Living With An Open Wound

I remember getting hurt as a child. Scraping my knees. Slicing my thumb on a saw in the backyard while trying to cut enough branches to make a fort. Road rash on my side when I fell out of a wagon, towed behind a bike while flying down a hill. Skin breaks. Blood seeps out. Tears flow. Eventually, with the aid of pressure, a band-aid, or the simple miracle of human physiology, the blood would clot. A scab formed. Skin healed. Scars remained, but faded in time. Maybe someday, this will be my experience with the emotional and psychological scars of infertility. I'm not sure. Right now, I live each day with an open, hemorrhaging wound.

Everyone in my life is incredibly compassionate about this struggle. There are even a handful of people I know that have walked this same road. I wish I could articulate the deep, never-ceasing, excruciating pain that I feel each day. I desperately want someone to know exactly what I experience. All I can compare it to is suffering a wound so deep and so serious that it drains every ounce of your strength, all of your reserves, and saps you of any hope that you can move forward. I cannot compare this to the struggle of a mortally wounded soldier, but it is my emotional equivalent of warfare. And in the midst of this horrific, tragic, gut-wrenching pain, I am expected by everyone (even those who are compassionate and loving and caring and the most incredible people I know) to continue living life and moving forward and having hope. There are days where I lose the battle when I have to do something as simple as brush my teeth, never mind having to walk out the door, interact with other people, go to work, smile and nod that yes, I am doing well. Behind the facade I am face down in the dirt, drowning in a pool of my own blood. Those who have walked this road will know the complete sincerity of this statement. Those who have not, I appreciate your compassion and your acceptance that you simply cannot know how this feels until you have lived it for nearly one thousand sunrises and sunsets. 

Simply leaving the house hurts. I go to the store and am surrounded by reminders of pregnancy, babies, toddlers, teenagers, grandparents-the ceaseless ebb and flow of divinely ordained life that I may never play a part in. I experience all of the emotional depth of that statement when I stand in the store behind someone buying a package of diapers. I clutch my nieces and nephews to me and breathe in their sweet smells and my heart bursts and I wonder if there is any way I can be saved. I seek to escape the pain of the day through sleep and am haunted by dreams of caressing my pregnant belly, of giving birth, of holding my daughter who already has a name and is fiercely loved, and wake up feeling like I was hurled out of a moving vehicle into oncoming traffic. And it never, ever ends. 

I hurt everywhere. All the time. I understand how infertility leads to destructive behavior, ends marriages, wrecks families. I know why people choose to be numb.

People never know what to say. Those closest to me know that things like, "It will happen," or "Just be positive" or "your babies will come when it's time," will likely earn them a punch in the face and a sincere apology for breaking their nose. I think I have an advantage in that I am incredibly open (likely to a fault) about everything I am dealing with, so I do not hesitate to talk about feeling this way and people generally know when I am so low that not even a Harry Potter marathon can pull me out of the depths of despair. I think the best thing I have had someone say to me is simply, "I love you." That does more than anything when you are so emotionally obliterated that you can't seem to take another breath. 

Living with infertility is a hell through which few will pass, when you consider the population of the world through all time. Yet it touches most of us in tangential ways. Six months of trying to shrink ovarian cysts and get my cycles under control was absolutely terrible, but it only required me to feel disappointment. Now, as we gear up for a cycle of treatment, I have to feel the worst thing I can imagine-hope. I believe in a mind-body connection. I need to have hope and faith that this will work. But taking drugs, injecting drugs, doing an insemination, taking more drugs, and then having your heart ripped out by a negative test is more than a heart can handle. And if you do back to back cycles, you begin the whole process over three days after your negative result. It is the highest and most hellish form of torture I have experienced. Hope and promise shatter and you get to stand in the broken glass, bleeding all over while people look at you and tell you to be hopeful all over again. 

I am  hopeful right now. I am responding well to my Femara treatment, started my Gonal-F injections today for the next three days, will be re-scanned on Friday, and will finish up with a few more shots this weekend before I trigger ovulation. The tentative IUI date is Sunday. But hope is most definitely tempered by experience and disappointment. My hope feels like the last gasp for air while I am drowning before I sink away into oblivion. But it is there, and it is mine. 

I read two things last night that stuck with me. The first was a re-reading of  a series of short essays by F. Scott Fitzgerald, a man who I believe lived his entire life in emotional pain and agony. In "The Crack-Up," he penned, "and in a real dark night of the soul it is always three o’clock in the morning, day after day." And so it is three o'clock in the morning for me, day after day. 

The other was from the scriptures, more specifically, the Book of Mormon. If you do not believe this to be the revealed word of God, then perhaps accept this as a story that illustrates a larger point about resilience. The leader of a small group of people was named Jared, and as his people fled wickedness and crossed a great body of water in small ships, their small quarters were illuminated by stones that had been given light by the Lord. The wind blew furiously during their year-long journey, and though they were tossed about relentlessly and frightened and cried unto the Lord for stillness and peace, they were blown continually in the direction of their destination, and they had light. And the wind never stopped moving them in the right direction, and the people never stopped praising and thanking the Lord. And they had light continually, even in trial and tempest and through fear and anguish. And when they arrived on land again, they humbled themselves before the Lord, shed tears of joy, and recognized His tender mercies over them.

