Clomid battle

Clomid in a nutshell:

Round one: “okay I can do this. I feel a little odd. Is it hot in here? Holy shit, I ovulated!!! Fuck. There’s my period. Okay. We kinda knew the first round was a shot in the dark.”

Round two: “goddamn dude, round two already??? I’m fighting my period AND I get another round of hormones. Hold onto your butts! But okay, the period ended quickly and oh look, ovulation again! Oh hey, it might be okay to take a pregnancy tes— nope, no wait. There’s my period. Well this sucks.”

Round three: “okay we got this! Increased dosage but I don’t feel different from last month. Wow, the sex this round has been amazing. I think we go this! Just two more days before I can take a test. I think it worked!!! I’m getting excited! Oh no. Not again. No. Why? Why isn’t this working? Why is this such a fucking challenge? I hate everything. Fuck religion. Fuck you. Fuck everything. Fuck this fucking pill that I have to immediately jump into AGAIN. Oh now my doctor is telling me no? I have to choose between IVF and continuing clomid? NOW? Right now I have to decide? I can’t afford IVF. This was my IVF. What the fuck do I do? What if this is my only chance??? Time for a massive fight with the husband. Time to rethink this entire thing and hate myself for a while. Goddamnit, I have to start round round right this fucking minute.”

Round four: “why did I do this to myself? Why didn’t I take a month to decide? Why did I rush this? Well too late now so fuck it, sex every single day for 8 days straight. We’re gonna get the entire fertile window. Oh good, now my vagina is inflamed. Yeast infection? Friction burns? Fuck it, just put some A&D on the punani and move on. Gotta take a break to wait on the test. Oh hey, wedding anniversary! Oh hello irrational irritability! Goodbye tolerance for anything. Hmmm… boobs hurt and can smell everything. Wait a second, I’m 3 days late!! Oh snap! Let’s take a test tomorrow! Negative? What the fucking fuck? NEGATIVE? Fine. I’ll wait a day— nope, there’s the blood. Oh hey, let’s have an irrational fight with mom, fix that and recover, but then have one with the sibling and possibly do irreparable damage with the sibling in said fight. Success. Fuck everything. No wait, not spouse. He’s turned a new leaf and is supporting me unconditionally. I love him so much. I don’t deserve him at all.”

Round five: on hold.

I should have taken a break after round 3. I should have listened to my body and given myself brief break. Ultimately we decided IVF was no longer an option. Insurance won’t cover it. We have too much debt anyway so we can’t pay out of pocket so we had no choice but to go for clomid. We only get 6 total rounds at this point and we’ve used 4. The aftermath of the fighting and my mood swings was tremendous. It’s not fair to anyone.

So this time we took a break. I had to for the sake of my own sanity and my marriage. Although, the fight we had in round three seems to have made a massive difference with us and things changed dramatically for the better so that’s one good thing.

I don’t even know how I feel right now. I’m somewhere between doubt and hope. I’m lost in the middle of feelings of sadness and wanting to be a fighter and keep going. It’s such a mess. I have a few weeks until I start this over again though so I have time to figure out what I really want and if I can do this. I have time to get my attitude I check and start fresh. Or not. But the point is I have time to think before jumping into one of my last medicated chances of getting pregnant.

I can live with that.

Raw

Round three failed.

I haven’t even gotten to take a pregnancy test yet because every time I’m slated to do so, my period arrives. I don’t get the excitement of a missed cycle. I don’t get the disappointment of a negative result or the excitement of a positive result. Instead I get a bunch of blood and tears.

The last two times I was stronger. I think I knew that the first two rounds just wouldn’t work. This round was different. Everything lined up. All of my tests were in line, my calculations were spot on, and the sex was even really good every time. I really thought I would be taking a test this weekend and be smiling on Monday. I really thought this round worked.

But it didn’t, and I’m left feeling a thousand feelings.

How do I find the strength to call my doctor and ask for another round of meds? How do I stop crying? How, after every failed attempt, do I keep trying? I know on some level I’m being tested. I know on some level that I have to keep going. I know that if I give up now I will regret it for the rest of my life.

I just don’t know how to move past my emotions right now and jump into the next cycle and I sure as fuck don’t know how I do that while battling my period. Honestly? I’m not going to. I’m going to let the emotions out and be raw and free with myself and then pass the fuck out from sheer exhaustion. Maybe tomorrow I’ll hate myself a lot less and find that strength to move on and try again.

But tonight I’m going to cry until my eyelids swell and the snot pours out of my nose because goddamnit, this fucking hurts.

Infertility and Marriage

I once read that the divorce rate among infertile couples was three times higher than that of a normal marriage. I now believe that to be 100% accurate. No, we’re not divorced. We’re actually better than ever. But the last three years have been a rollercoaster. What started out as a positive, but challenging journey to get pregnant turned to something I never anticipated.

From about February 2015 to October 2015 I had been trying to hide the disintegrating status of my mental health. I didn’t want to tell anyone how I was truly feeling so I blamed it on anything I could. I also wasn’t sleeping more than 3 hours a night (if I was lucky) and it was taking its toll on me physically. The only thing anyone noticed was that I was “off” and “not myself” and even then, only mom and BooBoo had noticed. They couldn’t pinpoint what the issue was though and I wasn’t exactly giving them any information. I’m also a stubborn ass. In hindsight, I’m not entirely sure I even knew what was going on with me other than being completely miserable and trying to fake happiness. Newsflash: that shit doesn’t work!

So here I was, 8 months into not sleeping worth a fuck, being angry a lot, resenting my body, and I was planning a surprise anniversary trip to Vegas at Halloween. For all intents and purposes, it was a success and we had a blast celebrating our 4th anniversary. It wasn’t until the flight home, after spending several days back to back in the city that never sleeps, that I finally cracked. And boy did I crack.

In a nutshell, the anxiety I had been shoving into my stomach for 3/4 of a year burst out of me in the form of extreme claustrophobia which hit me on the plane with 4 hours left to go in flight. I had no anxiety medication. Our seats were changed and I was crammed against the window with no room to breathe. My feet were swelling from walking 24 miles in 3 days and now the altitude was making it worse. I had absolutely no escape. So there I was completely melted down, sobbing, panicking, heart racing, and desperate for release but there was none in sight. Every minute felt like an hour. I couldn’t even pass out. It was in my top ten of worst experiences of my life and it lasted 4 hours. (The MRI I had for my back this year is in the top 15.)

And poor BooBoo had no idea what the fuck had just happened to his wife.

