Catching Up...

In the last month or so, I've found myself staring into space a lot: at the ceiling when I'm lying in bed at night or first thing in the morning; at the wall when I'm somewhere in a room, a building; into just plain oblivion most other times of the day. I feel like I'm just trying to survive every single day.

A few weeks ago, I had quite possibly the worst day yet. I had to go to the hospital to have some blood tests done in what I imagine will potentially be a long battery of tests to determine whether or not I'm reproductively challenged - which, of course, will affect not only the course of action for the doctors as far as Kenton is concerned, but also our decisions based on that. We've talked about it a little, and I've already told him that I'm drawing the line where surgery is concerned - if that's the only hope for having biological children, then I guess we'll have to pursue other avenues. I'm not putting his or my life on the line on some small fraction of "maybe, someday".

So I spent about 6 hours in the hospital. Surrounded by mothers, women with heavily pregnant bellies, nursing infants and baby cries. It was literally like someone had scripted my worst nightmare and cast me in the starring role: Alexa, Infertile! Thankfully, I had brought a book so I was barely able to keep it together. Yet every time I heard a baby crying, something inside of me felt like needles and pins - like all I could think about was MY baby crying, the baby that's not even conceived and may never come to be, the baby that I would take care of and love and never neglect. Not that, in this instance, I'm saying that the cries came from neglect of course - it just hurt me, physically as much as emotionally.

To boot, when I later when to do some shopping, a woman said to me: "Oh, you smell good! Is that baby powder?" I think I probably looked at her like I'd missed a vital dosage of my anti-mental medication. Of course I tried to get a grip, give her a thinly veiled smile and told her that it was probably my shampoo.

Baby powder. Those little, insignificant, basic things that are of absolutely no importance to mother other than a product regularly purchased along with toilet paper and butter. To me, these things are taken on near-iconic status:

"BABY POWDER - now only for those who CAN have babies!"

I'm having these movie-type moments where I imagine these blasts or blips in some spoof-type, retro voice-over - and I'm sitting here, little pile of misery, advertised as Coming Soon To A Theater Near You. I imagine this black and white scene with beautifully coiffed, perfectly silhouetted middle upper class 1950s housewives with their 2.1 children whispering behind upheld hands, eyes wide open, aghast at The Woman Scorned By Nature.

And, still, Kenton is not getting the picture. I feel like I'm sitting on hot coals - and he keeps throwing these things into everyday conversation like "what are you going to do when we have kids" - like that's just assumed, like there's no hindrances, like there's a bun in the oven as we speak. INFURIATING!! I know that he has a different way of dealing with this, but I am so damn mad at him. I mean, I keep trying to EXPLAIN (read: beat into his male brain) that I have a limited amount of time left IN THE BEST OF CIRCUMSTANCES, which clearly isn't even the case with us. And I told him, I cannot, cannot, CANNOT go through life without a child, not completely. He keeps throwing adoption in there like that's supposed to make it all better - like that's not just one of those things we might not even be able to afford.

So then, the other day, I'm talking to this 21-YEAR OLD GIRL who tells me that they're having issues because she's been trying to get pregnant - without success - for two years. Part of me wanted to throttle her because I felt like saying: WTF YOU HAVE NO CLUE!! And there was that evil, disgusting, horrible part of me that thought: good, serves you right. I can't even begin to describe the shame and horror I feel when these kinds of mean, selfish and pathetic feelings overcome me - but I keep thinking that, whenever I'm confronted with something like that, there's this little voice that's telling me, seeeeeee, you're not the only one, it's not your fault, it's not you're fault. Because, somehow, I still feel that it's all my fault. It's my fault.

I go through these phases of wanting to do a lot of stuff just so I can block out the pain and these feelings of...what is it? Being incomplete, a failure, dysfunctional, BROKEN. I feel broken. I feel like something got ripped out, trampled on, and then put in a totally dislocated place so that I can never be the same again. God and, for such a long time, I didn't even really think about any of this - even until a couple of years ago it wasn't this bad. Now all I can think about is that little wiggly thing that's not in my arms, those tiny hands not clasping my fingers, that tiny little face not smiling up at me. I AM BROKEN. I feel shattered. I feel not whole. I feel like part of me is dying a little bit every day - and Kenton doesn't get it. HE DOESN'T GET IT. I just don't know what to do, don't know what to say, don't know how to deal with this.

And then there was that consultation with a doctor who, quite obviously, couldn't have cared less about my concerns or my issues. My regular doctor was out of town, which I hadn't known - because, trust me, there's no way I would've seen this guy if I'd known what I was in for. He didn't bother to read my file, didn't even really look at the blood test results, but only told me that the starting point for an infertility workup is a hysterosalpingogram:


http://www.webmd.com/infertility-and-reproduction/guide/hysterosalpingogram-21590

http://www.advancedfertility.com/hsg.htm



Aside from the fact that I'm not really that crazy about letting someone loose with a bunch of tools in my reproductive organs, there also seems to be no information whatsoever about whether or not this is PAINFUL. There's all this clinical blabla which, when it's all said and done, tells me precious little other than that it's the first step to determine whether, in addition to Kenton's problems, I might be throwing my own in the balance. Thanks, that's really helpful. NOT! I feel violated just thinking about it.

So that's where it's at. I'm sorry I've been silent so long - your comments continue to give me hope and something to hold onto in these trying times. Thank you for not giving up on me.

Good Days, Bad Days...Mad Hatter Days!

