The costs of infertility...

The costs go way beyond the financial. Infertility is extremely taxing. It's mentally exhausting, physically demanding, financially depleting and emotionally draining. Your self-worth comes into question (mostly by yourself). There is the guilt...

I wonder almost everyday what I did to cause this. I feel like if I knew that, I could "fix" it and be cured. Did my disordered eating (crash diets, and the like...) in high school and college make me infertile? According to my doctors, probably not. Was it the depo provera shots I took for almost 4 years? My gyno says no, I had menstrual issues long before that...The frustrating thing with infertility is that a lot of us don't ever find out what is wrong and get slapped with an "unexplained infertility" diagnosis. How can you fix something if you don't know where the break is?

Any-some-how, infertility has cost BJ and I a lot more than money, and it's cost plenty of that, too. Here are the things that are bothering me the most...

1. Care-free attitude. BJ and I both will never be able to take for granted the things that come easily, which is good, but I miss the days when we were just blissfully unaware of how messy life can be.

2. The romance. Our relationship is strong, but we both have a goal of making a baby. It's a cloud that hangs over us constantly. There is nothing romantic about watching your wife in stirrups wincing while having another man probing and trying to impregnate her. Our child will be a love child, but in a totally different sense. I still mourn that there will be no conceiving on vacations or friends' weddings. It may be a little thing, but it's something you breeders (to steal a term from my homosexual friends) take for granted.

3. The element of surprise. I'm never going to get that 'I just peed on a stick and now I'm running around the house like a mad woman out of joy' moment. Out of the team of people that are working with us to help us procreate, we'll probably be the last to know when it does happen. Everything is done for me. I just have to show up to my appointments and take the right doses of medication. My doctor and nurses control when I ovulate (well, that is the idea, anyway), when I get a shot at fertilization, and when to do a pregnancy test. Again, not very romantic...

4. The innocence. I'm not going to be able to get pregnant and be blissfully happy. I'm going to be scared $hitless, and worried about staying pregnant. I'll be a high-risk pregnancy, which is frustrating because I'm an otherwise healthy 20-something. I'll have a weekly goal of staying pregnant from one doctor visit to the next. My mother ran throughout her entire pregnancy, and I had always imagined myself staying active and being relatively carefree while pregnant. Instead I'll be nervous about lifting heavy things, every little twinge, and concerned with beta numbers and progesterone levels (things in your blood that indicate you have a healthy pregnancy). It's just not what I envisioned for myself nor what I wanted, but I'll gladly take it if it helps me keep my baby. I just hate feeling like I'm an invalid...

5. Friends. Unfortunately, this is not an uncommon side effect of fertility treatments. If you read yesterday's post, you can guess that I'm not functioning on all four cylinders. I've not had the energy nor have I put the energy into keeping all my close friends satisfied. I've been accused of being flaky, and I have been. Things that sound like a great idea when your treatments are going well and you have reason to be hopeful, just don't seem like fun anymore after you've just found out that all that money, time and angst ended up in another negative pregnancy test. Oh, and let's not forget the drugs I've been taking. Some make me nauseous, some put me in a coma, and others make me so hormonal I can't think straight. While I understand I may have hurt feelings, it hurts that people I thought were so close can't cut me a break when I need it the most. I've not set out to intentionally hurt anyone. I don't have the energy or the time to invest in any nonsense like that. All I can do is apologize...

I'm sure I sound extremely whiny at the moment, and I don't mean to. Infertility has also given me some things, too.

1. My husband, BJ. Ok, so I already had him, but I never would have gotten to see just how amazing he is. He is one of the manliest men I've met. It takes an amazingly strong person to put up with a rabid, maniacal bitch that is me on Clomid and Prometrium. Not only does he take it, he stays with me while I'm having a fit and soothes me. It also takes a strong man to accept that he has an issue, and make an effort to fix it. When we found out he had poor morphology, he didn't get angry or shut down like a lot of men would. He just said, "What can we do to make it better?" He's as tough as they come. I truly feel like I have a teammate in this battle, which is not always the case with some couples.

2. Endurance. Oh the things I can endure...not once have I had a meltdown with a crazy student, even the pregnant ones who offer me a chance to baby-sit their child. Physically, I've endured more pain, and more side effects from drugs and procedures than should be allowed. I've felt so bad, that I have thought if this were a treatment for a terminal disease, I think I would just prefer to die. Seriously, between the endometriosis and the drugs that make my endometriosis worse, it's real bad. Yet, I'll take the pain and discomfort if it gets me to my baby.

3. Perspective. Before we started trying to spawn, BJ and I had the typical try to find a job with a journalism degree in this economy kind of stress. (Well, he did...I got hired as a school counselor before I graduated.) Anyway, he did get a job, but it isn't what he wanted. So we've spent the first couple years of marriage dealing with trying to find a career for BJ. We thought this was stress. I, myself, have slept, ate, and breathed my job for the past three years. Aside from being a good wife, my job has been my priority. Now, all the sudden, I have this emergent need to be fixed and have a child. The life I had planned where babies would come easily, doesn't exist. Life is much more precious than I thought, and it doesn't come easily. So this summer, I'm not near as stressed that one of my kids doesn't like his fourth block class during second semester for next year. I know I'll get it fixed, but I'm not ashamed that I don't get panic attacks from reading stressed emails from parents about their child's schedule anymore. It also doesn't mean I don't care, either. On the contrary, I think it helps me look at work dilemmas with a more functional attitude, that hopefully my principal will appreciate.

4. Patience. Well, it's still a work in progress, but I'm trying. I'm sure every new mother is absolutely in heaven when they have a child, but I can't imagine how sweet that moment is going to be when I finally have my baby in my arms. Gosh, this makes me tear up just thinking about it...

5. Loss of control. No, my computer did not mess up and put this in the wrong section. I'm a control freak who had a master plan that is gone with the wind. It's OK. My life is going to play out like it was designed to play out. This is not the road I would have chosen, but it's the only road I've got. I'm happy that I have the support and resources to go down the war-worn path of infertility. I'm here for the long-haul so bring it on with the unknown!

Well, I'm going to curl up with some Lifetime Movies, ice cream and fuzzy socks and have a good cry. Just kidding! I hope I haven't totally depressed you, but I appreciate your interest!

Peace, love and spawning,
MK