likely to work.
So, we had to discuss regrets. Would we regret when we're 50, that we didn't spend $9000 to try to have kids? Was it worth risking?
Is it even feasible? We're doing 'okay' right now.. but I have some dental work coming up. Can we afford that much debt? Is it worth getting a second job?
The only things we could agree on were these:
1) If we spent $9000, and I got pregnant, we wouldn't regret spending the money.
2) If we spend the $9000, and I didn't get pregnant, we weren't sure if we'd regret trying or not.. but probably not. Because then we'd at least be able to say we gave it the good college try.
3) It's hard to rationalize spending $15000 on a one-day wedding, but not $9000 on a possible child.
4) We could cut straight to adoption, IF we decide that's an option for us, but you're still looking at $15000-20000 in costs there anyway.
Conclusion:
For now, we're going to wait a few months. First, I want to be sure it's worth the risk (financially and physically). Then, I feel like we should be squared away with a house before risking large sums of money on fertility. And I don't want to take out a loan for treatments, that could impact our ability to even get a mortgage.
But on a truly honest level, the more I'm going through this.. the less it feels like a "need." I think after you get married, it seems like it's the normal next step. And while the possibility of that not happening is a difficult thing to face; sometimes torturous when you imagine yourself at 60 with no children or grandchildren.. it's something I'm coming to grips with.
And the only reason I know that I'm coming to (or returning to) a place of being okay without children.. is that half the time, I'm thinking about all the money we would save, the extra free time, the places we could go, and things we could do.. without children in tow.
I think of all the ways I could use my maternal instincts; animal sanctuaries, adopting more dogs, etc.
But there's still that other 'half of the time' .. when I imagine what our child would be like. Brad's eyes, my nose, and hopefully my math and science nerdiness.. And I REALLY want to meet that person.
Given the 50/50 outcome, I wasn't sure what to expect on the third try.
So I took my meds, did my yoga.. everything the same as both times before.
On Tuesday afternoon, I got a call from the doc's office, saying that no ultrasound tech was going to be in Lafayette on Friday, so I'd have to come to Indianapolis at 8am to get it done.
Freaking fantastic.
I was immediately annoyed. Now I had to drive an hour out of my way, in rush hour traffic, to probably get news of absolutely nothing.
Luckily, my wonderful husband decided he'd go into work late, so that he could drive me.
So we got up at the crack of dawn to head towards Indy.. to an office in which I'd never been.
Upon our arrival, we made our way to the second floor of the medical building. Looking for the correct suite number.
Found it.
Paused.
This was a tiiiiiiiiny waiting room, filled with anxious women.
Literally, there were only 6 chairs, and the room was half the size of our bedroom. I immediately chuckled to myself as I thought, "This is going to be fun to write about later."
I walked into this tiny space, lit only by two very dim table lamps. There was a clipboard sitting next to a clock... just outside the receptionist's window. Nobody said hello. In fact, nobody said one word the entire time I was in there.
So, I signed in on the clipboard. Moments later, a mysterious hand reaches out from behind the sliding plastic window, pulls my name from the top, sets the clipboard back down.. then slides the window shut again.
No hello. No smile. The receptionist literally made no eye contact with anyone in that room.
This was the most bizarre waiting room I'd ever been in.
All the women huddled in the darkness, away from the silent/avoiding receptionist. The awkwardness was palpable.
No radio. No television.
Each woman pretending not to know why everyone else was there. Some nervously typing, with an annoying clicking, on their blackberry phones. Others, browsing Us Weekly. None of us making any eye contact with each other.
I sat there, wondering what phase these women were in. Which medications? How much had they spent?
And do I want to keep doing this?
This life of waiting rooms, debt, tension, sadness.. It never looked appealing. But this made it look dreadful.
I know some women will literally do "whatever it takes." I don't think I'm one of those women. I've never felt like I "needed" to be a mother. I just felt like I'd be a good one.
Just not sure how much I'm willing to spend.. in physical, emotional, and financial costs.. in order to prove myself right.
Finally, they called my name from behind the door. That's right, they didn't even walk out into the waiting room to greet you.
Two seconds later, I'm in an even smaller room, with the all-familiar stirrups. And the room was almost completely pitch black. Just the glow of one dim lamp reflecting off the assortment of medical instruments.
"Just get undressed from the waist down, and I'll be right back." said the big black woman who walked me here. Apparently, she was the ultrasound tech.
This routine, I knew well. Let the scanning begin!
Left ovary. Lots of follicles.. none large enough.
Right ovary. Lots of follicles.. none large enough.
Well, that was a waste of a trip.. and $200.
So, she instructs me to return to the waiting room, because I'll be meeting with a nurse.
Ah, maybe to discuss meds? Talk about costs of more intensive options? Who knows. So I wait.
"Carol." I hear from behind the door again. I open it to walk down the hall, and there's a nurse.. shoving an invoice in my face.
"Well, everything looks okay. Just hand this to Miss So-and-so and she'll get you taken care of."
Ugh. What?
