Two moms make a right

It’s not often that I have a full-on bitch fest. Sure, I’ll complain about this or that every now and again. But for the most part, I always try to stay upbeat and positive, and rarely do you ever hear me bitching and moaning about my life. Woe is me has never been my mantra.

But there’s only so much a person can take before she cracks. And I’m quickly approaching that point. This month is one of the most trying months of my life, and the emotional toll of TTC (trying to conceive) is finally catching up to me at record speed.

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Okay, okay, okay. I know I’m not FAT. And I don’t mean to sound insensitive to women who actually are overweight and fight a constant battle.

BUT. I’ve never dealt with weight issues in my 35 years of life, so this is a big deal to me.

In the past three months, since the loss of my twins and since I started a new fertility plan, I’ve gained 7 pounds. My jeans don’t button, if they even pass my thighs. Spring has finally arrived after a too-long winter, and when I went to swap out my winter clothes with my warmer weather ones, I sadly discovered that most don’t fit.

Before I started taking fertility meds, I’d heard of women complaining that they gained weight from the meds. I remember thinking, “Oh, who cares? A little weight gain is a small price to pay.”

Well, now that it’s happened to me, I can tell you: this sucks. As if failed cycle after failed cycle doesn’t take a big enough toll on your psyche, add the fact that you can’t button your pants, and you can really begin to feel bad about yourself. Not that this is some big pity party for me — I know I’m far from actually being fat. But it’s uncomfortable to be uncomfortable in your own clothes.

And speaking of clothes. Other than this weight gain being a complete nuisance and a bit depressing, I’m forced to figure out what to do about my clothes. With any luck, I’ll be pregnant very soon and shortly after I’ll need maternity gear. But, in the meantime, my clothes don’t fit. And what if I don’t get pregnant soon? Do I suffer through with the clothes I have now or should I buy new stuff for the summer?

You see, it’s actually quite a bigger deal than it appears to be. Who knew seven measly pounds could cause such a disturbance…

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I had my pregnancy blood test yesterday morning at my fertility center. Turns out, I am not pregnant – even though I was certain that I was.

I’m pretty sure that’s called a phantom pregnancy. And I’m pretty sure it’s classified somewhere as a disorder of sorts, either mental or otherwise. But I’m not that terribly concerned for my mental health. From the day of my frozen embryo transfer to yesterday – 10 whole days – I convinced myself that I was pregnant because it’s what I want so badly.

My wife had told me that I should probably stop telling people I “know” I’m pregnant until after we had the test to confirm it because people might begin to think I’m a little off my rocker.

And maybe I am.

Maybe this fertility journey is starting to grate on me more than I ever realized. And it’s all made worse knowing that I was pregnant. And not just for a few weeks. I carried my twins to 17 weeks and 1 day. I would have been due next month. And sometimes, I can’t help but think that 17 weeks pregnant is as close as I’ll ever get to becoming a mother.

I have three frozen embryos left from nine eggs that were retrieved from me. Three didn’t fertilize, two were put in me and grew into my twins, and one – this last one – didn’t attach. That leaves three.

If I decide to try again – and right now, I honestly don’t know if I will – it will be my fourth IVF cycle. My insurance covers five cycles. Naturally, knowing that places some extra stress on the situation. Two more shots to get this right. And it’s failed three times already.

My wife and I went for a drive yesterday after we got the news. It was one of the first somewhat decent Spring days here in the Northeast after a too-long Winter. I kept thinking about the whole in my life. I kept thinking about all the great things she and I have going on, all the things we have to be thankful for. And, still, I can’t help but feel that something is missing – that motherhood would complete my life. (Update: A dear friend of mine emailed me after this post went live, “I must point out that you inadvertently used the word ‘whole’ instead of ‘hole’. Maybe a Freudian slip of hope that still resides in you, knowing your life is whole, and will be full one day in the way you dream.” Thank God for good friends.)

I worry that I’ll somehow have to learn to be okay with “enough,” to be okay with what we have, to be okay without children.

I don’t want to learn that. I don’t want to try to fill this void with another dog, a new job, travel.

But maybe I’ll have to.

Maybe Sara and I will never lose our 8-hour nights, maybe we’ll rescue a dozen dogs, maybe we’ll always be the guests without kids, maybe we’ll move someplace warm, maybe I won’t ever need a minivan.

Maybe my life won’t ever be complete. Maybe that’s just how my story goes.

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Today, I got the best early birthday present. At my transvaginal ultrasound today, it was discovered that the estrogen I have been taking for the past couple of weeks has done its job of thickening my uterine lining, which means I am ready for my embryo transfer next week!

I’m so joyous from this news. It’s been just over three months since I lost my twins at 17-weeks pregnant, and it’s been a tough road. I’ve been managing fine enough. But it’s been hard for me to regain trust in my body that it can and will do what it’s intended to do.

I walked into today’s appointment nervous. On Monday, I was told my lining was at 6.38 and it needed to be 7.0. I was worried that it wouldn’t get there. It’s been bad news after bad news for awhile now, and I was almost ready for another roadblock. But that’s not what I got!

7.47. And my uterus is good to go!

From here, I’ll continue my estrogen pills three times a day. This Sunday (my 35th birthday!), I’ll start my progesterone vaginal suppositories — I know, totally not fun. But I don’t even care! I’m prepping my body to get knocked up in one week from today. And I’d do just about anything to make that happen. So if it means I have to squirt a bluish gel up my vagina for the next 12 weeks, so be it.

Wait, why 12 weeks, you ask?

That’s how it goes. Progesterone might help prevent miscarriage, so they’ll keep me on the suppositories for 12 weeks. And, likely, after that, my regular OB will have me taking progesterone shots throughout my pregnancy — that’s because of my 2nd-trimester loss last go-round. But like I said, whatever I gotta do.

I’m going into this weekend feeling happier than I have in awhile. I’ll turn 35 this Sunday (yes, Easter; it happens every few years that my birthday falls on this holiday). I’m going to keep a hopeful and positive outlook that next Friday will go smoothly, and that I will, indeed, become pregnant. And, of course, that my next pregnancy brings me a healthy and of-this-world baby.

I don’t often ask for prayers or well wishes or positive vibes or whatever it is that you all send to those you care about, but any extra goodness you could send my way this next week would be oh-so appreciated.

I look forward to sharing very happy news with you all soon!

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