I finally admitted I had a problem and within a week of our return, I had an appointment with a therapist. She put me in with the psychiatrist almost immediately and within a month (it was right around Thanksgiving) of my 4 hour panic attack at 30,000 feet, I was medicated and in therapy. (Incidentally, it took about 3 months to get past the 4 hour hell flight – and to this day it still causes me panic when I think about it.) My diagnosis: moderate depression, moderate to severe anxiety, and low grade insomnia. The first few weeks were rough with adjusting to medication, but my therapy team was incredible and I slept through the night for the first time in almost a year. That turned into many sleep filled nights and weekly visits to my therapist.

That was just the beginning.

Over the course of the next two years, it wasn’t just my mental health I had to battle. Since I needed so much medication at the time and felt I wasn’t stable enough to handle it anyway, all baby dreams were pushed aside and our plan to have a child was paused indefinitely. A lot of shit happened along the way as well like me injuring my knee and then my back, all the treatments and physical therapy for that, putting our dog down (which still hurts 2 years later), getting a puppy, and finally learning to live together without anyone else in our house after my brother moved out. Because that wasn’t nearly enough to deal with, our marriage also took a big hit. Many big hits. Oh who am I kidding? Our marriage was beaten to a bloody pulp.

I can’t lie and say divorce didn’t cross our minds a few times. There were days when it all felt impossible and on top of it, I felt like I may never have a child so I was really fighting with myself in addition to fighting with my husband. We started couples therapy at one point and realized it was utterly useless because our issue wasn’t communication or love. It was whether or not we could live without ever having a child. That was the true root of our problems. Our therapist couldn’t help us there and had no experience with infertility so we fired her. We now knew what we had to do.

We talked about IVF. We talked about surrogacy. We talked about adoption. None of these options were financially feasible anyway, but if we really wanted it, we would have found a way. The thing is, we didn’t. The IUIs has taken a toll on me and the idea of IVF was killing me. We thought about adoption, but it would cost more than IVF and if I’m being truly honest it just didn’t feel right to me. And surrogacy? HA-motherfucking-HA. That shit is intense on every level.

So it came back to the elephant in the room: Were we enough for each other?

That’s one of the most difficult questions I’ve ever had to answer and while it was easy to answer, it wasn’t easy to accept. I thought BooBoo was throwing away his chance for a child and true happiness by staying with me so it was difficult to finally hear and accept that he didn’t feel that way. Ultimately I accepted it and we decided we truly are enough for each other… as long as we could have a lot of pets!

Acceptance is a beautiful thing.

Our marriage improved dramatically. It made all the other battles so much easier to get through. I was also working tirelessly to defeat my depression, manage my anxiety without medication, and learn how to quiet my mind. Therapy was incredible! I wish everyone had the connection to their therapist that I found with mine. She has been the greatest support and so encouraging of my progress all along the way. Countless breakthroughs happened and she was there all along. I’m happy to report that my mental health was finally stabilized and I was ready to go off of my meds. As of October 2017, I am off of Zoloft. As of April 2018, I’m off Xanax. As of June 2018, I’m off Trazadone.

Why go off my meds? Because they weren’t helping as much anymore and I honestly started having some adverse reactions to them. I also decided the baby dream was no longer off the table and I knew my meds were not pregnancy safe. And then I decided it was time to see Dr. Wonderful and talk about what options I had at the ripe old age of 37. She had been with me through this journey and knew of all my issues my both my mental health and my physical health. My knee is as good as it’s gonna get and my back injury is manageable without pain killers for now. I’m facing surgery down the road but not just yet!

Dr. W was thrilled with my progress and long story short, the baby dream is back on track. So far the first round didn’t go as well as we had all hoped and the second round has had some challenges, but my attitude is unbreakable. I’ve also accepted that if this doesn’t work then it just doesn’t fucking work and I’m okay with that.

it’s a hell of a lot easier to summarize all of this than it was to detail it along the way so that’s why I walked away. I can’t say I’m back for good, but I can’t say I’m done either.

So here we go, 3 years and a fuck ton of emotional and marital growth and progress later, and the baby dream is back on track. Here goes nothing…

A More Natural “Cure”

I’ve spent several years trying to understand my PCOS and what it does to my body as well as try to study and try out new diets to see what works the best for me. I’ve even joined several forums to see how other women with my same illness handle it. After all the devastation and sadness of the last few months, my mom decided to take a different approach and look up supplements that might help and what’s worked for other PCOS sufferesr.

So here’s the list of my pills. Some of these I’d been taking as normal every day needs due to my other issues. Some of these are newly added.

Medications:
· Metformin – to help regulate my blood sugar and help with the PCOS. I agreed to go back on this on a trial basis until I saw how it affected me. I took this from mid-April to July 4th and then accidentally stopped (forgot it in my pill box) and didn’t notice anything different so I stopped entirely.

Vitamins and Supplements I already took on a daily basis:

· Cranberry – because when you’re having a lot of unprotected sex, you tend to develop UTI’s easier. Taking cranberry helps your kidneys flush out more frequently

· Vitamin D3-5000 IU – Like most women with PCOS, I have a vitamin D deficiency so I need the extra boost. (I was actually diagnosed with this years prior to my PCOS diagnosis.) Vitamin D deficiency is also linked to a host of other problems like depression

· Super B Complex – for an immunity booster. (I’ve been taking this for over a year and I really haven’t gotten sick. Maybe it’s helping!)

· Digestive Enzymes – I don’t have a gallbladder (removed in 2007) and for many years I struggled with digestion so I started taking these and it got better.

· Prenatal Multivitamins – because despite my lack of fertility, I’m still trying to have a baby on my own and the clinic recommended I take them while trying

Viatmins and Supplements I added for PCOS help:

· L-Glutamine – aids in fighting sugar cravings

· Cinnamon – can help in reducing blood sugar (also makes for tasty burps)

· Chromium – can help move blood sugar through the blood stream to the right cells and a host of other benefits

· Probiotics – for good gut bacteria because I don’t like yogurt as my method of transport and surprise surpsrise, gut health seems to be linked to PCOS and weight gain/loss

· Magnesium – apparently I’m low this too, there’s another possible link between this and PCOS, and it also treats a variety of issues so why not?

While my period was running full force and I was starting these supplements, I wasn’t fully aware of how I was reacting, but my husband being on the outside said he noticed my cravings shifting. I attributed it to the hormonal shifts of a ridiculously long and increasingly heavier period, but BooBoo thinks it started with the new vitamins. Lo and behold, almost 3 months later, it turns out he was right.

