French Wine & Sacred Icons

About a year ago, I was emotionally preparing myself for a childless Mother's Day.

I woke up that Sunday morning and the first thing that happened is I started my period. I wasn't surprised, but the timing stung. It felt like a slap from the Mother of Mother's Day.

John and I went to Mass with my parents. I sat by my mom and thought about how grateful I was to have her as a mother. Of the four of us (my mom, dad, John and me), I was the only one who still had a mom to celebrate Mother's Day with. What a gift and one not to be taken for granted.

The day improved substantially from then on. When they honored all the mothers at Mass, they included "godmothers" for the first time. (When it comes to godchildren, I'm blessed with 5.) Even my dad was excited about this and said, "Christina, that's you!" I stood up with all the other moms as the priest gave us a blessing.

My family went to brunch at our favorite fancy restaurant tucked away in a rural part of Almaden. The cell reception at La Foret is spotty at best. When we returned to civilization, I realized I had missed phone calls and text messages from many of my friends. They wanted to tell me I was a mom, a godmother, a spiritual mother, the kind of mom all women can be to our friends and family.

At the very end of the day, my dear friend Liz showed up at my doorstep with a present wrapped in lavender tissue paper. I knew what it was as soon as she put it in my hand ~ a small white statue of Mary that Liz's mother had given her. Most statues show Our Lady holding Baby Jesus. This one shows her pregnant. Liz and her husband, Dan, had been married 14 years before being blessed with their daughter Eden, who is now 2. If anyone knew Mother's Day stings the hearts of infertiles, it's Liz. Along with the gift, she wrote me a beautiful letter reminding me that while we don't understand it, God does have a plan.

In some weird, hard-to-explain way, I felt I had celebrated my very first Mother's Day that day. My heart was so full. I felt honored and grateful that my brand of motherhood (while not to children, but maybe in the way I love my friends) was valuable and meaningful.

This year was different. I celebrated Mother's Day 24 weeks pregnant.  

Me & John, Mother's Day 2013

(If this news hurts your heart and you want to stop reading, I completely understand.)

We found out we were pregnant on December 18th, one week before Christmas. I still feel like I'm living an alternate version of reality. Not that I mind. I love this new world John and I have found ourselves in. If fertility is your struggle, I wish I could draw you a road map to get you to the place where I am now.

The truth is, I had been doing less than usual in my attempts to conceive. I hadn't been taking my metformin for about six months. I had stopped taking all my supplements and prenatals. I had actually gained 10 pounds.

But toward the end of 2012, it felt like something was about to happen, I just wasn't sure what.

On the first Friday in November, John and I had two priests over for dinner. At the end of our evening, they blessed our home and prayed over us. They knew we were struggling with infertility, and they asked God to fill our lives with life. They did not ask God to give us a baby, and I felt a peace knowing our lives had been filled with life, especially through the joy of spending time with our friends' children and my sister's kids.  

In a chance meeting, two days later, my friend Alison introduced me to a woman named Carol after Mass. Carol and her family were new to the parish. During the course of friendly small talk, Carol asked me if we had any children. I replied, "No, but not by choice."

Carol immediately explained that while on her honeymoon and visiting the St. Francis of Assisi Basilica in Italy, she had touched an icon of the Madonna and Child and had a vision of herself holding her son. This happened in the gift shop, where the wood carving was for sale, so she bought it. And now she wanted me and John to borrow it, bring it into our home and pray with it.

I don't know about you, but when a stranger offers to lend me a priceless, irreplaceable holy object, my answer is immediately, "No, thank you." In case of damage, breakage, or general wear and tear, I have a policy not to borrow anything I can't replace for 150 bucks. So I politely declined.

Three days later, Carol called. She had the icon in her car and she was bringing it to church for me to pick up. Carol had wrapped the wood carving in baby blanket materials. She said to me, "I'm just going to step out and claim your baby from God for you." Then she said, "When you have your baby, I'm going to make you a blanket out of this material."