Miss So-and-so was standing all of 6 inches from us.. so I turned and handed it to her. She stated the total, took and swiped my credit card. I guess that's all Miss So-and-so needed from me.. that the nurse couldn't directly hand to her. :/
And here's the WORST part.
As I'm paying my $220 ultrasound bill, the overly highlighted nurse says, "So, everything looks good here. So, go ahead and take your injection tonight."
I look at her probably with a mix of 'puzzled' and 'disgusted' across my face.
She looks confused, "You're on the booster shot, right?"
I sternly reply, "I didn't think any of the follicles were big enough... so..."
She looks down at the chart, scanning it up and down.. like a pre-schooler pretending to read. "Ummmm. Yeah. You're.. uh.. right. Sorry." Followed by silence as I'm signing my receipt.
Finally, as I go to grab my copy of the receipt and walk out, the half-comatose nurse murmurs to me, "Yeah, so.. we'll call you. We'll have to ask him about that."
Sure thing lady.
The whole experience at this office was so weird. From unprofessional, to strange, and right back to unprofessional. Luckily, I wasn't really on edge or emotional, or I probably would have burst into tears when I corrected the idiot nurse who's telling me to go ahead with the injections because everything looks "okay."
So, then the long drive home.
I wasn't really sad.. just left feeling like.. now what? Do we try the next step (injectables), or do we just admit that this isn't working, and accept a life without children?
It's hard enough answering that question for myself.. Let alone agreeing on a plan of action with another person who is equally involved in the matter... My husband.
About halfway home, I turned the radio off and asked, "So, what's next?"
He didn't know any more than I did.
We talked about the costs. Injectables cost $3000-5000 every cycle. A far cry from the $300-400 we're spending now.
But, they're much more likely to work.
So, we had to discuss regrets. Would we regret when we're 50, that we didn't spend $9000 to try to have kids? Was it worth risking?
Is it even feasible? We're doing 'okay' right now.. but I have some dental work coming up. Can we afford that much debt? Is it worth getting a second job?
The only things we could agree on were these:
1) If we spent $9000, and I got pregnant, we wouldn't regret spending the money.
2) If we spend the $9000, and I didn't get pregnant, we weren't sure if we'd regret trying or not.. but probably not. Because then we'd at least be able to say we gave it the good college try.
3) It's hard to rationalize spending $15000 on a one-day wedding, but not $9000 on a possible child.
4) We could cut straight to adoption, IF we decide that's an option for us, but you're still looking at $15000-20000 in costs there anyway.
Conclusion:
For now, we're going to wait a few months. First, I want to be sure it's worth the risk (financially and physically). Then, I feel like we should be squared away with a house before risking large sums of money on fertility. And I don't want to take out a loan for treatments, that could impact our ability to even get a mortgage.
But on a truly honest level, the more I'm going through this.. the less it feels like a "need." I think after you get married, it seems like it's the normal next step. And while the possibility of that not happening is a difficult thing to face; sometimes torturous when you imagine yourself at 60 with no children or grandchildren.. it's something I'm coming to grips with.
And the only reason I know that I'm coming to (or returning to) a place of being okay without children.. is that half the time, I'm thinking about all the money we would save, the extra free time, the places we could go, and things we could do.. without children in tow.
I think of all the ways I could use my maternal instincts; animal sanctuaries, adopting more dogs, etc.
But there's still that other 'half of the time' .. when I imagine what our child would be like. Brad's eyes, my nose, and hopefully my math and science nerdiness.. And I REALLY want to meet that person.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Third Time
I know it's been awhile.
We took a break for a bit. Then decided to wait til my mother had moved out to try again. My stress level was just always so high when she was around.. nevermind the logistics of TTC with mother down the hall :P
So, we've officially started our third attempt with Letrozole/Femara.
A little scary. Since the first cycle, we got a follicle. The second one, we didn't. And the doc said that he only wants to give it three tries.
Problem is, we can't really afford the next (bigger, badder) options. The Femara alone, once you add in the monthly ultrasounds and the trigger shots, is around $300-$400 per attempt. That seems plenty high to me.
The injection rounds are somewhere in the thousands of dollars. Eh. Doubtful.
So, we'll see how this goes. And then how pathetically the doctor will look at me when I try to explain that daily injections and IVF are not options for us.
We took a break for a bit. Then decided to wait til my mother had moved out to try again. My stress level was just always so high when she was around.. nevermind the logistics of TTC with mother down the hall :P
So, we've officially started our third attempt with Letrozole/Femara.
A little scary. Since the first cycle, we got a follicle. The second one, we didn't. And the doc said that he only wants to give it three tries.
Problem is, we can't really afford the next (bigger, badder) options. The Femara alone, once you add in the monthly ultrasounds and the trigger shots, is around $300-$400 per attempt. That seems plenty high to me.
The injection rounds are somewhere in the thousands of dollars. Eh. Doubtful.
So, we'll see how this goes. And then how pathetically the doctor will look at me when I try to explain that daily injections and IVF are not options for us.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)