My energy is increasing, which is great, but my attitude is insanely improved. I’ve had more good days than bad days and I feel better inside than ever before. My stomach is starting to become less temperamental and my “blood sugar shaking” has virtually stopped. (Actually, come to think of it, that stopped almost immediately on this new vitamin routine.) Blood sugar shakes happened when I hadn’t eaten in a while. I’d get lightheaded, dizzy, and my hands would start shaking uncontrollably. If I let it go too long, I’d start to get very sick to my stomach and feel very sleepy. Eventually I’d be nasty and lash out at people. Usually I’d go for a fast sugar fix – candy, sugary soda, sugary juice… anything sweet I could ingest quickly to stop the crashing low I was experiencing. I haven’t had that happen since I started this new routine. For someone who’s experienced this for 2 decades, it’s weird to suddenly not feel it, but it’s awesome.

The downside to all of this? There’s a truly measurable difference in my attitude, appearance, and cravings when I forget a day or two of vitamins. BooBoo has become hyper aware of my shifting moods and appearance (he always has been because it’s a roller coaster from hell for him and he wants a happy wife) and always goes to check my pills case to see if I missed a day before he says anything. It’s also REALLY hard for me to be reliant on pills to make me happy. I realize this isn’t exactly a bucket of medications and everything is natural, but it’s still hard for me to accept that I can’t control my own body without help.

As for my diet, well fuck that noise. I’ve tried everything under the sun and not a single goddamn one has worked. So you know what? I’m just eating whatever the hell I want, but I’m counting calories and going to the gym 3 days a week. I’m working up to 4 days a week then hopefully 5, but for now I go 3 days a week and burn as much as many calories I can before pain hits me. Even on the days when I have limited time, I’m still going and at least walking the treadmill for as long as I can before rushing home to get the dog out or make dinner or meet up with people. I also got a fitbit to count my steps outside of my gym activities and I’ve slowly increased my goal.

From the start of this new routine, I first gained about 8 pounds. After my period regulated, those 8 went back down and I had a baseline of weight to work with. Since then, I’ve lost 7 pounds! I know that sounds like nothing but its been almost 2 years (when I lost the weight for the IUIs) since the scale went DOWN. It’s pretty fucking amazing to me that I can eat cake or have some french fires when I want to and still lose weight. And because I can do that, I’ve actually been eating less of it. The more I depraved myself, the worse my binges got so now that cycle is finally breaking. It also helps that my sugar cravings are FINALLY in control. I don’t think most people understand how it feels to crave sugar 24 hours a day, 7 days a week but I do and it SUCKS.

I still have a long way to go in the weight loss department, but to feel this good doing it and to have the support of my husband (who joined the gym with me) has been better than I could have imagined. IO’m happy and hopeful once again!

Dr. Wonderful

After my appointment with Dr. Doom the bar was set unbearably low for how my next appointment would go. As it turns out, I had absolutely nothing to fear. I was squeezed in at the end of the day so I assumed it would be a fast appointment, but it wasn’t. Doctor Wonderful treated me as though I was the only patient in her world at that time. Within a minute I knew I didn’t have to rehash what happened with Dr. Doom. (Besides, I had done that with the nurse before hand and I knew she would spread the word anyway so why do it again?) I knew this doctor was focused on me and my issues from the minute she looked at me. I cannot begin to tell you what an amazing feeling that is.

Dr. Wonderful listened to my problems, what I’ve been doing, and how I was feeling. She listened to my mom (who had come along with me again) talk about her history and my grandmother’s history and Dr. W even gave a sort of diagnosis of what they likely both had which made my mom feel pretty good too.

My doctor was very open and honest with me and gave me a list of possibilities. She didn’t want to overwhelm me but she didn’t want a diagnosis to hit me out of the blue either. Everything from Endometriosis to Adenomyosis (which I’d never heard of but thats what she verbally diagnosed my mom and grandma with) to Endometrial Hyperplasia to PCOS gone wild. She had bloodwork run on me and sent me for an ultrasound and told me to call her if my period hadn’t stopped in the next few days. As it was, it was already stopping and I suspect the violent pelvic exam from Dr. Doom had something to do with it so yay, one positive thing from that evil witch.

I went for my ultrasound and then scheduled my follow up which unfortunately took a few more weeks because of how loaded up Dr W’s schedule was and how slammed I was with my job. But I finally got in and we discussed my results and my future. We also discussed a new vitamin routine I’d started just a short bit before seeing her (I’ll detail that in another entry).

The good news: I have an official diagnosis and hope for future periods. In addition to the PCOS, I have “Endometrial Hyperplasia caused by a lack of progesterone” which makes sense because my body doesn’t produce progesterone the way it should because of the PCOS. However, there’s hope for the future periods from hell. If this ever happens again, there’s a type of progesterone I can take that will gradually taper off my neverending periods and I’ll take that pill until the bleeding stops. She also likes my vitamin routine and wanted the list so she could loo9k into it herself because apparently her daughter also suffers from a very similar history as me. (NO wonder she’s taken so kindly to me!)

The bad news: because I have such abnormally bad reactions to birth control and most hormonal medications, there’s nothing else I can do to help my condition outside of losing weight, taking my vitamins if they help, and staying healthy. I am officially pulled off of all birth control pills and hormones unless Dr Wonderful specifically prescribes them. I can take Metformin to help with the blood sugar issues, but that’s at my discretion and I can go off when I want to based on my reaction to it. If I were not trying to have a baby or two, she would do some sort of uterine cauterization to stop my periods altogether for a few more years before a hysterectomy which is DEFINITELY in my future.

Part of me was relieved to have a diagnosis and finally have some answers. Part of me was glad I found a doctor who understands me and agrees with me about my future. But part of me was sad that I really do have a hysterectomy in my future and it will likely be within the next ten years. My baby making mortality was drastically shrunken down. I mean, I already knew it on some level and I’ve expected it, but to have it made official was a bit of a blow.

Still, I was mostly relieved and relaxed which is something I haven’t felt in over a decade. I also have an incredible doctor who seems to actually give a fuck about her patients and is going to stand by me and my decisions so in the end, I’m in good hands and I’m happy with that.

Dr. Doom

My appointment started out like every other appointment: fill out paperwork, bring it with you, wait, wait, wait until the nurse checks you in, gets your vitals, etc. My mom took me to the appointment so I could take my higher dose Xanax and not have to worry about driving. When we got to the appointment, my husband showed up! Surprise! Super Spouse is here! Except I could only choose one in the exam room and he said mom should go with me.