The icon was beautiful. But I didn't see a vision or even get chills when I touched it, and I really wasn't sure what to make of her bold prayers on my behalf.

I struggled to make sense of what Carol and her icon were supposed to mean to me. I settled on, if nothing else, that I thought meeting her was a reminder from God that He knew the desires of my heart. He had not forgotten about me, and I quietly told Him I wouldn't be mad if the icon didn't miraculously bring a baby into our lives.

The following Sunday, there was the anointing of the sick at Mass. It's a great tradition, and perfect for cute old ladies with their walkers, but I look relatively young and healthy and didn't want to draw attention to my malfunctioning uterus. However, it had been only 10 days since the priests prayed over us and a week since I met Carol. I kind of felt a spiritual push to get over myself. So I went up to the altar, and I was glad I did.

Exactly a week later, I started my period. But the next month, I didn't.

I thought for sure I was going to. I had abdominal cramps for more than a week, which I blamed on the Jillian Michaels-impersonating instructor at the kickboxing class Erin and I were attending somewhat regularly. 

And I would be remiss if I didn't say I was experimenting with eating gluten-free, plus John and I had challenged ourselves to juice once a day in the month of December. (That went out the window once nausea set in.)

But in terms of dietary changes, the most important was obviously switching from California to French wine for the month of December.

John and I love California wine and rarely drink anything else (not that we drink wine all day, but you know what I mean.) The characters on a show we like drink French wine, so when the BevMo coupon arrived in the mail, I thought it would be fun to see if Bordeaux and Burgundies were worth all the fuss. 

Maybe the soil is more fertile in France. I really don't know. As one of our friends pointed out, "the French are very romantic." They are the only people I know, other than the Eskimos, who have a kiss named after them.

Ultrasound at 19 weeks

Anyway, here we are. Twenty-five weeks pregnant with a baby girl expected to arrive sometime late August or early September. I stare at my swollen belly in joyful disbelief, and every night, I pray for those whose hearts ache for a child. Infertility will always be a mystery to me, and so far, I feel the same way about motherhood.

Love Letter

Dear Baby-Longing Mama, 

I've been thinking about you, soul sister. 

It's May and almost Mother's Day and it feels like everywhere you go someone is holding a swaddled newborn in their arms. 

I know you would rather pretend it doesn't matter, but it's OK to let your heart break a little. It's OK to let yourself feel the brokenness of wanting something you're not sure you'll ever have. 

Nobody wants to dwell in what is difficult, but you can say this is hard. You can take a moment to sit in the sadness and the anger and not get stuck. 

The thing itself ~ the not having what you want ~ it doesn't define you. There's not a woman on earth whose life has turned out exactly as she imagined. 

While I don't know precisely what will happen, I really think everything is going to work out. I have to believe this suffering is making way for something beautiful. 

It's just hard to see it right now from our point of view. 

All my love,
C

PS: Nothing new in my neck of the woods.

Holiday Guide for the TTC Crowd

I don't need to tell you the holidays are hard.

Something about our childhood memories colliding with our adult hopes wraps us up in a strange nostalgia. We miss the past and we miss the future.

We miss those who aren't with us. We miss those who have never been with us ~ like the cherub-cheeked children we imagined in our life.

And it's not just the trying-to-conceive crowd. Plenty of people feel sick to their stomachs for the entire month and a half between Thanksgiving and New Year's. Plus, Christmas (as much as I love it) is about the birth of a child.

I suspect part of the problem is that while we are simultaneously missing the past and the future, we are not at all celebrating life as it is right now.

I refuse to let my child-free status tap the joy out of the most joyous time of the year. I'm not saying it's easy, but choosing to have a good time is the first step to having a good time.

So, here's my guide for how to survive.

1. Skip the holidays. Extreme this may be, it's a legitimate survival approach for those suffering raw emotional wounds, like a recent miscarriage. If 2011 delivered this kind of disappointment, I'm not going to tell you to deck the halls and have a good time. Hunker down in a dark room with movies and ice cream and magazines. Keep your phone nearby and your friends on speed dial. We send our love and prayers and hope to see you happier in the New Year.

