I've been using an ovulation/conception app to track my fertility. I've been dismissing its reminders every month telling me I'm fertile because getting pregnant has been such a dismal situation for me up until this point.
I made a joke about this, and my husband came back with the unexpected: an enthusiastic "let's do it". So, I picked up ovulation tests, confirmed my peak fertility, picked up frozen sperm, and had my first IUI on Friday October 2, 2015. I spent the remainder of the day with my stepdaughter for her birthday, as well as our littlest, and my husband. It was a fantastic day for everyone, actually.
So here is the two week wait, or "2WW" as it's called by those "TTC" (trying to conceive). My ObGyn says that this is a 25% chance of conception without fertility drugs and dud an internal sonogram on me before he defrosted and inserted the sperm in me. My Fallopian tubes were all primed and ready to go, he was even concerned that I was "too perfectly" ready, and we should have injected the day before.
I am obsessed with what's going to happen next, naturally. I'm petrified as well, to say the least. I've been yearning to have a baby for so very long now, and suddenly without any planning or discussion, we just jumped straight into baby.
One of the things that makes me really nervous is that I have the sneaking suspicion that my husband just isn't into this. His so very "go with the flow" attitude never lends to any excitement, unless it involves bike riding, lots of money, or going on a vacation. It's a little heartbreaking to be honest.
We also decided not to tell anyone until we knew what was going on, so we're keeping our mouths shut for another 2 weeks, at least.
Showing posts with label Change. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Change. Show all posts
Monday, October 5, 2015
Thursday, June 4, 2015
Empowerment, or Deranged Psychosis?
Because only three "events" were involved in the conception of my son, it's
reasonable to figure out when he came into the picture. I entered this
journey with a great deal of fear and doubt; mostly about myself, where I was
at that time in my life (unmarried, under-employed and a total mess), and
through the ensuing years I found ways to bring myself up, and surround myself
with success of my own making. I shed a number of tears first at my own
foolishness, in that bringing a child into the world so vastly unprepared to
tackle parenting. Then later tears of guilt that it would not be
born into a home with two loving hearts, and just the one.
As it turned out, one loving heart was all that was needed. It has never ceased to amaze me at how lucky I was to have my little boy, and how relatively easy everything he brought with him was. Sure, it was a learning process; I had no idea what to do when he was awake, fed, dry, and prepped for bed at 3am, but I figured it all out eventually. I still have moments of panic as a parent on those "what to do's", and the kid is 6 1/2 now.
Time passed, and I met someone, and we liked each other. But he came with baggage, like I did. His was a teenage daughter and a vasectomy. I tread this introduction with in trepidation; infertility put a major thorn in the side of my hopes for another baby, but ultimately he expressed that he'd pay to have it reconnected, or we could move onto other options like donor sperm, adoption or fostering. He was very open and willing for all the possibilities. He recognized how hasty that decision was on his part.
It's been 4 years of marriage now. Lots of ups and downs, lots of delays and backtracking on the plans to move forward with this. We found out that reconnecting a vasectomy is regarded as elective surgery, and not covered with insurance to the tune of around 10k. The efficacy of it plummets with every passing year you've had it. It's as though once the swimmers were shut in, their health declined without hope of improvement. Sucking them out of the testicle with a needle should only be done by a professional, and would only be useful for IVF. This is 18K per round.
Much to his chagrin, this left us with adoption (for around 40k, and that's for foreign kids!), foster children, or donated sperm. As a man, none of those options really felt appealing to him. He had no part in the production. Ultimately, this is where he started to lose his interest. Conversations subsequent to this stage involved him not wanting to read of the info on any donors that had similar features to his, or show interest in coming with me to meet the OB who would perform my IUI.