I am in a dark night of the soul. It is a night full of pain and fear. But I have a small light. And I have the love of my husband, and my family, and my friends, and my Father in Heaven. It doesn't change the fact that I hurt like hell and on good days, the best I can do is drag myself an inch closer to safety while I live with this open wound, but it does give the struggle a sense of meaning. This wound will never go away. It may change form and become an old wound, a scar, but it will mark my experiences forever. No pregnancy or adoption or perhaps a life without children will nullify what I have experienced. But I can own the pain and the experience and set myself up willingly for the punch in the gut that I might have to take in two and a half weeks, as long as I know that the pain and experience are mine to own and learn from. 

Please, if you are inclined, say a prayer for us and those others that live each day with an open wound in the deepest dark of the night, that we might see the pinprick of light that will lead us on, and someday, lead us home.

Pushing Through

A view of the waterfall in Bells Canyon

Two weeks ago, my husband and I went on a truly amazing hike. Well, it was amazing when we got to the top and were rewarded with the view of a hundred foot waterfall crashing into a mountain river, white spray misting through the air and sound thundering across the canyon. The whole way up to this waterfall, I was thinking, "why the crap did we do this?" I cursed in my mind (and OK, let's admit it, out loud) too many times to be proud of as I crawled up giant rocks, banging and scraping my knees and arms as I hoisted up and over the chunks of granite that peppered the forest floor. We climbed at a steep incline for the last mile and a half, and I felt my heart thudding in my chest in a steady rhythm as we kept ascending, stopping only briefly for to rest our aching knees and ankles. We hit several false summits, and I was almost in tears by the last one. 

When we finally reached the top of the trail and scrambled down to the waterfall, the sight was absolutely breathtaking. The way down was equally as difficult in terms of impact, but we reached the bottom with a sense of exuberance and accomplishment. I couldn't help but be struck by the symbolism of what we did. The hike was an exercise in pushing through the pain. Not pushing through by numbing out and shutting down, but by acutely feeling the pain and difficulty in every step, and still moving forward. I can't say I enjoyed the actual process of pushing through, but I do value what is on the other side of that-the knowledge and assurance that I can do really hard things and those things can make me mentally, emotionally and physically stronger. 

I think my life right now is defined by this idea of pushing through the pain. I shut down completely from January to June this year-work necessitated a level of focus, commitment, and composure that demanded I not turn into an emotional wreck that curled up on the classroom floor to join first-graders in their temper tantrums. When work ended, I slammed into a brick wall of all of the feelings that I hadn't been feeling. It was like being punched in the gut. But I am learning that walking through each day in emotional pain is preferable to walking through each day feeling nothing at all. I hate the way I feel sometimes. It is torture to be around children for me. I want to burst into tears at the sight of them. I can't handle being in the same room as a pregnant woman. I can't even watch the adorable videos the people I am closest to in my life post of their beautiful babies on Facebook because I know that they will send me into complete meltdowns. I am overcome so many days with absolute despair. It is really the most horrible, difficult thing I have ever experienced. But for the first time in months, I am actually experiencing it, and I am grateful for the companionship of my sweet, supportive husband and my Savior as He walks hand in hand beside me. Even when I am furious at Him for making me endure this hell. But I will take angry over indifferent, and I know He will too. 

We are only a tiny step closer to an end to project baby (whatever that end may be). After two months of very, very unpleasant hormone supplements to suppress a persistent cyst on my right ovary, I have the go-ahead to go off them. These pills made me feel like garbage-emotionally and physically. At the end of taking them, the cyst on my right ovary is resolved, but there is a small one on the left ovary now. Dr. Peterson has now seen enough of a pattern to classify them as alternating functional cysts (hormone producing) rather than endometriosis, which I guess is good news. I need three weeks to clear my system and return to a normal cycle, and then we start all of the fertility drugs again. We have waited 6 months for this, so we are anxious to try again. I am hopeful that the perfect storm will hit-I'll be pumped up on the drugs, husband will be in the last two months of his zinc/folic acid supplement trial, and I will be in a place where I am not only mentally but physically healthy, and the magic will happen. We get three chances at the magic. Then, the conversation will have to change.

Due to my low AMH levels (eggs in reserve), our doctor wants us to start talking about IVF if our current plan of action doesn't work. I have never wanted to pursue IVF, however, as our church has moved away from facilitating very affordable adoptions, a $15,000 IVF package has suddenly become the more affordable option. I don't know how I feel about it yet. I think that's a mountain that I will wait until the last possible minute to even consider climbing. 