2. Say no. December's dance card fills up quick. It's OK to sit out a few songs. Only go to the events you know you'll enjoy. I typically avoid large parties with lots of guests. I say no to the big parties, so I can say yes to the smaller gatherings with my closest friends.

3. Don't spend the holidays with anyone to whom you have to explain yourself. Families are complicated, and some families are more complicated than others. If yours has a habit of bringing up painful topics as dinner discussions, tell them in advance that all fertility talk is off limits. Or make alternate plans.

4. Know what you're going to say. Even when you are picky about which events to go to and who to spend your time with, someone is bound to ask you, "Do you have kids?" "Are you planning on having kids?" "Have you thought about seeing a doctor?" "How is it going?" "Are you still trying?' Etc. Etc. John used to joke, "We had kids, but the economy got bad so we sold them." Or, he would say, "No, we don't have kids. We play board games at night." At this point, I usually respond with an abbreviated version of the truth.

5. Consider putting "trying" on hold until the New Year. If the disappointment of not getting pregnant is going to ruin your Christmas, I suggest giving yourself a break from peeing on sticks.

6. Music. Maybe it's just me, but happy songs make me happy. Sad songs make me homicidal. Pump up the volume accordingly.

7. Create new traditions. Sleep in. Drink cocktails. Get away. Last year, John surprised me with a night at the Fairmont right before Christmas. He knew I had always wanted to stay there (and the rates are surprisingly low in December). It was a great treat and something we would be less likely to do if we had kids. 

8. Spread holiday cheer. Infertility is no picnic, but it could be worse. Giving back gives me clearer perspective. Shop for charity. Volunteer at a shelter. Collect canned food or blankets or coats or socks. Visit a convalescent hospital or the lonely neighbor on your street. You can't help but be happy when you make someone else happy.

If you have a holiday survival tip, I'd love to hear it.


xo! Christina

Me & G

As you may or may not remember, after my laparoscopy, John and I decided to hold off before trying Glumetza. We wanted to give my body a chance to recover, and we wanted to see if the surgery alone might do the trick.

Three months and three cycles later, we felt ready to give the Glumetza a try.

I was a little worried about the potential side effects. The super friendly Internet advised I might be in for "gastrointestinal upset."

I’ve been taking the Glumetza for about 2 ½ weeks, and I definitely feel weirder than usual. Nausea and stomach aches come and go. But it hasn’t been that bad, and I’m hoping it gets better.

Glumetza (Metformin) is actually a diabetes medication, and I’m wondering how I could better support its effectiveness through nutrition and exercise.

I know what I should be doing --- avoiding sugar, refined carbohydrates, caffeine and alcohol. I just have trouble doing what I know I should do.   

In the meantime, I’ve been walking about four times a week. I’ve been taking Vitamin B Complex and Chlorophyll pills every day. And I’m looking for a prenatal that doesn’t smell or taste disgusting.

Any suggestions?

The Next 3 Months

Let’s be real. I’m not going to promise to give up caffeine or alcohol. And I can’t guarantee I’ll remember to take my vitamins every day.

But just because I can’t manage to do it right all the time, doesn’t mean I can’t do better. When it comes to my health, I know I can do better.

One idea I really liked from the “Making Babies” book was to think of the three-month program as a premester – the very first trimester.

But honestly, I don’t like focusing on making my body “baby ready.” As exciting as pregnancy would be, having it as a goal is kind of a downer. I would rather think about making my body healthy and strong and “life ready.”

Regardless of whether I have a baby, I do have a life and I have this body for living it.

Lucky for me, this Saturday, October 1st, is the perfect time to start a new premester. We have exactly three months left in the year, three months to prepare for 2012.

It’s actually a little bit thrilling to think about the next 13 weeks as wide open space for making dreams come true.

What do you want to accomplish before the year comes to an end and the next one begins?

