Hope invites you to a place at the table. It's precious, tender and gives you a sense of belonging. Hope fills your heart and mind with dreams and longings. Hope is sometimes synonymous with happiness. When you feel hopeful, you feel happy and vice versa. Hope is redemptive.
But...
Hope is also the very thing that makes your longings ache without comfort. It is fleeting and time sensitive...you never know when your hope will "dry up". Hope makes a fool out of our hearts. Hope lets in dark lies that whisper a sweet song in our ears. Hope is a dangerous thing.
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One week from now we'll see if all the medications I've been taking, the "special" injection, and the sonogram to check on my follicles have helped. Tomorrow I go in for another progesterone test and then a week after that I go in for a pregnancy blood test. That scares me.
I've never gotten used to seeing a negative on the pregnancy strip. And now for the first time I'll be waiting for someone to call me and tell me whether our dreams have come true or not.
I'm terrified.
I want to hope that this is it. With this phone call we can breath and dream and plan and cry some happy tears. I want this to happen so badly. I want the phone call to tell us that God has shown up for us in a huge, miraculous way.
One phone call can change our life.
What's going to happen?
Do I dare to hope that something good will finally happen?
Showing posts with label PCOS. Show all posts
Showing posts with label PCOS. Show all posts
Monday, June 2, 2014
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Multiple Choice
When you ask me how I'm doing do you mean:
A) You are serious and actually want to know exactly how I am doing?
B)Asking because you want to see how good I should be doing?
C) Asking to be polite, but not really interested in the realness?
When you ask me if I've taken a pregnancy test because my period is late do you realize that:
A) I'm now going to shut down emotionally.
B) I have taken more pregnancy tests then I would care to admit and taking one more and seeing a negative (again) is heartbreaking?
C) You make me feel stupid for sharing this personal thing with you.
When you ask me if I've considered adoption do you realize that:
A) You have asked an insensitive question?
B) You have completely dismissed my longing to give birth with my own body?
C) Yes, we have considered it and yes, we would like to adopt regardless of getting pregnant or not.
When you ask me "Are you feeling better yet?" do you realize that:
A) I did not stub my toe or catch a cold? I did not get pregnant once again.
B) That question makes me feel like you are rushing my grief to be over with?
C) You have dismissed almost 2 years of my grief and heartbreak in one question?
Do you realize that when I share something personal about my infertility experiences:
A) I do not want you to share it with others (no matter how small or big). This is my story to share.
B) There are no other options than (A).
Do you realize that when you flippantly say "Don't worry about it. You'll get pregnant.":
A) I want to shake you hard and slap the shit out of you?
B) This is so hurtful and inconsiderate to my pain?
C) You have no right to say this because it may never happen and all it does is shame me and my body.
If I don't reply to a well meaning message of support:
A) It does not mean I don't appreciate it. Quite the opposite. It's just that some times I feel a loss of words and a simple thank you feels impersonal and distant. I apologize if I don't respond...sometimes I feel to defeated to offer anything back.
When you say "You're so lucky to not have kids." or "You have no idea how hard it is.":
A) My heart feels physically stripped bare and beaten.
B) I would love to feel how hard it is.
C) No, I am not lucky that my body cannot give me the one thing I want most.
When you talk about how birth control is to blame for infertility do you realize:
A) How hurtful that is? I took it for almost five years. Are you saying that it's my fault I'm not pregnant? If so then you need to go have a talk with Jesus. Stop being insensitive and uninformed!
B) That by saying this you show that you have not done any research about infertility and are just saying things you have heard or read on the internet.
C) bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. bleep. bleep. bleep.
I know it's hard to understand, but:
A) Every day is painful and hard. There are few good/easy days.
B) I want to be a mother so much. There is no erasing that ache.
C) I need support and love. It's lonely in the ocean of infertility. Very lonely.
D) I rarely ask for help, but that doesn't mean I don't need it. I do. Desperately.
A) You are serious and actually want to know exactly how I am doing?
B)Asking because you want to see how good I should be doing?
C) Asking to be polite, but not really interested in the realness?
When you ask me if I've taken a pregnancy test because my period is late do you realize that:
A) I'm now going to shut down emotionally.
B) I have taken more pregnancy tests then I would care to admit and taking one more and seeing a negative (again) is heartbreaking?
C) You make me feel stupid for sharing this personal thing with you.
When you ask me if I've considered adoption do you realize that:
A) You have asked an insensitive question?
