Tag Archives: worrying

My status quo

I am filled with warm fuzzy love for all of you. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of your support these last few weeks. It means the absolute WORLD to me. Okay, but now that I’ve complimented you, go ahead and tell me I’m an ungrateful jerk. It’s how I feel…I want to be the poster child of positivity and confidence. I want to tell you this experience is all rainbows and sunshine. I have seen bloggies do it so I know it’s possible! But while I feel the happiest I have ever felt, I also feel so scared, pretty much all of the time.

I am scared because I have no symptoms and I will be seven weeks tomorrow. I keep wondering if the other shoe is about to drop. I mean, we have TWO babies growing in there. Why aren’t my boobs getting bigger? Why don’t they hurt? Why am I not yacking? Where’s the nausea? Why can I still get up with the early morning alarm and go running? Shouldn’t my hormones be out of control? Shouldn’t my body feel really different? A little different? I know, I know, I’m so lucky to not feel sick. But I’m terrified. I Google this stuff and it freaks me out because there’s always some reference to studies that show women who have few/no symptoms have a greater rate of miscarriage.

YUCK.

The only things I have going on….worse than usual constipation (I always have issues, but they now require Metamucil, heyyyyo); some discharge here and there (it makes going to the bathroom such a treat, as I simultaneously pray for no spotting but lots of watery discharge); and, slightly more fatigue than usual (but not the crushing exhaustion everyone talks about). I hang onto these barely noticeable happenings for dear life. I am doing my very very best to trust that my body and these blueberry-sized beings know exactly what to do. I hope they are safe and sound and growing, growing, growing.

Zen zen zen zen.

*****

Bunny, she of the glorious new BFP in blog-land, wrote a post about a talisman she’s been wearing to her Betas. I have a couple myself. Actually, I have….so many. There is the gold necklace I wear every day with ivy leaf and four-leaf clover charms. I wear it to all of my RE consults and couldn’t stop wearing it after the IVF consult earlier this month (I wear it every day now). I also have this black string of a necklace, that I’ve tied into a bracelet, which arrived in the mail on CD2. My friend Danielle in NYC, my only friend who knows everything we’ve been through, sent it to me as a good luck charm this cycle: It has a little wooden charm on it with the Native American symbol for fertility etched into it. It flops around when I eat and write and type and I keep saying, “next ultrasound, I’ll take it off my wrist and just carry it with me…” But I can’t bring myself to do it!

I also have a little paper-weight size otter, which hubs bought me off eBay at the beginning of this cycle. He told me it could be my “fertility totem,” and I melted into a puddle of love and gratitude and began petting that sweet otter every night from then on. Hubs knows how superstitious I am, how much I love little charms and good luck symbols. (Like the lucky pig he gave me to carry in my pocket the first time I ran the Boston Marathon. I pulled out a gel to eat at about mile 20 and lost the tiny pig on the road…I actually TURNED BACK for a few steps to look for it! I couldn’t find it, but everything ended up okay and he gave me another pig that has helped me through many more races.) I do weird things with the otter, like make hubs kiss it, then I kiss it, then I make it kiss my stomach. So, yeahhhhh……

When I was a kid, my Mom would put “pocket pals” in all of our stockings on Christmas morning. They’re basically tiny little elves wearing felt clothing in bright and happy colors. My brothers and sister tired of theirs quickly, but I held onto mine for dear life, taking them with me to tennis tournaments and SATs for years and years to come. They come with me to every RE appointment and u/s.

This menagerie travels with me everywhere important I go. Of course the crew came to Oregon with us. Of course it accompanied us to the u/s on Tuesday. Of course I talk to them each night, and ask them to take care of the babies. And I rub my little bracelet charm at work, and reach for my ivy and clover charms on the bus. And I pray for them to keep our babies safe and to help them grow. We love them so much, and I pray so hard that everything is okay.

Zen zen zen zen.

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Alas, the post I’ve been trying to avoid

Hello my bloggie friends. Sorry I’ve been AWOL. This break is kicking my as*! I have all sorts of fun stuff to write up—how I’m running and riding my bike like crazy, how I spent the weekend planting veggies and herbs and flowers and otherwise beautifying our back and front porches, how I’ve been cooking up a storm, how work has been insane but awesome lately—but the truth is that whenever I try to write a post, my frustration, fear and general malaise get in the way.

