Changes

I can't begin to grasp the amount of change that has occurred in my life over the past four years. The end of what I thought was a forever relationship. The beginning of what is my true forever marriage. Moving. Leaving my dream job. Experiencing my husband becoming my best friend. Financial hardship. Not being able to have a baby. A new job. And now, more changes are headed in our direction.

Last week, after waiting one month for a cyst on my ovary to clear up on its own, and spending another month taking a Progestin to shrink that stubborn cyst, I went in to see what was going on in the incubator. My cyst shrunk. A lot. Down by 60%, and the overall volume down even more. But I also found out it's probably not a cyst. It's probably an endometrioma. And for the first time, there is a fibroid camping out on my uterine wall. Which scares the living crap out of me. I have never had these before. I have had cysts that have come and gone. My uterus has been pretty normal. All of a sudden, my sloughed-off endometrial cells are making themselves at home in parts of my body where they shouldn't be. Scary. I didn't know much about Endometriosis until last week. I wish I had never even heard of this, because it adds another lovely wrench to this already hellish struggle. What I do know is that Endo is thought to be influenced greatly by stress, inflammation and weight gain. Well, I just hit the danged triple jackpot. 

I.am.so.tired.of.my.stupid.body.not.doing.what.it.is.designed.to.do. But this is likely of my own doing.

I looked back over 9 months of uterine scans and procedures. I have never had this happen before. The only thing that has changed in my life is, well, everything. I went back to work and I stopped eating well. I stopped sleeping well. I worked almost every weekend until 1 AM. I developed a persistent twitch in my left eye. I worked most weeknights nights until 9 or 10. I didn't exercise. I replaced water intake with Cherry Coke. I frequented more drive-thru lines than I could ever care to admit. Hell, I even ate more than one gas-station hot dog wrapped in a croissant drenched in nacho cheese. I ate roller food. From a gas station. The shame is more than I can bear. Those of you that know me and the extreme love for the gastronomic arts, this is a level to which I never imagined I could descend. For the past six months, ,my life became 100% about the 27 sweet, amazing, wonderful, squirrely, energetic and challenging kids that I teach. Doing what is best for them, every moment of each day. And I sacrificed doing anything for me. I wasn't the picture of health or fitness before going back to work full-time, but I certainly was not in the ultimate pits of having let everything that is important just fall to the side. 

I had to choose. The sweet, smiling faces. The moment that a kid truly grasps a concept. The sticky-finger hugs. The crazy ebb and flow of the day. I love it. But I love my future family more. 

The seed of change was planted in my mind about six weeks ago, but at 6:20 AM on Thursday, when my doctor looked at me and told me that next month, after another four weeks of Progestin, regardless of the size of the endometrioma, we would restart my fertility drugs and push through for an IUI, I knew what I had to do. His exact words were, "I need you to do whatever you can to get as healthy as possible in the next four weeks." It hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt like the wind was knocked out of me. I am doing ZERO healthy things in my life. I am dumping money and time and emotion into a pursuit of having a baby, and I am doing ZERO healthy things to support that effort. Reality is a bitter slap in the face. 

I won't be returning to full-time teaching in the fall. I may do some part-time specialized instruction that would be less stressful and demanding. I am not yet sure what the right choice is. I need to work in some capacity because it is good and healthy to have a focus and to be productive. I just can't do 75 hour weeks and extra classes for certification and little sleep and no room in my heart for anything but these wonderful 27 kids. My husband needs my heart. I need my heart. My future children need my heart. I thought about just scaling back. I am a person that puts excess into everything I do. My work process is frenetic. I can't give any less than everything. I need to give my everything to becoming a mom, in whatever way that comes to me.

I really don't know what the road ahead holds for me, but I do know that for the first time in months, I feel a measure of peace. Changes. Time to embrace the change that is coming, and commit to the changes that I need to make in my own life. Freaking gas station hot dogs... 

Riding out the Storm

I haven't posted anything about our struggle with infertility for nearly five months. I have sat down to write many times, but each attempt feels forced and half-hearted. I think that I have given everything that I have to this fight, and writing about it feels incredibly taxing and exhausting. I have thought these past few weeks about how to continue moving forward when I feel like I literally have nothing left in me. It is hard to dig down deep to find the resolve to move forward when you feel like your reserves are totally spent. 

I began a very challenging new job in January, teaching first grade to an adorable (and exhausting) group of kids. I love it on many levels. It is a good distraction from the daily reminder that there is a huge, baby-shaped hole in our life. But even with this heightened level of distraction, I am reminded every moment of every day, as I watch their sweet, innocent faces, that I want my own version of a first-grader in my own life and in my own arms. It is a completely bittersweet experience.