I met him at 29, and I'm now 34, and still waiting to make moves towards baby#2. By all accounts, if I were to get pregnant right now, and give birth just prior to my 35th birthday, I kid you not: I would be labeled a geriatric mother. That's right. 10 years before when menopause might be coming to call, I've already been shoved aside to the geriatric ward, where OBs automatically sign you up for your C-section the second you get a double-line on your piss-wand.
At first I was able to keep doing things like reading up on pregnancy nutrition, exercises, birth groups and clubs. But as other women kept having delightful pregnancy announcements, luminous pregnancy photos, smiling round and happily exhausted faces filled with anticipation and joy, and then squishy and milk-smelling babies... I felt myself start to crumble. It didn't happen right away at first. It happened when I couldn't watch birth videos anymore without breaking into silent, and constantly-streaming tears. When I started hiding the baby photos in my Facebook feed. When I could no longer even open up the baby & kids section of Craigslist to browse for cheap & useful kids stuff,
When you're fertility incompetent, watching others around you conceive and celebrate, your resilience falls into the toilet, along with your hope and your ability to keep your head about you when a co-worker drops by with their newborn. Your fein an illness and stay in your cube, listening to the cooing across the office.
Challenges with fertility make women insane. They become toxic, like being sprayed by a skunk: the stench dies down after a while, but you feel like your nose has been so permeated with the smell, you're not even sure it totally went away to begin with. You keep sniffing and sniffing because you're sure it's still there.
Four years isn't as long as some people have battled and hoped. But oddly I read all these stories of couples that are supportive and strong, and hopeful still about their chances of their miracle baby coming to fruition, and I get envious. I think "how is it that I fall apart every time my husband tells me he thinks the time is wrong, and none of these people ever talk about how goddamned hard it is to keep waiting, and trying, and failing?!" I must be the only one with a mouth the size of the Rio Grand, because this shit has sucked.
When things have gotten bad.... Like we were shouting threats of the big D at each other, there was always the sadness in me that realized whoever this little baby was going to be, that I wanted to have, was never going to happen. And for a long time recently, it's been something that I've felt more and more.
I can't decide if my husband has postponed and stalled us out so long that I've finally given up hope and let the dream go, or I've just moved on emotionally from the issue. The apathy I experience on the subject is terrifying, to be honest. I can't believe I don't feel that urge anymore! The pull! The want!
I like to think I'm a good mom. I work hard on being patient, and loving, and honest. I like being fun, and my son and I always play little fun games and have conversations about wonderful things. He rides his bicycle with me while I go on runs in the evening, and always cheers me on to push myself harder. Every time I hold him in my arms I feel that I've done at least 1 thing right in my life, and it fills me with a lot of pride and happiness.
And yet I realize that once he's on his own.... he won't have anyone else in this world as family. No sibling near his age to commiserate with once my husband get old, and weirder than we are now. No one to shed tears with when he'd got to face losing one -or both- of us. And certainly no one to blame when one of them breaks something, and I demand to know who was screwing around with it. Ah, what fun it is to have a sibling to harass and torture!
I digress...... Deny as I might want to, but my best and youngest years are behind me. I'm sure AARP already has me on their future mailing lists, and my advertising choices via social media will stop being promotions for 5ks, and start being coupons for hemorrhoid creams. My time is running out, and the conversation I have with my husband always ends with "just a little longer".
Having my child was a fast and furious crash into a new routine, and a lot of changes. I managed to land on my feet and somehow amble into a run sometime after that. He wasn't planned, and I was in far worse shape in my life than I am now.
So unreservedly, albeit quietly, I have chosen my donor. B1047. I have tracked my periods and cycles diligently, and assuming that I get a positive ovulation around mid-July, this will be my plan to move forward.
For a few years I've been patient and laissez fair, allowing myself to ease up when my husband wouldn't engage when I suggested looking at donors or discussing when to map out the due date. Unfortunately that patience has worn so thin that what's left of my trust in the fact that "we'll get there, just a little longer" seems not to exist anymore.
