Thoughts on quitting

Here are some thoughts from today's journal:

4/22/11  12:16 PM

Wondered if I would feel any differently today.  I don’t.  I have to tell you, I am seriously considering quitting.

That’s not to say I won’t give it one more shot; I probably will.  Although I’ll tell you one thing – I’m taking Tylenol this time, because I don’t want to endure three days of excruciating cramps. 

I don’t know how to explain what I’m feeling without giving the distinct impression that I’m still just recovering from being disappointed.  Because I believe it really is more than that.  After all, I expected to be disappointed – I didn’t expect this time to work, I expected this to be a long road and for there to be a lot of dark moments.  But I’m really just questioning the whole thing.  Why, exactly, am I doing this?  Will this really make my life better?  Would I be better off as I am, with no kids?  Do I really want to endure pregnancy, birth, and motherhood all alone with no help? 

Yesterday I felt like a great fog had lifted when I started considering the possibility of just stopping.  The idea of not having to do any of this any more was so freeing that it really made me wonder if I wanted to do it at all.  If stopping made me feel that great, should I continue?  Right now when I think of going in for that next IUI it doesn’t really appeal to me – and for sure another two week wait makes me cringe with horror.  And all just to spend another $1000 and more than likely get the same results.  Isn’t the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results???

I think what happened is X and I broke up, Bertie died, and I felt so totally out of control that I came up with this plan to wrest control back into my life.  And guess what?  It turns out this whole thing – this trying to get pregnant on your own by artificial means – is the single most crazy, out of control thing there is on earth.  So except for the day I went in for the IUI, the whole rest of it has been infinitely more crazy-making and depressing than just about anything else I’ve done in my life.  I think it was a logical decision at the time; it certainly made sense for my age and position in life.  But I do feel like a fog has lifted now and a great deal of my resolve has passed – suddenly, I kind of don’t really care about being a mother anymore.  It just doesn’t seem so god damned important.

I know you’re thinking, “oh, she’s just recovering from the disappointment,” or  “oh, she’s just saying that so she won’t care so much next time if it doesn’t work out.”  But I really don’t think so, not right now.  Because right now I’m not 100% there is even going to be a next time.  Luckily I have a couple of weeks to think about it, and as always I reserve the right to change my mind at any time.  But my resolve has been chipped away.  I kind of don’t care anymore, and that worries me.

The main point of worry is when I saw that negative pee stick and felt relief.  Why on earth would I feel relief at the failure of something I wanted so badly?  I am still puzzling over this.  I just thought at the time, thank God I don’t have to worry about a miscarriage, I don’t have to endure sickness and pregnancy, I don’t have to give birth, I don’t have to have my life turned upside down.  Are these the thoughts of someone who’s ready for parenthood?

There is the unpleasant fact that apart from having company and that continuance which once seemed so important, suddenly it seems like everything about having a kid would be pretty negative.  I would be always broke, always stressed out about child care, have to give up a lot of things I enjoy, and be in a really bad position if the camp ever suffered and I had to try to find work.  Really?  Do I really want all this?  Nothing has even happened yet and already it’s made me the most miserable I’ve been in years.  And I haven’t even had a miscarriage, been put on bed rest, had a sick baby or a child with special needs.  Am I really up for the challenge of all that?  Is my life that empty that I need to fill it with another person?  I’ve got to tell you I am seriously questioning everything right now.  I’m questioning if this all wasn’t just a reaction to grief and I need to stop it before I ruin my life.

...aaaaand scene! Follow up -

So I’ve been sitting here reading blogs and journaling, even did a video journal which I do from time to time whenever something major happens like today.  It’s all helped me to crystallize some thoughts I thought I’d share now.

As mentioned the current plan is to try once more au naturel and then maybe see an RE and see about medications for try #3 and think about going that route.  But I’ll tell you something.  If it gets to the point where it still isn’t working and nobody can tell me a good enough reason, I’m going to stop.

I first thought about stopping entirely when I was writing in my journal, and even just saying the words – even admitting this was an option for me – was immensely freeing.  It felt like a weight had lifted off my shoulders.  You mean I don’t have to be tortured physically and emotionally anymore?  I don’t have to gasp every time I get my credit card bill?  I can get back to my life - I can just STOP?  Right now it sounds wonderful.

And of course I’m in a weird place right now because I’m disappointed and am on progesterone and who knows what that’s doing to me.  I give myself all the freedom in the world to change my mind at any time. 

But I am shocked – and I mean shocked – by how hard this has been, and what a massive emotional toll this has taken on me ALREADY.  I don’t ever want to have a day like yesterday EVER AGAIN – but if I stay with this for a long time, I will have many more days like that, and worse.  And again, all with zero guarantee of any results at all.  You know what this is starting to feel like?  It’s starting to feel like dating.  And I promised myself I would never allow something to drag me into the pit of hell the way my awful dating experiences did.  And yet here I am.  It makes me wonder why I’m willing to do this to myself and is it worth it.  This experience has made me miserable, crazy, and it’s sucked all the joy out of my life. 