Okay so now that I have two rescuers with me, I’m feeling better about my appointment. Also, the Xanax is kicking in at this point. This nurse actually took the time to read my medical history form and pay attention to it and she was great until the blood pressure moment. The machine she used to take my readings wouldn’t stop squeezing. It got to the point where I audibly whimpered and said “this is really starting to hurt. I can’t feel my hand at all” but she said “it will be over soon” and then a minute later it finally stopped only to leave my arm steamed lobster red with red track lines and a dark purple bruise already forming. No real concern from her on that, but she did pay attention to me noting “white coat syndrome” on my chart and didn’t read too much into my readings, so I do give her credit for that. She was very nice and quite funny and she and my mom were having quite a conversation while I kind of checked out mentally to calm down from the blood pressure.

Then the nurse told me to disrobe from the waist down. Oh goodie, a pelvic exam is in my immediate future! So I did that and then waited for the doctor. She started out with a joke about “what, you mean you don’t like bleeding for 3 months?” and then it went downhill from there.

Looking back on this appointment, I truly do not think she believed that I had been bleeding for 89 days (91 at the time of this blog post) and now I honestly don’t think her brain could grasp that this was not an enjoyable thing for me. She seemed to disregard that I’ve been clinically diagnosed with PCOS more than once and asked me what tests were done to determine this. I ran through the list and said exactly which doctors had done what. Oh right, and that whole FERTILITY CLINIC thing. You know, the people who specialize in this and know the endocrine system inside and out? Yeah, those people clearly have no idea how to diagnose PCOS.

This was not looking good.

She seemed to be in complete disbelief that birth control could possibly cause the reactions it had in me. It’s as though she refused to believe anyone could experience hallucinations, blackout rage, suicidal depression, and total numbness on a pill. Oh, and there’s no way I could have gained 30 pounds on one pill, 15 on another, 20 on another. No way is that possible! When I told her my marriage had suffered as a result of the medications, she just looked at me like I had five heads and said nothing. I told her that I thought I’d had issues with metformin in the past, but I’ve since discovered I have a skin condition and some mild food allergies so I may not have actually reacted to Metformin like I thought I did. It could have been coincidental and I was willing to try that again if it would help. She just said “well those reactions are from Metformin” Um, did you hear me say I also have the reactions from certain foods? Apparently not! So my mom chimed in “well I’ve heard of a sustained released version as well” and Dr. Doom said “that’s only for diabetics”. Thanks, for the help!

Then it was time for the pelvic exam from hell. I had just told her how pap smears really hurt me and she didn’t give me any sort of warning – she just shoved the speculum in me and spread it wide and then what felt like a tiny machete was scraped around. She told me I needed to relax and spread my legs wider so she could “pull a few clots out” and then pretty roughly pulled the speculum back out when she was done. All the while I’m squeezing my mom’s hand to the point of causing her pain. Then the manual exam with fingers inside and hand on the outside. I felt like I was being punched right in the uterus. I know my body is infinitely more sensitive when I have my period so I know some of this was a bit more painful to me than it normally level of pain it would have been, but when a patient tells you they have pain with a normal exam, you should maybe be a little more gentle and maybe, just maybe, be kind to them as well. Of course I immediately started cramping and by the time I got home I was bleeding heavily again.

She said something about getting a CBC, but never drew any blood… maybe that’s what the clot extractions were for??? No idea though. She didn’t bother to explain herself, say what she was doing, or tell me why she took my clots.

A few minutes later she was pushing birth control back on me. I had just spent several minutes explaining the effects and here she is saying that’s one of my only options. So fine, I humored her and said “okay, let’s say I decide to abandon my objections to going through hell and take you up on a new birth control. How would this new one compare the previous ones? How would it be better or different?” She said “I really don’t know” and then when I pressed her for a better answer, she sighed and turned to the computer and googled one of them (that I had to spell the name of 4 times, mind you, because she had never heard of it) right in front of me. Way to be educated!

At this point, my anger was rising. So far I’ve clearly been ignored and not believed about my symptoms, had birth control pushed on me, been questioned about my disease, and a rough exam. We still haven’t discussed the issue at hand: how to stop the bleeding!!!

There was a clear moment to me when she just mentally checked out and stopped listening to my concerns – I could literally see her face change. I felt like I was burdening her with my decision to refuse birth control and how dare I make her seek an alternative option for me?!

Then she decided that since I was refusing birth control that my option was to go back on metformin and progesterone, but then she added that the progesterone was just temporary to slow the bleeding down long enough for me to have an ultrasound (that they apparently can’t do in the office?) and that the minute I stopped taking it, I’d just start bleeding heavily again. Oh joy.

And then, she crossed the last possible line she could cross: she said “the progesterone is going to make you hungry, but you’re just going to have to adjust to it and deal with it. You’re going to have to have some self-control.” What my brain said: Self-control? SELF-CONTROL? Bitch, do you have any idea how much self-control I’ve exhibited over the last 3 months of bleeding and fighting hormones and staying on a meal plan? Do you have ANY idea how hard I’ve worked to not give in to my cravings? Do you have any idea how much self-control I’m exhibiting right now by not stabbing you, especially after that violating pelvic exam?

Instead I was silent and squeezing my hands into fists so tight I had white knuckles. She continued on to say I needed to make major lifestyle changes and that I needed to immediately get back to working out 1.5 to 2 hours a day… but she didn’t actually bother to ask what I’ve been doing for physical activity or what my diet was. No actual information, just took a look at my body and judged me. I remained quiet. I was truly afraid of what I would say at that point.

Listen, I understand that my weight is a problem. I understand that I’m in a vicious cycle with PCOS, birth control, stress, and weight. I really do get that! My fertility clinic doctor has explained exactly what the problem is, why I gain weight the way I do, and the best methods for me to lose it. I’ve worked on this for years. I’ve made numerous changes and done a lot of really great things to change my lifestyle so I keep these habits for life, not just for a fad diet. I want to be healthy, regardless of what the number on the scale says, and a lifestyle change was required for that.

And then, when I finally spoke again, I said “I’ve been bleeding so heavily that I cannot even stand up to cook dinner. I can’t be away from a toilet for more than a few minutes. I literally soak through tampons and pads at a rate that I almost checked myself into a hospital the other night, but didn’t out of a fear of a D&C possibly happening. Going to the gym right now is not an option until this is controlled. That’s why I’m here. I need help controlling my PCOS so this doesn’t happen again.” My mom then added “even I’ve had rough ones. I almost died from one. It required 5 blood transfusions and a D&C to save me.” And Just when I thought Dr. Doom could not cross any more lines or insult me any further, she interrupted my mother (oh hell to the fuck NO!) and said “I know what heavy periods are like! I had them when I was an adolescent! Now I have a Mirena insert and don’t have that problem” Oh, well just excuse the shit out of me! Clearly you get it. Clearly your adolescent uterus is the exact same as my nearly 34 year old uterus and CLEARLY you’ve been through this even though you were in shock over this lasting as long as it has. Clearly your choice to keep in a dangerous IUD that has a class action lawsuit against it trumps my family history of emergency hysterectomies and nearly bleeding to death from heavy periods. You’re right, you know it all. Please tell me again how I can be just like you!