Ragey

Ragey is a word I learned from Erin. I’m not sure if it has been officially added to Webster’s, but my personal definition is angry + crazy. To me, ragey is more than being mad. It’s being mad + slightly to severely unhinged. Thank God this is not how I feel all the time. It’s not even how I feel most of the time. But it is how I have been feeling for a couple of weeks.

I’m pretty pissed off, and I can’t fully explain why. Everything feels like an injustice. Everything feels like a struggle. Libby’s experience with her doctor makes me want to scream. Erin’s miscarriage makes me want to cry. Circumstances in my own life (related and unrelated to fertility) make me want to scream and cry.

The other week I had a full-blown, can’t-stop-crying, teenage-like breakdown in front of my dad. It was ugly and embarrassing, and he asked me twice if I was on my “monthlies.”

I have a friend whose primary symptom of pregnancy is emotional outburst, so after spending a day in tears, I took a pregnancy test. Negative. Since I still felt ragey a week later, I took another test. I’m only slightly exaggerating when I say I could hear the test scream NEGATIVE. It was so rude I felt like slapping it across its face.  To my credit, I managed to refrain from brawling with a pee stick and just threw the stupid thing in the trash. Two days later, I started my period.

One of the most annoying aspects of trying to conceive is how similar the symptoms are for PMS and early pregnancy.

• Moodiness
• Tender, swollen breasts
• Fatigue
• Backaches
• Headaches
• Acne
• Weight gain

Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. I love being a girl, but I look at this list and shake my head in disbelief. How do we manage to put up with all this B.S. every month? It’s unbelievable.

I’ve decided I want a surprise pregnancy. I want to be so detached from my monthly cycle and my body that I don’t even notice I’m pregnant. You know, like those women who go to the bathroom at a rest stop and practically deliver a baby in the toilet. It doesn’t matter that they’ve never taken a prenatal in their life and that they’ve drank alcohol and caffeine and maybe even smoked every day of the last 10 months. Their baby is perfectly healthy and they didn’t even know it was growing inside of them.

Of course, I’m not serious. If that ever happened, I’d get ragey over the fact I missed the joys of pregnancy.  

Life is Cake

“To our knowledge, flourless chocolate cake is the only dessert that is named for a missing ingredient.” ~The New Best Recipe cookbook, page 862

Being childless sometimes feels like being a flourless chocolate cake. You’re defined by what is missing in your life and your identity can be pigeonholed into one category ~ infertile. Never mind all the rest. Never mind all the tiny ways you try to make this world a better place. You’re not a mom, so it doesn’t matter.

This is as ridiculous and as untrue as telling a flourless chocolate cake it’s not decadent because it lacks dry ingredients.

Yes, John and I would like children, but my mind tells me: Be happy now. Do not wait. Nothing is going to get any more perfect than it already is.

It’s true certain circumstances are easier to live with than others. But a lot of circumstances are easier to live with than we let them be.

This applies to the fertility struggle as much as it does to any struggle. And I don’t want to be defined by my struggles. I want to be defined by my joys. I want my mind to be so jam-packed and overflowing with everything good and right in my life that all the negatives are pushed to the back corner, where they can be properly ignored.

I wonder if flourless chocolate cake ever longs for more than its rich ingredients of chocolate, butter and eggs. I’m thinking not.

Of course, we are not cake.

And sometimes not having a baby (or fill in the blank with whatever is lacking in your life) is harder than I would like to admit, and it’s hard to know what to do when you feel disappointed or left behind. A few years ago I noticed most of my friends were having their second child. Now almost everyone is welcoming their third or fourth.

Sometimes I feel like I’m never going to catch up, like I’m so far behind I’m not even in the race.

This feeling is not limited to children. There are several areas in my life I find just as frustrating as infertility, and all of them have the tendency to make me feel inadequate and stupid.

You might be wondering how something so obviously out of my control as infertility could make me feel stupid. This is where I will show you the ugliness of self-blame:

We should have started trying sooner, before I turned 30. We should have had our lives more together so we could have started trying sooner without fearing we would end up on welfare. We shouldn’t have worried so much about being ‘ready’ to have children. (By the way, we never became ‘ready’ we just stopped worrying about it.) 