There are some days where I think my heart is going to explode out of my chest from aching so much. I hurt from the inside out. We are on three months now of being told we can't move forward with any treatment because I have ovarian cysts that pop up at the very beginning of my cycles. This month, I was ultrasound monitored on day two, and I already had a four centimeter corpus luteum cyst on my right ovary. Last month, there was a follicular cyst on my left ovary. It is incredibly frustrating. We can't move forward because of the risk of hyper-stimulation and hormone overproduction. I suppose I should be grateful that an ovarian cyst means my scans are all covered by insurance, but right now, I would sell everything I own to pay to be pregnant. Gratitude is hard to cultivate and practice right now.

The doctor thinks I will have another period in about two weeks, and that the cyst I had probably contained and released an egg. We probably had a shot at getting pregnant this month on our own, until an unfortunate case of strep throat for hubby sent that chance flying right out the window. Time will tell if we can start things over in two more weeks. I am pretty sure we had the same scenario happen in December when we took a month off of treatment. I had two periods two weeks apart. It is amazing and frightening what injection fertility drugs can do to mess with your hormone production. Things are happening two weeks earlier than they should, and without the ultrasound monitoring, we would never even know. Doctors are a gift from heaven.

Starting this summer, we will be squirreling away money to save for an adoption, if necessary. I think the reality of that being a very likely way that we start a family has finally hit me in the face. I have nothing but positive feelings about adoption, but I also know that process will be its own harrowing, emotional journey. The thought of embarking on that new and assuredly rocky road feels so scary that I don't know if I could handle it.

Writing about all of this is an opportunity for reflection, and a chance for me to look for something positive. This week, I read a scripture that has stuck with me. It said that Christ will succor his people according to their infirmities. I have to rely on what I know deep down, even if it doesn't feel like I am being heard and it certainly doesn't feel like my prayers are being answered. It is so hard to pray over and over again for the same thing. It is much easier to just feel empty and like a victim. I'm trying hard to stop living in the realm of negativity. The scripture helped me glimpse what I have known in the past, that Christ will always give me what I need to get through to the next waypoint on my journey. Most days, I have a hard time remembering that. When I have the chance to think, to pray, to be taught by the Spirit, I know that Christ will succor me, and that I am not alone, hopeless or worst of all, a failure. It's easier to remember that some days than others. But I do remember.

I know I haven't experienced all of the hurt and heartache that is coming my way, but until I've ridden out this turbulent storm, I'll rely on what I know and sweet six-year-old smiles to get me through.

The Bitter Cup

I have drunk from my fair share of bitter cups in life. We all have. Plans are made. Expectations established. Hearts are set on hopes and dreams. And then the very dregs of bitterness must be swallowed as dreams shatter and hope explodes into a million tiny pieces. Broken friendships. Familial strife. Failed relationships. Financial stress. I have experienced all of these things before. But nothing compares to the bitterness I have swallowed in the past thirty six hours. We all have our cross to bear and our challis of sorrow to endure. Mine is yet another failed attempt at becoming a mother.

A little over two weeks ago, we had our first IUI procedure. It was quick, easy, and filled us with hope and a renewed sense of promise. After the IUI came daily hormone supplements which gave me every pregnancy-like side effect known to womankind. Nausea. Hot flashes. Wretched dizziness. Cramping. Sore breasts. Veins appearing in new and interesting places. Horrid constipation. Gas. Sore and bleeding gums. A cold. Absolutely everything. And then, early Sunday morning, after I was absolutely convinced I was pregnant, I peed on what must have been my 30th pregnancy test over two years, and it was negative. I sat on the bathroom floor crying, hating to wake my husband up to tell him the bad news. But when I crawled back into bed crying and shaking like a leaf, the cat was out of the bag. We cried together until we fell asleep and slept fitfully for several hours.

Sunday was a blur. We watched mind-numbing amounts of shows on DVD. BJ held my hand all day. I went through an entire roll of toilet paper as I cried and blew my nose. We stayed home from church, the thought of facing anyone we knew just too difficult to even bear. We even went to the movies just to escape from the house and the crushing sense of disappointment that sat on our chests all day. I accepted yesterday that I feel like absolute crap about the whole thing. I'd love to be all "there is a bigger plan," and "I'll just be patient." But I can't. Right now, I want to hurl my bitter cup off a cliff and scream every four-letter word in the book into the abyss. 