Once again, I went silent. I tried to channel my rage into something calmer. Somewhere in here a discussion about D&C’s ensued and Dr. Doom went from saying “we really only do them for miscarriages” to “depending on your ultrasound, we may be going forward with a D&C, but it will scar you and they’re really not done for heavy periods”. Umm, okay, what? First of all, I’ve done my research on D&Cs and while they’re not the ideal situation, the risk of scarring is lower than you’d think and they do them for heavy periods quite frequently. That being said, I really don’t want to have one.

My mom, having been there through this whole appointment, was in complete shock. She finally asked what the plan was and what was next and the doctor begrudgingly agreed to metformin and progesterone with an ultrasound, but made one more jab about my refusal to take birth control. Oh and the best part? She didn’t even tell me she called in prescriptions, just assumed that when I told her which pharmacy to send to that I should know she’d done it, so I waited for a nurse to draw my blood for the CBC and tell me when to expect my prescriptions to be called in, but then found out from the pharmacy app on my phone that it was in progress and no nurse showed up so I left the room. I made an ultrasound follow up appointment and then walked out with steam pouring out of my ears.

I was furious by the time we reached the parking lot and my husband was equally furious. My mom was still in shock. (Later she told me she felt like she’d watched a slow burn happen and hadn’t caught on to the signals until afterwards. She felt terrible she didn’t see it sooner, but it’s not her fault and I refused to let her take the blame!) I tried to be calm on the ride home, but the more I thought about it, the worse I felt and eventually the anger had turned to complete sadness.

I felt like I had been fat shamed and labeled as a fat lazy slob. She treated me like I was below her because I didn’t fit her criteria of an ideal body. As the cramps worsened and the blood started to flow again, I realized how physically violated I had been and how what felt exaggerated wasn’t actually exaggerated. I really was HURT by this doctor. The history of my past doctors came flooding back and I started to feel like I’d never have a good doctor again. Having fully immersed myself in shame and sadness, I went to bed early while the spouse took care of some things around the house.

When I woke up, my sadness was still looming but I ended up calling Dr. Doom’s office to cancel my follow up appointment. I decided I could not, in good faith, put myself through her treatment again. It would dishonor myself to further subject myself to a discriminatory and abusive doctor. They politely asked me why I was cancelling and I started of saying just a few words and then ultimately unloaded the entire story. The receptionist was horrified and immediately booked me with the head of the practice for a follow up appointment. I felt massive relief when this woman jumped in to tell me how unacceptable it was and she was sorry I was so upset I was crying. She did what she could to right the wrong and I’m going back in a few hours to talk to the new doctor.

I will say my expectations cannot possibly be lower than they already are at this point, but I am seriously fucking proud of myself for expressing my feelings and standing up for myself. Now we will see what happens with the new doctor and go from there.

The Never Ending Period

Still no IVF started. 

Still a fucking fat ass. (Fatter, actually!)

Still no baby.

Okay, so based on the last post, life really threw wrench at me, but most of those things did get better. My mom is still sober. Her divorce is over and done with and she did it all on her own for the cheapest way possible too. Our relationship is rebuilt, healed, and flourishing. I also confirmed the cat that ran away died (neighbor saw it happen) and was able to emotionally close that door. And the best news: we did buy the house (split level condo/mini townhouse)! That has had its own stresses and financial issues, but it’s actually gone well. 

After initially using the second bedroom as a dumping ground for our surplus of stuff, I finally got it organized thanks to my mom and finally got stuff moved into a small storage unit thanks to my husband and brother since we don’t have any real storage here. But I do love this place and it’s going to be good to start our family. Looking back, I did lose hope of having a baby. I didn’t want to admit it to myself but I finally did and when I did, I  started turning the second bedroom (which is technically a second master suite since it has a full bathroom) into a child’s bedroom/guest room. I figured the whole “if you build it, they will come” mentality totally applied so I’ve been pushing myself to make that room stay empty of anything but ke/nursery friendly furniture and not use it for anything else. (Except the closet because no baby or toddler needs a walk in closet but this momma DOES need a crafting area.) it’s been hard to do, but well worth it and I’m starting to see it happening. 

For the most part, I was doing really great handling everything around me and life was turning around, but inside I was dying a little every day and I didn’t fully know why. 

Going on this new really low hormone birth control the clinic gave me was supposed to help me stay regular and help keep my PCOS in check so I could lose weight for the IVF process. For several months I felt like I was fine. Then suddenly I wasn’t fine. In fact, the latest birth control that was working ended up being just as bad as the others. Instead of hallucinogenic and violent dreams, being a homicidal rage monkey, or a suicidal depression machine though, I became a listless, libido-less, zombie who didn’t care about anything and I got an added bonus of gaining 30 pounds! (This the “fatter” above.) One too many fights with the spouse lead to the discussion of whether I stayed on birth control or not. 

Being ON birth control meant my blood sugar stayed relatively normal, my PCOS symptoms were managed, clear skin, and my periods became light and effortless. It also meant I lost my list for life, lost my sex drive and desire for my spouse, and gaining weight. As an added bonus, my triglycerides spiked really high which made my overall cholesterol level go up. 

Being OFF birth control meant the eventual return of periods from hell, mood swings, PCOS symptoms re-emerging (like my skin breaking out constantly and a lovely new patch of facial hair growth that’s thicker and darker than before!), and blood sugar going back up. It also meant the weight gain would slow down and stop, my sex drive would return, the zombie fog over my brain would lift, and my cholesterol going back to normal because my triglycerides were way down. 

For BooBoo this was an easy choice: he wanted his wife back regardless of the mood swings. For me this was an incredibly difficult choice because it feels like I’m trapped in a cycle of damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Eventually I sided with him and went off.

The first few weeks were a simple transition. My period returned like clockwork the first round and was normal! Then, in an effort to boost our love life, I took BooBoo to and “adults only retreat” (read: kinky sex hotel) and we had a wild and exciting weekend. My next period took such a long time to arrive that for a brief moment in time I thought maybe that sex hotel did some magic and maybe I was pregnant. It was going to be the best Christmas gift EVER! 

