'Expecting' The Unexpected

First, a little back story for those that haven't been following along..

After a couple years of not trying, but not preventing, we actively started trying to conceive. That involved a lot of tests, medications, and trips to a reproductive endocrinologist. My body simply did not work like it should.

Tried three rounds of Clomid. No response. Tried three rounds of Femara. Barely responded once. Moved on to injections, and conceived the first try (Sept '13). But I was immediately hospitalized with hyperstim and nearly died. I recovered and found out we were expecting twins. Everything was great until I suddenly went into labor at 19 weeks (Jan '14). They both passed away in my arms.

We decided to try injections just one more time (Jun '14). Again, I conceived on the first try -- a singleton that is now just 4.5 months old (born Mar '15).

That catches you up to today -- well, yesterday.

Since the pregnancy, I've been having gallbladder issues, and surgery was recommended. It was scheduled for July 24th.

As a "just in case" precaution, I took a pregnancy test yesterday. And this happened....

Shock doesn't begin to cover it. I'd had some nausea and hot flashes, but chalked it all up to the gallbaldder. I had set the test on the floor barely paying it much attention, as I expected nothing. I glanced over and immediately couldn't breathe. The second line was there almost instantly. No need to wait three minutes. I felt my pulse racing and an instant lightheaded feeling.

I made my way out to the kitchen where Brad was washing baby bottles. I took the time to swallow and my mouth felt so dry it was like sand. "Brad," I said in a shaky voice.

He turned and saw the look on my face, pregnancy test in hand. His face turned to, "No... Are you serious?" He came over and looked at it.

I started to hyperventilate and Brad immediately grabbed me into a hug. "It's okay. It'll be okay."

A million emotions were blowing through me all at once...I hung my head and cried. This wasn't supposed to be possible. I'm infertile. We only ever planned to have one child. Can we afford another kid? That's two kids under 13-14 months old. Two in diapers? Can I physically go through another pregnancy? How far along am I? I drank a Bloody Mary last week. How the hell did I ovulate on my own when I don't even respond to 'moderate' medication? I have a surgery coming up. What if something happens during it? Do we have room/time/resources for a second? How does my husband get me pregnant EVERY time I ovulate?

We sat down.. both trying to absorb this VERY unexpected development. Discussing all our options, fears, pros and cons, budget concerns, crying, laughing. Emotional basket cases, basically.

Finally, after an hour or two of letting it sink in, we agreed our initial reaction was solely based on the surprise factor. We'd only known pregnancy in a "Take this medication. Test this day. Ultrasound this day," kind of way. Planned down to the minute. Anticipated. And we truly didn't think this would EVER happen to us without all that planning..

We agreed to just take it as it comes. One step at a time. Happy, but realistic. Hopeful, but measured.

Ironically, within a week or so of Pax's birth, we had discussed our 'birth control' options. I had ZERO interest in anything hormonal after all the injections and pregnancies I'd put my body through. Brad offered to get a vasectomy, but we decided with how much money and effort it took us to conceive both times, it didn't seem necessary. And though we never planned to try again, the idea of such a permanent solution seemed like overkill. Well... surprise!

Going by my cycles, I'd be 8 weeks tomorrow (July 14). But, we won't know for sure until we get blood work and an ultrasound.

Aren't we supposed to wait til 12 weeks to announce? At least until after an ultrasound? Normally, yes. Eh. I'm not one for good luck or bad luck or "supposed to." (Ironically, 12 weeks, according to my cycle.. will be Aug 11 -- exactly one year from when we announced Paxton was on his way.) Whatever will be, will be. And because this was so NOT planned, we have no expectations. And after we've been on such a journey, we didn't feel like hiding anything at this point was really necessary. If things go well, we'll share. If things don't, we'll share. It could be nonviable or ectopic. We could miscarry. Or everything could go perfectly, and we'll have another child early next year. We're just flying by the seat of our pants, so we figured we'd let everyone in on it.

Our journey continues.

We mostly wanted those around us to understand the absolute whirlwind we've found ourselves in. You now know what we just found out a little over 24 hours ago.

Follistim, OHSS, and a Long Hospital Stay (Part Three)

So I ended Part Two with me telling the nurse I was ready for the drain. And by ready, I mean, felt like I was about to have a heart attack/stroke/etc. Within an hour's time, I was having difficulty breathing and my blood pressure was through the roof. I was legitimately scared -- though equally terrified of the drain being put in.

