Hoping for the chance to watch paint dry

Disclaimer: If you are in a particularly bad place in IF right now, or if you are feeling somewhat resentful toward newly-pregnant IF-ers, I suggest you skip this post.

I am feeling sorry for myself right now. Let me clarify: This has nothing (directly) to do with the embryo that is supposedly growing in me right now. I feel incredibly blessed to have gotten a positive pregnancy test, and I am praying that God continues to bless me. No, my self-pity has more to do with the fact that I am useless. Yes, utterly useless—I can’t get anything done at work, nor do I have the motivation. For the most part, I couldn’t care less. And the day goes by so s-l-o-w-l-y.

It’s not that I’m thinking of baby names, or fretting over my Aug. 7 u/s (which still seems so very far away). I just don’t want to work. At all. I want to sit on my ass all day long, alternating between reading and watching TV. And at the moment, the small amount of work I have in my office is not the least bit interesting. I’m looking forward to a three-day weekend, but already dreading next Tuesday when I have to come back to work.

I’m not a lazy person—at least I didn’t think I was. I’m wondering if it’s simply the pregnancy hormones that have caused me to be completely unmotivated. And tired—not in an exhausted way, but in an I-wish-I-could-just-lay-down-and-not-do-anything way. It can’t be psychosomatic, can it?

I hope it’s the pregnancy. Because if it’s not, then I have become the biggest slacker known to man.

(I debated even writing this post, because I feared you would think I was an ungrateful bitch. But then I thought, “Hell, this is my blog. I deserve to be able to write how I’m feeling right now, even if I’m not exactly walking on air like others think I should be.” It’s a bit lonely, I’m discovering, to be experiencing a less-than-perfect life after getting the BFP. I feel like I don’t have any right to be blah.)

How I'm feeling--5w2d

In answer to Ms. C’s question on my last post, I thought I’d give you the rundown on how I’m feeling so far:

1. Boob soreness: My breasts are a bit tender, but only when I poke them. I have to admit it’s reassuring, because I didn’t start feeling the tenderness until after I tested positive.

2. Indigestion: This is probably my worst symptom so far. I’ve always had occasional intestinal problems (read: the need to rush to the bathroom for an unspecified amount of time), but I’m having them more often now. We tailgated at a baseball game on Saturday, and I found myself feeling absolutely miserable in a ballpark bathroom. Ugh.

3. Food cravings/aversion: I still get hungry, but my tolerance for food is getting much narrower. I simply can’t handle eating a big meal like I could before, and my favorite foods don’t necessarily sound appetizing. My first craving? As we watched a musical (“Sweet Charity”) on Sunday night, I couldn’t get Taco Bell off my mind. We stopped there on the way home, and I was incredibly (unreasonably) upset because they were so slow. When M finally got our order, they gave me a Chalupa instead of a burrito! I angrily went to the counter and practically threw the Chalupa at them, not thinking about the fact that M might still want to eat the Chalupa while we were waiting for the burrito. Um, I might have been just a tad crazy that night. Which brings me to…

4. Mood swings: This is a recent development in the past few days. I come home from work angry at M, and he hasn’t even done anything yet. I sat in my windowless office yesterday morning and felt like I was going to scream. I cry at the drop of a hat. It feels like I’m on Clomid. Only, this time, I’m under the influence for EIGHT MONTHS!

5. Listlessness: I feel like I can’t get anything done at work. I have no desire to accomplish anything. I swear I’m not a lazy person, and I’m not totally freaking out about miscarriage every second, but the workday seems so long, and the week seems neverending. I also feel a bit tired more often, but I’m not sure how much of that is in my head.

The hard part about listing these symptoms is that some of them could be psychosomatic. You know what I’m talking about—I know that I’m pregnant, so my mind tells my body it’s OK to be completely INSANE. And, of course, there’s part of me that wonders if any of this—including the pregnancy—is real at all, or if I’m just in some elaborate fantasy.

Let me be clear: I am not complaining. I have just learned that even once you achieve your heart’s desire, your hormones still find plenty of things in life that bother them. Our bodies are not programmed to be completely, deliriously happy.

Speaking of assvice...

The radio show I listen to spent the entire morning talking about the female co-host’s break-up with her boyfriend. It must have happened at the end of last week or over the weekend.

If there’s anything worse than going through a break-up, it’s discussing your (lack of) love life with an entire city full of listeners.