And I can’t bear to dwell—via writing—on all of those feelings, so I’ve been stifling myself quite a bit. I am sad. I am scared. I am sick and tired of doing nothing. I feel ill looking at the baby stroller in my 6-flat apartment building’s lobby every time I walk up or down the stairs. (Dude, when is that kid going to be too big for the stroller?) I am dreading the wedding in two weeks in which I will be trapped in a tiny B&B with all of my  new-Mom college friends and their babies. I gave up acupuncture (for the second time, haha) because I’ve started to dread the weekly reminder that no matter how many needles are stuck into my body, it still doesn’t work. I feel like everything is a reminder of how busted I am and how scared I am that I will never be the lucky bloggie on the other side. Even reading blogs and logging onto Twitter is a reminder. There is so much joy and hope and happiness out there and I feel like a dark rain cloud brooding in the distance.

I know that this is mostly the break month talking: I just have too much time to be “in” my head and it turns me into a selfish, fragile, shadow of the person I thought I was, who clings to hubs for dear life. It feels like the whole world is moving forward and I’m just STUCK, trying to shake off the fear and the envy. I know this is some SERIOUS drama for a stupid bench month. I’m sure there are folks reading this and thinking, Geez! Relax already! Eh. To all of you: I totally and completely agree. It’s just, you know, I don’t get a chance to ovulate very often and, darnit, I am struggling.

And, alas, I’ve succeeded in writing the exact post I’ve been trying to avoid…I just had to re-title it. Unfortunately, right now, writing about my life makes me feel worse about it—not better. (Maybe when I press “publish” I’ll feel a little better. Or maybe you guys can cheer me up just a tad. And it’s okay if not. 🙂 )

Just wanted to wave hello and assure you that I am chugging along. And that I’m totally rooting for, and thinking about, all of you, even if I’m not as active and talkative on your blogs as I so want to be. I love you guys and I’m cheering for you from my little corner of the universe! I’m sure I’ll bounce back, probably—as my bench months tend to go—the closer I get to the end. xo

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SOS

I have written and deleted a couple of posts since I got back from the wedding. (Which was beautiful, fun and wonderful!) I am pretty tired of complaining on my blog. It’s a beautiful, sunshine-y day in Chicago and I should be telling you all how happy I am to be alive and enjoying my life, even thought I’m not pregnant. I should be greeting all of you with a huge smile and happy post after a week off blogging.

But instead every time I begin typing a post, it comes out whine-y and woe-is-me. I think as my consult with Dr. K approaches I’m getting more and more scared and sad about the state of my life and this TTC situation. I feel hopeless. No, nothing has changed since last time I posted….I’m just afraid this is never going to work. I think the stagnancy of being benched is just eating away at me. It gives me so much time to contemplate a hundred different worse case scenarios.

I had a dream about meeting with Dr. K on Tuesday night. I woke up crying. It has happened a few times this past week.

Here’s what I’m worried about:

1. I’m afraid my cyst won’t be gone when they check for it on Tuesday morning. If it’s still there, and they bench me, it will June at the earliest that I can cycle because of more wedding weekends.

2. I’m afraid Dr. K won’t change Dr. C’s protocol. I’m scared the clinic I’ve entrusted hubs and my life to is going to treat me like a cog in their wheel.

3. I’m scared Dr. K will completely change Dr. C’s protocol. (This poor woman can’t win!) I’m worried that her new course of action will wig me out and that I’ll second guess her.

4. I’m anxious about my lining responding to injects. If it doesn’t, this road just went from rocky and uphill to littered with boulders and completely vertical.

5. I’m afraid the dose they choose for me will be too high and I’ll get overstimmed and canceled on CD8 or CD10 or CD12 or WHENEVER. I’m afraid I will go a fifth month in a row without a chance. (Does December, with 3.2mm lining, even count as a chance? Cuz that’s all I’ve had. Are you sick of me saying that? I can’t get it out of my head.)

6. I’m terrified that even though they can’t find anything wrong with me, I will never conceive and have a baby. Bad lining. Annovulatory. Cyst-prone. Inexplicably infertile and perpetually stuck on the sidelines.

7. I’m scared I won’t be able to pick up the pieces again if 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 or 6 comes true.

I hate that I’m not telling you how wonderful the wedding was and how excited I am for a second opinion next week and how much I love my hubs and how amazing it feels to walk outside at noon on a warm spring day in Chicago. I just want to wake up from this nightmare and be the old me. The one who would’ve written a different blog. I am stressing. I am frustrated. I am scared. I am tired of waiting. I am envious of everyone who is cycling and hoping and making babies and carrying babies and raising babies and living there lives. I hate that I’m not strong, happy, hopeful….

I need a life preserver. I’m barely staying afloat.

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