So Close

Infertility reflections

 

Before my infertility trip, I had no idea what infertile people went through.  I had never given it a thought. I knew no one who was infertile, and I could only guess at how much pain an infertile person goes through.

 

That guess didn’t even come close to how hard it is.

 

When I was in the midst of it all, I sometimes wondered when / if I got to the other side, whether I would look back at it all and think ‘oh, it wasn’t THAT bad’.  I wondered if it seemed worse while I was in it.  Whether it wasn’t that bad after all.

 

Having reached the other side, and looking back, I can say, without doubt, it WAS that bad. 

 

It was fucking terrible.

 

I suppose for someone who is totally removed from that world, it must be difficult to understand the pain and the anguish that an infertile person goes through. Perhaps you don’t want children. Or perhaps you are uber-fertile. Or perhaps you do want children, kind of, but not right now.  Either way, it must be hard to understand how being infertile can be THAT bad, THAT painful?

 

Infertile people can be so angry, so bitter, so woeful at times. They are so sad, so mad.

 

And for people on the outside looking in, it must be very hard to comprehend this sad, mad, bad world the infertile people live in. It must be so tempting to hand out platitudes, like ‘just relax’, or ‘just don’t think about it’. It must be hard not to get irritated with them. ‘Just get over it already, look at all the good things you have in your life’.  It is hard to be friends with an infertile person. They are so prickly.

 

It is difficult to explain to people what it feels like to be infertile in a fertile world.  Even when you do try and explain it, it sounds so trite, so ‘woe is me’. 

 

How do you explain it?

 

Well, in order to help you understand a little of what it is like, just think about what infertile people do in order to stop their pain, to find a ‘cure’. 

 

They pay thousands of dollars, they mortgage their lives, they take on extra jobs, they move states to try and find insurance cover. It is so expensive. No one would do this just for fun, or on a whim.  Clearly. And besides the mental and emotional anguish, they put themselves through all sorts of physical pain as part of the process.  They inject themselves in the belly, thigh, wherever. I remember injecting myself in the toilet at a party; I hit a vein and blood came shooting out my belly. There I stood, stabbing a needle into my belly, trying to stop the flow of blood shooting out.  While other people laughed, and danced and drank. I once heated up my PIO injection a bit too much and injected too hot oil into my butt, which burnt me from the inside out, leaving a massive welt of a scar.  Another reminder of my infertility days.

 

Infertiles will take all sorts of drugs and hormones as part of their treatment, KNOWING that these drugs make them ill, make them miserable, make them fat.  Knowing that these drugs could increase their risk of other diseases. 

 

I was recently chatting to a friend in the computer who was busy with an IVF cycle. She was feeling really terrible, very nauseous, puking everywhere. Nauseous, bone tired.  She thought it was ‘just’ a side effect of the hormone treatment, and dutifully carried on injecting.  Turns out she was actually really ill. The poor woman. The things she will endure as part of her quest.

 

You have to know that if someone is prepared to do all of these things, and so much more, to achieve their dream, that it is more than just a whim, more than just a fancy.  This is real, this is primal. Wanting a child for these women is not something they casually desire. This is something they yearn for, with every single fibre of their being.

 

And they carry on, cycle after cycle.  They do this to themselves again and again.  They face all sorts of resistance from people around them; they question whether they should continue. 

 

If what I have said still does not convince you, then consider this: According to some research, infertility patients are second only to cancer patients in what they will endure in order to find a ‘cure’.

 

That has got to tell you something.

 

I know infertile people can be hard to be around.  They are often so sad. And sometimes so angry. I used to be part of an infertility support group for people who had been around a long time.  It is an especially sad / funny / cynical / bitter / angry group.  It is a group of people who have been at it for a long time.  I still read the stuff they write, and I can see now why some people reacted so badly to me when I was in the middle of it all.  Because those girls are very angry, very sad. Bitter. The things they say are the same things I said, a few years back.  That used to be me. Sad / mad / bitter. Prickly. Angry. 

 

As I said, when I was in it I sometimes wondered if I would look bad and wonder if I was overreacting, that it wasn’t so bad after all.  But looking back, having just written my infertility story for my book, I can honestly say that it was that bad. Yes it might be irrational sometimes, yes we might be over the top sometimes.  I know we are hard to be around. It is hard not to be sensitive, over-sensitive when this is your everyday reality. But it is tough, very tough. 

