The hot flashes are back. I forgot how miserable they were since I haven't had them for about 5 months.
I'm attributing their return to being on Letrozole for the past five days. It better just be from the Letrozole. I go back to the doctor in a couple days to see how I'm responding to the meds, and then I get to take another shot in the belly of Ovidrel in about a week. Then some delightful vaginal capsules of Prometrium twice a day for three days.
Ugh. Sometimes I really can't believe this is my life. I'm infertile. And I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around that fact.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Little Help from My Friends
Yesterday after my doctor's appointment (see horror story here), I saw someone I recognized in the waiting room of the office. This gal works at the same place as me, so I chatted with her for a few minutes. She told me she's been trying for a while, but this is only her second appointment and she hasn't yet been diagnosed with anything. I gave her the scoop on me, and we commiserated. Then she asked me not to tell anyone at work what was going on. Of course I would never dream about telling anyone about her business (I can blog about it, because no one in real life knows I even have a blog), and I assured her no one would hear a peep out of me. She hasn't told anyone outside of family what's going on and she just didn't want to get into the mess of questions, advice, and explanations.
I completely respect her decision not to tell people about infertility. I struggle all the time with who to tell and how much to tell and how to navigate this whole process. And honestly, my first instinct was to zip up this information into an airtight, opaque container and never tell a soul about it. I felt inadequate and insecure and I can completely understand the inclination to avoid well-intentioned-but-sometimes-hurtful advice. In fact, after we first got the news that I have POF, my husband had to convince me to even tell our parents.
Since then, I've told lots of people close to me. My family knows the story, some of my closest friends, my boss, a few coworkers. And as scared as I was to tell a single soul in the beginning, I'm so glad to have widened my support network. The people who know about my infertility have come to really help me get through this. They've been shoulders to cry on, lean on, vent and complain to, and extra hands to help pick up the pieces after every disappointing blood test result or negative pregnancy test.
One friend, who has PCOS and went through two rounds of IVF to get her precious 6 month old babe, has been particularly helpful. From sharing her experiences to sending a card or e-mail when I need it, she has definitely been in my corner. About a month after I was diagnosed, she sent me a card that contained a necklace.
The necklace alone was enough to bring tears to my eyes, but the story behind it really got me. She told me that her cousin gave her this necklace when she (my friend) was going through her first IVF. Someone else had given it to her cousin when she too was struggling to get pregnant. Each person who had it before me ended up having a baby. I'm the fourth person to wear it and I hope someday I too can pass it on to someone who needs it. I put the necklace on immediately and haven't taken it off since. (FYI, you can order the necklace online for $30 here).
I've also found, as I've widened my "circle of trust" (to borrow a reference from Robert De Niro in Meet the Parents), that a lot of people struggle with infertility. I told a co-worker yesterday at lunch and she then divulged to me that she's had two miscarriages in the past year. Even when I've told people who already have children, I've learned that the road to conception wasn't easy for some of them. It helps me to know I'm not alone.
While it's true some people don't know how to respond and end up saying really stupid stuff, in general I can appreciate the decisive lack of the question, "So when are YOU gonna have babies?" and being able to talk to people other than my husband about all of this. Because let's face it: as supportive and wonderful as my husband is, he can't handle the gravity of this situation (and my emotions) by himself. And I don't want to put all of that on him to take on solo anyway.
All of this being said, I still understand the urge to keep fertility struggles to oneself. Talking about it has helped me a lot (and really, so has writing about it), but it's not a one-size-fits-all kind of deal. How do you decide who to share your story with? Has talking about it helped or hurt?
I completely respect her decision not to tell people about infertility. I struggle all the time with who to tell and how much to tell and how to navigate this whole process. And honestly, my first instinct was to zip up this information into an airtight, opaque container and never tell a soul about it. I felt inadequate and insecure and I can completely understand the inclination to avoid well-intentioned-but-sometimes-hurtful advice. In fact, after we first got the news that I have POF, my husband had to convince me to even tell our parents.
Since then, I've told lots of people close to me. My family knows the story, some of my closest friends, my boss, a few coworkers. And as scared as I was to tell a single soul in the beginning, I'm so glad to have widened my support network. The people who know about my infertility have come to really help me get through this. They've been shoulders to cry on, lean on, vent and complain to, and extra hands to help pick up the pieces after every disappointing blood test result or negative pregnancy test.
One friend, who has PCOS and went through two rounds of IVF to get her precious 6 month old babe, has been particularly helpful. From sharing her experiences to sending a card or e-mail when I need it, she has definitely been in my corner. About a month after I was diagnosed, she sent me a card that contained a necklace.
I've also found, as I've widened my "circle of trust" (to borrow a reference from Robert De Niro in Meet the Parents), that a lot of people struggle with infertility. I told a co-worker yesterday at lunch and she then divulged to me that she's had two miscarriages in the past year. Even when I've told people who already have children, I've learned that the road to conception wasn't easy for some of them. It helps me to know I'm not alone.
While it's true some people don't know how to respond and end up saying really stupid stuff, in general I can appreciate the decisive lack of the question, "So when are YOU gonna have babies?" and being able to talk to people other than my husband about all of this. Because let's face it: as supportive and wonderful as my husband is, he can't handle the gravity of this situation (and my emotions) by himself. And I don't want to put all of that on him to take on solo anyway.
