I'm Trying

Once you have your first child, and that first child starts abandoning infancy for the world of toddler hood, or yet as it is now for me, preschooler age, it's most certainly unavoidable that everyone will start asking you that inevitable question; "So when is the next one coming?" They'll ask with a spark in their eye, innocently prodding for information as a means to make general conversation. And I'm guilty of this too, I've asked this very question to friends and acquaintances alike without a second thought. I know that overall it's a harmless question, but truth is, I never know quite how to answer that question when it's directed at me.

It's not that the question looms over me because I've never yet considered another child, I've sought out parenthood with the intention to include more than one, but because how do I answer the question when I have no control over the matter. I find myself constantly answering with an awkward, "As soon as it can happen," for that's the only hope I have.

From the time Abel was born we wholehearted welcomed the idea of adding to our family as soon as it could happen, because we knew the complications that we face regarding infertility issues, Abel himself being conceived by aid of fertility drugs and months of acupuncture treatments. So we decided directly after his birth that we would let nature have it's way in hopes that surely within the next few years following, we would be pregnant again, and better yet, naturally.

And it did happen!

Once.

I think that is why I still struggle with our miscarriage even though it's been over two years, the loss still felt just as deeply now as then. My body had beat it's odds, and just that once it did what it was designed to do. Only it couldn't carry it. What a slap in the face. I blame myself. Blame this diseased body with which I was cursed. It felt like a cruel joke, especially for it to happen on such a momentous occasion such as Abel's first birthday. Every year my heart experiences the joy of celebrating the anniversary of my first child's birth, and the sadness that it shares the anniversary of my second child's loss.

After that loss that is when my obsession began. My deep, and dark, secret world of closet pregnancy testing. Sometimes several times per day, just because, 'what if...'

What if there is some sort of possibility. It said negative yesterday, but it may read positive today. Just because it showed one line this morning doesn't mean I won't see two lines tonight. I am obsessed. I buy tests and hide them. I use them then hide their evidence in the garbage, every negative reading becoming a constant reminder, almost too painful to look at. I hold each one under every light possible, at every angle, straining my eyes in hopes that somehow, some way, it's really a faint positive. I even go as far as taking the test apart to get to the test strip beyond the plastic window, and do the same.

Robin would think me crazy if he knew just how often this happens, and perhaps I am. Sometimes he'll see a test in the garbage, and offer me his, "I'm sorry." Maybe I should be labelled as crazy. All I know is I'm so terrified of being pregnant and not knowing it, and I've got to know right away. I got to do things differently than last time. I've got to hold onto this one because it may be my last chance.

Looking back, there was not one part of me that didn't believe it wouldn't happen again. I thought for certain by at least now I would have two sets of little hands tugging at my shirt while I stand to wash dishes, and two little voices calling me, 'Mama.' Time keeps on passing, Abel keeps growing older...growing up an only child. I never wanted this for him. I wanted him to have someone to grow up with, to make memories with. Family he'd still have to hold onto even after his parents are in their graves. He deserves a sibling that I may never be able to give to him. I'm sad for him just as much as I am for myself.

Last week I saw a picture of a dear friend of mine surrounded by her four little boys, the youngest being a new born, and I cried. It was the most beautiful picture in so many ways, it was so full of love. She was surrounded by love. You see, I always thought that would be me. When I was a young girl I imagined myself surrounded in children, at least eight. Then as a teenager thought I could settle for just five. That seemed a bit more logical, and realistic for this day and age. Now I find myself trying to convince my mind and heart I can be content on settling for just my one child. I'm not being greedy, and don't get me wrong I know how very fortunate I am to even have him, but I'm struggling. When I looked at that picture I mourned the loss of the very idea, that it would ever be me. It's a hard pill to swallow.

And now we are dealing with the fact that my body is just not responding to the hormone replacement and fertility drugs, and facing the humiliating and invasive procedures of semen analysis, and hysteroscopy. They are only giving us one more cycle before we have to move on to the next steps towards intrauterine insemination because of my age. I am thirty-two. My ovaries are getting progressively worse, coupled with the fact that fertility rates decrease in general after the age of thirty-five. I've got one more cycle, one last chance before things get more complicated, and I'm dreading it. I just do not know if I have it in me to put my body though the ordeal of hot flashes, mood swings, and irritability again. Or to endure all the horrible cramping that comes hand in hand with it one more time.

I feel defeated by this.

Angry, but mostly sad. I was never suppose to be this woman. This grieving, wishing, hoping, praying, empty-womb woman that you hear about, and read about. Not me. Anything but that. I was suppose to be the 'fertile myrtle' type, or at least that's how I always saw myself. Letting go of that vision is so incredibly difficult that no one will ever understand, unless they have too grieved a part of themselves.

So for all who innocently ask me if I'm going to have another...

For they who want to know when we plan to grow our family...

And especially for those who feel the need to constantly remind me of Abel's age, and suggest that we not wait too long before having another because it's better to have them close enough together to grow up together. This is my simple, and uncomplicated answer for you.

"I'm trying."