The nurse said she'd get in touch with my doctor. Problem was, it was 7pm-ish. This might take awhile.

After about a half hour (which felt like forever), she came back to my room. She stated that the person that usually does that has left for the night and they want to know, "Could you possible wait until morning?"

The look of disgust on my face as I looked up at her probably answered the question, but I still stated a very firm "No." She then disappeared into the hall again.

Another half hour passed, and she returned. "Okay. They called in the team to do it. They'll come get you shortly."

The team? How many people does it require to get fluid out of my abdomen? If I wasn't still struggling to breathe, I would have panicked more about this.

Finally.. at about 8:30pm, they arrived with a wheelchair to take me down to radiology. The guy pushing me was trying to make small talk the whole way.. which I was in no condition to do. Meanwhile, it feels like you're in a sick parade when you're being rolled around -- no make-up or even hair brushed -- as you're going by nurses' stations and guests walking the halls. And there I was, without candy to dispense.

He wheels me into radiology and there is a doctor and another female in there. They tell me to "get up on the table." Always my favorite phrase from any physician.

The doctor does some casual chit chat as he's preparing the equipment, explaining they'll start with an ultrasound in order to find a big pocket of fluid to drain. He then informs me that, although it's not protocol, they're going to leave the drain in my side so that nurses can drain fluid whenever I need it. In other words, I'm going to have a plug and little baggie hanging from my side for the duration of my hospital stay. Ehhhhhhh.

They start the ultrasound, and as they sweep across my belly button, the doctor notes, "Well, her ovaries are all the way up here." o.O Um. What now? "Your ovaries are about the size of grapefruits right now. They're taking up your entire lower abdomen."

He then had me roll onto my left side. They gave me a small (aka useless) numbing injection. Then he said, you're going to feel a poke, and then it's going to hurt as I push this in. I opted to NOT look at the needle and tube he was referring to as "this." And holy begeebus, he wasn't kidding. But really the worst part was what happened next.

"Okay, you're going to feel a 'pop' and then some suction sensation." :O

And... POP! Within seconds, fluid was gushing through this tube and into a HUGE, clear biohazard canister. It looked exactly like the canisters you see when you see liposuction on tv. I watched as the canister filled up with a pinkish-clear fluid. I think I would have puked if I hadn't been in total shock, and reeling from the completely bizarre sensation of suction around my internal organs.

They drained 2 liters that night, attached the bag (yuck), and sent me on my way.

Immediately, the bag became a hassle. If I got it caught or it hung loose, it tugged on the incision and HURT. So I had to roll up the bag, wrap it in a washcloth, and store it in my underwear next to my hip. Which meant every potty break involved holding it while I sat down, then trying to balance it on my leg so that it didn't tug/pull out of my stomach. Made for lots of fun, let me tell you.

On the plus side, it was instant relief. By the time I got back to my room, I was breathing easy and I wanted food. Lots of food. There was finally room in my stomach. Luckily, this was roughly the same time that Brad located a nearby pizza place that had vegan garlic bread and pasta. After nothing but broth, pickles, and salads for 5 days.. it was A-M-A-Z-I-N-G.

But then something happened that nobody warned me about. I was about halfway done eating and I got a sharp pain in my abdomen, near where my right ovary should be. And I mean SHARP pain -- as if someone just stabbed me with a knife and started twisting it. I had read how OHSS patients could have an ovary twist and die off, so I was freaking. I was writhing in pain on my bed and crying (and I don't cry unless it's reallllly bad). The nurse then asks, "Do you want a Tylenol?"

Um. Go F yourself lady. You really think I've gone through all this without a complaint and then a Tylenol is strong enough for something that's making me cry; barely able to talk? And Brad, knowing that I'm not one to cry from pain, was legitimately scared. I could see it on his face as he stood by my bedside, helpless. The nurse left to call my specialist.

As the minutes went by, the pain was getting worse and worse. Brad kept asking me where the pain was and how it felt. I kept thinking, "Does he think I'm about to pass out and he's going to have to the tell the nurses what happened?"

The nurse returned after 10-15 minutes (yes, I wanted to kill her for taking so long), and said my doc doesn't think anything happened with my ovary, but that since the fluid is gone, they're basically bouncing against other organs and pulling on ligaments. He apparently had approved me to get some morphine and oxycodone. The idea of accepting it made me uneasy (I'd never been on anything stronger than hydrocodone, and that made me feel awful), but the pain was horrendous, so I told her to go ahead.