I finally had to switch stations because listeners were being encouraged to call in with words of “support” for the newly single DJ. I used to think infertile women had to put up with the majority of the general public’s assvice. I was wrong: Someone who has just been dumped has to deal with much worse shit. Oh, the platitudes! “You’re so much better off without him.” “You’re going to meet someone nice soon, you just wait and see.” “It will happen for you, I promise!” Kudos to the DJ for admitting that she didn’t want to hear any platitudes, because how did they know it was going to be OK? I felt so bad for her that she had to just sit back and listen to all that assvice. Just let the woman mourn, for God’s sake! I think that ultimately the fault lies with whomever decided to make this woman’s break-up the topic of the show for the day. She’s a human being, and she has feelings, too. Work is supposed to help you push aside your troubles; not dwell on them.

I can just see it now: A radio talk show hostess suffering from IF goes through yet another failed cycle, and she has to sit there and smile while every single listener calls in with suggestions like, “Did you know you’re supposed to have sex every other day if you want to conceive? Try it—it works! You’ll be pregnant in no time!”

Paranoia sets in

Shortly after waking up and lounging in bed for a few minutes this morning, I began to feel pain in my lower abdomen. Immediately, panic set in, and I told M he had to wake up immediately. For five to 10 minutes, we lay there, me with horrible thoughts going through my head. The pain wasn’t excruciating, but it was enough to make me want a Tylenol. Also, it came in waves—slowly getting more uncomfortable, and then subsiding. Finally, after a few relatively pain-free minutes, I decided to take a shower and see how I felt afterwards. Of course, I felt fine even before I got in the shower. I may end up calling the RE’s office, but I’m pretty sure it was just a fluke. First of all, I know the pregnancy isn’t ectopic—the pain was in the middle, not on the left or right side. Second, if it were a miscarriage, I would imagine the pain would last longer. Third, I have absolutely no spotting. So—rather minor, short-lived cramping, with no spotting? Sounds like my uterus is stretching again.

This brings to mind a confession, however (please don’t think badly of me after I admit this). As short as a month ago, I would read the blogs of IF-ers who had experienced one or more miscarriage and feel like I was a few steps behind them. No, they hadn’t yet had a viable pregnancy, but at least they had gotten the double lines! They knew they could get pregnant! That was much more than I could say for myself. I didn’t want a miscarriage, of course, but I think in some deep down part of myself, I thought a miscarriage would be better than nothing. At least then I would know I had the capability of becoming pregnant.

How silly I was. Even now, I tell myself that if I miscarry, I will at least know we had a fertilized egg. But, see, we’ve already celebrated that part. Now we’re ready to move on to the next celebration, and if we can’t, we simply won’t be satisfied with having “come this far.” That’s like Oscar nominees saying, “It was an honor just to be nominated” when we know damn well they wanted to win. They already had plenty of time to celebrate the nomination. Sitting at the Academy Awards, the only thing they want to do is bring home a golden naked man.

So, I’ll have to assume everything is OK for the time being. No major symptoms yet, but I’m rather bloated, and I’ve been experiencing indigestion in the evenings. My first u/s is scheduled for Aug. 7, when I’m 7 weeks along.

Second beta

356.9

As many of you know, the 48 hours between the first and second betas is absolute hell. I’ve had every possible scenario running through my mind. Nurse Wonderful at Dr. Hot’s office (can you tell I love my RE clinic?) promised she would check the fax machine every 15 minutes from 10 a.m. on so I wouldn’t have to wait. At 11:15, I finally gave in and called the lab (I work in the same hospital as the lab). The technologist wasn’t sure it had been faxed in yet, so she did the honors. Nurse Wonderful called me 10 minutes later. She was very, very happy with the results—more than double my first beta.

Wow. So we’ve passed the first hurdle. The way I look at from this point is, even if I miscarry, we still got pregnant. Which means we should (theoretically) be able to do it again, even with my crappy cervical mucous.

Oh, and M called me with some appropriately timed news. His Honda Civic (180,000 miles), which didn’t pass the emissions test a while ago, will need at least $1,200 in Band-Aid repairs. Looks like we’re going car-hunting. I’m cautiously optimistic that we will need a bigger car…although I feel like I’ll jinx myself if I say that. I just know the minute we plunk down a ton of money for a gas-guzzler, I’ll lose the baby. I know, I know—that sounds awful, but that’s how my pessimistic mind works.