My emotional rollercoaster continues. I am still frustrated, and I'm only just starting to feel a bit better after falling into a bit of an abyss. For over a week now, I've been grouchy and basically avoided leaving the house unless it was absolutely necessary. Of course anyone will tell you that social isolation is only likely to make these types of things worse, rather than better - but I disagree. Sometimes, I need to crawl under a dark rock and BROOD. Because, really? Sometimes I just feel like I can't handle the stress of this whole baby thing.

And then there are other things that come along to aggravate me even further. It's been not quite 6 months since Kenton's first sperm test, and about a month since the second one. And only NOW are they thinking, hey - wait a minute! - maybe we should also do a blood test! Needless to mention, I was just a liiiiiiittle bit unhinged after hearing that. I thought, ok are you KIDDING ME??? Quit wasting my - our - time and GET! WITH! THE! FRIGGIN! PROGRAM!!!! To boot, Kenton is being all "private" about all these issues - I offered to come with him to his appointment, which he flat-out refused, making me get even more annoyed because I thought: hang on, this affects BOTH of us, so get over it!!

I am so frustrated. I mean, at this point, I'm starting to think that it's just never going to happen. Because I honestly don't want to be a mom at 40. I mean, I don't think there's anything wrong with that - but it's a choice that wouldn't work for me. I don't want to be pushing 60 by the time my kid gets out of high school, no thanks.

So of course I continue to torture myself with celebrity bump watch: Nicole Richie being rumored to carry Baby # 2, Jennifer Aniston supposedly trying to get pregnant. I don't know WHY I insist of tormenting myself; sometimes I honestly think I must just be a glutton for punishment or some sort of masochist when it comes to this particular issue. I think that, at this stage, I'm almost going into denial. I just feel like I can't "deal" with the reality of what's going on - with the reality of potentially never having a baby. It drives me completely stark raving MAD!

The solution? Grumpiness barely abated by copious amounts of chocolate - which I figure is passably better than, say, imbibing to drown out my sorrows or harassing the doc for some seriously mood-altering narcotics. What did help, the other day, was to actually physically write something of a diary entry. It was in the middle of the night, I couldn't sleep - so I was sitting at the table just brooding some more and, basically, feeling pretty sorry for myself. But there was something really cathartic about writing down a lot of the crap that was going through my head just then - and I also ended up doing some thinking about past issues that have bugged me for years. The bottom line, of course, remains that I'm still frustrated and still mad - but as I snuggle under the blankets and hide behind a never-ending supply of chick lit, fueled by steaming cups of something hot and soothing, I have to believe that things are going to get better. I'm trying to stop living in the past or the future - I read something not too long ago that made a lot of sense (though I can honestly say that IMPLEMENTING these words of wisdom will probably be a lifelong struggle of mine):

IF YOU'RE CAPABLE OF BEING HAPPY IN THE FUTURE, YOU'RE CAPABLE OF BEING HAPPY RIGHT NOW.

I keep hanging on to these ideals and promises of future happiness - when I have a nicer house, a better job, a baby, when my husband gets this promotion or that contract, when I can buy this designer handbag or that watch...But the truth is, while I keep moving the goal posts, life is going on - with or without me. So, as hard as it is, I'm TRYING to be more grateful and apply the latin motto: CARPE DIEM. Every day spent wallowing in self-pity is a day not spent doing something more fun, meeting new people, experiencing life.

There's that new movie with Jim Carrey, The Yes Man - and I started thinking: what if I did that? I mean, realistically speaking, there's no way on God's green earth I'd go bungee jumping or snort hot sauce, but the concept, in its basic tenets, seems one worthy of contemplation. What if I stopped limiting myself so much? What if I stopped obsessing about this baby thing? What if I just thought, ok - there really isn't much that I can do about this except, in a very far-reaching sense, plan for financial security - so that if and when we do end up either miraculously conceiving or looking into adoption, I haven't just been treading water all the time leading up to that moment.
More importantly, though - I think that, as women, we tend to sort of feel like big fat failures if we're unable to reproduce. And I don't know about anyone else, but somehow the fact that, in our case, it SEEMS that the only obstacle right now is a case of MALE factor infertility - it doesn't seem to change MY sense of failure. I guess that, in a way, I feel responsible for my husband - I feel that his "failures" (real or perceived) are also MY failures. And while it's not his fault, obviously, that he has some sort of problem that acts as a roadblock in our family planning, I still feel that it's some sort of failure.

Oh and I do not cope well with any sense of failure - again real, imagined, feared, anticipated or other. Just the word "failure" makes me at once adamant, scared and angry. I think maybe because I associate it with weakness - and that's something I find hard to deal with.

I'm not religious, I don't pray. I don't ascribe my life's unfolding events to any one deity (or several deities, as the case may be) - although I do occasionally cast my eye upward and think, you're really just trying to mess with me, aren't you? So I can't draw on my non-existent faith for some measure of comfort - because there's nothing there. I still haven't managed to talk to my family about this - and I can't foresee this happening anytime soon. I think I'm more inclined to keep these things under wraps and then deal with it if/when something final has occurred - either that I do get pregnant, or that whatever Kenton's problem is turns out to be irreversible.

I hope that, somehow, we all will wake up one day with a big bump - I know it's sounds so cheezy, but I know how many of us really struggle with this sense of being deprived of what, let's face it, most if not all of us totally took for granted. It never occured to me for ONE split second that I wouldn't have kids - if and when I was ready. I guess I just figured that, when that time came, everything else would just come together. HAH! Not so much, eh?

So I'm still here...A bit hurt, a lot frustrated, occasionally angry. But I have to believe that it's in my power to deal with this situation and make a decision, eventually, when all the cards are on the table. For now, it's all just a maddening waiting game - and that is what REALLY drives me crazy.