This train usually crashes somewhere around: I should have done my high school summer reading because slacking in English is clearly when my life took a turn for the worse.

The fact John and I are childless really isn’t a turn for the worse. It’s just not what we imagined. I bet flourless chocolate cake is not what a lot of people imagine. When done well, it’s surprisingly and undeniably delicious.

BlogHer and Babies

If you haven’t read Erin’s post about BlogHer, you should start there. I didn’t have any expectations for the weekend, but I was definitely surprised by the number of moms, babies and pregnant ladies everywhere I looked.

It’s not like I attended any sessions specific to motherhood, but fertility is kind of everywhere. Early on I realized I needed to clarify by saying I contribute to a blog about infertility instead of fertility because that was only confusing people and making them think I knew the secret to getting knocked up.

Even the very generous sponsors were definitely targeting the mom crowd. Erin and I avoided sections of the Expo Hall for this reason. (Although we each snagged a sample of Zarbee’s all-natural nighttime cough and sleep drink for kids, just in case we needed to knock ourselves out. But sheer fatigue did the trick.)

It didn’t help that we both failed a pregnancy test the morning we left and that we were extra sensitive due to PMS. We should come with a warning: “Of Child-Bearing Age But Not Ability.” By Thursday night, I felt a little beat up. I called John just to say, “Today was hard.”

Luckily, it got easier. Unlike in real life, it was super normal to tell complete strangers I co-write a blog about trying to get pregnant. That’s the freedom of being with 3,600 bloggers. Everyone is writing about their passion --- life, love, kids, food, faith, fashion. I met a woman who writes about worms. In our case, it’s the fertility journey. And the more I talked about Tired & Stuck, the more comfortable I felt talking about Tired & Stuck.

By the time Erin pointed out Giuliana Rancic to me, I was even ready to tell her about our blog. I’m not familiar with her show, but I heard her on a radio interview awhile back and I’ve heard about her from several friends. I told her Erin wanted to meet her but was afraid she would cry. I thanked her for bringing light to the struggle of infertility, and we talked for a couple minutes about how it’s sometimes hard for people to relate. Then I took a really awkward photo with her. As I walked away, one of the women from the Tropicana booth asked for my card. She didn’t tell me her story, but she seemed happy to know she wasn’t alone.

Later that day, as I continued to discuss infertility with strangers, one woman told me how she and her husband adopted after she was diagnosed with low progesterone and clomid failed. Another woman told me how she miscarried her first child and then fired her doctor for being as sensitive as jagged stone. 

The whole experience reminded me how important it is to tell our stories honestly and to listen to others when they tell theirs.

Baby Steps to Babyville

It’s been three weeks since the surgery. I would say things are mostly back to normal other than the fact that a.) At times, I still feel more tired than usual, and b.) I’m not sure when I’ll get my period again. So, what’s next in this great adventure? Well, the day of the laparoscopy, John and the doc talked while I was still asleep. Even though everything went great, the doctor wanted to send us home with a prescription for Clomid.

Now, I don’t have anything against Clomid expect everyone I know who has ever taken it felt mildly to severely crazy while on it, and most of them didn’t end up pregnant. Life is hard enough, so I would prefer to avoid adding any unnecessary mood swings to the mix, if at all possible. I fully acknowledge I might change my mind about this at some point, but I’m not at that point. Knowing this, John turned down the good doctor, which probably doesn’t happen all too often because John said he seemed surprised.

I trust this doctor, so I wanted to discuss his recommendation for Clomid a bit more during my follow up. I expressed my concerns, and he sent me home with two prescriptions. One for Glumetza (Metformin) and one for Letrozole, in case the Glumetza alone doesn’t work.

It’s nice to know I have these options, but after a lot of thought, I’m not ready to take either right at this moment. For some reason I had it in my head that Glumetza (which is supposed to treat insulin resistance in women with PCOS) would be the equivalent of a baby aspirin.