It is a special kind of hell to have your body and mind chemically convinced you are pregnant by hormone supplements, and then have it not be true. Biologically, everything for a pregnancy was in my system for at least twelve days after my procedure. Everything in me felt pregnant. But I'm not. And I can't do anything to change that. Every pill I swallowed, every time I was in pain, every moment I was hot-flashing, every minor twinge in my body, I became tied emotionally and physically more and more tightly to the idea of a pregnancy and a baby. And in the space of three minutes, all of that hope and promise was ripped away from me. Right now, I am furious about my cup being full of this bitter and horrifyingly painful trial.

We face an uphill battle. We can do more IUI rounds with fertility drugs. We plan to. Each one will cost at least $500. We can do up to four of these before the options become infinitely more expensive. We already have over $500 sunk into our first failed round. For two people on a single income, it's terrifying. I start work tomorrow as a long-term sub for at least 12 weeks, and that will help, but it won't solve every problem.

I have been thinking about Christ and his acceptance of the bitter cup. We know that He took it willingly, but not without difficulty, pain and pleading that it pass from Him if it be at all possible. I know that there will be something on the other side of this for us, and that our cup must be consumed if we are to move forward. I am pleading that there is another way. I know that there likely is not. But I am tired of being tested. I am tired of being disappointed. I don't know how many months of this I can possibly withstand. I am frustrated with my Father in Heaven because I lack the knowledge and capacity to comprehend this on a grander scale. I know that it's ok to feel that way, because we are meant to experience the full spectrum of emotion, and because eventually I will and He will help me. But right now, I am angry. I have thought often of Jacob of the Old Testament, and of the significance of his new name, Israel, meaning "one who wrestles with God." There is some solace in knowing that on the path to truth and understanding, there is turmoil, heartbreak and trouble, and that we are meant to experience it. We all wrestle at some point. We all learn the bitter cup cannot pass.

But how I wish it could.

I still believe in the idea of bread being disguised as stones, but I think it's going to take me a while to digest and accept this particular stone/piece of ridiculously hard bread that might as well be a stone.

We are starting all over again, bitter cup in hand, and we drink on, choking it down, banking on the moment when the sweet overwhelms the bitter and the cup has passed from before us. So I drink it down freely as I begin another month of mourning the loss of a baby that I never had.

I don't think I'll raise my glass to that one.

Bread and Stones

For me, the past three months have been all about learning the difference between bread and stones, and realizing that sometimes what I think are stones actually turn out to be bread. Blessings and trials-one and the same. Oh, what a complicated path we all walk. 

Six weeks ago, I walked away from a full-time teaching position at a great school after my first day of training and orientation. I had spent nearly six months anticipating what this new position would bring to my life, feeling unsure and unsettled about the opportunity the entire time. Sometimes, you do what you feel is necessary to take care of your family, like accepting a job that you have very mixed feelings about. And sometimes Heavenly Father smacks you over the head with a two-by-four less than a week before students arrive and tells you to get the heck out of dodge. So I cried the whole way home from my first day of training, had a very long talk with my amazing and supportive husband, prayed and asked for guidance, and drove the hour commute the next morning at 6 AM to inform the director of the school that I was resigning. I felt as if I were begging for bread and kept receiving nothing but stones to satiate my hunger.

Here's the thing-this job would have precluded me from doing everything I need to do to make sure we have a family. There is nothing on this earth more important to me than my current and future family. And at 29, I don't have the luxury of time or flexibility to play the waiting game any longer. I need to aggressively pursue my options to make a baby a reality-whether that is through fertility treatments or adoption. A two to three hour daily commute, severely restrictive leave policies, an insanely demanding schedule for uncompensated work time, and a seriously bad feeling in the pit of my stomach meant that my only choice was to walk away. Leaving this position turned out to be bread after all. 

But walking away blew up ALL of our life plans in a matter of seconds. No dual income. No chance to save for adoption or fertility treatments. No life that we had dreamed of and anticipated. 

God has a way of guiding you through the stormiest of times and bringing you back into a safe harbor. In the midst of all of this turmoil, I felt His hand guiding us toward a new and better route. Even though the trip has been scary, and the hard times are likely far from over, we know that we are in His hands, and that He will never, ever leave us. And He will teach us the difference between bread and stones.

Within a week of leaving my full-time position, I was set up to regularly substitute teach at a local elementary charter school. In the next few weeks, I will begin back-to-back long-term subbing positions at this school, working full-time until at least February. The school is amazing, is less than 10 minutes from home, and is exactly what I needed in my life at this moment. My sweet husband was given the opportunity to work from home and was also was promoted and given a substantial raise. We have seen the Lord's hand in our life, handing us bread, the essence of life, making up for what we lost, and leading us to something better and more fulfilling. Things still are not easy, but they are definitely looking up. 

