Today was a rough day. Haven't had one in a while, so I guess I was due. A co-worker of mine (let's call him C) wasn't in the office today because he was at the hospital with his wife, who was in labor with their first child. All this would have been fine except that everyone kept asking me if C had called or emailed with any news (as he works in my department and I was one of the only ones there today). My response was always "no, haven't heard anything yet." However, my internal bitch was screaming "leave me alone...don't you know how hard this is for me? Don't you know how jealous I am of C and his wife? Can't you see how painful it is for me to have to answer your dumb-ass questions about C?" It hurt so much to have to hear all the speculation about C and when his baby will be born and when he'll be back to work. Don't they remember that I lost my daughter 20 months ago? Of course not...life for them didn't drastically shift on August 9, 2010 like it did for me and my husband. Can't they even imagine just how hard it would be to have to hear about other pregnancies and babies?
And, the wonderful world of infertility makes all this even harder to bear. Because I so very much want what C and his wife have. And not just the alive baby at the end of the pregnancy. I want the bliss of an easy conception, the joy of an uncomplicated pregnancy too. Things I won't ever have. Because now I know how hard it is for me to get pregnant. And I know all the awful things that can happen during a pregnancy that result in a dead baby. So, if I ever get pregnant, then I'll get to spend 9 months in the special anxiety of pregnancy after a loss. And it all just plain sucks.
And, now I get to look forward to work again tomorrow. And probably the email announcing the safe arrival of C's baby. And more talk about it all. And during it all, I have to either grin and bear it or make my escape. And since we have an open floor plan office, there aren't many places to escape to without drawing attention to myself.
And I was doing so much better. Gah, I hate this grief roller coaster...I want off now, please.
(Okay, I think I'm done whining for a bit...at least here in cyberspace...now, at the therapist tomorrow...that's another thing all together!)
Monday, April 16, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
Frustration
I know I owe you a very detailed explanation of everything that's happened since my last post (a whole 6 months ago). And I promise, I'll get to all that some time in the near future...I just don't have the time for it tonight.
This post is for me to vent my frustrations. My 33rd birthday is a month away. Four years ago, on my 29th birthday, I stopped taking birth control pills. The hope was that within a year, I'd be pregnant and we'd be on our way to starting our family. After the first year of trying and still no pregnancy, I started to worry that something was wrong with me and we'd need medical intervention to achieve a pregnancy. So, shortly after my 30th birthday, I went to the doctor. After many blood draws, a sonogram to check my ovaries, and a glucose tolerance test, I was diagnosed with PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome). I was prescribed Metformin, a drug used to help control my glucose levels, which in turn would help control other hormones. The idea was that once the hormones got straightened out, I'd start ovulating on my own and could then become pregnant. I was only on the drug for a few weeks before I stopped taking it because it was making me extremely sick, so much so that I was having to call out from work way too much. My hubby and I decided that we'd just try on our own for another year and if I still wasn't pregnant by my 31st birthday, I'd go back on the awful medicine and suck it up and deal with the side effects.
Then, on my 31st birthday, we found out that we had achieved the miraculous and I was pregnant! All on our own, we had achieved our hearts' desire and we're expecting our first child. But, we all know how that turned out. Fast forward through a problem pregnancy and then an early delivery of a very premature and very sick little girl who didn't survive. Brianna's death broke our hearts and buried our hope of a family under layers of grief. But then, another miracle only 4.5 short months after Brianna's death. I was pregnant and again it was all on our own, without any drugs. Looking back, I attribute it to all the hormones coursing through my body after my first pregnancy. But, that pregnancy didn't last long at all. Only 8 weeks in, and the baby died. Fast forward through a D&C and more grief and guilt. My 32nd birthday passed while I was waiting for my system to reset itself from the D&C. A few months go by, we have appointments with various doctors to try to figure out the cause of the miscarriage and are told just "bad luck". Brianna's death and the miscarriage have nothing in common. We were just struck by two very different types of lightning, twice. That we should just try again as soon as we are emotionally ready.
So, after Brianna's first birthday, we decided we were ready. I started keeping track of my cycles (which are all over the place, nothing regular about them what so ever). I started keeping track of when we had sex, hoping to catch that elusive day when, or if, I ovulate. It feels like we've stepped back in time. These are all the things I did for 2 long years. Talk about deja vu.