Marriage shows you a lot about your spouse. Most specifically you get to see who this person is, an all their purity. With my husband I know that while he never wanted to be a father in the first place, he half-assedly raised his daughter (as long as things remained convenient). With me, he understood that in order to get me in a relationship, I was a packaged deal and that was something he had to shoulder.
Vasectomies are not hasty; they're deliberate. They're an act of finality. He didn't want the 1st kid he had, let alone anymore. Ex's are a hassle and who needs that shit?
Whatever this rant or rave is, be it pre-menopausal breakdown, or a manifesto of my plans to say "well fuck this, I'm not giving this part of my dreams up" and throwing the gauntlet out the window.
Really the saddest part of this is that if I get pregnant, and he's not on board at all for it...... I don't really care anymore.
As it turned out, one loving heart was all that was needed. It has never ceased to amaze me at how lucky I was to have my little boy, and how relatively easy everything he brought with him was. Sure, it was a learning process; I had no idea what to do when he was awake, fed, dry, and prepped for bed at 3am, but I figured it all out eventually. I still have moments of panic as a parent on those "what to do's", and the kid is 6 1/2 now.
Time passed, and I met someone, and we liked each other. But he came with baggage, like I did. His was a teenage daughter and a vasectomy. I tread this introduction with in trepidation; infertility put a major thorn in the side of my hopes for another baby, but ultimately he expressed that he'd pay to have it reconnected, or we could move onto other options like donor sperm, adoption or fostering. He was very open and willing for all the possibilities. He recognized how hasty that decision was on his part.
It's been 4 years of marriage now. Lots of ups and downs, lots of delays and backtracking on the plans to move forward with this. We found out that reconnecting a vasectomy is regarded as elective surgery, and not covered with insurance to the tune of around 10k. The efficacy of it plummets with every passing year you've had it. It's as though once the swimmers were shut in, their health declined without hope of improvement. Sucking them out of the testicle with a needle should only be done by a professional, and would only be useful for IVF. This is 18K per round.
Much to his chagrin, this left us with adoption (for around 40k, and that's for foreign kids!), foster children, or donated sperm. As a man, none of those options really felt appealing to him. He had no part in the production. Ultimately, this is where he started to lose his interest. Conversations subsequent to this stage involved him not wanting to read of the info on any donors that had similar features to his, or show interest in coming with me to meet the OB who would perform my IUI.
I met him at 29, and I'm now 34, and still waiting to make moves towards baby#2. By all accounts, if I were to get pregnant right now, and give birth just prior to my 35th birthday, I kid you not: I would be labeled a geriatric mother. That's right. 10 years before when menopause might be coming to call, I've already been shoved aside to the geriatric ward, where OBs automatically sign you up for your C-section the second you get a double-line on your piss-wand.
At first I was able to keep doing things like reading up on pregnancy nutrition, exercises, birth groups and clubs. But as other women kept having delightful pregnancy announcements, luminous pregnancy photos, smiling round and happily exhausted faces filled with anticipation and joy, and then squishy and milk-smelling babies... I felt myself start to crumble. It didn't happen right away at first. It happened when I couldn't watch birth videos anymore without breaking into silent, and constantly-streaming tears. When I started hiding the baby photos in my Facebook feed. When I could no longer even open up the baby & kids section of Craigslist to browse for cheap & useful kids stuff,
When you're fertility incompetent, watching others around you conceive and celebrate, your resilience falls into the toilet, along with your hope and your ability to keep your head about you when a co-worker drops by with their newborn. Your fein an illness and stay in your cube, listening to the cooing across the office.
Challenges with fertility make women insane. They become toxic, like being sprayed by a skunk: the stench dies down after a while, but you feel like your nose has been so permeated with the smell, you're not even sure it totally went away to begin with. You keep sniffing and sniffing because you're sure it's still there.