UGH! Worst and weirdest feeling ever. It felt like someone hit me in the back of the head; I was instantly 'fuzzy' .. but I also felt like I was going to vomit. Like being drunk and hungover at the same time. I never want that shit again -- even though it did successfully stop the pain. And luckily, it never returned. So whether it was my ovary pulling/hitting something, or perhaps a cyst bursting (what I now suspect), I'll never know.

That night, I slept amazingly well. Since my stats had returned to normal, they left me alone most of the night, so I could actually sleep several hours in a row. But by mid-morning.. the swelling had returned. In fact, my legs were more swollen than ever before. One of the nurses looked alarmed. "I can't even feel where your kneecaps are." o.O

I decided to take another shower anyway. And I didn't realize how bad it was until I was naked in front of the bathroom mirror. I kid you not, my first thought was, "Oh my god! I look like Peter Griffin." And my friends, that was no exaggeration. I turned to my husband, my face filled with shock and dismay.. wondering if he'd ever be able to burn this image from his brain. I muttered, "Can you believe THIS?!" He kind of chuckled, "No. I honestly didn't think you could hold any more fluid, but now you look like Kim Kardashian."

Bless him. He was referring only to my now huge butt. Problem was, I looked like Kim Kardashian if she was 12 months pregnant. I really couldn't believe my eyes. I stood there with in my Peter Griffin glory, a hole in my side with a baggie hanging down. I was amazed that Brad didn't bolt out at that point. But he didn't. He helped me shower, acting as if nothing was different or off about me.

It's hard to explain, but this whole experience has made me feel more loved by him, and more grateful to have him in my life, than anything else we've been through.

At any rate, I clearly was blimping back up. And in fairness, the doc had warned me that the relief and decrease in swelling would be short lived. "Oh, the fluid will come back. That's why we have them leave the drain in. So when you can't take it, we'll take a little off the top."

Within a couple hours, I asked for more to be drained. So, they drained another liter. This time, right at my bedside. Just when I thought things couldn't get freakier, try having a nurse open up the plug in your side, drape it over the side of your bed, and drain your internal fluids into a bucket. Bleh.

Luckily, the next day (Saturday), the fluid did not return. I had officially "turned the corner." Between the IV and drained fluids, the water was finally staying mostly in my bloodstream. Being discharged from the hospital finally felt like it was within reach...

That's probably enough for one installment. I always think these posts are going to be short until I start reliving what actually happened. So the next part will include the drain removal, my discharge, and recovery at home :) Stay tuned.

We're Back... (And My HSG)

After a long, and much needed, break.. we're back at it.

Since the standard pills (Clomid and Femara) didn't do anything for us, injections (Follistim) are next.

Before my doc would start injections though, he required that I do an HSG (Hysterosalpingogram). If you're not familiar with this procedure, be grateful. They basically inject some dye, through your cervix, into your uterus and fallopian tubes. They then take an x-ray, looking to see if there are any blockages or deformed areas.

Let me describe how it went.

My hubby was kind enough to take the day off of work, so he could drive me the hour to the doc's office.

We go in and register. It only took about 5 minutes before a technician called my name. She walked me back to this tiny dressing room. On the bench inside was a box of generic pantyliners, and some hospital socks. She handed me two gowns; one to put on normally (open in the back), and the other to put on as a robe. She said, "You can leave your shirt on, but nothing below the waist. And when you're done, just come out here." She pointed to her right, to a small corner in the hallway, that was surrounded by a curtain.

Um. Okay.

I proceeded to strip down and put on my sexy booties. As I headed out to the hall, to see what was behind the curtain, I found 2 other women in the same get-up.

Awkward....

It's not very often you can sit in a waiting room, and know with absolute certainty that none of the women are wearing panties.
For our privacy, I assume, they secluded all of us non-ovulators into this tiny corner and hid us away from the world.

They also kindly provided us with a little information sheet about how the procedure is done. It went great lengths (and ALL CAPS) to explain that many women feel lightheaded afterwards, and that if you do, there's a chain to pull in the dressing room if you need help.

Hmm. Interesting.

So, the technician comes in and tells us the order in which we'll be called. I'm last.