It wasn’t meant to be though. BooBoo was scheduled to have foot surgery in a few days, but on 12/13/14 (easy date to remember) I got my period. It started out like a normal period, but then somewhat of a cycle started of 1 week normal bleeding, 2 weeks endless spotting, 1 week normal period bleeding, 2 weeks spotting, etc. It was never heavy enough to warrant the use of more than a few light day tampons here and there, but I had pads and panty liners daily which lead to an adult form of diaper rash. (Found a chaffing gel though which finally cured that though.) keep in mind I was helping BooBoo recover from foot surgery (the other foot is next month) too.

In the middle of all this, (because let’s make it more difficult, right?) not only was I dealing with a big managerial shift at my job, we also had optional physicals at one of the corporate offices to try and help reduce the premiums for our annual health insurance renewals. That was January and the number on the scale scared me. Not my peak of fatness from many years ago, but getting way too close for my comfort. (This was how I found out I’d gained 30 pounds on birth control and how I found out about my triglycerides.) That was the motivation I needed and I started the weight loss journey again. I went back to an app I use on my phone to track my calories. I started off with just maintaining my new ridiculous weight and after adjusting to calorie counting again (which worked in the past for the IUIs) I gradually reduced it by half pound increments until the app had me at 1.5 pound loss per week. 

Weeks went by and soon I was approaching 2 and a half months of bleeding. I reached a level of desperation and found my old birth control prescription still had two refills so I filled it. I took 2 right away on a Sunday to try and stop it. (Like I said, desperate.) Oh what a mistake that was! My heart raced and pounded in my chest (which lead me to another conclusion about previous birth control usage) and I was violently ill all day. Monday I felt better and my period lightened! Then it seemed to stop Tuesday morning!!! It had been almost a full work day of stoppage spouse and I FINALLY had sex, (painful for me but it was brief and helped him so I was happy) when he got home and joy was had in our house! But in the middle of the night (the wee hours of Wednesday) I woke up to cramps and flooded panties I had to wash in the sink. Shortly thereafter, it started getting heavier. 

I was doing really good though. I mean, here I was bleeding daily with mood swings and wild food cravings, but I was working my ass off to defeat the moods and stay above them and working just as hard to fight my food cravings. Plus I’m dealing with massive work stress pretty damn well AND dealing with a financial curveball related to BooBoo’s next foot surgery that I wasn’t prepared for. I’ve slipped a few times in both areas, but BooBoo is supportive and says I should be given a medal for how I’m handling this shit. We’ve only had one really big fight but that was actual non-hormone driven fight that has since been resolved. 

But this period still will not fucking end. As of right now, according to my period tracker app, it’s been 85 straight days since my period started (an 18 hour window in there doesn’t count as actually stopping) of bleeding. For the last 7 or 8 days though (I think? It’s starting to blur together) it’s been pure hell. I’ve hit a point of complete misery emotionally and physically I’m soaking through tampons and soaking into my back up gigantic pads (which is why I wear both!) in just a few hours. It’s the kind of period I’ve had here and there and was afraid of reoccurring and its getting worse by the day. It’s honestly starting to feel worse than my miscarriage many years ago. I’m even taking iron pills daily to try and counter the weakening blood loss. Usually I only need one or two when it’s really bad, but again, this is the worst one yet. 

For some stupid reason, I bought a scale a few days ago. I figured I was so miserable that I needed a boost and surely after a month of calorie counting and fighting cravings I had to have lost at least a pound or two, right? 

Wrong! The scale weighed me 2 pounds heavier! Queue breakdown complete with ugly crying, anger at God and shouting at the ceiling, more ugly crying, and eventually throwing up. I did feel better after that though and the next morning I went back to spiritual routine, gave myself a pep talk, and decided I’d weigh myself again because I had to be lighter in the morning, right? 

Wrong again! The scale weighed me 10 pounds heavier than the night before… and then it stopped working entirely. (Message received, universe!) So yeah, at that point I reduced my fitness app to lowest allowable 2 pounds a week calorie level. My uterus almost immediately revolted against me in return, but we coincidentally got a snow day so I got to be home during this uterine revolution. That was helpful because driving for junk food wasn’t an option and I didn’t have to watch my confused male coworkers wonder why I raced to the bathroom every so often. 

Yesterday I started soaking through the super plus tampons at work and after a pep talk with super husband, I agreed to see a doctor. Actually, I agreed last week but we were transitioning to me going into his health insurance because (drum roll, please) they offer infertility coverage! But there was a snafu and I wasn’t on the plan so we had to wait while that got fixed. Literally five minutes after the fix, I made an appointment with a friend-recommended OG/GYN who thankfully is covered in the new plan and I see her in a few days. 

I’m scared though. On the one hand, this period is worse than ever and I don’t understand how my body can keep producing this level of disgusting clotting blood mess every day for this long. It has to end. On the other hand, I’m terrified that birth control is my only option and I don’t know if it’s worth it based on all my terrible reactions to it. Or what if there are no options left without doing something that jeopardizes future pregnancies? I truly and honestly do not know which is worse right now and I’m scared this will be yet another shitty doctor who treats me based on a preconceived notion of fat people or treats me based on zero knowledge of PCOS. At this point, the only good doctor in my life is my clinic doctor but she’s not an option right now and is only for my infertility. At some point I do need a regular OB/GYN. 

I’m pretty sure this fear along with a sleepless night (thanks, uterus!) lead me to an anxiety ridden ugly cry as BooBoo was getting up for work this morning. He helped me get out of bathroom and into bed, found my emergency Xanax and gave me one, rubbed my back till I stopped crying, and then I passed out cold. 

I woke up to a flood that just barely missed my sheets and decided to try and suck it up. Fear won’t help me get through the next few days, but BooBoo will. 

Maybe my new doctor will be amazing. Maybe this will finally end in time for the next foot surgery so I can actually be a kind and caring spouse. Maybe I will have a good doctor who doesn’t leave me too. 

Maybe.

Stuck

Things did not get easier after we made the IVF decision. In fact, we still haven’t started IVF and I’m no where near the weight loss requirement. I’m still on birth control and I can’t tell if it’s helping or not. I don’t have the rage, depression, or hallucinations like before though so maybe it is. Anyway.  It turns out that my life has a tendency to fuck me over. November through January proved to be no exception to that rule. Because I respect the privacy of other people, but have an open relationship with them and they know of this blog, I will keep it simple:

1.) One of my two cats ran off around Thanksgiving and after many failed trappings, he finally ran off for good. Based on what happened afterwards, I do not believe he survived our brutally cold winter. I have not fully mourned his passing and it breaks my heart every time I think about it. I don’t care what other people think or feel; pets are family to me. Period.