Four years isn't as long as some people have battled and hoped. But oddly I read all these stories of couples that are supportive and strong, and hopeful still about their chances of their miracle baby coming to fruition, and I get envious. I think "how is it that I fall apart every time my husband tells me he thinks the time is wrong, and none of these people ever talk about how goddamned hard it is to keep waiting, and trying, and failing?!" I must be the only one with a mouth the size of the Rio Grand, because this shit has sucked.
When things have gotten bad.... Like we were shouting threats of the big D at each other, there was always the sadness in me that realized whoever this little baby was going to be, that I wanted to have, was never going to happen. And for a long time recently, it's been something that I've felt more and more.
I can't decide if my husband has postponed and stalled us out so long that I've finally given up hope and let the dream go, or I've just moved on emotionally from the issue. The apathy I experience on the subject is terrifying, to be honest. I can't believe I don't feel that urge anymore! The pull! The want!
I like to think I'm a good mom. I work hard on being patient, and loving, and honest. I like being fun, and my son and I always play little fun games and have conversations about wonderful things. He rides his bicycle with me while I go on runs in the evening, and always cheers me on to push myself harder. Every time I hold him in my arms I feel that I've done at least 1 thing right in my life, and it fills me with a lot of pride and happiness.
And yet I realize that once he's on his own.... he won't have anyone else in this world as family. No sibling near his age to commiserate with once my husband get old, and weirder than we are now. No one to shed tears with when he'd got to face losing one -or both- of us. And certainly no one to blame when one of them breaks something, and I demand to know who was screwing around with it. Ah, what fun it is to have a sibling to harass and torture!
I digress...... Deny as I might want to, but my best and youngest years are behind me. I'm sure AARP already has me on their future mailing lists, and my advertising choices via social media will stop being promotions for 5ks, and start being coupons for hemorrhoid creams. My time is running out, and the conversation I have with my husband always ends with "just a little longer".
Having my child was a fast and furious crash into a new routine, and a lot of changes. I managed to land on my feet and somehow amble into a run sometime after that. He wasn't planned, and I was in far worse shape in my life than I am now.
So unreservedly, albeit quietly, I have chosen my donor. B1047. I have tracked my periods and cycles diligently, and assuming that I get a positive ovulation around mid-July, this will be my plan to move forward.
For a few years I've been patient and laissez fair, allowing myself to ease up when my husband wouldn't engage when I suggested looking at donors or discussing when to map out the due date. Unfortunately that patience has worn so thin that what's left of my trust in the fact that "we'll get there, just a little longer" seems not to exist anymore.
Marriage shows you a lot about your spouse. Most specifically you get to see who this person is, an all their purity. With my husband I know that while he never wanted to be a father in the first place, he half-assedly raised his daughter (as long as things remained convenient). With me, he understood that in order to get me in a relationship, I was a packaged deal and that was something he had to shoulder.
Vasectomies are not hasty; they're deliberate. They're an act of finality. He didn't want the 1st kid he had, let alone anymore. Ex's are a hassle and who needs that shit?
Whatever this rant or rave is, be it pre-menopausal breakdown, or a manifesto of my plans to say "well fuck this, I'm not giving this part of my dreams up" and throwing the gauntlet out the window.
Really the saddest part of this is that if I get pregnant, and he's not on board at all for it...... I don't really care anymore.
Monday, March 16, 2015
The Prosaic Tale
I spent the better part of a few hours putting together a fairly dull entry here and after some pretty heavy self-criticism decided that it was total shit, and erased it.
I'll get right to the capital issue at hand here: Apathy. This word right here, while I haven't realized it for many years, has dominated my life.
Some of my more impressive highlights are; going to college because I was told to and then dropping out because I wasn't in to it. Going back for college a second time just to keep my mother happy, and losing interest in my classes because they had no relevancy to anything interesting. Moving across country to NYC to "explore" the world; not having any real professional skills so I couldn't actually find any work that would pay me enough to make actual money and not be homeless.