Which brings us to the most important goal of all-operation baby. Now that I am working close to home, I have the time and ability to attend my needed fertility appointments. In August, after my HSG procedure, I was referred to a Reproductive Endocrinologist at the Utah Center for Reproductive Medicine, part of the University of Utah medical services. My potentially arcuate uterus needs further study, and my wacky periods and ovulation need more evaluation. 

BJ and I left bright and early this morning for our appointment with Dr. Peterson. I was nervous and excited and really anxious. After spending fifteen minutes trying to find the office and arriving late, my blood pressure was through the roof and wouldn't even register on the machine. The nurse was very patient with us as I calmed down and returned to some semblance of normalcy. A million questions about our medical histories later, the doctor joined us and our short, sweet and productive meeting commenced.

Basically, Dr. Peterson laid out a short term plan to get us pregnant as quickly and naturally as possible. Today, I had a blood test to check my AMH levels to tell us how many viable eggs I have left. Next Friday, I have an internal ultrasound scheduled to evaluate ammenorrhea, or painful periods, to make sure I don't have endometriosis...which is also a convenient way to have an insurance-covered diagnostic ultrasound done to check my arcuate uterus and the development of my egg follicles this month (since we scheduled the ultrasound on cycle day 11). As long as things check out okay with my uterus and I don't have endometriosis (which is very unlikely), and I have a developing egg follicle, I will get a shot to stimulate ovulation. Several days later, they will mix my hubby's little swimmers with the equivalent of Red Bull to get them good and energized, and we will do an intra-uterine insemination procedure. This could potentially all happen by the 21st or 22nd of October, so it is moving very quickly. We will do one natural cycle of this approach, and if it does not work (or I do end up presenting with endometriosis), we will move to a maximum of three medicated cycles of Clomid, Red Bull for the little guys, and IUI procedures with follicle ultrasound monitoring. Right now, it feels like bread is raining down from heaven.

Phew-that is a lot of words. But it is a PLAN. A REAL PLAN. We are so grateful for it, and for a team of doctors that want us to get pregnant quickly and naturally. It may or may not be successful. But we are going to give it everything we have and work through these next four months (hopefully only one!) with faith and vigor. 

These last three months have been pretty hellish for us. Disappointment piles up and begins to choke you out of your own life. Walking away from that job was the first time I have felt sunshine in my life in a long time. Having new opportunities and blessings presented to us increased the light in my life. Today, our amazing doctor blew the rest of the clouds away and let the sunshine stream into our lives with his amazing gifts and talents. We are cautiously optimistic, but so hopeful at the end of the day, because we know the Master is in control, and can see so far past what we can ever imagine.

One of my favorite songs offers a window into how I feel on the days that I am both discouraged and uplifted. I never knew it was possible to have both of these feelings at once. But infertility opens windows and doors into emotions I never knew existed. My struggle is my own. Others may try for years for a baby and never arrive at that result. I may be one of those women. But the words in this song help me to hold on when I feel the need to despair (so what if walking through Deseret Book and hearing it playing makes me burst into tears in front of other customers). And as the last notes fade away, I feel nothing but hope that we will somehow, someday, be parents. In the song, "Better Promises," Hillary Weeks sings, 

"You gave me bread, 

but I thought it was a stone, 

and before You could tell me yes, 

You had to tell me no. 

If you had given me what I wanted, 

I would not have seen, 

that You had better promises for me."

I know that He has better promises for me. Promises greater than I can ever imagine. Perhaps BJ and I needed more preparation to become parents. Maybe we needed BJ's promotion and raise. Possibly, I needed to have an Abraham and Isaac moment with my faith and was tested with confusing job opportunities. We may be people that Dr. Peterson needs to bless with his incredible gifts and talents. We most definitely need to learn patience. And maybe there is a baby out there who may come to us through adoption. We don't know. But I know that He will calm us so we can ride out the storm, and if we reach out our hands, we can walk to Him on the rough waters of life. 

So internal ultrasound and (more likely than not) IUI, here we come. 

Step one on the journey of the rest of our lives.

Step one in realizing that what we believe to be stones may be bread after all. 

A Tale of Five Catheters

I don't know about you, but a speculum is my most favorite medical instrument in the entire world. I was so lucky, that I got to be speculumed twice in 10 minutes today. I also got to experience having no less than 5 catheters threaded up through my cervix. Aren't you just dripping with jealousy? Apologies in advance for the absolute "TMI" nature of this post.

It doesn't matter how many times you put on that flimsy little doctor's office nightgown, pop your feet into the stirrups, and display your lady parts in all their glory for a pap smear-it never gets any less awkward. Now, take yourself out of the comfort of your regular gyno's office, put yourself in cold and sterile hospital environment with people you have never met, and multiply the weirdness of a pap smear by 10, and you have yourself a delightful little procedure called a Hysterosalpingogram (HSG). 