2.) My stepdad abdandoned us. Divorce had been an open topic of discussion for quite some time, but they were supposed to handle it like adults. Then that all just up and exploded and he took off. POOF! Just left one day with a duffle bag and never looked back. Despite how I feel about this, I won’t say anything further about him.

3.) Stepdad leaving catapulted my mom into a massive drinking binge that nearly killed her. To be fair, my mom has been a binge drinker alcoholic for many years, but it was NEVER like this. She had her random and spaced out binges and stayed hidden during them. This one was VERY different. Initially I thought she was just depressed and hiding, but then a few things happened and I figured it out. If I hadn’t figured it out when I did, she would be dead. After getting her to the hospital and spending several days (weeks?) getting everything situated, which was it’s own brand of hell/guilt/depression/anger/sadness/stress, I got her checked into a month long rehab program. Getting my mom into the treatment she needed was hard enough, but running her house and taking care of her dogs in addition to our pets then paying bills that were not mine and making sure the stepdad figure still sent money, was not the stress I needed. HOWEVER, as it turns out, this was the best thing that ever happened to her.

After mom got home, things changed. Reality set in that we really did need to move. I started looking at apartments and became instantly depressed. The cost of living in this area is insane. You’d think we lived in a major city, but we don’t. The sheer number of internet and government jobs in Northern Virginia have kept this area a thriving suburban paradise. The problem is that everything is fucking expensive. After a lot of discussion and searching, we decided to pursue buying a house. That came with it’s own pitfalls and some demons from our past haunting us so it dragged out for a few months before we could officially look. When we COULD look though, it went by so fast that I thought my head would spin around and pop right off. Right now, we’re halfway through the closing process and pending one final bit of paperwork and final loan clearance, we will get this home. My job is really fucking complicated now too and i cant get into it, but its caysing me a lot of stress and buting a house means I cant jump job tracks right now.

Despite the shit storm and fuck you’s my life throws me, there are some magical rainbows and miracles that pop through. For example, the money for both IVF and a down payment on a home have come through without any struggle and without any bullshit. Of all the things I expected to go wrong, money was one of them and it didn’t happen. It’s as though the Universe said “okay so you’re going to be infertile, your health insurance won’t cover a penny of anything related to infertility, and you’re going to have more stress and life problems than seems fair, BUT I’m totally gonna drop a fuck ton of money on you because I think you should have one break in the shit storm. Oh, and you get a super mega turbo great spouse. YOU’RE WELCOME.”

So here it is, May 9th, almost 4 full years since I started trying to have a baby and nothing has changed, but at the same time everything has changed. Although I’m still childless, still have the IVF weight to lose, and till scared shitless of the process, I still haven’t given up either. I’m just a little stuck at the moment.

Uphill Battle

Round three failed. I was absolutely certain it had worked. Everything was different this time. BooBoo overcame his fear of needles long enough to give me all of my shots. My mom went with me to one of the ultrasound appointments to check the egg growth and we had this really awesome bonding moment. The day of the IUI even felt kind of magical in it’s own right and I kept seeing all these signs when I was in my two week waiting period. We went to a festival on the hottest day of October (seriously, it’s supposed to be in the upper 60s and it was effing 90 degrees!!!!!!) and I started feeling terrible. I blamed the heat until I start spotting. The next day the negative pregnancy test was confirmed and around midnight I woke up to my period that would end up kicking my ass for 7 straight days. (Thanks, estrogen pills, for thickening my lining! THAT WAS HELL.)

I didn’t think I could feel worse than I did after round two failed but I was wrong. So so SO wrong. I crawled into my little hub of depression and stayed there for a few days, not talking to anyone but my mom and husband. Even speaking to my coworkers was minimal. I have no idea how I got through that week. I couldn’t tell you if I actually got anything done at work either because I was a zombie. A sad, bleeding like a stuck pig, zombie that was in a lot of pain physically and emotionally.

BooBoo, aka Super Husband, was incredibly supportive. He doesn’t mourn these things. He has his moment of sadness and then is very quick to jump back on the positivity wagon and tries to bring me with him. This has caused problems before but this time it didn’t because I told him that he has to allow me my time to mourn and he understood. He said “I can’t begin to understand what you’re going through right now or how you feel, but I love you and will always be there for you. Cry all you want and don’t worry.” And cry I did for quite some time.

Then the anger kicked in.

I know that anger is part of the mourning process, but my level of anger felt unnatural and where my anger was directed felt like a betrayal of everything I believe in. I was angry with myself for having a failure of a reproductive system, but I was even angrier at God and to be angry at God is an outright betrayal of my spirituality. The anger quickly turned to guilt and I fluctuated between both emotions until I thought I would burst. Finally I talked to my mom about everything. She said “you’re allowed to be angry and you’re allowed to be angry at WHATEVER you want to be angry at, but you’re not allowed to hold it in and let it consume you.” It was one of those conversations that you can only have with a mother. The kind where they make you put your head in their lap, stroke your hair, and tell you to let it all out until you feel better. It’s the kind of thing only moms can do.

A few days later I came out of my depression and started to focus back on the journey ahead. Through a LOT of prayer and meditation I had released all my anger, all of my guilt, and almost all of my sadness. I knew that I wouldn’t feel completely better though until we went back to the clinic to discuss the next step.

Last week we went back and talked. It turns out I’d gained about 10 pounds from all three IUIs and all the hormones. That is “perfectly normal” according to my doctor so I refused to beat myself up over it. After a long conversation and options laid out for us, we decided that IVF was the next best course of action and that I had to get my BMI down even lower than I did for the first rounds of IUI. She explained that while my body has responded ideally to the medications for the IUIs, we don’t know why I’m not getting pregnant. Is it because the egg doesn’t release with the trigger shot? Is it because it releases but doesn’t fertilize? is it because it fertilizes but doesn’t implant? All of this is unknown because after that final “okay the egg is ready” ultrasound, there are no further ultrasounds. There’s no way to know if that egg releases or not. IVF is NOT something I wanted to go through, but when she laid it out like that, it changed my mind a bit.

