Close encounters of the IF kind

On Friday night, we invited our new next-door neighbors and their almost-three-year-old daughter over for dinner. Though I’m not officially “out” with a large number of people yet, the conversation was going in such a direction that I was uncomfortable keeping my current condition a secret. So, I told. And I couldn’t help adding, “It was after a battle with infertility.” The woman, B, started asking some more detailed questions, and, of course, I was happy to share (I’ve never been a particularly private person). At one point, when I was explaining something, I added, “I don’t know if you’ve ever known anyone who’s gone through IF, but…” and she interrupted and told me they had. Their daughter is adopted.

Whoa. The things you learn when you share. I learned that B had had two, possibly three miscarriages, and couldn’t get pregnant after that. They never went through IUI or IVF. They started caring for the Munchkin when she was 8 weeks old; C’s cousin (the birth mother) had had lots and lots of problems and the child needed a foster. After a lot of time and a court battle, B and C were eventually able to adopt the Munchkin.

After dinner, while M was showing C the fish tank (boys!), I sat down with B and we started talking about our IF histories. In detail. It was strange for me to be discussing this with a relative stranger, but it was a very bonding experience. I shared my continual fear of miscarriage, and she talked about how she and C are considering fostering again, but she couldn’t go through the emotional trauma she did when she thought she might lose the Munchkin.

When I asked whether they would pursue more treatments, she said no. She’s almost 40 (she looks so much younger!) and doesn’t want to go through the emotional rollercoaster of IVF if there’s only a slim chance it will work. And then she said something that really hit me hard: She’s truly “over” infertility. Of course, much of that is probably because she has a child in her arms. But still, adoption or giving birth only cures childlessness; it doesn’t cure infertility. And even though she’d like another child, she’s not bitter anymore that her body didn’t do what she wanted it to do.

I really hope that all of us can reach that place some day.

More drama

Off and on for about a week and a half, I have had some brown spotting/discharge. As much as I tried to tell myself it was completely normal, I made the mistake of Googling “missed miscarriage” and discovered that, in rare instances, the brown spotting can be a sign of a dead baby. Of course, I panicked and talked my OB’s office into ordering an u/s on Friday. I saw the heartbeat right away, which soothed me (it was a tech doing the u/s, so she wasn’t allowed to tell me anything, but the twinkle was unmistakable). When my OB called me with the results, however, she told me there was a small blood clot under my placenta. Though she didn’t think it posed a problem right now, she wanted me to take it easy over the weekend (read: no sex or marathons) and we would discuss the issue further at our first appointment on Monday.

Well, you can imagine how my weekend was. I even decided to take Monday off because I couldn’t deal with the stress of working when my appointment wasn’t until 2 p.m. At the appointment, my OB didn’t do another u/s, but she did reassure me further that she didn’t think the clot would increase my risk of miscarriage. Oh, and she did a lot of trying to convince me to “just relax” (it sounds annoying, but it was actually kind of sweet). She even asked M (in a sweet way, again) if I was “like this at home.” He just laughed. So, I have now been instructed not to panic unless I see significant red bleeding and/or have painful cramping.

In the meantime, my SIL A called M yesterday and told him a bit more about the pregnancy. Turns out it really was a surprise—as in, she was ON THE PILL! (I wish M had known enough to ask her whether she missed a pill, or if she is one of the 1 in 1,000). So, as much as I’d like to, I really can’t blame them one iota for their less-than-ideal timing. Boy, talk about opposite ends of the spectrum...

Also, she’s thinking of wearing maternity clothes at 10 ½ weeks because her pants are already tight. Because of this, they may have to tell people a little sooner than anticipated. She wanted to know what our plans were to make sure they wouldn’t be “stealing our thunder” (we won’t be telling the world for another three weeks).

In other words, she was trying to be sensitive to our needs. Bitch.

"It's like raaa-ain on your wedding day..."

Remember A, M’s sister (his only sibling) from the post below? Well, we just found out last night that she’s pregnant, too.

She’s due a week before I am. Bitch.

Give me a break!

I have what you would call a “Type A personality.” I’m assertive, and a control freak, and I like things my way.

Nevertheless, I can easily be talked into changing my mind on some issues. I think that before this whole pregnancy thing came along, I was under the impression that M wanted to be surprised on the sex of our child. I was OK with that; it would be difficult, but I acknowledged it would be fun on the day of the birth finding out whether we would have a son or daughter.