I was terrified to have this done. I know several people who have a had a range of experiences with the HSG, and 98% of people who post about theirs online sum it up with a description like, "it was worse than childbirth," and "I wanted to die," and "I felt like my entire abdomen was on fire." So naturally, as a person with some fabulously convenient anxiety issues, I have spent the last 10 days freaking out about this procedure. I expected the worst pain of my life. I expected to kick the doctor in the face with my rubberized sock-clad foot, leap off the table, and tear down the hallway, knocking carts of medical supplies over as I made my great escape from the hospital wearing only a flimsy johnny. I am happy to report that this did not happen.

It was awkward as all get out. I would even venture to say that next to the bladder infection/UTI from hell last summer, it was my least favorite medical experience ever. But I did not want to die, or have a flaming uterus, although I did come close to kicking the doctor in the face. Thank heavens I didn't actually do it. But it was sort of a comedy of errors, bordering on, "you have got to be freaking kidding me!" 

BJ took the day off from work and came with me. Which was both for support, and necessary, since I was buzzed on 1000 mg Ibuprofen, 1000 mg of extra-strength Tylenol, and a 1 mg of Xanax. My OB realized how completely freaked I was about doing this and was very willing to help me be as medicated as possible. By the time we got to the radiology department at LDS hospital, I was enjoying not being able to feel my lips or tongue, and definitely grateful that every attempt by my stomach to do flips was quelled by the effect of benzodiazepines. Thank you, drug companies the world over for that little slice of heaven. As soon as I was called back into the changing area and instructed to put on the johnny, scrub pants and grippy, rubberized socks, I was keenly aware of everything that was going on. Instead of having a panic attack freak out, I just got super emotional and started streaming tears down my cheeks. The cute x-ray technician was very sweet, offered a lot of comfort and support, and fetched hubby from the waiting room to accompany me through the rest of the procedure.

My OB was supposed to perform the HSG, but was called out for a delivery, so a PA in the radiology department did it, assisted by the nice x-ray tech, Toni. They were incredibly gentle and sensitive and explained everything that was going to happen and were incredibly respectful of my modesty and obvious discomfort. But it doesn't matter how many times you have someone use a speculum on you-it never, ever becomes less awkward or unpleasant. And today was no exception.

After the first speculum insertion, they went ahead and inserted a long, thin catheter with a balloon on the end that is used to push the dye into the uterus. As the PA worked with the catheter, she said that "my cervix wasn't happy about this." Um, yup. Definitely not. Last time I checked, no cervix is too happy about getting snuggly with a catheter. Ugh. So the catheter goes in, causes a bunch of super-uncomfortable pressure and cramping, and then, the balloon on the end breaks. Oh yes. That's right. So out it comes, and in goes another. Everything is good, the dye goes in, speculum comes out, I am slid under the x-ray imager, there is a lot more cramping and discomfort as I feel the dye surge up and through my lady parts, and as I watch the screen above me, my uterus fills with the contrast dye and the left tube fills and spills beautifully. I can see my ovary and tube perfectly, and it's great. The PA adds more pressure to force dye into the right tube. I clench BJ's hand because it hurts and cramps like the dickens, and what happens? The catheter comes out. Just pops right out. The pressure chose the path of least resistance, and just popped the danged thing out of me.

The PA apologized multiple times, said the tube filled partially, but she would like to do it again to see if it can fill and spill completely. She asked if it is ok. I am laying on a table, gown hiked up, husband holding my hand, cramping like the worst period of my life times 10, and she wants to put that danged speculum back in and try again? GAHHHH. Of course, I said yes, because I was NOT coming back for another test unless hell froze over. So a bunch of pillows get stuck under my back to change the angle, the speculum goes back in, the catheter is reinserted, and it breaks AGAIN. Another catheter goes in. Breaks AGAIN. I flippin' kid you not. At this point, I am starting to cry, my uterus hates me, and all I want to do is kick the very nice PA in the face (and she was honestly so, so nice) and leave an imprint of the rubberized sock on her cute face. 

The PA asks for a different type of catheter that is smaller and has a c-shaped clamp on it to make is stay inside of my cervix. I felt that one going in like a razor blade. But it stayed. Out goes the speculum, in goes the dye, the cramps and pressure surge again, and my right tube spills. It wasn't as intense a flow as the dye through the left tube, but it was spilled and both tubes were declared open. The PA said there could have been a mucus plug or something blocking it, but it was flowing freely when we were done. Out came the catheter, and the cramps surged for several minutes while I lay on the table, totally exhausted. She explained that because of the clamp on the last catheter, I would have some significant bleeding. They covered me with a nice, warm blanket, swaddled my bottom area with a Gandhi-like towel diaper, and went over the images with me. 