We discussed what the IVF process would mean, what I needed to do to prepare for it, and how much it would cost. We asked her point blank “what would you recommend?” and she said “at this point, I think that IVF would be the most cost effective for you.” So it was decided right then and there. Oh, and she’s putting me back on birth control to try and stabilize my periods while I try to lose the weight required. I’ve done pretty well on this one, but knowing the issues I’ve had, she’s letting me decide if I want to stay on this and for how long. Next step: cost.

After talking to the doctor and getting my weight goal established, we headed over the financial counselor and discussed our options. No matter what we chose, medication will be out of pocket so going into it, we know we’re looking to add $3,000-$5,000 in meds on top of the base rate. Our income-based discount we got back in April still applies to this program so we get 15% off whatever option. We weighed out the options, found out the cost difference between fresh cycles and frozen cycles, weighed the financial risk, added everything up and made our decision.

We decided not to pay per cycle and instead to pay for one shared risk program that covers 6 fresh cycles and as many frozen cycles as I have viable embryos (which we’d know from the first fresh cycle) until there is a live birth. If I have a miscarriage we get another cycle. The risk for them? If nothing works we get 100% of our clinic fee back. If we withdraw from the program because it’s not working or we’re just overwhelmed by it, we get 100% of our clinic fee back. The risk for us? If this works on the very first try, it will have cost more than one traditional IVF cycle. We’d be out about $7,000. If it didn’t work on the first try, we will have surpassed the cost and we wouldn’t be out anything. I can live with being out of pocket $7,000. At this point we’ve already spent that on three failed IUI cycles and I am not willing to keep going through those. When all is said and done (discounts, medication estimates, 3 failed IUIs) we will have spent at least $30,000 just to get pregnant if it works on the first IVF cycle. If not, we will spend even more on medications and the total will go up for something that is biologically free. The bitterness of this is still very fresh in my mouth, believe me.

Now begins the weight loss journey. Again. But this time I’m not fucking around. I did it before, I can do it again. Plus, having a $30,000 pregnancy carrot dangled in front of me is pretty motivating. Last time I lost 30 pounds just from taking phentermine and cutting my food intake. Thats all fine and dandy, but I also thought that this would work in 1 or 2 IUI cycles and it didn’t. This time I’m back on the phentermine, I have reduced my calories to a rate of losing 2 pounds a week (gotta love phone apps that calcuate it all for you), and I’ve added a gym routine to the mix. Turns out my company pays for portions of gym memberships to certain gyms as a way to help motivate people into staying fit and one of those gyms just so happens to be on my drive home. Perfect? YES!

So far I’ve stayed motivated enough to go to the gym every day of the work week. I decided the weekends are for my errands, grocery shopping, meal prep, and time with my husband. I’m still trying to find something that I can stick with, but I really don’t care anymore what I do, so long as I’m there, break a sweat, and burn a few calories. I need to get my body healthier so it can withstand the physical affects of the IVF process and I need it to be ready to carry a baby to term. I think about that baby every time I’m there and I push myself just a tiny bit farther each time. I don’t think I’ve ever been this motivated in my entire life.

Now lets just hope I can do this fast because I am seriously fucking ready to be a mother, damn it!

Round Three

Round three has officially begun. Third time’s a charm, right? Let’s hope so.

Monday we went to the clinic to get the blood work and the next ultrasound knocked out. Every other time I’ve gone for the day 3 ultrasound, my period has been light or wrapping up. Monday? Not so much! Of course Monday was my heavy need-iron-pills-to-survive day so I made a mess of the room. Thankfully they are used to this and prepared so I had drop cloths everywhere to reduce the crime scene cleanup. My doctor told me my ovaries looked ready to go, but gave me the warning that if this doesn’t work, there are changes in my future. I’ll get into that another time though.

She also changed my medication routine. Now, instead of waiting for the clomid to finish, I start my FSH shots the second day. Previously it would be 5 days of clomid then FSH on the last day. Now it’s clomid – clomid/shot – clomid – clomid/shot – clomid – shot – ultrasound. Clomid already made me stabby, but to add the FSH shot that makes me oh so sleepy and sad on top of my period ending? Yeah, you don’t want to know me right now. I’m a walking hot flash that craves chocolate and fried stuff with cheese, liable to burst into tears at any minute if you so much as look at me the wrong way, and I might also stab you just because I feel like it. BooBoo is on high alert and is VERY prepared.

Speaking of that amazing man I married…

After the devastating blow of my period arriving on our vacation instead of a positive pregnancy test, my husband, the man who has a terrible phobia of needles (to the point he’s walked out of the room while my mom gave me previous shots and almost passed out during our injection class last year) has now decided that he MUST be the one to give me my shots from here on out. He said “I don’t feel like I’ve been committed enough to this and you’ve been going through so much, the least I can do is give you the shots now.” Wow. Just wow. I never thought he’d do this, but here he is stepping up.

To be fair, he’s done a lot more than he gives himself credit for. He has to deal with my mood swings and swallow his pride/bite his tongue/shut the fuck up when I say something shitty that I shouldn’t. He’s had to watch me cry for no reason. He’s watched me go from anti-affection and “DO NOT TOUCH ME!” to craving snuggles and spooning mere moments later. He has to make sure I do important things like lock my car and put my pants on before I leave the house because I have these completely spaced out moments where I just lose touch with reality. He has his own household responsibilities AND he has to pick up my slack right now like when I come home and pass out from sheer exhaustion instead of making dinner for us, or forget to wash his uniforms for work, or when I forget about our dog and she’s whining to go out, etc.

He’s also had his own share of heartache and depression when these IUIs have failed. This may not be physically difficult on him like it is for me, but emotionally it’s just as painful for him to go through this. He also hates watching me struggle. I know that almost all fertility problems focus around the woman and it’s the woman who reaches out more, emotes more, and has the majority of the pain, but the husbands and life partners are right there next to them and they want a baby just as bad as we do. It’s important not to forget them in this struggle and it’s important to acknowledge their pain too. As much as he comforts me through all of this, I try to comfort him as well.

Anyway, he does a lot to help, but if he’s not feeling committed then he needs to do what it takes to feel that. If that makes breaking through a phobia to be more connected then so be it. And sure enough, last night he administered his first shot. He was nervous, pale, and looked ready to puke, but he did it and I could not be more proud of him. I am beyond grateful to have such a committed and loving husband to help me go through this hell and now I’m lucky enough to have a man who will break through a phobia to be as committed as possible to the process. If nothing else, this entire process (as unbelievably difficult and painful as it has been) has really brought us closer together for that I am truly thankful.

Soon enough I will get to feel all the fun of pregnancy, but right now we’re forming a truly incredible foundation to bring this baby into and we’re not just trying to get pregnant, we’re also starting a family.