The first woman goes in. I hear them call for her husband to join her. Ironically, he's also named Brad. I chuckled to myself at the idea of her calling "Bradley!," and my husband coming back to see a different woman spread out on the table.

A few moments later, I hear the patient let out a few grunts. Within minutes, the technician runs out to a pantry in the hall, grabbing cans of juice. She quickly murmurs to us, "She just passed out. This might take a little while."

We then hear her talking to the doctor. "Yeah. She passed out. Right on the table. Nope. She didn't even get up first."

Uhhhhhh.

Eventually, the first woman walks back to her dressing room, with her husband supporting her on one side. He then has to go in to help her get dressed.

Next!

The second woman goes back. Her spouse/partner was apparently not present, or opted to not come back. As a bonus for being last, they let hubby come back to my little seclusion corner and sit with me.

So, I'm sitting there, telling my husband how the first lady actually passed out, when we hear screaming. Not just one scream. Not a grunt. But full on, "Someone shot me in the leg!" kind of screaming.

The second patient was clearly having a rough go of it. "It HURTS! It huuuuurts! Stop! Can you stop? Get it OUT!"

THAT is when I got a little shit-my-pants terrified anxious.

I turn to my husband. "SEE what I have to do?!"

I then joke, "Well, she'll be an epidural candidate."

It was my way of reminding myself that if I really wanted to go through labor, this can't scare me by comparison.

Patient #2 emerges, gives me a quick smile with a concerned look on her face, as if apologizing; knowing that her screams of terror have likely given me even more fear.

My turn! No doubt, my stomach was churning and I was tensing up. Bad news bears.

I go into the room, which is very dark, and VERY cold. Granted, they made me remove the 'robe' gown.. so my ass was out for everyone. I knew that between the blue hospital gown and brown hospital booties, my husband was beyond excited. But he'd have to wait. Doctor is going in first.

So, I lay down on this metal table. The technician instructs me, "Just relax. Here are some handles to squeeze when it gets painful. Oh, and it's best if you let your legs just drop to the side... kind of go "froggy."

Sure lady. I'll relax while gripping something in pain. Seems legit.

Doc comes in. Puts on all his protective garb (I get none).

Well, hello cold speculum. It's been awhile.

I can feel everything, but I can't see anything. I just have to stare at the ceiling, hoping this goes quickly.

Unfortunately, the doc is giving me a play-by-play. "Okay, now you're going to feel a pinching... Now, some pressure. Okay, in about 5 seconds, it's going to hurt."

Why tell me that? As soon as you say that, every sphincter in my body tightens up more than a nun at an orgy.

And there it was. The worst internal pain I'd ever had. But I'm a silent sufferer and always have been. No grunt, no yell, no cry. Just breathe.

And just as you're about to breathe through it, the technician yells, "Hold your breath!"

I can't say it was horrific, or that I even wanted to scream. It felt like someone poured some acid into my uterus, and the "pain" really comes from not being able to move or do anything to make it stop. You just have to lay there and take it.

The good news is that it only lasts 15-20 seconds before it dulls down into some cramping.

The doctor leans over, rubbing my arm. "You did great. And Carol, you have a PERFECTLY shaped uterus."

Thank goodness. My husband can now brag to all his buddies about his wife's perfect uterus.

Additionally, my tubes are clear and ready for egg and sperm travel. So, game on. Next month, we'll be starting injections. We'll definitely keep you posted.

The Fundraiser

So.. We've finally decided to ask for help.

Sort of.

I decided to set up an online fundraiser. Our 'goal' is $15,000.. which is enough for around 5 months of injections, or one round of invitro. Yes, quite unlikely that we'd raise that much.. unless I have relatives with money I don't know about. ;)

But even if we could get a few thousand, that would pay for a month of injections. In other words, anything helps.

And I started thinking about how I have over 500 Facebook friends. My husband has several hundred. If every person donated $5, we'd be well on our way.

The reasoning for doing it now, is pretty simple. We're asking that family, friends, and coworkers consider making a donation instead of sending us a greeting card, buying me a drink on my birthday, or giving us a Starbucks giftcard for Christmas. We just don't need any of that stuff.. and the possible gift of conceiving is far more important.

We also recognize that this is a hard time for a lot of folks. We're in no way demanding or expecting people to donate. We just wanted people to know that this is our priority. If you want to give us anything, for any reason, this is our preference right now.

