Some perspective

As I thought more and more about the below post, I decided to run it past a co-worker. Was my friend being insensitive and/or ignorant in saying “You’re so lucky you’re pregnant” to me? The verdict from my co-worker humbled me. She told me that my friend is simply envious, and for me to think that such a phrase should not be uttered to me is like I’m putting an asterisk next to my name that I don’t want anyone to EVER forget.

Ann: Pregnant*

* After infertility

I was at first indignant that my co-worker would say such a thing to me. Then, I was ashamed at how I must appear to other people. All of those pregnancy announcements, capped with an “It took us a long time to get where we are.” I’ve given some people almost a blow-by-blow history.

I have shared my IF history under the guise of spreading public awareness. In truth, it’s because I want people to look at me differently. I want them to acknowledge that I have suffered, that I, more than perhaps some pregnant women they know, really deserve to be pregnant.

What a load of bullshit.

I protested at my friend’s use of the word “lucky.” My co-worker reminded me that there are so many who struggle without ever achieving success. What’s the difference between me and them? I was lucky.

I share my IF history because I want to be special. Now that I am pregnant, I no longer feel special. I know, I know—most infertiles feel the exact opposite. But I wanted to be different, set apart, and holding on to my IF status was the only way I knew how.

I really, really need to get over myself. I just hope I haven’t already become “that person” to most of the people I know. How embarrassing.

Luck is in the eye of the beholder

I was talking to a friend last night about—what else?—baby issues. She just lost her job last week (she was the insurance carrier in the family), and she and her husband are waiting to find out how much C0bra is going to cost them and how long they’ll be able to be covered. They started TTC at the beginning of the summer and have basically had two or three months to try (they skipped one month because of a wedding scheduled nine months later). Recently, I lent her my copy of TCOYF, and she read it cover to cover. She’s temping this cycle and is hoping she’ll find out about health insurance before ovulation. She has become rather obsessive, which I, of course, can totally relate to.

At one point in the conversation, she looked at me, sighed and said, “You’re so lucky to be pregnant.” I was taken aback by that comment and quickly told her, “Well, it took us a long time to get here.” She knows all about our struggles and has been very sensitive, but I’m not sure she is able to completely grasp what it was like for us. How can she? Even among those of us who have gone through infertility, we each have had our own individual struggle. I don’t really know what it’s like to go from month to month, hoping that pregnancy test will be positive, then dejectedly going about the rest of the day when you get the dreaded one line. My definition of hell is more along the lines of: Faithfully take your temperatures each morning, pay closer attention around days 14-20, see a bit of a temperature rise and start to hope, then see a subsequent temperature drop and feel so sick to your stomach you have to call in sick to work. Then wait until the doctor finally consents to a prescription of Provera so you can start the whole damn thing over again.

At this point, however, history does not matter for my friend. All she sees is reality: I’m pregnant, and she’s not. How many times do those of us struggling with IF wish we could see the endgame? If we could just know for certain we will have a Real Live Baby SOMEDAY, then we could deal with all the rest of the crap. Granted, I’m not anywhere near the endgame, but I’m much closer than my friend is. She can see my happy ending on the horizon, and is still waiting to find out about hers.

I can hear many of you laughing out there in cyberspace. Two months? She’s upset after two months of trying? Yes, it is true that she’s worried her temping will show she’s not ovulating (she had an unusually long cycle for her last month—35 days). I assured her that she has no reason to think anything is wrong, that I have very fertile friends who have taken five to eight months to conceive.

But from her point of view, her world has already been rocked. She and her husband had a plan, and losing their insurance has very much thrown that plan out of whack. I don’t blame her for now assuming that everything else is going to go wrong, too. She doesn’t care about having a job as much as she does about having a baby. And, being pregnant means she can feel more confident about finding a part-time job she can continue after giving birth.

No, I don’t resent her for being envious of me without taking context into account. I don’t “deserve” to be pregnant simply because I went through hell to get here. I was given a wonderful blessing.

I hope she finds hers soon.

Settling back into normalcy

It wasn’t until Ms. C asked for an update that I realized it’s been two weeks since I last posted. Two weeks! I guess the reason I’ve been MIA is that I don’t have all that much to say. My days consist of: a) counting down the days until I can quit my job after having my baby (I want to return to freelance writing, and I’m bored to tears by work these days); b) watching reruns of Grey’s Anatomy in preparation for the new season; c) trying not to completely bore M with my complaints of excessive peeing (no, it doesn’t get better in the second trimester) and mild to moderate constipation; d) trying to put together lesson plans for the rugrats I’ve been flattered into teaching handbells once a week at church; and e) feeling guilty for spending too much time in front of the TV.