Then I started googling the evil Internet. It’s possible I wouldn’t have any side effects, but if I did, it would most likely be in the form of nausea and/or diarrhea. Call me crazy, but if I’m going to take drugs, I would like them to make me feel better not worse.

I’m not even going to discuss Letrozole, which is supposed to be like Clomid but more mild. Wikipedia says it’s used to treat breast cancer, and after I saw that I really didn’t want to know anymore. Honestly, before I start pumping my body full of powerful drugs, I would like to know if the surgery alone does the trick.

So, it’s back to natural remedies for now.

I’m going to give my body a chance to fully recover and wait until my next cycle begins (the doctor warned the laparoscopy would likely throw things way off). Once I’m back on track, I might wait one more full cycle before starting the Glumetza. 

In the meantime, I’m focusing on significantly improving my diet. (That tiny bit of cancer has me drinking wheatgrass and green smoothies.) I’m going to keep the supplements simple and focus on just taking my prenatals and fish oil. The authors of Making Babies stressed those were the two most important. Well, most important other than the most natural remedy of all ~ the fun part. (Wink. Wink.)

Modern Medicine

I showered, shaved my legs, flat ironed my hair and dressed in the biggest, cutest sweats I own before John and I headed out the door at 5:30 a.m. last Thursday. We arrived before the surgery center even opened, so we snapped a few photos of ourselves outside. I was, shockingly, not nervous, not even a little bit.

My laparoscopy was scheduled for 7:30 a.m., and I was wheeled into the operating room at 7:45 a.m. The surgery lasted 2 hours. I was afraid I would wake up in pain, but I didn't. I woke up to the sound of John and the nurse talking. As I was coming to, I could feel John holding my hand and rubbing my shoulder. He told me later that every time he rubbed my shoulder my heart rate would increase on the monitor.
 

The doctor told John the surgery went great and our chances of conception are excellent. He removed endometriosis, drilled on my ovaries, checked my fallopian tubes (which are clear) and removed my appendix. I knew prior to the surgery my appendix might be removed if it had endometriosis on it, but I was still surprised to find out I had undergone an appendectomy. When I asked the nurse if my appendix had endometriosis, she said it was sent to pathology, which I thought was slightly odd.

I expected to be sent home 2 hours or so after surgery, but I had to wait more than 7 hours because they won’t let you leave until you pee the required 100 ccs. Not that I minded. I alternated between sleep and conversation and wasn't at all aware of the time. I was barely in any discomfort at all.

By the time we left the surgery center, it was after 5 p.m., and we had to stop at the pharmacy on our way home. We hit rush hour traffic, and I kept my head in a barf bag (which I had packed just in case). I never threw up, but I felt nauseated the whole drive.

When we arrived at my parents' home (where I have been recovering), the real fun began --- horrifying pain shooting through my right shoulder and neck. Big thanks to those who warned me about this crazy kind of gas pain. It hurt so bad I bit my other arm. The pain lessened significantly every day and it wasn’t constant, but it lasted about 5 days. It really was the absolute worst part. 

The good news is the percocet not only helps with the pain, it helps you forget the pain even happened. Of course, it gave me a huge headache so I switched to ibuprofen Saturday night. I also had to remain on a liquid diet until Saturday morning because you can’t eat until you pass gas. (Anyone else see a trend regarding my bodily functions? I am still waiting to poop.)

Other than that, the recovery has been extremely smooth.

I saw my doctor on Tuesday. He confirmed a diagnosis of stage 3 endometriosis and PCOS. I asked him if he found endometriosis on my appendix, if that is why it was removed.

“No. What I found on your appendix was much worse,” my doctor said.

“OK,” I replied.

“Your appendix had cancer on it.”

Do not be alarmed. What was found was a teensy, tinsy, 4 mm smidge of cancer. Had this spot of C been 2 cm or bigger, it would be a different story. Still, hearing a doctor say the word cancer makes you want to run out and eat something healthy.