 

I am glad I have written my book.  For myself, and for other people.

 

I am not writing this post so that people can feel sorry for me.  Don’t feel sorry for me, I’ve made it to the other side.  I am one of the lucky ones. I am writing this for all the people still trying, for the friend / sister / colleague of yours who sometimes seems so sad, so angry.  And yet, I am not writing this so that you can feel sorry for the person.  Infertile people don’t want your pity.  That is not what they are after.  All they want is a bit of sensitivity, a bit of sympathy.  In fact, what they really want is just a bit of understanding.  Understanding that it is hard for them, that being infertile in a fertile world is very alienating, very lonely. Very painful. Terrifying.  And hopefully if you can understand some of that, you can be sensitive, and supportive.  Kind. And that is all infertile people really want.

 

It’s hard you know; it is really really hard.  Harder than you can ever imagine. 

Act 4, Scene 3

Act 4, Scene 3 – In which Hope makes her reappearance after a long absence.

Background: Waiting room, anxious Tertia writing up bad news blog entries in her head, Dr 30 minutes late.

Tertia goes in to consulting room.

Dr: “How are you doing?”

Tertia: “Ask me after the scan.”

Dr: “You really are cautious aren’t you.”

Tertia lies on bed.

Dr scanning.

Tertia: “Just tell me first, can you see the heartbreats.”

Dr looks for heartbeat in first baby – well-behaved child immediately jumps (acrobat!)

Tertia: (huge relief) “ok that ones alive, the other one?”

Dr looks for heartbeat in second baby – equally well-behaved child jumps and waves his arms. Phew!

Suddenly door crashed open and in skips Hope, singing on the top of her voice, la la laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!

Tertia: “Where the hell have you been you fickle bitch?”

Hope: (puzzled look) “but you told me to go away and leave you alone?”

Tertia: (grudgingly) “Well, you can hang around for the next day or so. Can’t promise any thing longer than that. Now stop singing so loudly. We are only 10w3d, we have very very long to go.”

So all went well with the scan this morning. I spent a terrible weekend absolutely convinced it would be bad news today. I don’t know why. Just because I am a nervous wreck I suppose.

If stress really is that bad for the babies, I am totally fucked. Because I am permanently stressed out to the max. And please don’t tell me to relax and not to stress, believe me if I knew how to, I would. Suppose a glass of wine or two and a smoke would work but unfortunately that is out of the question.

Next HUGE step is the big level II nuchal translucency scan next Thurs. That is a big point for me, its where I have had very bad news before.

To CVS / amnio or not to CVS / amnio……….

Slow, but good.

Looks like my kids are still in special class.

Two heart beats, two good looking sacs, two normal looking babies.

But, just to keep me on the edge of my seat they are measuring a day or two behind where I think they should be. Dr says he is not worried at all, they are both measuring the same (which does make me slightly less paranoid) and also its a new scanner.

I'm going to try and not worry about it (bwah ha ha haaaa - hysterical laughter).

What's with the slackening off of the nausea? Mind fuck!

Good thing was that he did an abdominal u/s - no more vaginal u/s's, YAY!!!!!

Not going to post the pics cos really, it still looks just a (blury) blob inside a (blury) bubble.

Hope is not totally back in action, but she is a bit closer than she has been this week. She's sort of meekly twirling her hair in the corner, small smile on her face. I can see she wants to be let out to play but she can't come out yet. Maybe after 12w. Big maybe. Not promising any thing.

Cave Time

I’ve been in my cave recently. Whenever life gets a little too much for me, I tend to slink off into my cave to sit in the dark and lick my wounds for a bit. I like that it’s dark and quiet in there.

Some people, when are they down, or troubled, need to surround themselves with people, to talk about it. I need the opposite. I need to go into my cave and be on my own for a while.

I spent a lot of my time in my cave whilst cycling, or more specifically after a negative or a disappointment. I cut myself off from the world and try and fortify myself.

The cave is a safe place, you sit with your back to the wall, in the dark, facing the entrance. No one can sneak up on you and hurt you, no one can surprise you with hurtful comments. No one is there is force you to be social, friendly, happy, you can sit in your cave in your raw, naked emotion and just heal. You can be as sad and mad and raw as you want, no one will see you and be frightened at the depth of your emotion. They wont feel they have to make you feel better. It’s a time to be in your rawest state, without fear of being hurt more or being seen. I have this picture of this wild looking woman, with clothes and hair in disarray, wild, frightened eyes, back to the wall, eyes darting around to make sure she is alone and safe. When she is sure she is alone, she throws her head back and howls out in pain and anguish, until her sobbing subsides and she feels better.