My left tube looks great. The ovary was visible and nicely shaped. The right tube is also open, but took a lot more effort and pressure, and may have been cleared by the contrast material. The ovary doesn't look as well-developed, and that could be playing a role in my irregular ovulation. Both tube structures looked great. Your uterus should look like an upside down pear, and mine had a dip at the top. She said she needed to do an official measurement as she wrote her report for my OB, because that can be problematic, but that it was mild and more likely than not is nothing to be concerned about. If it is a concern, it would make my pregnancy a bit more risky and I would need closer monitoring and possibly a C-Section for delivery. It all depends on that official measurement. I will know more about that next week.

After resting on the table for a while, I sat up and let some of the dye work it's way out. Then it was off to the bathroom in my Gandhi-getup to deal with the blood and dye, and to get dressed and put on a lovely diaper-like pad, which I get to continue sporting for a good 24-48 hours. Awesome. 

Overall, it was less horrible than what I was prepared for, but it was no walk in the park. I am so thankful for my supportive husband and proactive doctor. I am beyond grateful for answers. I know my tubes are functional. I probably have one that works better than the other. We have information to move forward with a cycle of Clomid in September/October. I don't have any adhesions, growths, or anything majorly wrong. I can deal with having a twice-inserted speculum, five catheters, some bleeding nasty cramps, a diaper to soak up the leaking dye and Xanax haze if it helps us get closer to having a baby.

I received a number of blessings from my husband and a good friend to help heal and comfort me before the procedure. I totally loaded up on the drugs. I hate to think about what it would have been like without them. I am still feeling the effects of the Xanax and have been popping ibuprofen all day to help with the residual cramping. My best friend received the next best thing to a drunk dial from me after the procedure, and as she said so eloquently, I was clearly trying to outdo Lindsay Lohan with my pill consumption. I definitely felt like a loopy, drugged up person for the afternoon, and slept for several hours when I got home.

So, HSG. I fought you, and I definitely feel like I won in the final moments of the battle. But I NEVER, EVER want to do that again. Five catheters. Five stinkin' catheters. Blech. 

Tests, More Tests, and Avoiding Becoming the Next Octo-Mom

I realized something last Monday at my fertility consultation. Those charts, diagrams and explanations of bodily functions displayed on the wall of the OBGYN's office don't make you feel awkward until you spend 45 minutes in that room with your husband waiting to talk to the doctor. I think that by the end of the experience, BJ was more informed about the internal structure of the baby-making woman parts than he could have ever wanted to be. He was a total trooper though, especially because cute Dr. Laine spent 90% of the time really only talking to me while he sat in the chair next to the paper-covered exam and rubbed my knee while we talked strategy for Operation Baby. Oh, and the appointment was the day before our two-year anniversary...what a great way to celebrate!

This was my first time actually meeting my OB (I have worked with her Nurse Practitioner and Medical Assistant) . She is incredibly nice, down to earth, and best of all, pretty realistic and conservative in her approach to maximizing my fertility. Going on Clomid scares the crud out of me. My mom is a fraternal twin, and my risk of having twins is pretty high as it is without blitzing my follicles with Clomid. Dr. Laine said something to the effect of, "when you want a baby so badly, twins sound wonderful. The reality of a twin pregnancy and the first years of parenting twins is a really different story." I would prefer to achieve pregnancy as conservatively as possible, and it makes me feel a lot better to have a doctor that didn't just bust out the prescription pad for fertility drugs five minutes after meeting me. I feel good about sticking with Dr. Laine through these next few months as we figure out what is going on with me, and confident that she will refer me to any needed specialists when the time is appropriate.

So the long and short of our appointment was that my basal body temperature charting seems to be indicating irregular ovulation, and likely periods of anovulation. It looks like I am ovulating every other month, and irregularly at that, so there may be an issue with my Fallopian tubes. I had my progesterone tested two weeks in a row, and I am definitely not ovulating this month. We also broached that oh-so-lovely and tender conversation about weight again, but Dr. Laine was so gentle and kind. After sharing her own experiences with struggling with her weight, she said I was down 10 pounds from my last appointment, and over the next 8 weeks or so, would like to see that downward trend continue. No "you must reach this weight for me to help you" ultimatum, no criticism of the fact that two years of unemployment and emotional stress have helped me to pack on some very unwanted pounds. Just some simple suggestions to help me continue to be successful, and an absolute insistence on small, meaningful changes and not a ridiculous crash diet.