With every tear shed, every prayer asked, and every possibly resource within my means, I'm trying.

'Cause I've Got Friends in Administrative Places

Having all the right friends in the right places means everything in a world of, "It's not what you know, it's who you know." And just how true that statement is. I know people, and that worked in my favour. I'm neither ashamed to have used my resources, or feel guilty in the least. It's the way the world works. Take it or leave it. I took it. And all it required was contacting a certain individual, and asking them to pull my file and get me in to a specialist asap! I received a phone call from them a few days later with an appointment to see a OB/GYN on Tuesday, May 25th. It was less than a 6 month wait for me, as compared to the year and a half I was first informed of.

To say I was very anxious for my upcoming appointment would be an understatement. I took the day off work, as did dear boyfriend, who said, it was far too important for him to miss. (Cue some, Awwwws). Finally, I could stop worrying, find out directly what my options were, and get started on the road to fertility. Time is of the essence, and my biological clock has struck turbo speed. At least, that's the way it feels to me. I've got a case of empty womb syndrome, and to anyone who has ever experienced it, it's an ache like no other. It's mourning for a life not lived, not like mourning over a life once lived. It's different, but yet the same, if you can make any sense out of that.

I was prepared for this, the day couldn't get here soon enough, but by the evening before, I had worked myself into a ball of nerves, rattled nerves. Sleep couldn't find me, but I managed to track it down by 2 am. Unfortunately my sleep was that of a restless one until 5:40 am, at which time I got up. I went for a run, got my entire exercise routine under my belt by 8am. They claim exercise releases endorphins, but it did nothing to calm me. And when I thought I could not get any more ancy, we were in the car, and on our way. My heart picked up pace, I was fidgety, and my stomach was in knots. Just just one of those loose knots, but one of those knots a Boy Scout learns on his first wilderness excursion. I was ultra quiet and deep in thought the entire drive. For the sake of dear boyfriend, I tried to act all was well, but who was I kidding, he always knows, I can't get anything passed him. I swear he knows what I'm feeling before I even feel it! He just covered my hand with his own and lightly squeezed, a way of reminding me I wasn't alone. Then when he began his silly car-radio singing where he incorporates my name into every song, and changes the words around to suit, try as I might, I could not fight a ear-splitting smile. It's those little things though, isn't it?

Once we arrived and got registered, the clerk directed us to Dr. L's office to await him. I'm not sure what happened, but I began to feel as though the walls were closing in on me, like I couldn't breathe. Dear Boyfriend was talking to me, my eyes were scanning a pamphlet they had given me to read over, but I did not hear a word he said, nor could my mind process the information before my eyes. My heart started pounding, flooded my ears with the pulsating sound, I could feel that of an anxiety attack coming on, and then I said it, "Could you leave the room when the doctor comes in?" The look on his face said it all, the look of hurt, and it was what snapped me back to reality. I'm not sure why I said it, I sure as heck didn't mean it, I wanted him with me. We are in this together, after all, but nonetheless those words left my lips. Once words are spewed forth, they can never return to place of unspokenness, although I wished with all my might, just this once they could. I tried recanting, explaining, but I could still see that look in his eyes. I felt like a big stupid jerk. I'm selfish when it comes to my feelings, I focus constantly on what I'm experiencing...feeling, never taking into account that this affects him, too.

A quick rap at the door then Dr. L was there, in the room, closing the door behind him, keeping Dear Boyfriend right where I wanted him, and where he belonged. First thing he asked was why I was there, and what I wanted him to do for me. Direct. Straight to the point. He knew why I was there medically, he had my chart, but personally, it mattered just as much. I liked that. I was quick to say that fertility was my biggest issue, and the most important factor in all of this, as far as I was concerned. He informed me that they had some time to work with me seeing as I am 28 (well, technically not until next week), but this condition will progress, and once the age of 35, chances and success rates were low. I quickly did the simple math. 7 years. I've got 7 years to have my family. What if it took years to have even just one? I always wanted more than one child, at the least, three. Would hoping for at least two be greedy of me? Should I content my mind in only settling for one, just in case? All these question plagued my mind instantly, whirling around like a cyclone.

Dr. L told me it was up to me when I wanted to start trying, with his aid. And his aid? Clomid, a fertility drug. Success rates - pretty good; My luck - pretty bad. Here's the thing, you only get 6 months to try Clomid, after which time, you are thought of as 'infertile', and many tests and examinations would ensue. You know, the testing of, ahem...his marching soldiers, my fallopian tubes spring cleaned until they whistled, that sort of thing. Then next on the list would be looking into fertility procedures. Ex. In-virto...yada, yada...you get the point, the need for some cold hard cash. Fertility procedures are not cheap in the least!