B) You have completely dismissed my longing to give birth with my own body?
C) Yes, we have considered it and yes, we would like to adopt regardless of getting pregnant or not.
When you ask me "Are you feeling better yet?" do you realize that:
A) I did not stub my toe or catch a cold? I did not get pregnant once again.
B) That question makes me feel like you are rushing my grief to be over with?
C) You have dismissed almost 2 years of my grief and heartbreak in one question?
Do you realize that when I share something personal about my infertility experiences:
A) I do not want you to share it with others (no matter how small or big). This is my story to share.
B) There are no other options than (A).
Do you realize that when you flippantly say "Don't worry about it. You'll get pregnant.":
A) I want to shake you hard and slap the shit out of you?
B) This is so hurtful and inconsiderate to my pain?
C) You have no right to say this because it may never happen and all it does is shame me and my body.
If I don't reply to a well meaning message of support:
A) It does not mean I don't appreciate it. Quite the opposite. It's just that some times I feel a loss of words and a simple thank you feels impersonal and distant. I apologize if I don't respond...sometimes I feel to defeated to offer anything back.
When you say "You're so lucky to not have kids." or "You have no idea how hard it is.":
A) My heart feels physically stripped bare and beaten.
B) I would love to feel how hard it is.
C) No, I am not lucky that my body cannot give me the one thing I want most.
When you talk about how birth control is to blame for infertility do you realize:
A) How hurtful that is? I took it for almost five years. Are you saying that it's my fault I'm not pregnant? If so then you need to go have a talk with Jesus. Stop being insensitive and uninformed!
B) That by saying this you show that you have not done any research about infertility and are just saying things you have heard or read on the internet.
C) bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. bleep. bleep. bleep.
I know it's hard to understand, but:
A) Every day is painful and hard. There are few good/easy days.
B) I want to be a mother so much. There is no erasing that ache.
C) I need support and love. It's lonely in the ocean of infertility. Very lonely.
D) I rarely ask for help, but that doesn't mean I don't need it. I do. Desperately.
Monday, May 5, 2014
Grieving Infertility
It has been 20 months since we started trying to conceive and I'm scared as we continue through this year with very little hope and few answers. In September of last year, we got our first diagnoses of infertility. My heart felt like a knife had been plunged into it as that tiny box was checked by my doctor. In that moment I just wanted to shout "Stop! Stop and take a second because this is a huge, emotionally hard moment for me.", but my voice got caught in my throat.
I have spent every month hoping, praying, and grieving.
Hoping that this month will bring us good news. Hoping that my body will regulate itself and do what it's supposed to do. Hoping that I can plan my pregnancy announcements. Hoping to experience pregnancy and all that it contains.
Praying for more hope and peace. Praying to see a positive instead of what feels like a death sentence. Praying to see that God cares for my heart and desires. Praying so hard that my heart is screaming and aching. Praying that the infertility tests reveal something. Praying that we can figure out why we can't get pregnant.
Grieving every negative test. Grieving each loss. Grieving the ache in my heart. Grieving the delay of my dream. Grieving every time I see baby pictures on FB and Instagram and every where I look. Grieving the intense loneliness. Grieving all the emotions that wreck my body and mind.
In the past year and a half I've had countless blood work tests and ultrasounds. They found cysts on both of my ovaries, but my first doctor didn't diagnose me with polycystic ovaries. I had an HSG done last year and was told repeatedly throughout the process that I had a tiny cervix and it was causing great difficult to get the procedure done. After all that intense pain, they said everything looked good and I didn't have any blockage. Once again, there was that "Oh see! Everything is good!", but I didn't feel happy. I just saw that I still don't have any answers. I had more lab work done to see how my hormone levels were doing and despite the fact that my progesterone levels were incredibly low, my doctor continued to say it was nothing to worry about and just to keep trying.
We had N tested also and everything seemed find with his little guys. I won't lie and say that I wasn't disappointed. There was a part of me, whether right or wrong, that hoped that it was an issue on his part and not on mine. I wouldn't blame him at all. It would be a simple issue at that point. But so far everything was pointing to me...and I felt shame and blamed myself...even though I knew I shouldn't.
The next appointment consisted of saying that maybe I had endometriosis, but we would have to do surgery to figure that out. The plan laid before me was simple: do the surgery, TTC for six months, then try artificial insemination, and if all that failed then my doctor would send me to a fertility specialist. I left feeling so discouraged...so hopeless. I sat in the car and wept. I hate going to doctors appointments alone and in that moment the loneliness was crushing.