The next step, beyond continuing to chart each day and continue testing my progesterone through my next cycle, is to have a Hysterosalpingography at the start of my next cycle in August. Basically, they will insert a catheter into my uterus, flood the uterus with contrast dye, and x-ray me to see if the dye flows normally through my Fallopian tubes. If the dye does, then we know that there isn't a blockage. If it doesn't, then we need to resolve the blockage, or come up with another plan. The test isn't terribly pleasant, is danged expensive, and may end up being inconclusive, but it is the next logical step, so we will be scheduling that soon. The silver lining is that woman have an increased rate of conception the month after the test is performed, so here's hoping. After the test, we will reconvene in September to go over everything and reevaluate our approach. It is likely that I will go on Clomid in September, but will be tracked by an endocrinologist to study my egg follicle development to be sure I am not going to end up as the next Octo-Mom. Shudder.

Overall, it was a positive experience, but definitely emotional. It doesn't matter what happens with Operation Baby, I end up in tears. I feel like I have what I need in place to move forward now-a wonderful husband, an army of people that I know pray for us, a Heavenly Father who loves us and will bless us for our righteous desires, and a medical specialist that can use her gifts to help us have a baby. But it doesn't make things easier, and I am really at peace with admitting openly that I am not okay with the fact that my reproductive system is on the fritz. In a world full of covering up hurt and struggle for the sake of appearance, I am getting more and more comfortable with just being okay with not being okay. 

Over the past few months, I feel like I have also had a lot of time to reflect on the inevitable question that all couples dealing with infertility must face, "How far will we go to make this happen?" Everyone has their own answer to that question, and that answer is one that is only arrived at with a lot of serious consideration. I know that for BJ and me, we are only willing to go so far. I will do the testing. I will do some fixes for internal problems I may have. I will take Clomid or it's equivalent. I will pursue intrauterine insemination. That is it for me. I will not do fertility shots. I will not undergo major surgery. I do not want to do invitro. If we cannot get to pregnancy on our own within those parameters, we will take the money we would be spending on fertility treatments, and move forward with the adoption process. If we are not successful by June of next year, we will go ahead with a home study and begin looking into our options. For me, the $10,000 I would spend on invitro would be better spent working with LDS family services to bring a darling baby that desperately needs a home into a family full of love, desire and acceptance. 

In my heart, I think our journey may take us down the path of both pregnancy and adoption. I am not sure at all how this will work out, and I am not all fine and dandy with the way things are, but I am grateful to be on a path and walking toward positive and productive action. I can't do this all on my own, but I can do it one step at a time, one day at a time, and with a mustard seed of faith. 

Waiting...

I have spent the past 18 months in a perpetual pattern of waiting. Waiting for my baby.

I just want the waiting to be over. I thought the DMV and the airport and the checkout line at the grocery store tested my patience. Indecisive people and endless government bureaucracy have nothing on infertility. Nothing. And unlike the DMV and the airport and grocery store line, sighing heavily, fantasizing about mowing people down with my luggage, and rolling my eyes as people fail to do their job in a timely and efficient manner does absolutely nothing to relieve and mitigate my frustrations. 

My test results from the OBGYN were all normal. Everything. Every last bit of the 6 vials of blood drawn reveal nothing out of the ordinary regarding my fertility status. Glucose: Normal. Hemo: Normal. Prolactin: Normal. Insulin: Normal. Thyroid: On the excellent side of normal. Lipids: Normal. MMR: Immune. Pap Smear: Normal. Progesterone: Normal. Normal, normal, normal. Seriously? SERIOUSLY?

Normal is good, I suppose. But it's not helpful diagnostically-there is no cure for normal. 

We are still waiting for my husband's tests to come back, and will likely know those tomorrow. Based on the current trend, I am predicting a "normal" result. 

So once again, I am stuck in a perpetual pattern of waiting. The next slight break in the holding pattern is July 15th, after more temperature charting and a scheduled fertility consultation.

Maybe it comes down to timing. Maybe it comes down to Heavenly Father knowing we have two nickels to rub together at best. Perhaps it comes down to us needing to pursue some alternative fertilization methods. Who knows. Right now, I just wish something were abnormal so I could come up with a plan to fix whatever the heck is going on, because not being able to fix this is the most frustrating thing I have ever experienced. 

So the waiting continues. And continues. Ceaseless and endless and exhausting and normal.

Answers and Elephants

Yesterday, my afternoon ended with a phone call to my best friend. At some point during the call, I busted this gem out:

"I have this fear that the doctor is going to tell me my uterus is eating itself from the inside."