All of this being said, I still understand the urge to keep fertility struggles to oneself. Talking about it has helped me a lot (and really, so has writing about it), but it's not a one-size-fits-all kind of deal. How do you decide who to share your story with? Has talking about it helped or hurt?
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
What Modesty?
Today I went back to my RE for an ultrasound and some blood work. Usually, it's just me, the doctor, and the nurse in the room during my pelvic ultrasounds. During which they stick a long wand up my lady parts to poke around and look at my uterus and ovaries to see what kind of slacking they've been doing lately. This morning, however, there was also a resident doctor, as well as an ultrasound technician guy. So four peeps. Looking at my lady bits in person and on a screen. Fine, whatever. I have very little modesty left.
*This part gets a little gross and graphic. Sorry. Infertility can be gross and graphic. *
Did I mention I am on my period? Yes. I am. And did I mention that this is like the period to end all periods? I am practically gushing blood. It's like all the periods I missed over the past year got together and decided to have a party at the same time.
So back to this morning. The resident doctor pokes around with the ultrasound wand; the doctors make notes on the sizes of follicles, discuss possible treatment, talk about blood tests, etc. And then the resident removes the wand, which is covered in blood. The wand has a plastic wrap around it, so he takes off the plastic and then like holds it up and awkwardly fumbles around the room, while still talking. Four pairs of eyes couldn't look away from this plastic wrap full of my blood waving around in the air. And it just kept waving.
THROW IT IN THE TRASH CAN! (this is me, silently willing him to stop waving it around). AT LEAST COVER IT UP..... FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, STOP IT!
Several agonizing seconds later, the nurse took it out of his hands and threw it away. Thank God. She apologized afterwards for the humiliation. I had to just shrug it off. Yep. Modesty is definitely a thing of the past.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Period: Friend or Foe?
Period = foe
As a young adult and well into my twenties, I considered my period as the enemy. Who wants to leak blood while feeling bloated, crampy and generally gross for a week every month? Um, yeah. Not me. I hated it. I wished I never had a period. Who's idea was this, anyway? What a ridiculous and horrendous curse on women! No fair! I call foul!
Period = friend
Things have changed. My have they changed. When I first went over 100 days without a period after getting off the pill, I started to realize that no period = something is up. And when I finally got my period that September, I was relieved. And for a couple of cycles, I was just relieved that my body seemed to be doing something right.
Period = frenemy?
I'm now in weird place with my period. On the one hand I'm disappointed. Because a visit from Aunt Flo means I'm very much not pregnant. This is why the last several times I've gotten this visit, Day One of the visit was spent crying in the shower. Because apparently the sore boobs and cramps were not impossibly early signs of pregnancy and really just an indication of a certain house guest (body guest?) on her way. Of course, I already knew that I wasn't pregnant, but a small part of me must hold out hope.
It has also come to mean that I am starting a fresh cycle, typically for me after a looooong going-nowhere cycle during which my ovaries are huffing and puffing to get something accomplished and they just run out of gas. The cycle that just ended was 63 days long. My chart was all over the place. And so were my ovaries. So I've really just been mentally ready to get this one over with already and see what the next one brings.
So while Day One (yesterday) of the cycle was spent shedding some tears, today will be spent looking forward to the possibility that this month could be the one. Here's hoping!
As a young adult and well into my twenties, I considered my period as the enemy. Who wants to leak blood while feeling bloated, crampy and generally gross for a week every month? Um, yeah. Not me. I hated it. I wished I never had a period. Who's idea was this, anyway? What a ridiculous and horrendous curse on women! No fair! I call foul!
Period = friend
Things have changed. My have they changed. When I first went over 100 days without a period after getting off the pill, I started to realize that no period = something is up. And when I finally got my period that September, I was relieved. And for a couple of cycles, I was just relieved that my body seemed to be doing something right.
Period = frenemy?
I'm now in weird place with my period. On the one hand I'm disappointed. Because a visit from Aunt Flo means I'm very much not pregnant. This is why the last several times I've gotten this visit, Day One of the visit was spent crying in the shower. Because apparently the sore boobs and cramps were not impossibly early signs of pregnancy and really just an indication of a certain house guest (body guest?) on her way. Of course, I already knew that I wasn't pregnant, but a small part of me must hold out hope.
It has also come to mean that I am starting a fresh cycle, typically for me after a looooong going-nowhere cycle during which my ovaries are huffing and puffing to get something accomplished and they just run out of gas. The cycle that just ended was 63 days long. My chart was all over the place. And so were my ovaries. So I've really just been mentally ready to get this one over with already and see what the next one brings.
So while Day One (yesterday) of the cycle was spent shedding some tears, today will be spent looking forward to the possibility that this month could be the one. Here's hoping!
Friday, March 2, 2012
Stab to the Heart
If you are pregnant and talking to someone who is struggling with infertility, here is what you should never, ever say:
"If it makes you feel any better, being pregnant is TERRIBLE!"
Because no. It does not make me feel any better.
Not even a little.
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