Really, a long line of choices and actions that revolved around either not giving a single fuck, or just not having the confidence in myself to stick to a single fucking thing in my life. Not one. So far the only thing I've "stuck" with is motherhood, and it's not like you can really quit that; you just might suck at it sometimes more than others. And trust me; I fail frequently and often,
I'm sitting in an office where my boss neither has time, nor cares to see professional growth is supported and encouraged. I'm paid enough to tread above a level of starvation, but if I were solely responsible for our households bills, we'd be in foreclosure for sure. I'm in a constant panic about a lack of contribution on my part to our overall household. And of course, shortcut taker that I am, hasn't made any kind of real plan about how to fix that.
My first notion: get a part time job! The reality? I can't actually get away nights and weekends; that would destroy my child. He can't handle me being away, and for my part, I can't handle being away from him like that either. Say what you will about how I'm probably damaging him for life - yes, I'm sure he's warped beyond reason, but goddamnit, I love that kid so much, and he's only going to want to be with my constantly for a few more short years. I don't want to have to sacrifice those just to earn an extra $500 a month, and work an extra 20 hours to get it.
Go back to school! Ok, this idea scares me more than ANYTHING in this world. Guess where I work? Debt collector for a major university. No joke. I spend my time talking to grads that have spent 4-9 years in school that cannot find work and have anywhere from a few thousand dollars in student debt to more than $100k in student debt. The ultimate connundrum after the financial crisis question is what in the hell would I study? What the hell do I want to be when I grow up?
I'm still waiting for the answer to this question to magically come to me. I'm sure others are as well. I remember my sister told me her senior year of high school that she either wanted to be a nurse, or a teacher. Well, 20 years and a PhD later, she teaches. My best friend: delayed in college by surprise (!) child(ren) at 20 and 22, she ended up a nursing school drop out only to begin classes again this semester to try to get herself back into nursing school again sometime soon.
A good friend from high school who had a beatnick kind of coolness to him had a passion for Physics and a laid back personality: He was sticken from cancer in his early 20s, took a break for treatment and fucking persevered by graduating with his own PhD in Physics a few years ago.
These are the people I want to be when I grow up. The people that took the odds against them, and said "well fuck you, pal." My largest hurdle is me. I know that. I cannot make up my mind about what's worth it, and what's not. I keep going over the scenarios (and mostly my own fears) in my own mind. I toyed with going to school to weld and never pulled the trigger, and even to this day revisit the possibility that I could indeed actually go to welding school. But them I'm flooded with the negativity of but would you like it? Would you be any good at it? Who would hire you? How would you pay tuition? Would this REALLY be what you wanted to do?
It's too much. Yes, it's simpler to hide out and quietly watch as others pursue their dreams, because your own aren't really all that great. I feel bad. Worthless. Not really all that impressive. I don't really feel anything good about any of it. I can't discuss it with my parents; they're split in the middle as different as possible on how to handle those kinds of choices, and my husband hasn't changed careers in 16 years. He's already sure I am the worlds biggest flake ever to walk on it.
I don't know what to do, or what to choose, or what I should do with myself. It's not worth upheaving my life to fly off in to the sunset with no plan or objective, but doing what I'm doing isn't going to put me into any happier place than I have been for the last 15 years either.
I apologize that this doesn't have some polished conclusion, or an enlightened ending. Sometimes answers don't come immediately, if they come at all. Shit, aren't we still debating on who killed Kennedy? I'm not anticipating that this is an answer I'll get any time soon.
I can't bear the thought of being a 34 year old semi-first time freshman in school. I feel like a bad enough disgrace as it is, and hardly worth putting any time into anymore. Just doesn't seem to be any reason anymore.
I'll get right to the capital issue at hand here: Apathy. This word right here, while I haven't realized it for many years, has dominated my life.