In the end, it’s my life.  Oh, I’m willing to keep going for now because there’s no reason not to.  But the number one priority in my life right now is ME.  And I’m not doing so hot, and I need to take care of myself.  And putting myself through this is not taking care of myself.  I feel like I’m being beaten up and abused.  And why should I allow that?

I started into this thing back in November thinking it would be fun and interesting.  I knew even then it probably wouldn’t be a slam dunk at my age – I knew there’d be hard times ahead, more than likely, and surely it would take more than one try.  But I thought there’d be some redeeming moments; I thought it would feel like it’s worth it at least.  Right now it’s not feeling worth it.  The last two weeks haven’t felt worth it; they were hell, and only got worse as the days progressed.  God, how am I going to feel next month, going through all this a second time?  Not better, I guarantee you.  I imagine it’s going to be worse.  Even thinking about it makes me want to go in a corner and cry, having to go through all this again, with already one failure behind me.  Honestly, right now I don’t want to do it.

I want my life back.  I want my sanity back.  I want to be able to focus on my business.  I want to enjoy time out with friends.  I want to plan a trip.  I want to feel good again.  I felt good before all this started.  What the hell was I thinking?

For now I am going to go sit in the hot tub and boil my ovaries because I can.  If I drank I’d have a drink.  But something tells me now is not the best time to start drinking.

...aaaaand scene!

So I’m not pregnant.  A blood test confirmed it this morning.  Thank God the clinic called exactly at 9 AM and didn’t make me wait all day like they did for the progesterone results.  All the day before I imagined the lady’s voice saying, “congratulations!!”  But no.  It was “your beta results show you’re not pregnant.”  The night before I broke down and took the second early pregnancy test just so I’d be better prepared for the news this morning, which of course was negative.  This didn’t keep me from waking up at 4 am and staying awake racked with anxiety until the phone rang, and then crying on the phone to my sister for an hour and a half after.  Sigh.

I have to say I really hate all this.  I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t expect this – I didn’t expect that it would be such an emotional roller coaster, that it would bring out all my demons, that it would make me feel infinitely worse than I felt watching all my friends get married and have babies.  I’m kind of longing for those simple days when I still thought I might meet someone and we would have kids, that he was just around the corner.  This whole TTC as a single older woman thing is just pure torture.

The worst part is this isn’t even the worst part – I’ve barely begun this process compared to what most women have been through (well, the ones who have blogs anyway), I’ve just had one failed IUI, am I even allowed to be upset at this point?  Shouldn’t I just be putting on my big girl pants and getting over it and marching on to IUI #2?  Should I be feeling such a sense of misery and doom when nothing really bad has even happened yet?  But then again I know this is just my mother talking.  Of course I’m allowed to be upset.  I could be pregnant right now, but instead I’m not.  I’m allowed to shed a few tears over this.

When I was getting my blood test I talked the ear off of X (ultrasound lady, who pretty much is the only person I deal with now), as I’ve learned to ask all the questions & advice I possibly can when I’m in the office.  She told me some interesting things.  First I asked about the timing, did she think it was possible I could have ovulated Monday and not Saturday?  She said no, based on the follicle activity she saw and the cervix position on Saturday that it really doesn’t sound right to her; she thinks we nailed it.  Then I asked what women do when repeated IUI’s fail, and she reminded me of their policy that they don’t advise doing more than three without getting outside help, and said she works with an RE that has been very helpful (not the one I was going to see, and luckily one I’ve heard of and he offers free consultations).  She said before jumping to IVF they often recommend doing injectables for a cycle which would run $500 - $1000 depending, which has good results.  She also told me the shocking fact that women in their late 30s typically only release 4 good eggs a year.  A YEAR!  This means I could try EIGHT times and never get a positive result.  Ugh!  That number is ringing in my brain right now.  After all, if we got the timing right, this means the reason for failure is a non-viable egg.  What if all my eggs are non-viable???  So that’s where the injectables come in – you release more eggs and up your chances of one of them being viable.  I don’t know.  The whole thing sounds exhausting and expensive.

Anyway, the plan for now is to proceed with IUI #2 in two weeks and suffer another agonizing two week wait, which brings us to Memorial Day.  I would like to have my Day 3 labs run, but I might be out of town (again) and may miss the window.  But it would be good to have that information (FSH & Estriodol) – after all, if it turns out I have horrible egg quality/reserve (can’t imagine why at only 38, but who the hell knows) then at least I’ll know to STOP the IUIs right away before wasting any more money.  I think if #2 fails I will go see this guy.  At least the consultation is free; maybe we can try Clomid or something cheap first.  I may have to draw the line at injectables, I’ll be honest.  But I’m just going to take it one step at a time.

