Judgment

Ok, so first off I’d like to start this post by saying I understand that everyone has a right to their opinion and feelings.  And that blogs, by their nature, are a safe place where we can express ourselves and work through things, so that we can be in a community, read other people’s experiences, and realize we’re not alone in our (sometimes) crazy thoughts.  On this blog I’ve been bitchy, resentful, evil, judgmental, and whiny.  But I’ve also been hopeful, happy, and (I hope) helpful.  But I had an experience today that made me want to speak out about something.

So I have but a small group of followers, so when I noticed someone had stopped following me, I wondered who it was and why.  I stopped following two blogs once, but I was open about it – it was right after my miscarriage, and it was two blogs of women about as pregnant as I would have been.  It wasn’t that I was mad at these ladies, or resentful of them, I just found it hard to emotionally heal when every time I looked at my blog list I saw their progress report posts.  I just needed to put that aside so I could deal with my own sadness – and I did – and within a couple of weeks I was able to follow them again with no bad feelings.

The person who stopped following me I know has been having a hard time with fertility issues lately, so I figured “I’m sure she’s sick of hearing me bitch about being sick.  I get it, no worries.”  But I still follow her, and today she launched this really mean, vitriolic post about how us pregnant women need to shut the hell up about being sick and if it were her she’d be happy and grateful every single day.  Um…really?  Ok, so I understand when you’re struggling with fertility stuff and have had a lot of disappointments, it’s easy to lose perspective (I’ve been there, remember?).  But don’t you DARE tell me to shut up about being sick when I’ve been practically bedridden for going on two months.  If you really think the minute you get pregnant everything after that point is just lollipops and rainbows, you’ve got another thing coming.  The only thing being pregnant solves is the problem of not being pregnant.  What if I were trying to work a full time job during this?  I would have to quit, leaving me with no health insurance, no money, and probably in a position to lose my house.  That’s how bad this sickness is.  If I had a different job I’d be in serious trouble right now.  But I’m supposed to be happy every minute of every day.  Ok, sure. 

Have I ever said I wasn’t grateful?  Have I ever said I’m not happy about it, underneath all the crappy symptoms?  Of course not.  But let me tell you, when you’re rocking on the bathroom floor at 3 AM for the third night in a row after having eaten nothing but rice cakes and small sips of water for a week, you’re not thinking about how grateful you are to be pregnant.  It just doesn’t work like that.  I mean, I’m eleven weeks tomorrow, and that’s great, but I could still lose this baby at ANY TIME.  I go in for my NT scan next week – they could tell me I’m at high risk for Downs, or Trisomy 13, and then I’d have a horrible and heartbreaking decision to make.  One, or both of us, could die in childbirth (not likely, but it does happen).  So it’s not like I’ve got it all sewn up.  All of this stuff – pregnancy and beyond – is incredibly tenuous.  And I do believe everyone – women with fertility issues, pregnant women, and moms – have the right to not be happy and grateful every second.  Everyone has their struggles, everyone has their issues.  And this lady has a right to be mad at me, sure.  It’s her blog, she can say whatever she wants.  I remember once I wanted to yell at a pregnant woman who was following me around in Target after I had my third failed cycle.  But the difference is, I didn’t. 

Reflections on a Year

This weekend while visiting The Friend Who Unintentionally Makes Me Feel Like My Life is Shit, I couldn’t help reflecting on what was happening with me a year ago, and where I thought my life would be today.

Labor Day weekend 2010 for the very first time I announced on Facebook that I was in a relationship with someone.  The response was overwhelming – a flood of congratulations (remember, most of these people have known me as single for about fifteen years), followed by one naysayer telling everyone to shut up because it’s just a relationship and what’s all the hubbub about, followed by everyone telling him to shut up, and then me deleting the whole thread because I didn’t like the negativity (can you see why I’m reluctant to make a big FB pregnancy announcement???).

