Tag: Nashville

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The tale of the body that could(n’t).

I figured it was probably time to share the news.

This last embryo, it wasn’t our baby either.

So two rounds in, two rounds failed. I had done the unspeakable and tested in advance, so I sobbed it out all weekend. But the final line was drawn Monday with the blood test. The blood test that would, yet again, tell us we’re not going to be parents. Again. Not this time.

About a week ago, I had the opportunity to screen Embrace, a great documentary that explored body image and self love/hate. I came home enlightened, enraged, enamored. I wrote this long post about my deeply rooted body issues and conception, and in the end, couldn’t bring myself to post it. After years of very openly discussing my reproductive system, somehow, this post about my relationship with my body felt too personal.

It boiled down to this: no matter how much I’m told my body is amazing or capable or meant to do this, here I am, despite desperately trying to accept the body I’m in for what it is, with a blaring neon sign staring me in the face saying

you’re still defective.

I did everything. Eat this, don’t eat that, weigh this, stop taking this, start taking that, exercise more but that’s too much, relax, be positive, LOVE YOUR BODY FOR THE HEAVENLY VESSEL IT IS AND ALL WILL BE SOLVED!

Every shot, every ultrasound, every appointment, every procedure is a stark reminder of the things my body is supposed to do on its own. I wanted nothing more than that 1BB grade embryo that a doctor inserted to stay in my belly. I hoped it would settle into the uterine lining that injections of estradiol created. I wished that it would thrive on the shots of progesterone and estradiol that my body got nightly. Nothing. And I can’t help but feel that every time someone tries to offer advice, there’s an underlying twinge of “what is wrong with you?”

I have this idea in my head that when my body actually carries out a pregnancy, that’s when I’ll learn to love it. But that -when- may not happen, and the alternative action cannot be hating my body for the rest of my life. 

I still don’t regret our decision to be open about our journey, even if it’s a little depressing sometimes. This needs to be discussed. People going through this need to connect, and the relationships I’ve had the good fortune to cultivate through this process have been priceless, and will hopefully last a lifetime. I write all this because infertility desperately needs transparency, and this is what it looks like.

So what’s next? What’s next is a break. My body needs to heal. Both our hearts need to heal. We are tired, brokenhearted, and broke. But this too shall pass, and on we’ll go, probably at the beginning of next year.

In the mean time, send gluten.

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A slightly pessimistic, albeit honest, update.

I’ve been getting lots of questions about an update. I can’t believe so many people in our lives give that much of a shit. Thank you, friends. Your support has been invaluable.

As many of you know, we bought a house last year. It wasn’t necessarily planned, until our landlord jacked our rent up a LOT. And while we’re so grateful we were able to buy, we wiped out every bit of savings we had. So baby stuff got bumped back a bit.

So here’s the current standing: the plan is to get started in April. Let’s get SXSW out of the way, get our loan finalized, deal with whatever medical stuff I need to deal with dealt with.

Part of the reason I started this blog was to show the actual reality of what infertility looks like. And I’ve always promised to be honest with this blog. So let’s be honest.

I’m fucking exhausted.

The end of 2015 marked 3 years of pre-baby brain. Everyone who has started “trying” knows that your world is immediately shaken. I went from a 3 cups of coffee a day habit to caffeine free life. I have taken some really bizarre herbs and supplements. I’ve eaten pineapple core, stopped eating deli turkey for half the month, made maca and flax seed smoothies, tracked every. single. thing. my body does. I’ve fallen off piles of pillows, peed on ovulation sticks 3 times a day for months on end AND taped the sticks into a notebook with the day/time taken (eew, I know), and taken my temperature upon exact moment of waking up (but you know, don’t move before because it could spike your temp). I’ve been vaccinated, changed every one of my facial/soap products to pregnancy safe, and researched every Advil/Zyrtec/etc to see what pregnancy category it falls under. I’ve been poked, prodded, injected, cut open, asked super personal questions, and had more people than I’d like in places I’d prefer them not to be. I’ve dealt with headaches, anxiety, and other various medical issues because the remedy isn’t safe for pregnancy. I have listened to every old wives tale, rumor, and/or tip on how to get pregnant, and explained countless times that no, I cannot “just relax”. I have truly believed I’ve seen pregnancy symptoms, completely discounting the 30 previous years of bouts of nausea for every single reason other than pregnancy, only to be let down at the end of the month. I’ve put my baking business on hold. I’ve smiled, made jokes, laughed, and acted hopeful for the sake of others when I just wanted to scream.

I’m. Exhausted. And the funny thing about all of this, is that the hard work hasn’t even started. It’s hard to be excited about the possibility of a baby when you’ve moved into the it’s not happening mindset (thank you, but no pep talks needed). Because it’s hard to see a baby in your future when you have injections, pills, blood, doctors, waiting, restrictions, and procedures, or home visits, birth parents, and approvals between you and that baby. And the giant pink elephant that no one wants to talk about: there’s a pretty significant chance that it just won’t work. So at that point, does it all become worthless? What happens when you’re paying back a $20,000 loan every month for nothing? When trying again becomes a whole new set of loan documents, injections, and broken hope.

I’m not all pessimism. Most of the time I know it’ll happen somehow. Mike and I have committed to finding a way to parenthood, whatever it takes. Whether that be IVF or adoption, we know we’ll love that baby the same and all of this will be worth it. And that’s a great feeling to have, at least most of the time. But there are just times it’s not enough, and I get all emo and shit. Calling a spade a spade.

So there it is, the update. I’m sure you can understand why I’ve been hesitant to put this out there. But we committed to honesty and that’s what I’m going to do. With any luck, this time next year, we’ll be able to look back at this and be glad we’ll never have to feel this way again.

See? Optimism.

 

Side note: I just want to thank all the friends and family who have privately spoken with us about your personal journeys. The good, the bad, and the ugly have all helped us navigate our own path. To you, we are grateful.