There are some medications that will help with certain symptoms of my disorder, to which I've been offered to try, but seeing as none are safe to take if you are pregnant, or could become pregnant, I opted out. The best thing I can do to help control symptom flare-ups for now, and for life, is to maintain my body weight, and eat healthy, exercise often. Dr. L asked about my periods, and that's when I told him about my seeing a licensed Naturopathic Doctor the past 2 months, and filled him in on all my progress with Dr. B - 2 periods in a 6 week time frame! He said it was extremely important to have at least 4 periods per year. A uterus that is not shedding, and build up, is at a high risk for uterine cancer. Not to mention, due to my condition, I'm already at a high risk for diabetes (hormone imbalance = messes with insulin resistance), and heart disease. Fun stuff. I think not. So then came the prescription for hormone replacement called Provera. A form of progesterone that tricks your body into having a period. Then once you're having your period, on day 3 of your cycle you'd commence the Clomid. 8-10 days later, you should ovulate. Sounds easy enough, right? Oh, but nothing is without side effects. Hot flashes, cramping, nausea, that feeling of, 'down-in-the-dumps', are just a few that were mentioned. Here's my dilemma, all these unnatural man-made drugs are what I wanted to avoid in the first place, so what do I do now? I expected to leave the specialist feeling utter relief. Rather, I felt overwhelmed with what I wanted to do. I had to start re-evaluating everything, and quickly before my mind combusted from overload.

What was wrong with this picture? I left the specialists office more tormented than before I entered. It all weighed heavily on my mind. I mauled it all over a thousand times, with still no satisfaction or contentment. What should I do? Should I start the Clomid next month? Should I give up on acupuncture and Naturopathy? Then I started to fear taking Clomid...what if it didn't work? Starting it meant one of two things. It either meant I was 6 months closer to having a baby, or 6 months closer to finding out it wasn't going to work. The latter was what frightened me. And then with our pending move to Halifax, would it even be smart of me to start taking it now?

A good old heart to heart. The most open, and raw conversation two individuals can have. And that's just what Dear Boyfriend and I did. I poured my heart out to him. Admitted how torn I was about what to do. As much as I craved to feel the relief that I'll only experience when I become pregnant, when I know it has happened, and is possible for me, it all just didn't feel right. I was at such odds with myself. I wanted to feel that relief, but I hate feeling rushed to make a decision. He was patient with me, and tried his very best to understand my insane ramblings, and scenarios - God bless him! He reassured my fears, and reminded me of what I first wanted. And so, together we decided to continue with the Naturopathic route. It has been what has brought me thus far, and many positive things have happened. I need to give it more a chance, it is what feels right to us. Once we move, get settled into our new lives and environment, and if it still hasn't happened, perhaps then we'll reconsider it. For now though, we're just gonna relax, enjoy the summer, our time together, and continue seeing the Naturopathic, and having the acupuncture treatments. Only time will tell.

My mind is still now, silent, I've found my peace.

Shake me, wake me, don't let this nightmare take me!

I have always been told that I have an excellent memory, and this is true. There is far little in my life that I do not have a detailed recollection of, even from a very young, and tender age. Therefore, I can easily remember being but 5 years old, and sitting in a little, white-washed, wooden lawn chair, in the front lawn of my father's house. It was mid-afternoon, the sun was shining, there was a gentle warm breeze kissing my warmed skin, and I had a small notebook in hand. I was dreaming. Not the kind of dream that you have to be asleep for, but the kind of dream that you envision awhile you're awake, a dream of the future - And my dream, to grow up to be a Mommy.

With my chubby little hand, I sat jotting down names for the future children, and without a moment's hesitation I can still tell you those exact names. I'm 27, (almost 28) now, and true, those names have changed many times throughout the course of the years, but one thing that has always been a constant, and has never changed, is the fact that I want to be a Mommy. It's my destiny, I've always thought that, felt that. That my sole purpose of being put on this earth was to be some one's Mommy. That some future, pending soul needed my love and guidance, as much as I needed theirs. And so, this past January, when I heard the words, "Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome," that's when my dream became a dream of nightmarish proportions.

Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS), or also known as, Polycystic Ovarian Disease, no matter how you say it, or what you call it, it all means the same thing to me, worst nightmare. The nightmare part? Infertility. Hurts to even use that word, it's ugly, but nonetheless, it's my reality, PCOS is the leading cause of infertility in women. Lucky me, I'm in that 5-8% of women who suffer from it. Of course I use sarcasm when saying this, I hate this. And the funny thing about this, or not so funny, is that I'm not at all surprised, it figures. You see, deep down I've always had this fear that somehow something would hinder my having children, and I was right. Fear or intuition? They say we know our bodies best, right?

Anteverted uterus, cervical cysts, collection of pelvic fluid, polycystic ovaries abnormally massive; fluid filled, amenorrhea...infertility. Kind of difficult to achieve pregnancy when you have no cycle, do not ovulate, and can not release an egg. It all completely has devastated me, I cry a lot these days, like I say, worst nightmare. I ache for a baby, and I refuse to accept that it might never happen when it's all I've ever wanted out of this life. I also refuse to let this dream be stolen from that 5 year-old girl. She first dreamed the dream, so I'm gonna be the one to make it a reality. A dream realized is a dream hoped for, right? I'll fight this, I vow, and I'll be one of those success stories, just you wait an see.

To be continued...