I broke down telling my sister today that to me life without children is pretty meaningless.  The idea of going through all this, and a lot more, just to get nothing at the end of it, disturbs me so much I can hardly stand the thought of it; it makes me want to drive off a cliff.  There have to be children in my life.  There just have to be.

However, there is always adoption, which is looking a lot more appealing to me right now.  The best part is there’s no time limit (well, there sort of is, but it doesn’t have to happen in the next year or two, unlike pregnancy).  I know for sure I would love an adopted kid as much as my own.  I know some women don’t feel that way, and I respect that.  But due to a variety of circumstances in my family life – largely, that some of my biological relatives (parents) turned out to be total duds, whereas the people not blood related to me at all are amazing with me and love me like their own – makes me feel with certainty that an adopted kid would be MY kid, absolutely.  My biggest concern about adoption is just being accepted by the agencies as a single woman, the home study, the wait, the disappointments, and the money.  But since I’m not insistent on a healthy white baby I sure am glad parenthood is an absolute guarantee for me, one way or the other.  This gives me some comfort.

So there’s no reason to give up hope – after all, it’s extremely rare to have just one IUI and it all works out.  I know this.  And maybe it’s just the progesterone suppositories talking, but right now I’m drained and scared about money and just feel like chucking the whole damned thing and taking that Friendly Planet tour to Madagascar instead.

PS – I want to thank the nice ladies who nominated my blog, I’m touched and flattered.  I intend to follow up with you on this but I’ve just been too freaked out the last few days to do much of anything.  I’m sure you’ll understand ;-)

You can't always get what you want

So I was in Washington DC this last weekend on a singing gig which involved a “battle of the bands” like they used to do in the old big band days.  I have even hosted these “battles” at my own dance event on several occasions, but they’re really more just two bands trading off and then jamming at the end.  Much to my chagrin, the organizers of this event decided to have an actual battle, as in, at the end of the night have the audience cheer for their favorite, and use a sound meter to judge the winner.  We were not the winners.

Now this doesn’t mean we weren’t good, or that the audience didn’t like us, or that the other band was so amazing.  It was mainly that they’re the new cool band and they had a lot of friends there (who we like to refer to as “the jazz hippies”) who were very vocal.  Everyone loves the new shiny thing.  God knows I’ve endured this phenomenon with my dance event for over a decade now, and it’s never pleasant, but it’s part of life.  You can’t always get what you want.

My co-band leader was totally devastated and couldn’t talk the rest of the night, but to his everlasting credit was completely over it by the next morning (men are kind of amazing that way).  And I of course felt his pain but it wasn’t as intense for me, as this band is really his creative child and he worked so hard for us to kick ass that night, and he’s also way more competitive than I am.  But knowing I had a pregnancy test looming when I returned home, and knowing how much heartache may still await me, it was hard for me to have perspective.  I mean, here I am, engaged in this enterprise that is SO unsure and SO precarious and expensive and frustrating, and there’s no guarantee of any of it working out, and every professional in the field gives you totally different advice, and everything online contradicts itself, and in the meantime money and time is running out by the minute.  And yet I’m in it, again, with no guarantee of success, the door of my remaining fertility sliding shut as we speak, AND I can’t even tell most of my closest friends about it.  Somehow losing a band battle just really didn’t seem all that frickin’ important. 

I think about my dance event often and what a gift it is to be able to run a business from home that’s your entire income, and how blessed I am.  But you know what?  I’ve suffered HARD for this event to succeed.  I faced down a scary lawsuit that put me in the red for five years.  I survived some very disturbing trends in the dance world and people actively attempting to discredit me and my event and ruin my business.  I survived 9/11, I survived this current recession which has sure taken a bite.  I save every receipt, spend days every year making sure my taxes are completely in order, save money when I can, spend when I have to, control my impulses (most of the time).  I put up with horrendous customer service nightmares, I hold people’s hands, I’m diplomatic when I want to rip people’s heads off.  So am I lucky I get to do this event and not work a crappy 9-5 job?  Yes, but I believe this event has made me suffer enough that I’ve earned it. 

I hope I get a happy ending to my choice mom journey and that when I do I’ll believe I’ve earned it.  I am for sure earning my stripes now, every day.  Every day when I get that adrenaline shot of terror that there’s something wrong with me, every time I find some new piece of info online that makes it looks like my chances are slim, every time I have to endure yet another friend getting engaged or pregnant on Facebook.  I hope when I do get that BFP that I can say, “Good!  I deserve this, damn it!!!”