It took several weeks of strong signs pointing me to a certain direction. The direction of what my heart and gut were screaming: "Jump ship! Be true to what YOU want." So I did exactly that. I cancelled my next appointment with my doctor, called and cancelled the surgery plans, and called up a fertility specialist. Three months later, everything my first doctor had ignored was carefully looked at by my new specialist and I was diagnosed with PCOS. I've been taking Clomid and another medication (which I'm stopping because my body feels horrible on it) to help my body ovulate and do what it's supposed to.
And now I must keep waiting. Wait to see if my body does what it's supposed to do... wait to see if my hormones regulate... wait to see if this time I'll get pregnant. I'm hanging on so little hope right now.
We're coming up on our 7 year anniversary and two months later I'll be 28 years old. I never thought this is what life would look like. I never thought deciding to have a baby would end up looking like this. It feels like a slow death to my heart.
I'm not really sure what else to say right now... There just seems to be a lot of grief in my heart lately. Whenever someone says "How are you?" I always smile and say "I'm doing good!", but what I don't say is "I'm sad. Really, really sad."
I have spent every month hoping, praying, and grieving.
Hoping that this month will bring us good news. Hoping that my body will regulate itself and do what it's supposed to do. Hoping that I can plan my pregnancy announcements. Hoping to experience pregnancy and all that it contains.
Praying for more hope and peace. Praying to see a positive instead of what feels like a death sentence. Praying to see that God cares for my heart and desires. Praying so hard that my heart is screaming and aching. Praying that the infertility tests reveal something. Praying that we can figure out why we can't get pregnant.
Grieving every negative test. Grieving each loss. Grieving the ache in my heart. Grieving the delay of my dream. Grieving every time I see baby pictures on FB and Instagram and every where I look. Grieving the intense loneliness. Grieving all the emotions that wreck my body and mind.
In the past year and a half I've had countless blood work tests and ultrasounds. They found cysts on both of my ovaries, but my first doctor didn't diagnose me with polycystic ovaries. I had an HSG done last year and was told repeatedly throughout the process that I had a tiny cervix and it was causing great difficult to get the procedure done. After all that intense pain, they said everything looked good and I didn't have any blockage. Once again, there was that "Oh see! Everything is good!", but I didn't feel happy. I just saw that I still don't have any answers. I had more lab work done to see how my hormone levels were doing and despite the fact that my progesterone levels were incredibly low, my doctor continued to say it was nothing to worry about and just to keep trying.
We had N tested also and everything seemed find with his little guys. I won't lie and say that I wasn't disappointed. There was a part of me, whether right or wrong, that hoped that it was an issue on his part and not on mine. I wouldn't blame him at all. It would be a simple issue at that point. But so far everything was pointing to me...and I felt shame and blamed myself...even though I knew I shouldn't.
The next appointment consisted of saying that maybe I had endometriosis, but we would have to do surgery to figure that out. The plan laid before me was simple: do the surgery, TTC for six months, then try artificial insemination, and if all that failed then my doctor would send me to a fertility specialist. I left feeling so discouraged...so hopeless. I sat in the car and wept. I hate going to doctors appointments alone and in that moment the loneliness was crushing.
It took several weeks of strong signs pointing me to a certain direction. The direction of what my heart and gut were screaming: "Jump ship! Be true to what YOU want." So I did exactly that. I cancelled my next appointment with my doctor, called and cancelled the surgery plans, and called up a fertility specialist. Three months later, everything my first doctor had ignored was carefully looked at by my new specialist and I was diagnosed with PCOS. I've been taking Clomid and another medication (which I'm stopping because my body feels horrible on it) to help my body ovulate and do what it's supposed to.
And now I must keep waiting. Wait to see if my body does what it's supposed to do... wait to see if my hormones regulate... wait to see if this time I'll get pregnant. I'm hanging on so little hope right now.
We're coming up on our 7 year anniversary and two months later I'll be 28 years old. I never thought this is what life would look like. I never thought deciding to have a baby would end up looking like this. It feels like a slow death to my heart.
I'm not really sure what else to say right now... There just seems to be a lot of grief in my heart lately. Whenever someone says "How are you?" I always smile and say "I'm doing good!", but what I don't say is "I'm sad. Really, really sad."
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