You know you might be infertile when:
1. You randomly have 3 different brands of pregnancy tests in your bathroom.
2. 2 different types of ovulation predictor kits
3. Baby aspirin with the little hearts that made you cry to dispose of it 2 years ago because that was "giving up."
4. Bromocriptine...I mean I don't have Parkinson's or a pituitary tumor so this is just wasting away...
5. Every time you bring a pocketbook back into rotation you find a bottle of Menopur/needles/syringes.
...btw...I'm not ovulating....SURPRISE!
Any-some-how...I'm trying to clean out all the old..err...consolidate...at least, consolidate, because really that box of 3 tests can hold 8 comfortably...but not 9...why do pregnancy tests come in threes, anyway? I mean do people that are fertile, but not really wanting children, do they screw up 3 times in rapid succession? I'm just curious...It's something I'll never know. I mean if you need 3 positive pregnancy tests to prove to yourself you have a positive pregnancy test...well, that just seems like double line hoarding. I mean good for you, but really? You need 6 lines?
The sad thing is, I needed this stuff. You don't understand I NEEDED this stuff...because every day was a possibility, and every month was a possible dream come true. And every "next" month was a slap of devastation because the only double lines I ever saw were the streams of tears down my cheeks.
Yet this is the cycle we are jumping...well...inching towards. The end of peace, the return of fear, anguish and physical pain.
It reminds me a lot of the time I tore my left ACL almost exactly 2 years to the date of tearing my right ACL. I screamed. The only time I did more than shriek or groan or just yell, "ouch" when I got hurt. I mean yeah...tearing your ACL stings, but a 16 y/o that just got back into her prime after spending 6 months in rehab and the next 12 catching back up with herself gymnastically, the final 6 progressing again...well that scream was for 24 months down the drain. It was for possibly kissing college gymnastics goodbye, it was for knowing that even though the sprain stings, having holes drilled into your femur and tibia, chips of your patella and tibia removed with the middle 3rd of your patellar tendon, fighting for weeks to simply straighten or flex your knee against fast forming scar tissue...well that sting of the original tear was nothing compared to what was to come.
So the tiny twinges I feel as my zombie ovaries re-awaken from their chemically enhanced hibernation do not really feel good, no, but it's not enough to make me do more than wince, yet...However, I want to have a full-out little girl tantrum in my bedroom floor. It's so unfair. So many aspects are unfair. Endometriosis isn't fair, interstitial cystitis isn't fair, poor egg quality isn't fair, chronic pain in a region of the body you aren't supposed to talk about isn't fair. But I remind myself...
"Guess what buttercup? This is your life, and it's more fair than most." Nothing I have is trying to kill me. [Remind this to me when I actually start my period again, bc I will not believe I ever said that.] In fact my immune system is trying it's damnedest not let things get worse. We'll just forget about the infertility thing for a second, but my endo, adhesion-wise, could be much worse. I could have no possibility at all of ever carrying a pregnancy.
The most terrifying thing is not getting burned, but walking back into the fire, again, after you have been burned. Only this time, it's not up to how diligently I work on my rehabilitation. It's not up to how compliant I am with my meds. It's not up to how hard I pray and beg for a certain outcome. It's just taking a shot at something my husband and I have dreamed of, prayed for, and tried...God knows we've tried.
Peace, Love, and Buttercups,