The relationship had at that point only been about two or three dates, so to say I had jumped the gun a bit is an understatement.  But it was just one of those things.  I got caught up, was convinced I’d met my future husband just in the nick of time, and was thrilled about it.  As mentioned before, I had begun referring to this person as “my last chance to have a kid” (make of that what you will).  And for a couple of weeks after this we were very, very happy.  But as with all failed relationships there were cracks in the veneer.  The biggest crack being he was essentially homeless (camping out with his brother about 1 ½ hours away), jobless, carless, and completely broke.  Oh, there was an explanation for all of this – he had just gotten out of school, was just now starting the job search, and was just on the brink of landing a kick ass graphic design job that would allow the home and car to follow.  But.  In the meantime, he couldn’t get out to see me, because he didn’t have a car, and every time he borrowed a car it would break down on the freeway and I would be left stranded with no date for the night.  After the first couple of dates we started to go dutch, which was fine, but honestly I couldn’t really afford all the dinners out and tickets to shows and parking, and he certainly couldn’t, either.  Then there was the little nagging problem that I really wasn’t interested in sleeping with him.  He claimed to want to wait, too, and it all seemed very sweet and romantic at the time, although later I realized that I just wasn’t attracted to him, at all.  He talked big about the future, our future, his future, but the more I got to know him the more I realized that’s all he was – a big talker.  When he told me his life’s story I realized this is what he does – moves from state to state, never really has a job or a direction in life, manages to move in with some girl for a while, then pisses everyone off and moves to another state where he can start all over again.  I was very busy working on my event video at the time, and he would call me from his brother’s house sometimes multiple times a day and talk my ear off for HOURS pretty much only complaining about what a bitch his sister-in-law is and how mean she is to his brother and what an awful mother she is.  One day I got so fed up with his complaints that I offered to lend him money to get his car fixed so he could at least get to job interviews (his big gripe was his sister-in-law wouldn’t let his brother lend him his car so he kept missing out on these amazing job opportunities).  He resisted at first – but not too much.  Then he asked for another $100 to pay his phone bill.  Instantly it felt very, very wrong, and I knew I was making a huge mistake.  But I think I can be honest that I was so driven, at 38, to find someone to have a kid with and have my own fairy tale, that I was willing to overlook anything – the fact that this guy is basically a professional manipulator, albeit a nice one, and certainly nobody you would ever want to tether yourself to in any way.

So I leant him the money.  As of today, he still owes me more than half.  A year later.  And as far as I know he’s not working, a year later.  About a week after the money incident I broke it off.  At the time I said it was a “break” while he got his life together – and friends tell me he apparently still thinks we’re on a break.  I’ve seen him once or twice in the last year, but that’s it.  Which makes me think he probably still doesn’t have a running car, either. 

We broke up, and we both quietly took down our Facebook “in a relationship” status, which a few people commented to me about privately, but for the most part it ended not with a bang but a whimper.  And as usually happens after a break up you spend a great deal of time wondering how you could have been so stupid and what the hell you were thinking when all the signs were right there.  I spent a lot of time VERY angry at yet another man who let me down.  I felt horrible mourning that my dream of finally having a child was crushed.  Then my aunt died two weeks later.  And now here we are.

So right now I’d just like to celebrate life and admit that things do work out sometimes.  The fact that it’s a year later and I’m just shy of eleven weeks pregnant, and that the baby is not his or anyone else’s, I think is absolutely wonderful.  I’m so proud of myself that I didn’t let that idiot kill my dream – I went ahead and persisted anyway, despite all the obstacles.  The mean part of me can’t wait until he finds out so that I can put a mental middle finger right in his face.  But the nice part of me knows that although he’ll be shocked and maybe a little hurt that on some level he’ll be happy for me.  He’s not a bad guy, really, just kind of a loser who doesn’t know any better.  I have never once thought in this process “I really wish I had a partner right now.”  It’s been perfectly fine – in fact, preferable – to do this on my own.  Everything has been my decision, get to do what I feel is best, I get to take care of myself.  The time may come to enlist some friends for help, but they seem willing (I know I would be). 

Anyway, I guess what I want to say, as lame and clichéd as this is, is don’t let go of your dream.  It can be hard sometimes, and the path may not be the one you planned, but you’ll get there if you don’t give up.

I'm grateful! I'm grateful!

I have a collection of alternative comics (or “comix” as they were called in the late 80s – early 90s) in which there is a strip by R. Crumb called “I’m grateful!  I’m grateful!” which he probably wrote in response to everyone wondering why he gripes so much about his life when he gets to be a famous comic strip artist and do what he loves for a living.  After reading about a spate of new BFNs in my blog circle, I thought now might be a good time to mention that yes, I am in fact grateful to be pregnant, even though it’s kicking my ass right now.

Read this article about the misconceptions of IVF being this “magic bullet”.  I’ve read many articles like this, but every time they make me cringe with what might have been – if I’d waited a few more years, if I’d been unlucky enough to have diminished ovarian reserve or endometriosis or other health problems affecting fertility.  A few months ago I took part in a survey asking many questions about fertility, age, and IVF, and I could tell by the angle of the questions that they were trying to figure out if women of my age and background think that they can wait until their mid-forties to start trying to have children, and that they can just do one round of IVF and everything will work out brilliantly.  As I was answering the questions I was patting myself on the back for my advanced knowledge – that no, IVF is NOT successful most of the time, in fact the success rates are only about 10%, which is pretty horrible if you think about it.