If you want to donate, just follow this link: Our Little Wish

You can donate any amount. Even just $1. And surely, there are 15,000 people in this world that would give us a dollar if they knew our story.

So, whether you donate or not.. PLEASE share this with others. Post a link on Facebook, Twitter, your blog, etc. The more people we reach, the better.

Thank you!

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.

Welcome

Hello, and welcome. Allow me to explain the purpose of this blog a little bit. Almost a year ago now, I married my best friend. Ever since, we've been actively trying to conceive. Unfortunately, I knew since childhood that things wouldn't be easy. What I didn't know, was how very hard it would be for me to get pregnant.

So far, we've done a couple cycles of progesterone and Clomid; to no avail. And for almost two years now, I've been on Metformin.. but it's literally done nothing to help. So, I've now been referred to a specialist (reproductive endocrinologist). Sound expensive? It is. Just for the consultation, it's $200. What's worse? Insurance covers NOTHING related to fertility. I find something disturbing about the fact that insurance companies will pay out for Viagra, but not Clomid.. but I digress.

That brings me to this blog. After posting about my dismay of facing the end of our path; due to lack of funding, I joked with a friend that I needed to start a fundraiser. Though I was kidding, after some thought, I figured it wasn't a terrible idea. People raise money for cancer treatments and such all the time. While infertility isn't life-threatening.. it is heartbreaking.

My heart breaks every day, when I think about having to give up on the idea of having children, and when I think of how.. as a wife, I can't help but feel like I've let my husband down. He has always remained supportive, but I know this is hurting him.

So, for now, we're accepting donations. But more importantly, we're accepting ideas of how to raise funds. Clearly, we need to do something. The treatments that come next cost thousands of dollars each time you try. Just as an example, IVF (in-vitro) costs 10-15 thousand dollars; and it takes 2 to 3 times for most women to have a successful pregnancy. You can do the math. It's also costly to go through the adoption process, should we decide to choose that path. For folks that live "okay" from paycheck to paycheck, it's just not possible to pay that out as one lump sum.

Along the way, I'll blog about our experiences and decisions. How far will we go? Will I sacrifice my health to try to conceive? You'll read all about our trials and errors. Our moments of despair, and moments filled with hope.

Help us make Our Little Wish come true.
(and should it never happen for us, I can only hope this blog and our journey, will provide insight to others on this painful and complicated path)

Powerful Fertility Video

Thoughts? Reactions?

How Do You Like Your Eggs? (My Original Coming Out Blog)

The following was my "coming out" blog/note on Facebook. I posted this just a few short weeks ago. Prior to this, nobody but my husband knew about my PCOS/fertility issues. How did you let people know? Or have you?

"Sooooo.. I'd been debating on whether or not to share any of this or not.. for a long time. But since I recently posted a status about getting a surrogate mother; that I intended to be a joke about how I REALLY don't want to give birth, I got a lot of comments and questions; both on the status, and in private messages. It sort of dawned on me how very many people deal with fertility issues; and I'm not really too much a private person. If someone asks me a question, I give an honest answer. Sex. Religion. Addiction. Depression. I can talk about any of it at length. But this ONE thing, I always kept to myself. But why?

I suppose it made me feel "broken" in some way. Clearly, being able to prolong our species should be the easiest, most natural of all functions we serve. Something you can do without ever thinking about it. So, when that doesn't work... you feel a little broken. You know, like that piece of candy that gets blown off the assembly line cause one nut is out of place. Well, I'm still just as tasty as the other pieces :-P So, maybe I have a nut in the wrong place, and my creamy center isn't the right color. Who cares?

Well, I care... obviously.. My husband probably cares.. But, he doesn't love me any less for it. And so, I've decided it's not worth keeping to ourselves anymore. Though, in honesty, a couple people did know.. Many moons ago, Brad told one of his relatives and a coworker (a coworker that I despised with every fiber of my being; mind you). I was devastated for awhile. So very, very hurt. I hadn't told my relatives or dearest friends. It certainly wasn't his information to share. Truth is, it still bothers me a great a deal... But I realize that he was naively unaware of how big a deal it was to me at the time. I think, to him, it was like telling someone I had a cold. But I think he "got it" when I said, "How would you feel if I told someone.. someone you didn't like, especially.. that your sperm count was low?" I think it then resonated how personal that would feel. (btw, it's not.. or as far as we know, it's not.. lol)

But through all this, I realized why I didn't want people to know. I didn't want people to treat me differently; being careful to never ask 'hopefully' or 'jokingly' if I was pregnant. Or looking for symptoms of my 'disorder.' I didn't want people to be afraid to invite me to baby showers. I just didn't want to be treated like the broken piece of candy.