The rest of the summer will provide plenty of chances for growth and fun and pushing through the pain. We have some great (hard!) hikes planned. I am working out like a crazy woman each day and it is definitely giving me an Elle Woods-esque rush of endorphines (because happy people just don't shoot their husbands). I am spending lots of time with my husband who I adore more and more each day. Isn't it amazing how you only fall deeper in love with someone as you struggle through the hard stuff together? We have a great vacation to Florida (yay for Disney and Harry Potter world!) planned for the end of July/beginning of August. I know I am going to keep hurting through all of this, and I don't think that will change. But I can see a way to appreciate the good things while I am hurting. 

I may be scraped up, bruised, prone to crying in the presence of small-children, and soon to be pumped full of more hormones, but I am still climbing, and anticipating whatever view awaits me at the top. 

What to Expect When You're Not Expecting

Last week, I was so, so dumb.

On Tuesday, I woke up in a state of slug. Sloth. Turtle. Any variety of slow, almost imperceptibly mobile creature. I lay glued to my bed. I am pretty sure that my yoga pants and husband's t-shirt fused to the sheets. I raised my head off the pillow in order to rotate it enough to avoid a permanent crick in my neck. And I stared into space. For an hour. From 7:30 AM when hubby departed for work, to 8:30 AM when I decided I should do something productive.

Of course, productivity means embracing the miracle of technology by watching Netflix on my phone. Because whoever invented Netflix streaming was a freaking genius. And I love them. And hate them. Because it hurts so good when your pajamas are fused to the sheets and you have 100,000 titles at your fingertips. And when your dog is passed out next to you, allowing you to use her as a phone stand to avoid compromising sound quality and eliminating screen glare. Winning.

As my fingers skittered across the screen, the protozoan recesses of my brain took hold, and convinced me that watching, "What to Expect When You're Expecting," was a smart idea. The height of genius. I am expecting a call from the Nobel Commission next week, in fact. Or maybe the people who dole out the Darwin Awards each year.

As I watched the myriad of couples in this movie experience the joys, trials and travails of pregnancy, infertility, adoption and miscarriage, I chuckled and guffawed and then just began sobbing uncontrollably. Because the couple that I could identify with the most, the always beautiful Jennifer Lopez and her ridiculously good-looking husband, had a tender and touching and ultimately, completely unrealistic story-line that made me crazy angry. After failing to conceive naturally, they turned to adoption, and then, out of nowhere, the soon-to-be unemployed photographer and her model husband were gifted with an expedited international adoption and bliss ensued. Touching, yes. Realistic, no. Blech.

I admit, there were a lot of funny moments. "Dude's Group" was hilarious  It was a decent movie. But believe me, that conclusion has been reached only after a week of coming to terms with the fantastic elements of the story. I spent most of the week in a major fog, exacerbated by the dumb, dumb choice to watch this movie. Honestly, if my friend hadn't texted me about going to the gym just as I was finishing the movie while drowning in a pool of tears and my own snot, I am pretty sure I never would have peeled myself out of the bed. The police department would have had to set up a CSI scene, taping the room off and listing the cause of death as "Netflix-induced body to bed fusion."

But I have learned to expect a lot of things when I am not expecting. Because people with infertility issues need to laugh too.

1. Expect to consider buying or wearing (if you have happened your way into hand-me-downs) maternity clothes when you are NOT pregnant or post-natal. I am pretty sure I can fit in some of the clothes packed into my spare-room dresser drawer, and they are danged cute. Who cares if they all have "Motherhood" tags in them...

2. Expect to come home to pieces of plastic all over the house, and realizing with horror that your dog dug multiple pregnancy tests out of the bathroom trash (from that week you were sure you were pregnant and all of the tests were lying) and ATE them into little-bitty pieces.

3. Expect to be tempted to purchase baby items when you see them on sale. Because it's not enough to have an empty baby room chock-full of generously given baby hand-me-downs to torture you, so why not add a carseat, crib and all manner of baby necessities to your irony.

4. Expect to think about everything in terms of "but I'll be pregnant someday." Like, "I'll be pregnant someday, so I should start eating loads of Dairy Queen Blizzards now so my system will be able to handle that much ice cream later." Or, "I'll be pregnant someday, so I shouldn't bother trying to lose weight because I will just gain it all back." Or my favorite, "I'll be pregnant someday! If I just believe it, I'll achieve it!" Because 90's sitcom inspirational talks a-la-Danny Tanner and Carl Winslow always solve the most difficult problems.

5. Expect to walk through the baby section of EVERY store and have the compulsion to purchase EVERYTHING in sight. Because who doesn't need a breast pump when they aren't pregnant? I am sure it has some sort of culinary application. Hooded animal towels can totally be used as cute bathroom decor for a childless couples. Winnie the Pooh layette sets will be wonderful conversation starters with company and can double as potholders. Because nobody will think you are crazy if you walk to the grocery store, and load everything you buy into an empty Britax stroller to roll it on home.

I've learned that expecting anything when you're not expecting is a dangerous road to saunter down, let alone tip-toe along. 

The good news is, today, I peeled myself out of bed. My skin is attached to my body and not my sheets. And I have yet to view a single thing on Netflix. Winning.