But it is amazing how the average person who has never given any thought to fertility issues really has no clue about this stuff.  If I had a nickel for every time I’ve mentioned my “advanced maternal age” and someone contradicted me, saying, “come on, you’re not old – there are plenty of women having babies into their forties these days,” – I’d probably have enough for a cycle of IVF!  But that’s the misperception – sure, we all know women who had babies in their forties.  But more than likely they are women who already had children (something tells me it’s easier once you’ve been proven fertile) OR they are celebrities using donor eggs.  And nobody knows how many people in your circle are trying, and failing, to have babies, because nobody talks about infertility, as we now know.  For that one wacky success story (my friend’s hairdresser is having her first pregnancy at 44), there are countless hundreds, thousands of others in their thirties and forties who are suffering in the infertility mill.  And suffering silently.

And the one thing I learned about this stuff, when I was going through it this spring and didn’t know if I’d ever be able to conceive, is that it comes from this whole other place that’s not logical or rational.  Once you get the bug to be a parent, it’s no longer about “is this the right thing for my lifestyle,” or “can I afford it?” or anything else – it just HAS to be, no substitutes.  I’ve known a lot of despair in my life, but the despair of thinking I was going to have an IUI one day and instead being told, “you’re not ovulating again” after another canceled cycle and a failed IUI is indeed a unique and utterly miserable feeling.  I can only imagine what this becomes after months and years.

I used to hate those people who told women in their thirties to hurry up and have kids.  I remember railing about the gynecologist who told my 33-year-old friend she might want to think about freezing her eggs.  I’ve sworn, even on this blog, that I would never be that person that preaches about not waiting too long.  But I’ve got to tell you.  In light of the rampant ignorance out there about age and fertility, I feel like it’s at least my duty to tell people what my nurse practitioner told me when I was trying – a healthy, normal, 38-year-old woman produces on average only four viable eggs a year.  FOUR out of TWELVE.  This means if you’re on your own and doing IUI each month, it could take about $10,000 before you hit paydirt – and that’s assuming you got the timing right for that good egg, and you don’t end up immediately miscarrying and having to start all over again.  Good times!

I have a married friend who just turned 35 who is talking about “waiting a few years” before trying to have kids, and I want to wring her neck.  She knows my whole story; maybe it’ll put a fire under her ass.  I don’t know why people always think they’re going to be the exception to the rule and everything will just magically work out for them.  I would hate to see any of these women find out the hard way just how important age is to fertility – it’s practically everything, assuming you didn’t have some health issues otherwise.

So that’s the cruelty of all this stuff – you spend your whole teenaged and young life desperately trying not to get pregnant, and then when you’re finally ready often times it’s too late.  Or you have less than ideal circumstances (like…no husband) but try to make the best of it as I have.  But no matter what you do have to wait around for that biological incentive to kick in.  A year ago at just 38 I would not have been ready for this – but a few months later I was.  And thank goodness, because for all I know I happened to catch the last good egg I’d ever produce.

So, in short, I just want to say, despite all my winging about being sick and inconvenienced, that I’M GRATEFUL!  Happy Labor Day, ladies.

Lime

So today I graduated to a lime.  This means during this week the baby will probably be 1 ½ to 2 inches long.  This is completely incomprehensible to me.  There’s a two inch baby in me?  With, like, fingers and eyeballs and stuff?  Get outta here!  But it’s true. 

I think it’s normal to be kind of in denial at this stage.  I’ve seen posts from women who admit they don’t feel attached to their baby, don’t feel bonded, and in fact kind of can’t believe it’s happening.  Maybe you feel this way until it starts moving…?  For me physically there have been no changes at all – my boobs are bigger, but no different from when I was on birth control.  And I do have a little “bump” that makes me look pregnant, but I pretty much always look that way, so I see no difference.  No maps of veins, no acne, no hair/nail changes.  So far I’m like my old self.  Except for being constantly sick, and being pissy about being constantly sick.

Truth be told I woke up feeling great today – last night was the first night since July 6^th sans progesterone, and I’m sure that’s why I woke up with energy and didn’t feel like my limbs were molded in cement.  Will not taking progesterone make me less nauseated?  I doubt it, but a girl can dream.  In the meantime I think I have figured out the trick of the Zofran – that it only KIND OF works, but in an emergency it’s better than nothing.  So I will take it today anyway just in the hopes I can survive tonight’s gig.  That’s all I ask – just get me through tonight, and tomorrow night, then I’m good. 