So, when the subject finally came up a couple of weeks ago, I was surprised to learn that M was actually leaning toward finding out the sex before the baby was born. We decided that we were officially undecided, and we would make the choice when the time came—although we both knew we were leaning toward not waiting.

My SIL (M’s sister), A, is very opinionated. They decided to be surprised with their first child. When she was talking to him on the phone a couple of days ago, she asked (in what he called a very opinionated tone of voice) whether we were going to find out the sex of the child. He said we didn’t know.

From that point on, we realized we were going to be judged.

We were right. We all got together yesterday, and in the midst of a story I was telling about a friend who is due in September, A interjected with, “Do they know what the sex of the baby is?” I said no, they were waiting. “Oh, OK.” And then: “Well, good for them!” I was so stunned and angry, I could barely finish my story. In my mind, I was furiously debating the merits of starting an out-and-out verbal fight right then and there. In the end, I decided it wasn’t worth it. A and her husband didn’t need to know what M and I were thinking about, and I didn’t want to be forced to “defend” any decision we might make.

But really! Do couples who are expecting judge each other that much? And if you must judge, can’t you do it behind closed doors, rather than making it blatantly clear which choice you “approve?” I’m curious to hear about your own, or your friends’ experiences: Is there that much of chasm between couples who wait and those who don’t?

For your amusement, here’s some of what I may have said if I hadn’t chosen to keep my mouth shut: “So you’re saying that a couple is to be commended for waiting to be surprised? And couples that don’t wait are somehow WRONG? A, I am very happy that you and your husband conceived in your first month off the Pill, WITHOUT EVEN REALLY TRYING. However, you have absolutely no idea what it’s like to be me. Yo have no idea what it’s like to want something so badly for so long and wonder if you will ever get it. So you can’t even allow us this one little pleasure? I have the kind of personality that makes things much easier once I’ve had a chance to get used to them. That includes the sex of my child. You have a different opinion; I respect that. Why can’t you respect others’ opinions?”

I realize that the rest of my life will probably consist of A judging our child-rearing choices. Therefore, if I am going to stay sane, I have to learn to put myself in a zen place when things like this happen.

That’s why I didn’t say anything.

Goodbye, Dr. Hot

The good news (I’ve grown tired of “burying the lead” for dramatic effect): Today’s ultrasound showed everything is completely normal. Heartbeat is at 140 bpm, measurements show the embryo is 7w1d. Technically, I’m 7w3d, but Dr. Hot says that’s no problem whatsoever. M and I now have a pretty little picture to scrapbook.

From the beginning of this pregnancy, I’ve wanted someone to look at me like I’m completely insane for worrying so much. That, to me, is reassurance. Dr. Hot did just that today. He even joked a little, after I spent the entire appointment anxiously asking questions like, Was he sure the measurements really were fine? There really wasn’t anything abnormal? After removing the wand, Dr. Hot said, “Well, I hate to tell you this, but there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you or the baby.” Later, he reminded me (all in the most loving way possible) that women have babies are the time. Then I reminded him that the women who come to this clinic have spent a damn long time trying to get to this point, and they sure as hell don’t want to give the baby up without a fight. He nodded--he knows very well what I meant; he just wanted to reassure me.

At the end of the appointment, he shook M’s hand, and as I put my hand out for a shake, he hugged me instead. Um, awkward moment. But it was very sweet. I jokingly told him as he left that I hoped I would never see him again. He paused (taken aback, maybe?), then said he hoped I would at least send them pictures.

And that was it. M and I walked out of the clinic feeling like we were on top of the world. Yes, we know we still have a long way to go, but we feel good for now.

On the downside, I’m getting sicker and sicker. We’re going to State Fair tonight with M’s parents, and I pray I’ll be able to at least get a corn dog down.

Oh, and here’s a little nugget for you to chew on: We traveled to southeastern Missouri last weekend to visit my grandparents. When I told my grandma I was pregnant, the first thing she said was, “Well, I hope we’ll still be around by the time the baby comes.” Don’t you love how my grandma doesn’t have an ounce of self-absorption in her?

Focusing on the minutiae

Two posts in one day! Go me!