Some of my more impressive highlights are; going to college because I was told to and then dropping out because I wasn't in to it. Going back for college a second time just to keep my mother happy, and losing interest in my classes because they had no relevancy to anything interesting. Moving across country to NYC to "explore" the world; not having any real professional skills so I couldn't actually find any work that would pay me enough to make actual money and not be homeless.
Really, a long line of choices and actions that revolved around either not giving a single fuck, or just not having the confidence in myself to stick to a single fucking thing in my life. Not one. So far the only thing I've "stuck" with is motherhood, and it's not like you can really quit that; you just might suck at it sometimes more than others. And trust me; I fail frequently and often,
I'm sitting in an office where my boss neither has time, nor cares to see professional growth is supported and encouraged. I'm paid enough to tread above a level of starvation, but if I were solely responsible for our households bills, we'd be in foreclosure for sure. I'm in a constant panic about a lack of contribution on my part to our overall household. And of course, shortcut taker that I am, hasn't made any kind of real plan about how to fix that.
My first notion: get a part time job! The reality? I can't actually get away nights and weekends; that would destroy my child. He can't handle me being away, and for my part, I can't handle being away from him like that either. Say what you will about how I'm probably damaging him for life - yes, I'm sure he's warped beyond reason, but goddamnit, I love that kid so much, and he's only going to want to be with my constantly for a few more short years. I don't want to have to sacrifice those just to earn an extra $500 a month, and work an extra 20 hours to get it.
Go back to school! Ok, this idea scares me more than ANYTHING in this world. Guess where I work? Debt collector for a major university. No joke. I spend my time talking to grads that have spent 4-9 years in school that cannot find work and have anywhere from a few thousand dollars in student debt to more than $100k in student debt. The ultimate connundrum after the financial crisis question is what in the hell would I study? What the hell do I want to be when I grow up?
I'm still waiting for the answer to this question to magically come to me. I'm sure others are as well. I remember my sister told me her senior year of high school that she either wanted to be a nurse, or a teacher. Well, 20 years and a PhD later, she teaches. My best friend: delayed in college by surprise (!) child(ren) at 20 and 22, she ended up a nursing school drop out only to begin classes again this semester to try to get herself back into nursing school again sometime soon.
A good friend from high school who had a beatnick kind of coolness to him had a passion for Physics and a laid back personality: He was sticken from cancer in his early 20s, took a break for treatment and fucking persevered by graduating with his own PhD in Physics a few years ago.
These are the people I want to be when I grow up. The people that took the odds against them, and said "well fuck you, pal." My largest hurdle is me. I know that. I cannot make up my mind about what's worth it, and what's not. I keep going over the scenarios (and mostly my own fears) in my own mind. I toyed with going to school to weld and never pulled the trigger, and even to this day revisit the possibility that I could indeed actually go to welding school. But them I'm flooded with the negativity of but would you like it? Would you be any good at it? Who would hire you? How would you pay tuition? Would this REALLY be what you wanted to do?
It's too much. Yes, it's simpler to hide out and quietly watch as others pursue their dreams, because your own aren't really all that great. I feel bad. Worthless. Not really all that impressive. I don't really feel anything good about any of it. I can't discuss it with my parents; they're split in the middle as different as possible on how to handle those kinds of choices, and my husband hasn't changed careers in 16 years. He's already sure I am the worlds biggest flake ever to walk on it.
I don't know what to do, or what to choose, or what I should do with myself. It's not worth upheaving my life to fly off in to the sunset with no plan or objective, but doing what I'm doing isn't going to put me into any happier place than I have been for the last 15 years either.
I apologize that this doesn't have some polished conclusion, or an enlightened ending. Sometimes answers don't come immediately, if they come at all. Shit, aren't we still debating on who killed Kennedy? I'm not anticipating that this is an answer I'll get any time soon.
I can't bear the thought of being a 34 year old semi-first time freshman in school. I feel like a bad enough disgrace as it is, and hardly worth putting any time into anymore. Just doesn't seem to be any reason anymore.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