Whenever I start to feel like an a-hole for complaining about being sick so much when so many women in my blog circle are moving on to their 2^nd, 3^rd, 4^th IVFs or looking into donor eggs, I look at the WTE boards, in which just about every day there’s a woman having a total breakdown because she can’t stand being sick anymore and feels like she’s going to drive off a cliff.  Why does nobody warn us about this???  I honestly think it’s because people forget.  I know that every day I feel sort of ok I forget how horrendous the day before was – sort of like from year to year you forget how cold the previous winter was.  And of course not everyone has it that bad, and maybe some women just don’t mind nausea so much.  But for those of us who get hit hard and hate it – it’s pretty horrendous.  And for me there’s a lot of guilt and bad feelings about letting people down, canceling plans, and not being active in my social scene (which is my business, too, so there’s a lot of fear there).  So, it’s very complex for me.  Also not knowing when it’s going to end, too.  Remember how I used to say I wish I had a crystal ball and could just know I’d go on to have a healthy pregnancy, back when I was trying?  Well, here I am!  And now I wish I had a crystal ball so I could see the day when the nausea finally ends, I can tell everyone, and start having some fun with this.  I know that day will come, but it ain’t here yet.

One of my favorite jokes lately on my usual theme of how we’re all spoiled a-holes in this country comes from Louis CK.  He does a bit about calling airlines to complain about something stupid like a long layover, and when he hears a Pakistani accent on the other line he just hangs up.  Why?  Because he’s here complaining about having to wait two hours in Kansas City, and she’s thinking, “Oh, really?  And I haven’t had a clean glass of drinking water in thirteen years.”  Hey, when it comes to suffering, it’s all relative, right?

No one ever died from nausea...

…but I’m sure plenty of people wanted to kill themselves because they couldn’t take any more nausea.  That’s kind of the point I’m at now.  SO over it.  SO want to feel better again.  SO sick of canceling everything, letting people down, worrying people, and not fulfilling my obligations.  It freakin’ SUCKS.

After my last post I pretty much immediately started to feel like absolute crap, but hung in there a few hours thinking I could still manage to pull it together to clean the house from top to bottom and host a dinner party for six women in my book club.  Ha!  I couldn’t even get it together to brush my teeth, so I canceled at the last minute.  Luckily everyone there knows I’m pregnant and were more than understanding.  Then today I had made plans to see a movie with a friend – had to cancel that, too.  Oh, and that promise I made to go to her house and feed her cats twice a day this weekend?  That’s out, too.  The two singing gigs I have this weekend may also have to be canceled at the last minute if I continue to feel as horrible as I have the last two days.  When is this going to end…?

Not a day goes by that people don’t text or e-mail asking me to do something, wondering where I’ve been and what’s wrong with me.  At this point nobody has seen me in six weeks, which is highly irregular since I usually go out once or twice a week, and summertime is especially busy with birthday parties and events.  I have declined everything.  A local club promoter has e-mailed me about six times trying to get me to DJ and I keep turning him down, and I can tell by the tone of the e-mails that he can’t understand why I’m not available for several more weeks.  What the hell could I possibly be doing…?  Still I don’t feel obligated to start telling people, especially not via text.  It’s still my secret and I want to tell in my own way, not because I’m being pressured because people think I’m being an asshole because I’m not returning their phone calls.

I stopped taking the Zofran because I didn’t think it was working and it was making me horribly constipated (a side effect I didn’t know it had until I read about it on some boards) – but tonight I started to feel so horrible, gearing up for one of those rocking-on-the-bathroom-floor-until-4AM kind of nights, that I took one just for shits and giggles and now feel KIND OF better.  So maybe it’s not that it doesn’t work, it just kind of works.  At this point I’ll take anything.  If it can get me through tomorrow’s gig I’ll do it!

In other news, delighted I officially get to stop progesterone tonight.  I’m not worried – I sincerely don’t feel like I need it anymore, if I ever needed it at all.  From what I’ve read it seems people still don’t entirely understand progesterone or what it does; it’s given to women like me as an added protection, but we all know just taking progesterone isn’t going to prevent a miscarriage that was going to happen anyway.  I’ll never know if stopping it last time caused my miscarriage; probably not.  But I sure am interested to see if I feel any different without it.  Not sure what to do if I start spotting – I still don’t have anyone to call, anywhere to go.  I suppose now would be a good time to come up with some kind of protocol for emergencies, since I’m in a position where having a medical emergency is a possibility.

Anyway, ten weeks today.  Am I going to luck out and start feeling better in two weeks like most women?  Or am I going to be one of those poor souls who NEVER feels better, who’s nauseated her entire pregnancy?  God help me.