And then when I feel better I come out again. Stronger, with my skin thickened and my sense of humor and sanity back in tact.

These trips to my cave have saved my sanity through out the time I’ve been cycling. I know other people who also do cave time. I’ll ask them how they are doing and they will say “I’m not that great, I’m going to go into my cave for a while, I’ll give you a shout when I am out”. And I understand perfectly. When you are in cave mode no one can or should try and help. You just need time to heal and get stronger.

I don’t know why I have found myself back in my cave. In fact I didn’t even really know I had somehow migrated back there until someone asked why I had been so quiet and I realized that subconsciously, I had gone into my cave.

I think there are a few things that sent me back to my cave, firstly, in spite of me thinking I am so ok about Ben etc, my sister giving birth has brought a lot of the pain back, pain that nearly broke me last time. I think I had an instinctive reaction to protect myself.

Then secondly, I am enormously frightened by the big 12w scan. I am petrified there will be something genetically wrong with the babies. I am pretty much convinced I will have bad nucal measurements (soft markers for Downs), which means I will probably have genetic testing done. I am petrified. What will I do if the results come back that there is something wrong? And that waiting for the results, it is pure hell. The procedure in itself is risky. I’ll probably spend the entire time in my cave.

I am also worried about tomorrow’s scan. I feel slightly less nauseas today. And that scares the hell out of me.

And so I have been quiet while I brood about this. I know going into my cave is not always good. I go quiet without even realizing it. I haven’t even spoken to my husband about it. And he is a cave dweller as well, so the two of us will each be in our own caves, not saying a word. Maybe I will feel better if I talk to him about it.

I feel better just coming out my cave long enough to write this blog. Maybe talking does help sometimes.

Mini update

1. Sister gave birth to a little girl yesterday, weighed in at 3.9kg’s, exactly 3kg’s more than my son. Apparently both are doing well. The aunt is grateful they are doing well of course, but what a bittersweet moment. (imagine that, have sex, get pg, have smooth pg, give birth, have baby???)

2. My next u/s is on Friday. I get nervous just thinking about it.

3. I am still feeling positively awful with the nausea, which is of course very reassuring. I would be panicking without it. So nauseas but happy.

4. Time has never gone so slowly.

5. I am jealous of Julia who has three (3) people looking after her cooter, I mean pg. She does tend to be a bit of a show off though. Obsessive compulsive beta and progesterone tester.

6. I am guessing at least two in the oven for Cecily. Her first u/s is tomorrow.

7. I still think Julie is an asshole. Even though she is my BF.

8. I am totally boring as I have nothing to say. I will try and find some inspiration this afternoon.

Hope Addict back in Action.

Right. I am hopeful again.

Two heartbeats, both babies measuring ok.

But of course Julie was right. She said my embies will have to go to special school because they are a bit slow, like their mother. Embies are measuring a day behind. Which fits in perfectly with my late implantation theory.

I am convinced that my embies implanted late, which is why my acupuncturist couldn’t feel my pulse that strongly and why my beta was a bit lower than previous pg’s. And don’t get me started on why the late implantation happened. Too esoteric to verbalize.

And now begins two weeks of waiting hell until my next u/s. Two whole weeks. (Where is the Dr going with that? Bastard.) What will I do? Besides drive myself crazy with the ‘what ifs’.

Luckily (?) still feeling as sick as a dog so that is reassuring (?).

I only have 32 weeks to go. A walk in the park really. Do it with my eyes shut, one hand tied behind my back.

Not.

Can't talk

Can't talk. Am v nauseous (which is good). When I open my mouth I feel sick.

I have the pleasure of having bad morning (all day) sickness when I am pg. Which saps my wit and creativity. To be honest, it just makes me stupid and boring (shut up Julie).

Of course I am glad I am feeling sick cos if I wasn’t feeling sick I would be crying to you that I wasn’t feeling sick and that it was a bad sign. So happily sick. Just boring.

Had crap sleep last night. Woke up at 12am to pee. Then at 1am feeling as nauseous as hell so had to get up and eat a few crackers and a glass of milk. And another pee. Couldn’t go back to sleep. Got up at 2am to go to spare bed. Had annoying dream about Julie. She came to visit and wouldn’t shut up and wouldn’t go to lunch with me. Woke up at 4am cos alarm clocking was ticking so loudly I had to put pillow over it. Felt irritated with Julie. Eventually got up at 5am.

