When you’re trying to conceive, it is easy to feel like much of your life is spent waiting. Waiting for a positive OPK. The two-week wait. It’s a frustrating cycle (pun intended) of wait. And for about as much time as I spend waiting, I spend an awful lot of time peeing on sticks, too. It’s kind of my job, for now. You could say I am an expert at it, in fact.
Until I’m not. Exhibit A… this afternoon’s failed OPK:
What the what?
Seriously? I take this to mean, “you’re an idiot. Read a book.”
There have been a handful of moments over the last few months when I ask myself why I am doing this. Of course, the answer is a baby. I want to build my little family, member by member. Sometimes that gets buried deep down and the negative thoughts get the better of me, though. Moments like this morning when I wake up to knowing I’m, again, not going to expand my family this month. I don’t know whether it’s better to scream and throw things, or cry and collapse.
This morning I was just super pissed off. I wasn’t all that surprised, really, that I wasn’t pregnant. I’d missed my window for IUI, and the old-fashioned method hadn’t previously brought any success. I still stomped around and considered how much longer I could really go on like this. Physically I realize I am lucky because, while I loathe being poked and prodded, the doctors and nurses I work with keep it to a minimum. That may not always be the case, though. Next month will be a little more poking, prodding, testing.
Emotionally is an entirely different story. When a friend or loved one I haven’t spoken to in a while casually asks what’s new? there’s really only one thing to say. It’s, in all honesty, the only thing on my mind most of the time. If I’m not consumed with the treatments and next steps, then I worry about the financial burden this is putting on our already stretched finances (and I can’t even fathom if we were trying to do this when we were still in New York). Or I’m thinking about how long I’ve already been waiting and wanting. Sometimes it is pinning crib mattresses and maternity clothes to revisit another day.
Days like today are more difficult to get up and out and going. Especially when it begins so sour. Yet so like every other day since we decided we were ready to start our family. It started with not not trying, and I never really imagined us here, now; still waiting.
When I wonder how much longer I can go on like this, in this state of mind, it makes me feel guilty. I would give anything to be pregnant. And I’m trying to give everything I can. I am trying. But I am so tired, too.
But, by the same token, I can’t imagine not going on. I mean, of course I will. I’ll let all of the selfish feelings go when I get that second pink little line. Just let that happen. Give me that moment, instead of another negative.
Image from NegativePregnancyTest.com, which is maybe what I should have named this blog.
For a long time, probably years before I was actually ready to become a mother, I have had a vision of purchasing a copy of “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” the day that I find out I am pregnant. This book, to many women, is much like a bible for pregnancy. I’ve purchased copies for friends when they’ve announced their news, always secretly knowing that I would be standing in line at Barnes & Noble or Target with the latest edition in-hand when my time had come. I realize that the modern woman has likely moved past “What to Expect…” (there was that terrible movie after all). A close friend of mine who became a mama last year read, and adored, “The Girlfriends’ Guide to Pregnancy.” (I’m sure I’ll buy that one, too.)
IRL, I know one other woman who has been on a similar infertility path as I (a friend/former coworker). One thing that she warned me of, that I never in a million years would have otherwise believed, is that many women experience pregnancy-like symptoms while on Clomid. From an “outsider’s” perspective, this makes little sense. A round of Clomid lasts only about five days of the cycle (mine is days 3-8)… so why would I experience symptoms like nausea, headaches and fatigue a full 10+ days later (when I hadn’t experienced anything of the sort elsewhere in my cycle)? If you’ve done the math, the time inconveniently coincides with the TWW… exactly the time I want to be feeling the annoying symptoms of pregnancy. But this is exactly what happened to me following my first Clomid/IUI cycle. For any woman trying to conceive (TTC), this is maddening. I am already paying an absurd amount of attention to my body (comparatively to my level of attention when I wasn’t TTC), and then, Clomid, you want to lay pregnancy symptoms on me?! Not cool, bro. (I generally associate Clomid with feminine terms, but “Not cool, sister” doesn’t pack the same punch.)
Chalk it up to stupid, misleading and damn confusing. As I said, I never would have believed that phantom symptoms would be a thing. But it totally is. Ask the package of plain crackers I bought and devoured…
One of the things that I’m certain all wanna be/future mamas struggle with is resentment, particularly while trying to conceive. It has been a real challenge for me to keep in check. Each time I hear of someone who is pregnant, or whose partner is pregnant, my brain asks why not you? I often hate that that is where my mind goes, but there seems to be little I can do to stop it. Even if I am happy for the person — and I almost always am — it is just what happens.
I may not be able to change my first thoughts upon hearing this news, but I can control my visible reaction and response. In the last few weeks especially, I’ve expressed my disappointment in it not being me to my husband many times after many, many baby announcements. I (probably wrongly) assume that it was easy for them to conceive. They may have gone through the exact same thing that I am. But I always manage to tell myself that they were lucky or blessed. Two things I hardly feel describe me or my situation. They’ll probably glow and look like they just swallowed a basketball at 38 weeks, too.
Of course I have no ill will towards these women, and I sincerely hope that they have healthy pregnancies. I wish I had an easier time feeling the positives. I know my time will come. I just want it to be right now.
Sometime in the last hour my outlook on the day changed dramatically. That happens to me frequently, as I’m sure it does to most women trying to have a baby. That dramatic, sudden shift – the certain to uncertain – is a source of fear and loneliness for me, not to mention it can physically hurt.
This month I had my first fertility treatment – a five-day round of Clomid, paired with intrauterine insemination (IUI). These past 24 days have felt like some of the longest in my life. Never have three plus weeks crawled so unbearably slowly. In fertility lingo there’s an acronym – TWW (the two-week wait), of which I am more than midway through. TWW refers to the void of time between an insemination and the pregnancy test.
I’m scheduled to take my test this Friday, but about an hour ago, in the restroom, I feared that I wouldn’t have to wait out the calendar for another few days. Now my heart hurts. The last few days I had essentially convinced myself that I was, in fact, with child. Headaches, fatigue, nausea for no discernible reason… classic pregnancy symptoms. It’s a strange thing to be happy about feeling bad. Yesterday when I felt like I could barely keep down some fruit for lunch, turned my nose up at my large iced coffee, and then sat most of the afternoon at my desk with a box of crackers in my lap, I was feeling elated. When I packed my crackers in my desk drawer at the end of the day I thought gotta get used to this…with a smile on my face.
Yes, I know that a successful round one of fertility treatments isn’t that common. Tries three and four are more likely to work. I know. But, you see, I did some simple math and it added up to a sign. Insemination (and therefore conception) took place on my father-in-law’s birthday. We would find out if it “stuck” on the 13th – my mother’s birth date and (deceased) father’s lucky number. Then, 40 weeks later would take us to November 6th. A lucky six dead in the center of my husband’s lucky five and my lucky seven. That math just couldn’t lie.
Since that moment I’ve treated every second as though I’m carrying the child that I’ve waited for. The nurses tell you after insemination that while nothing is restricted, you should behave as though you are pregnant – stay away from alcohol, take good care of yourself, and the like. I have. I will. Until that little stick shows me one line or two. That stupidly small piece of technology that determines if I get the job as “mama.”
Right this second I’m less sure that I will get that job this month. I want to go back an hour and unsee the spot of red that suddenly, like a shot, made me feel hopeless and helpless again. Just as I have every month before.
Wanna Be Mama B. 