After appropriate laughter and snorting from best friend, I felt better. See, yesterday was D-Day. Doctor Day. It was also job interview day. Which was probably a bad scheduling move on my part. I am pretty sure that when I told the interviewers that the one piece of information I wanted them to know about me, and I said "I'm a really awesome teacher. I am excellent at my job, and I need to be teaching again. I need to be in your classrooms, and I want to spend my time and talents here" I had tears in my eyes and was .5 seconds away from hyperventilating. They scribbled on their interview sheets and for the love of all that is good and holy, I pray that they didn't write down that I was a basket case. The thing is, I totally was. Sigh.

Yesterday was my first appointment with my new OBGYN. I hate the gynecologist. I mean, going to get a pelvic is outranked on my list only by getting a root canal without anesthesia. Or having bamboo shoved under my fingernails. After 18 months of trying to have a baby with no success, my rational brain kicked in and I made the appointment and canceled my hotel room at the Hanoi Hilton.

I actually really liked the Avenues Women's Center. The people were very helpful and kind. The office setup was sort of strange, but the overall experience was really positive. I especially liked the Nurse Practitioner, Hillary, that I saw for my first appointment to get me established as a patient. She was an older woman with a really gentle tone and approach, and talked to me with a lot of compassion and empathy. As a mom of adopted children, I think she has been in my shoes before.

We talked for a long time about everything I filled out on my patient history. Hillary had read all of it before the appointment, which really put me at ease. We discussed all of the trials of the past year and a half, the necessary tests needed for my husband, and the possibility of PCOS being a factor. She wrote a referral, and ordered a round of blood-work and tests to check for some signs and markers. We discussed prenatal vitamins, genetic testing, two months of temperature charting, and all sorts of things that I can't remember anymore. After the inevitable awkwardness and discomfort of the usual happenings of an exam, we hit the big, rotund elephant in the room. Weight.

I have struggled with my weight since puberty. It went something like this. Hormones flooded my petite body, and all of a sudden, I wasn't a flat-as-a-board girl anymore. Between 5th and 6th grade, things developed and I shot up in sizes, reasonably at first, and then at a rate that I am sure raised parental and doctoral eyebrows. And it stayed that way through high school. Never on the really bad side of things, but enough to be a concern. Then, I went to college, lost a bunch of weight because of lifestyle changes, and I worked really hard to keep it off. Too hard. To the point of not eating nearly enough and killing myself in the gym to satisfy the image my then-boyfriend desired. Since then, I have fluctuated up and down. A few years ago, I lost a lot of weight again, to once again satisfy the image of a guy I was seriously dating. When that relationship blew up in my face, I realized how fabulous and healthy I felt, because for once I had lost weight the right way-an awesome, balance diet and consistent, healthy exercise.

And then, I got married. And everything in my life changed. I left a job I loved. I moved. I remained unemployed. I had very few friends or social supports. I became pretty discouraged and depressed. My husband worked his tail off and was so stressed trying to support us on one income that I think his stress entered my body as weight and kept packing on. For a variety of reasons, I haven't made the healthiest choices over the past year or so, and now, I am confronted with their consequence: They may be impacting my fertility.

So in the kindest, gentlest way possible (and only after she told me I had to take off the awful open in the back robe and put my regular clothes back on because being almost naked while discussing weight was a bad idea), Hillary told me that to maximize my chances of getting pregnant, losing weight is important and is a factor. That really, really sucked. And it's not like I didn't know already. And I am grateful that she was so gentle and honest in her communication. And she is right. But that doesn't make it hurt any less. As hard as I have tried to move past this connection, weight and worth have always been tied together for me.

Last night I just cried myself to sleep. I am going to make the changes I need to, because not only is a baby worth it, my health and quality of life is worth it. But that doesn't mean that this experience didn't rip every bandage, split every stitch and burst open every scar connected to how I feel about myself and my weight.

So while we remain in a holding pattern for two months, wait for test results, make more appointments and I take my temperature each morning to chart my cycles, I am holding onto this self-talk I had in the car yesterday as I drove to my interview: You do not need to be ashamed of yourself. You are not bad. You have made choices that have not been the best. All you can do now is make better choices. If you do your part, the doctors will do their part, and Heavenly Father will do His.

I feel all twisty and jumbled inside right now, but I feel pretty good about that self-talk. If my appointment gave me anything, beyond the answers I will get from my tests and the help from medical professionals, it was the gift of honesty and reality. I can deal with that versus the unknown, especially with the help of my Heavenly Father and my Savior.

So here's to early morning gym workouts, green smoothies, mindful eating, and living a truly healthy life. Here's to prenatal vitamins. Here's to temperature-taking. And being teary and overly honest in job interviews. And being able to call your best friend to tell her you are pretty sure the doctor is going to tell you  that your uterus is going to try eating itself from the inside.