And now, as I approach my 33rd birthday, I'm exactly where I was four years ago. Still waiting to get pregnant, still waiting to bring home a baby. Yes, now we're dealing with doctors (again), going through the steps to start new drugs (probably Clomid first), and we do have a plan. But, we had a plan before and it got blown to smithereens. I am just so frustrated that I have to do all this again. So frustrated to even be in this position. Wasn't it enough that my first baby died? Or my second? To have to be dealing with infertility treatments on top of it all just plain sucks. Every cycle, I have a little bit of hope that maybe this will be the one. And every cycle, that hope gets pulled out from under me with either the start of my period or a negative pregnancy test. It's so very hard. It's hard to stay upbeat and positive, to put on the happy face, to expend the energy to hope for a positive outcome.
It should all be very different. I should have an 18 month old daughter here at home and not be worrying about cycles, drugs or fertility treatments. I shouldn't have to be charting erratic menstrual cycles or keeping track of sex. I shouldn't have to be coming up with various plans for getting pregnant or staying pregnant.
Sorry for the rant. Just having one of those days.
This post is for me to vent my frustrations. My 33rd birthday is a month away. Four years ago, on my 29th birthday, I stopped taking birth control pills. The hope was that within a year, I'd be pregnant and we'd be on our way to starting our family. After the first year of trying and still no pregnancy, I started to worry that something was wrong with me and we'd need medical intervention to achieve a pregnancy. So, shortly after my 30th birthday, I went to the doctor. After many blood draws, a sonogram to check my ovaries, and a glucose tolerance test, I was diagnosed with PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome). I was prescribed Metformin, a drug used to help control my glucose levels, which in turn would help control other hormones. The idea was that once the hormones got straightened out, I'd start ovulating on my own and could then become pregnant. I was only on the drug for a few weeks before I stopped taking it because it was making me extremely sick, so much so that I was having to call out from work way too much. My hubby and I decided that we'd just try on our own for another year and if I still wasn't pregnant by my 31st birthday, I'd go back on the awful medicine and suck it up and deal with the side effects.
Then, on my 31st birthday, we found out that we had achieved the miraculous and I was pregnant! All on our own, we had achieved our hearts' desire and we're expecting our first child. But, we all know how that turned out. Fast forward through a problem pregnancy and then an early delivery of a very premature and very sick little girl who didn't survive. Brianna's death broke our hearts and buried our hope of a family under layers of grief. But then, another miracle only 4.5 short months after Brianna's death. I was pregnant and again it was all on our own, without any drugs. Looking back, I attribute it to all the hormones coursing through my body after my first pregnancy. But, that pregnancy didn't last long at all. Only 8 weeks in, and the baby died. Fast forward through a D&C and more grief and guilt. My 32nd birthday passed while I was waiting for my system to reset itself from the D&C. A few months go by, we have appointments with various doctors to try to figure out the cause of the miscarriage and are told just "bad luck". Brianna's death and the miscarriage have nothing in common. We were just struck by two very different types of lightning, twice. That we should just try again as soon as we are emotionally ready.
So, after Brianna's first birthday, we decided we were ready. I started keeping track of my cycles (which are all over the place, nothing regular about them what so ever). I started keeping track of when we had sex, hoping to catch that elusive day when, or if, I ovulate. It feels like we've stepped back in time. These are all the things I did for 2 long years. Talk about deja vu.
And now, as I approach my 33rd birthday, I'm exactly where I was four years ago. Still waiting to get pregnant, still waiting to bring home a baby. Yes, now we're dealing with doctors (again), going through the steps to start new drugs (probably Clomid first), and we do have a plan. But, we had a plan before and it got blown to smithereens. I am just so frustrated that I have to do all this again. So frustrated to even be in this position. Wasn't it enough that my first baby died? Or my second? To have to be dealing with infertility treatments on top of it all just plain sucks. Every cycle, I have a little bit of hope that maybe this will be the one. And every cycle, that hope gets pulled out from under me with either the start of my period or a negative pregnancy test. It's so very hard. It's hard to stay upbeat and positive, to put on the happy face, to expend the energy to hope for a positive outcome.
It should all be very different. I should have an 18 month old daughter here at home and not be worrying about cycles, drugs or fertility treatments. I shouldn't have to be charting erratic menstrual cycles or keeping track of sex. I shouldn't have to be coming up with various plans for getting pregnant or staying pregnant.
Sorry for the rant. Just having one of those days.
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