Bed Rest from Hell

This talk about going on hospital bed rest from 25w has got me in a spin. I really don’t want to go to hospital. Obviously I will do what it takes to save my baby/babies, but oh lord, hospital bed rest sucks. It sucks unbelievably badly.

This past Dec/Jan I spent 5 weeks on hospital bed rest. Christmas and New Year. It was horrible. Boooooooooring. Picture me sitting forlornly on my bed, staring longingly at the revelers below on New Years Eve, with my two sips of wine smuggled in by my mother in a plastic cup. But the boredom and missing the outside world wasn’t nearly as bad as this stuff:

Firstly, you have to share a bathroom with potentially three other people. Luckily in my stay I only shared it with one person for about a week. It was horrible. I don’t share a bathroom with any one, not even my husband. I like my bathroom sparkling clean, with only my own germs and very private. I cannot make a number 2 if I know someone is waiting to use the bathroom. I don’t perform well under pressure.

Secondly, pg women pee quite a lot. This means that the bathroom door gets opened and closed, the light goes on and off about 4 times a night.

When you are pg, you don’t sleep that well. With the constant pee’ing, doors opening and closing, neighbors snoring or farting in their sleep, nurses talking loudly, emergency births etc, sleep is scarce in hospital. And you need your sleep. Plus every time you toss and turn your hospital bed squeaks, and the plastic covering over your luxurious mattress creaks. You wake yourself up with the noise.

Thirdly, night staff have a sadistic streak in that they think waking you up at 5am to check your temp and blood pressure is good sports after a long boring night shift. This is followed by your tea at 5:30. Then breakfast at 8am. Which is a fucking long time to wait from when you have woken up. And pg women are HUNGRY.

Then there is the food. The glorious food that is hospital fare. The ante-natal observation unit at my hospital is in the maternity ward. The rest of the hospital is basically a day ward or short stays. This means that the longest stay by a normal person (i.e. giving birth or over-nighters) is four days. There are therefore four meals on the menu. They are (in no particular order) macaroni cheese, a dish with mince of some sorts, a chicken dish in its various disguises and beef stroganoff. Then there are the lunches which are equally tasty and varied. Eventually I was allowed to make up my own meals, but nothing fancy and nothing like home. There was no pesto, sun dried tomatoes, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, fresh pasta, chilies etc, in fact there was nothing remotely tasty. It was all fried this, battered that, with fattening creamy sauces. Oh lord I was sick of that food. Plus the food is all Halaal because it is run by Moslem women. Not my kind of food. Plus who the hell wants to eat dinner at 5pm??

And yet, sadly, you live for your meal times. It is your one excitement in the long boring monotony of your day. Your world becomes so small that any disturbance to your routine is most upsetting. Dinner slightly late is a huge catastrophe, and a visitor over lunch throws your whole day out.

But my biggest pain in the ass of being on bed rest is having to listen to other people’s TV. It drives me fucking insane. I hate TV, I don’t watch it at home and the noise of the TV works terribly on my nerves. So now imagine being forced to listen to someone else’s TV blaring from 5:30 in the morning till midnight. Soaps, all day, only broken by cartoons. Cartoons for fucks sake. This one woman used to watch the Teletubbies!!!!!!!!!! I nearly lost it. I swear this is the part that freaks me out the most. I am not sure if I can bare the TV, I don’t know. I might have to shoot the screen out. Or the patient actually. What a brilliant idea!!

I know it is best for me, but oh lordy, I don’t want to spend 12 weeks in hospital, boo hoo. Not with the TV, please not the TV……

(note to my fellow bed resters at the same hospital, T and J, you are welcome to nod your head, sympathize and share war stories. )

Happiness on hold

Went for the u/s today and we saw one heartbeat, two sacs. I feel so flat. I hate that I feel this way. I have just been here so many times before. I am also disappointed that we didn’t see the second heartbeat.

The Dr says he is happy and he thinks twins, but can’t be sure till next week’s u/s.

So back next week Monday for another scan.

Sorry this is such a blah post, I am just feeling so flat, and so sad that I can’t be happy at a time like this. It is also so bitter sweet. I miss my boys. I want those babies.

Ok, deep breath. It’s good. There is one heartbeat. Hopefully the other one will catch up by next week. I will be 7w3d then.