A few of your comments have made me realize that I need to address this subject in more detail in a post: I have noticed that newly pregnant infertile bloggers often find themselves complaining quite a bit, then apologizing and/or defending themselves for seeming so “ungrateful.” I have certainly been guilty of this.

Here is my theory: We have been temporarily released of the biggest stressor in our lives. Rather than partaking in a nine-month-long celebration of that release, we instead proceed to worry ourselves sick/whine about everything else under the sun. The easiest target is, of course, miscarriage. We no longer have to fear a failed cycle, so instead we focus our energy on dead baby fears. Some of these fears are completely rational; some are not. We often drive the people around us absolutely crazy.

Five years ago, my father underwent a rather sudden, extremely dangerous brain surgery. A few days before he went under the knife, my roommate took some pills and ended up in the psychiatric ward of a hospital. For two weeks, I spent my days working, traveling to the hospital, returning concerned phone calls once I got home and finally going to sleep, only to start the whole cycle over the following day. I quickly fell into a routine. Once my roommate was safe with her parents and my dad was recovering at home, I found myself at a loss. I no longer had huge things to worry about; just the little bits and pieces of life that had always been there. I felt aimless and started to focus on the minutiae.

I believe that is what is happening with me now: I’m focusing on the irritating minutiae…at least in this blog. I’m also avoiding talking about how we just purchased a “family-size” SUV; how we’ve been getting cute little congratulations gifts from family members, like a pregnancy devotion book; how, minutes after she found out I was pregnant, my SIL offered to host a baby shower for me. Ungrateful bitch that I was, my first reaction was not, “Oh, what a lovely idea—thank you!” but, “Well, we don’t know yet if this pregnancy will be viable.” I tried to backpedal from there, but you get the idea.

I will make a conscious effort to make this blog a true reflection of my feelings—not just a vent for all my hormonal rantings.

Now the assvice starts...

M and I spent a long weekend in Wisconsin Dells last weekend with my parents, brother, SIL and niece. It was a nice, relaxing time—especially because we had told my brother and SIL about the pregnancy at the beginning (my parents already knew) and didn’t have to worry about hiding it from anyone for three days.

As M and I turned out the lights on Sunday night, M called to me from his bed (yes, we were in twin beds; how very quaint): “Ann, how does it make you feel when people start giving you advice?”

In his incredibly sensitive, perceptive way, M wanted to know if I was offended when I was pummeled with well-meaning pregnancy advice (i.e., if you’re nauseous, eat crackers in the morning; take this or that pill in addition to prenatal; go shopping at this store for baby stuff). I thought for a minute, and then realized that it did bother me. But it’s not the fault of anyone who gives me “advice;” it is solely my own problem.

I believe it was Mel who said something like, “Having a child doesn’t cure infertility; it just cures childlessness.” Other bloggers have expressed similar thoughts. I never really knew what they meant until M made that observant comment. I’ve spent all this time wanting to be part of the “Mommy Club,” or even just the “Pregnancy Club.” Yet now that I’m here—at least for the time being—I want to be set apart. Call me arrogant, but I don’t consider myself one of “them.”

We were incredibly lucky that we didn’t receive any IF assvice during the time we were receiving treatments. I think the people who knew about our issues were aware they were out of their realm of knowledge, so they didn’t have anything to say; they just listened. Now, however, most of our close relatives (and a few of the health professionals I’ve told, like my dental hygienist) are in a territory they know well, and they’re thrilled to share with me intimate details of their pregnancies. I talk about some of my symptoms and they nod and give knowing smiles. Everyone’s an expert now.

Yet they’re not experts. They have no idea what it’s like to be me, fearing miscarriage at every turn. How quickly they forget how difficult it was for us to get here, and how different my reproductive organs are from other women’s. (Well, my mom hasn’t forgotten—that’s why she’s urging me to be overcautious so I don’t risk miscarriage. I can’t fault her for that.)

I don’t want to be in the “Pregnant Woman” category. I want to be in the “Pregnant After IF Woman” category, which is a very, very different group of people—people who know to just smile and say congratulations.

Worst of all, some among the small group of people we’ve chosen to tell (like the dental hygienist) think it’s OK to talk about how easy it was for them to get pregnant. It’s not. It still hurts.

I will never be one of them. I will hold my IF status like a badge of honor. Once we start sharing this news, I plan to shout from the rooftops that this baby was conceived after IF treatments.