I’m also in awe of the perfect timing of it all and thankful to God for modern medicine.

Pre-Op

A word of advice: The words “bowel prep” are not your friends.

As part of pre-op, today (Wednesday) included a light breakfast, a clear liquid diet and three enemas. Other than the day-long ban on caffeine, the enemas were clearly my favorite part.

I think I asked everyone I spoke with today if they’ve ever had an enema. I called my friend, who used to be a nurse, twice for advice on self-administering the thing.

But I still never felt I quite got the hang of it, so I’m hoping the results are good enough for surgery work.

Other than that, today was just a mad rush to get things done. Nothing like a long to-do list to keep the mind occupied.

Doctor, Doctor, Mr. MD

I took your advice. I shaved my legs. I painted my nails. I gathered up all the information I have regarding my own medical history.


I arrived at my doctor’s appointment 30 minutes early with extra glossy lips and a clip board in hand. I typed up a 3-year account of my menstrual cycle and a list of all my recent supplements. I filled out the medical history form the office had sent me prior to the appointment. I even brought in all my supplements (except the royal jelly, which requires refrigeration) and my copy of the Making Babies book, neither of which were necessary.

I felt as prepared as I would ever be. And I figured I knew exactly how this would go down. By the end of the appointment, I would have doctor’s orders for six weeks worth of blood tests, and in two months, I would be back in his office for the results. I was wrong.

John and I met with the doctor in his office. He looked through my medical history and asked me questions. He is soft spoken and kind, and we liked him right away. It helped that we were referred to him by dear friends, so we already felt a level of trust and confidence in him that we wouldn’t normally feel toward a stranger.

After our initial discussion, we went to an exam room. Let’s just say it wasn’t the most fun I’ve ever had. By the end, I felt nauseous and faint. But the worst of it didn’t last long, and it was worth it. I now know some important things I didn’t know before. First, there are multiple cysts on both my ovaries. Second, the doctor believes I have endometriosis and PCOS.

The PCOS part wasn’t a surprise, and because I suspected PCOS, I never really thought about endometriosis. It didn’t occur to me that both might be at play. So, after peeling myself off the exam table and getting dressed, John and I met back up with the doctor in his office. This is where he gave us his professional recommendation, which is to have a laparoscopy as soon as possible.

One thing he said, which I really appreciated, was the importance of having this surgery for my overall health (not just to improve the likelihood of pregnancy). Not getting pregnant is what got my attention, but it is a symptom of something else.

My surgery is scheduled for Wednesday morning. I'd appreciate prayers and good thoughts, and any pre-surgery advice.


UPDATE: Laparoscopy was moved to Thursday. 

Avoidance

I finally opened the new patient email my new doctor’s office sent me at the end of May. I knew I needed to fill out a medical history form before Friday’s appointment, and I thought I was being extra on top of it by opening said email on Wednesday night instead of Thursday night or Friday morning. A medical history form is something I might fill out in the car on the way to the appointment while John drives.

What I didn’t realize was:

a.  I needed to ask my three previous doctors (all of whom ran some sort of fertility blood work and performed pap smears on me) to fax my medical records to the new doctor prior to my appointment.

b.  My consultation will likely take 1.5 to 2 hours and include a detailed review of my medical history, a physical exam and two pelvic ultrasounds.

c.  Even though I have insurance, I should have asked what my out-of-pocket expenses would be for this appointment. I happen to have one of those crazy plans that doesn’t pay a dime until I meet the $2,000 deductible, which, from the sounds of it, might happen at this appointment.

So, I’m kind of freaking out, and I’m seriously considering rescheduling. But first I’m going to call my previous doctors in the morning and see if they can track down my medical records. I have copies of some of my blood work results, but not everything.

Then I’m going to try to prepare myself mentally. I’ve been avoiding even thinking about this appointment. I used to not understand why someone wouldn’t want to go to the doctor, especially if the doctor may have solutions to her problems. But now I get it. It’s much more complicated than I imaged.