So, for that reason, I won't be posting the particular problem that I have. (Two uteruses? A lazy ovary? Was I born a male? I'll never tell :-P) I will say that it's not necessarily dooming. Plenty of women get pregnant with this issue.. but it IS harder. And unfortunately, there is no good treatment for it. Really just trial and error. There are medications I can try. Fertility drugs and such. Problem is, this condition also makes it more likely that I will miscarry if I happen to get pregnant. Obviously, that's scary.. and something to think about.

Now, to those of you who grew up with me, this might be sort of a surprise that I'm even talking about WANTING to get pregnant. I was notoriously known for saying that me having kids was a one-shot deal. I'll agree to get pregnant ONCE; if my husband REALLY wants kids. Otherwise, I'm fine with none.

Well, there's quite a mix of history here. First, ever since I was 11 years old, I knew there was something wrong.. and that having children would be difficult; if not impossible. So, I think it's feasible that I just convinced myself I didn't want children. It was easier than battling with it and thinking about, or admitting, how I "couldn't."

But a few things have changed. First, meeting Brad. He was the first person I could even imagine having children with. And secondly, my niece and nephew. The way they light up a room.. at least for me.. It's sort of mesmerizing.

However, with all that said, a part of me is still unsure if I do want children. Maybe I just think I do.. Or maybe I just believe that's 'what comes next' in life. Cause here's the downside of all this. You have to think about it. Really THINK about it. You have no choice but to weigh the pros and cons. When you have to try so hard to make something happen, you inevitably ask yourself if it's worth it.. or the right thing to do.

I've had about a bajillion thoughts on it.

The world is over-populated. It's an environmental burden. We don't own a home yet. Would I be a good mother anyway? Would I rather just save money? Who's gonna make sure I'm in a good nursing home later? Is it too late? Is it worth taking fertility drugs that could harm me? Could we adopt? Would I even WANT to adopt? College is gonna cost a lot in 20 years. I really do NOT want to give birth. I could teach a child so many things. What would our kids look like? I don't want to be working overnights when I have children. Can I deal with miscarriages if we really try? I obviously can't get pregnant if I never see my husband, but I can't afford to have a baby if I quit my job. This all stresses me out. The stress doesn't help fertility. (and so on, and so on, and so on)

These are things you don't really have to think about when it just 'happens' .. by accident, or minimal planning. Then, you just take it as it is, and go day by day. But day by day isn't an option, when each day is another decision, another stressor, another medication, or another doctor's appointment.

So, I struggle with all this.. almost on a daily basis. But, in fairness, we've only been 'trying' since our wedding. Not long at all in the scope of things. However, with our schedules; we're unlikely to conceive due to logistics and timing. And, obviously, neither of us are spring chickens anymore. IF we want to do this, we need to actively get on board. Which means fertility drugs and probably a change of job for me. It's all very disheartening at times.

One might ask, at this point, "If you're trying to have kids, why did you JUST buy a Mustang?" Fair question. It doesn't exactly scream 'parent-to-be,' I know. But that's sort of the point. I didn't buy a 'kid-friendly' vehicle, because if things don't pan out.. I don't want a constant reminder of things that never happened for us. I figured if we got pregnant, we could always trade in. But I didn't want a vehicle with lots of seating, always feeling 'less than' for being unable to fill it. :-\

Before this all sounds too 'woe is me' .. let me say this: While I am, hopeful.. and wanting to have a child.. I DO think I'd be fine with never having children. Of course, I'd wonder 'what if' a lot. Or regret it when nobody is buying my groceries when I'm 70. ;-) But, I'd really be okay. I've never felt an ounce of bitterness about someone else's pregnancy.

So right now, we're trying to figure it all out. What we want. What we CAN do. And how to make any of it happen. I greatly appreciate all the support I've received already. But please.. don't treat me like the broken or mis-molded piece of candy. Eat me, as you normally would :-P I really am okay; at least most days.

And if putting this out there, for everyone to read, lets just one person know that they aren't struggling with this alone.. well, then.. it's served its purpose."