I really do think I had late implanters, but I was so hoping for two healthy heartbeats by today.

Dr said “Now, I am not joking with you, I am being deadly serious. If its twins, I am hospitalizing you from 25w until the end of the pg”. Joy.

I just wish I could be happier about this and not so scared.

Someone give me a kick up the ass please! I want to be happy and excited.

When do I get to be happy and excited?

My Chakras are Sparkling Cleaned and Aligned

I am embarrassed to admit this, but I went to see a healer. My acupuncturist (yes she who was wrong about the pg but whom I still adore) recommended I go see this healer to help with my anxiety about this pregnancy. And being a sucker for any thing that will get me a baby, I decided to go. It was better than the last idea which was standing on my head, naked, in the middle of the highway. Or sleeping with my creepy work colleague (his idea, not mine).

Now firstly, let me tell you I am a cynic when it comes to touchy-feely, tree-hugging, moon worshipping shit. I am a capitalist pig, a materialistic “I’ll believe it when I see it” kind of girl. I don’t even do poetry, never mind esoteric, some-where-out-there stuff. I run a mile at the sight of a crystal or a dream catcher. So I was understandably nervous and skeptical. Plus I was raised Catholic. But what the hell. What’s another 150 bucks when you’ve spent thousands. And to be honest, I do think that I am carrying around an unhealthy amount of fear and anxiety. I thought perhaps this person could unblock something that was preventing me from losing the anxiety.

It wasn’t too bad. I was early, of course, being totally anal about time. (actually I am totally anal about every thing, my sister and her husband call us the Anal-tyns, which is a play on my surname. Not very nice of her). So instead of sitting there peacefully, getting in touch with my inner child while I waited for her, I got out my PDA, whacked through a couple of games of backgammon, got myself all worked up when I got beaten, tapping away furiously.

The healer person was what you would expect. Soft-spoken, tied-dyed purple leggings, big turquoise shirt (natural fibers), long, crystal, chandelier-type earrings, beads, spiky hair etc. Luckily no pointed hat and wart on her nose. No actually she was very sweet, if a big vague. We spoke a bit, then I lay down on her bed and she spring-cleaned my chakras. Or my aura. Or something. Anyway, they (it?) were aligned and spruced up. Apparently I have lots of stress (no shit Sherlock!) and blockages. (Actually, she never mentioned my constipation now that we are speaking about blockages).

Apparently I am way too stressed and should try and relax more. I know this. I can’t sit still, not even for a moment. Must do things, all the time. Busy busy busy. I can’t even sit still in a waiting room for five minutes. She said I should try and meditate for 20 minutes every day. I can’t do that. I can’t clear my mind. My mind is the most stubborn, obnoxious thing around. How on earth do you clear your mind any way? As soon as one thought leaves, another one pops in. It goes something like this: are my boobs sore, maybe not, could be nothing, I wonder how long this will take, hope the pillow slip is clean, wonder how much money she makes, what’s that smell, is it incense or a candle, wonder if she shaves her armpits, what are we going to eat for supper, will I miscarry, can’t believe my in-laws are spending the whole fucking weekend with us, oh shit, clear mind, think of nothing, what’s nothing?, is nothing something?, can there ever be nothing?, shut up, think of nothing, am I thinking of nothing yet?, no I’m not, because I am still thinking, stop it, stop thinking, have I stopped thinking?, NO, if I am asking that question it means I am still thinking, STOP FUCKING THINKING.

I can’t do it. Apparently you can buy a book that will help you. I don’t feel like buying the book because I think meditation is silly. Why meditate when you can pack/unpack your dishwasher, fold your laundry, read a book, moan at your husband, make fudge, tidy up, reload the dishwasher, type up shit for your blog etc.

Anyway. Although I am not going to meditate, I do think the Chakra healing thing did kind of help. Could be totally psychosomatic, but I felt much happier and calmer this weekend. Much less stressed, even with annoying in laws there the whole fucking weekend. The Whole Weekend. Although the inner peace was shot to hell this morning with Melissa’s sad news and Julie’s spotting scare.

So who knows. Maybe this Chakra shit does help, maybe it doesn’t. But at least my Chakras are neat and tidy, for the moment anyway. Not sure I’ll go back though. Might spend my 150 bucks on some new comfy track pants. To go with my spruced up Chakras and my ever expanding middle-aged spread.