I have a friend who doesn’t have children, and she and her husband don’t fully know why. It took me awhile to understand that she really doesn’t want to find out exactly what is going on, at least not right now. She would like nothing more than to be a mother (and she has been to doctors and tried various things). But on the flip side, really having answers might mean finding out she will never have children, and she just doesn’t want that information at this time. She’s told me if they found out for sure that children weren’t possible she and her husband would probably have to take a month off work to grieve and plan and refocus their lives. At this moment, for her, it’s better not to know.

I completely understand. I feel torn between wanting answers and wanting to avoid the whole thing altogether in hopes that it will just go away.

UPDATE: My nails are painted. My legs are shaved. I'm off to see the wizard of fertility today.

Out of Town

I'm on the road, but sending many merry thoughts to you and your ovaries. Be back in two weeks.

Any Luck?

The supplemental health guru at Whole Foods is the nicest.

She’s probably 20, and a bit hippie (I mean that as a compliment), and she drinks chlorophyll to make her skin look good, though I doubt she needs to. Ever since she helped Erin and I pick out royal jelly and flax oil, I make a point to say hello anytime I see her in the store.

Anyway, this week we had our usual exchange of pleasantries, and then she casually and politely asked, “So, have you had any luck?”

I seriously wouldn’t have known what she was talking about, but she motioned to the belly area of my torso. “Um. No,” I stuttered and then I turned red and then I promised I’d keep her posted. I mean at this point, I’ve already told her I’m trying to get pregnant, why not continue riding the overshare train.

In other news, I promised about a month ago that I would at the very least call the doctor before June. That deadline hung over my head all month. So, I finally called the doctor’s office on the last day of May and set up an appointment for the end of June.

This would be a doctor I’ve never seen before. He comes highly recommended, and his number has been written on a post-it stuck to my fridge for months. It will be interesting to hear what he says.

In the meantime, I have a few weeks to work on improving my overall health (i.e. weight). I’m currently taking the radical approach of eating smaller portions. It’s a revolutionary idea, I tell you.

Taming The Tiger Known As Stress

I have no doubt that the fight-or-flight response is useful when facing life-or-death danger. Problem is my brain can’t tell the difference between deadline pressure and a wild-animal-is-about-to-eat-me-alive danger. My stress button is broken.

This became really clear last year when my anxiety train jumped its tracks. I started to worry, and I couldn’t stop. I often woke up in a panic and couldn’t sleep.

Once when talking with Erin about this, she asked what my anxiety felt like. I think I responded, “It feels like the hands of fear are grasping my heart and won’t let go.” I wasn’t exaggerating. It was terrible.

Thankfully, I’m mostly better now. Circumstances changed and so did my perspective. But I still feel crazy waves of stress hormones flood my body on an all-too regular basis. (I’m sure you do, too. We’re kind of a stressed-out nation.)

In addition to making me feel sick to my stomach, stress hormones --- namely adrenaline and cortisol --- also screw with fertility in a major way. Our bodies were designed to not get pregnant while under chronic stress. Our bodies don’t know that today’s chronic stress might mean too many emails in the inbox, not an actual lack of food, water and shelter.

Anyway, I’m trying to let my body know everything is OK. It can stand down, take a deep breath, relax. If police officers, fire fighters or medical personnel aren’t needed, it’s probably not an emergency.

My latest remedy for stress is beauty. I’m consciously surrounding myself with as much loveliness as possible.

By beauty, I mean simple things, like a clean kitchen, a well-fitted sweater, a cup of fresh berries, a piece of jewelry or a pretty scarf. I might even start painting my nails.

The idea is to embrace any tiny luxury that can relay to my panicky subconscious that the world isn’t coming apart at the seams. I mean if I was really about to be eaten alive by a tiger would I worry about the dishes in the sink, would I take a moment to apply lipstick or arrange a flower in a vase?

I think on some level all these little gestures signal times of peace and cue relaxation. My overly-stressed body and mind need to hear loud and clear that the future is bright and needs babies to fill it.