Am I starting to show? Well, yes, a teensy bit. After losing two pounds during my First Trimester Starvation Fest, I’ve gained four pounds so far. I’m wearing maternity pants to work because they’re just so darned comfortable.

One thing I wasn’t expecting was that it would be awkward to tell people I’m pregnant. I don’t mean family and close friends—it’s fun to think up unique ways to tell them. I’m talking about friendly acquaintances. Picture me in church, walking up to a friend and telling them I have some exciting news.

Me: I’m pregnant!
Them: Oh my goodness, that’s wonderful news! When are you due?
Me: March 25. We’re shooting for an Easter baby.
Awkward silence, during which both parties are wondering what else there is to say.
Them: Well, that’s just wonderful news. I’m so happy for you.

I never expected to feel so strange about sharing the most exciting news I’ve ever had. At this point, I almost prefer to have people find out behind my back so I don’t have to tell them myself. M wanted to make an announcement during the “Celebrations” time before church, but I forbid him. I felt like people would think we were bragging or something. I was probably being a little overly sensitive, but oh well.

What's this feeling in my intestine?

I thought I’d write another post on my symptoms, since that’s really all I have to go on these days. I haven’t had an u/s since 8w3d (I’m now 12 weeks, give or take a day), and I can’t seem to get out of my mind that both of my u/s so far have been about 3 days behind what they should have been. But the docs didn’t seem worried, so why should I, right? (Right!) I go in to see my OB again next Monday, so I’m crossing my fingers she’ll do an u/s.

I would be more paranoid, except that I am feeling decidedly different than I was three or four weeks ago. Have you heard about that “round ligament pain?” Well, I’ve got it. The first time I majorly noticed it was about a week ago, when we were on our way home from a road trip. The pain in my abdomen was enough to make me gasp, and of course I thought the worst, but fortunately I was sensible enough to realize that pain that goes away in one or two minutes doesn’t mean much.

The other big, big thing I’m noticing is that I have to pee—all the time. Especially at night. It is now the norm for me to get up three times during the night. And every time, I feel this incredible, uncomfortable pressure (almost painful) that makes me feel like my body is going to explode if I don’t use the bathroom. The weird thing is, sometimes the pressure doesn’t go away after I pee. That used to worry me until I realized my bowels were just pre-warning me that I was going to, um, poo, soon. (This is getting into the TMI category, but hey, pregnancy is gross a lot of the time, isn’t it?) You would not believe how much better I feel these days after doing the ol’ No. 2.

And then, of course, there’s the general feeling of fullness I have in my abdomen/stomach. Not kicking, not movement—just fullness. Some women say they “feel pregnant” even before they miss their period. I tend to dismiss that as wishful thinking. Sort of like “love at first sight.” Now, however, I can definitely say that I “feel pregnant.” If I had somehow lost track of my cycles (ha! like there’s anything to lose track of) and had no idea I was pregnant, I would wonder what exactly was happening to my body. I feel like I just did a bunch of sit-ups yesterday, except I haven’t exercised in weeks (hey—I’ve been tired; don’t yell at me!).

So, that’s where I’m at right now. Nothing really exciting; just mildly interesting little tidbits for those of you who like hearing about this sort of thing. I have to assume that all these “symptoms” aren’t a fluke, and that there really is something (hopefully healthy) growing inside of me.

Hmmm...

I think this post may rub some of you the wrong way. But I feel very strongly about this subject, and I need to get my thoughts “out there.”

Pamela Jeanne recently wrote an interesting post about receiving an unexpected pregnancy (twins) announcement in an e-mail from a work colleague. She is asking her readers to help her decide whether to tell her colleague about her blog and/or book-in-progress. Some readers responded that she was “blindsided” by this announcement—and at work, too!

I take issue with that response. There is no earthly way for every single person to tiptoe around the feelings of every single other person. I think we infertiles sometimes forget that many, if not most, of us have already “crossed the finish line” of a goal many people hope to achieve—we have found our life partner. When you announced your engagement, did you gingerly approach all your single friends? You might have. But how about those friends who were secretly in a troubled marriage, wishing to God they were still in the happy phase of young love and feeling sucker-punched with every new engagement announcement? If you didn’t know about their problems, how would you have known to step gingerly? Is the solution to be cautious and timid about every happy thing that is going on in your life? Of course not!

The main point of Pamela Jeanne’s post, I think, was that she was trying to decide whether this was an appropriate time to share her struggle with infertility. Unless the situation feels extremely awkward (like, for example, when we told M’s cousin about our pregnancy while he was in the presence of his 22-year-old buddies last weekend), I say go for it. The more open we are about our infertility, the more sensitive society will be to our needs.