The fat lady never sang

As you all know, I was intensely disappointed upon getting a BFN at 12DPO. But I moved on fairly quickly, already looking forward to the next cycle. I started getting more pronounced AF symptoms toward the end of last week (a teensy bit of spotting and enough cramping that I had to ask for a Tylenol at our family reunion), so I prepared myself with pads and Tampons wherever I went. Assuming a 14-day luteal phase, my period should have come on Saturday—in the midst of the family reunion.

But it didn’t.

By late Sunday morning, I still hadn’t had much more spotting. I pulled M into our tent (sounds kind of romantic, doesn’t it?) and told him my concerns. One of three things was happening, I said. Either 1) my period was just being a pain in the ass and ruining my timing for the next cycle; 2) I had another pesky corpus luteal cyst; or 3) I was pregnant. I couldn’t even imagine No. 3.

We left after lunch so I could make it to a baby shower. M dropped me off and amused himself for a couple of hours while I made a Herculean effort not to drink much or pee. I would, I told myself, stop at a Target on the way home and pick up a pregnancy test. Just in case. (A side note: The baby shower was not annoying or tear-inducing; just a nice little tribute to the mom-to-be.)

I picked up my little package from Target and headed into the bathroom. I had to pee so badly, I told M, I didn’t want to wait till we got home. In the bathroom, I dutifully POASed and placed the stick on the toilet paper rack upside down, all the while thinking to myself how futile this was. By this point, I suspected I had a cyst. Then, I wiped—and saw more brownish gunk than I had yet seen that weekend. “How ironic,” I thought, “I get my period right after I POAS. What a waste of money.” Confident that I had a BFN, I turned it over.

And a + stared me right in the face. No doubt about it. (This is what the folks in the newspaper business call "burying the lead.")

I waited until we got in the car to show M, my hands shaking, tears running down my face. How could this possibly be?

I got my beta today. 150.8 at 17DPO. Another beta is scheduled for Wednesday morning.

This is real.

And to think, I thought it was over at 12DPO…

Bridging the gap between infertiles

**UPDATE BELOW**

I just sent this e-mail to my friend J (the one who is experiencing secondary infertility) and thought it might be an interesting post about the relationships between primary and secondary infertiles. Some background information: J and her husband conceived S in their second month of trying. They've been trying for a second for more than a year and a half. J told me yesterday that her friend had just had a baby, and it was hard on her. Her friend had an easy conception, pregnancy and delivery. I reminded her that it was easy for her to conceive S, too. Here is the letter:

I was thinking about yesterday's conversation (at least, I think it was yesterday--I'm getting my days confused), and I'd like to apologize for something I said. I didn't mean to be, but I think I was insensitive. You mentioned that your friend just had her baby and it was difficult for you to see the baby pictures, knowing that she had such an easy time conceiving and delivering. In a way, I sort of brushed your feelings aside, telling you that you had had a relatively easy time with S, too. I shouldn't have said that.

With regards to S's conception: That was then; this is now. All that matters is now. It hurts you (just like it hurts me) to see newborns and wonder when it will be your turn. Logic doesn't play into how we feel. A single woman who wants a baby can say to me, "Well, at least you have a husband. I don't even have that." OK, but that doesn't get me any closer to my goal of being a mom. Your friend may have problems conceiving in the future, too, but for now, all you have to go on is that she has a newborn baby, and you don't. So you're hurting. And I, more than many other people, should be sensitive to that. Instead, I tried to give you what I thought was a pep talk that would make you feel better, not realizing until later that, actually, my "pep talk" was more like a "you shouldn't be sad and this is why" talk. That was totally inappropriate.

I have relied on you over the past year as one of my main sources of support. It makes me sad that either of us has to experience infertility, but I'm glad we're at least going through it together.

I'm not proud of admitting that it is often difficult for me to relate to women suffering from infertility who already have at least one child. I feel like my outlook is so different from theirs: I am longing just to be a mother, and they have already achieved that goal. I sometimes think that they can't possibly be suffering as much as me, because they're already part of the "Mommy Club." What I must remember is that everyone has a dream. When that dream gets delayed, or disrupted, or even canceled, it's heartbreaking. Everyone faces his or her own challenges, and none of us have the right to judge how difficult those challenges are.

**UPDATE**
My friend wrote me back and said she hadn't been offended at all; her husband says the same thing to her all the time. Which would kind of annoy me after awhile, but whatever...