May 2015 – Minus Prince Charming

Originally posted on May 24, 2015 on Merely Mothers (now Evie & Sarah)

I’m sitting down at my computer tonight in a house so silent you can hear a pin drop, with a glass of rich, red wine next to me, and a plate of crackers and brie, which may or may not be pasteurized, in the fridge ready to serve as tonight’s supper.

To some of you, this might sound like heaven. To someone who began her TTC (trying to conceive) journey back in December, it’s the sound and sight of disappointment.

I’m known for my optimism, so I guess it’s no surprise that I thought I’d be pregnant by now. It’s also no surprise I’m not. Statistically, the odds are not in my favor each month. For someone my age, the ancient 35 that I am, IUIs have a 10-20% chance of working each month. But after six months, for couples or singles with no known fertility issues, that percentage hits about 80%. Being that rosy-glassed girl who nearly flunked statistics in college, I figured that meant by try number three I had nearly even odds of being successful, multiply that by the 100 mg of Clomid, a new donor, and the lucky Wonder Woman socks, and it was practically a done deal.

Then I ended up in the ER with a cat bite requiring antibiotics less than a week before my IUI, caught the stomach bug I’d managed to avoid all winter the day before my procedure, and moments before sticking my legs in the stirrups learned my new and improved donor had even lazier sperm than the last dude’s. Still, I stayed positive.

And my body responded perfectly. I had high temperatures, a few cramps (implantation for sure!), a bit of lightheadedness, and no spotting. It was the first time I made it all the way to my beta test (the blood pregnancy test) without Aunt Flow arriving first. Unfortunately, Mother Nature is a nasty shrew, who made all the signs of pregnancy identical to PMS, so despite my negative at-home pregnancy tests, I still held out a shred of hope right up until the nurse called this afternoon. Another negative. Thanks a friggin’ lot, MoNa.

Wonder Woman socks aside, my optimism felt more like a super gut-punch than a super power. Hope hurts.

I felt I’d managed the first two months’ disappointment with grace and dignity, but this month I just don’t have the strength. This month I’m a teary hot mess who wants to curl up in her sweats under a blanket with her cat and cry. Maybe it’s the added hormones. Or maybe it’s the added pain of coming home to an empty house with no one to rub my back and give me that “you’ll be okay” hug and later, when I’ve lingered on moping too long, to tell me to suck it up and move on. Or maybe it’s the fact the savings I wanted to have for the baby is dwindling and insurance won’t kick in until I suffer three more NTTs, which stands for not this time, the positive spin TTCers put on a negative test result.

Or maybe it’s just that this process is hard, harder than I ever really understood despite having friends and family who’d gone through much harder infertility treatments after years of trying on their own.

It was because of them and their greater struggles that I almost didn’t write this post. Who am I to complain after a mere three attempts? Granted they were expensive, perfectly timed, clinically executed attempts, but three, just three.

But then a friend helped my realize what I knew in my heart. Not writing about the hard months of this journey, not trusting others to understand and to forgive my little pity parties, was far worse than ignoring it. The women who’ve gone through more are the ones most likely to understand and forgive. And those just starting out, or those in the midst of this journey along with me deserve honesty. They deserve to know that even the most optimistic and upbeat feel beaten at times. Tonight, I’m beaten.

But tomorrow is the start of another stretch of this journey. And it’s one I intend to continue down, despite a few road bumps (and a potential hangover). I know in my heart I’m meant to be a mom. It might take longer than I’d hoped, but I’m guessing when my time comes, it will be even more wonderful than I imagine. I won’t quit trying, or smiling, or being foolishly optimistic. Even though such traits occasionally come back to bite me, they’re worth passing on, which is exactly what I intend to do—just not this time.

Photo credit: Schwangerschaftstest via photopin (license)

Originally posted on May 10, 2015 on Merely Mothers (now Evie & Sarah)

Jinxes? Karma? Curses? All sounds more like the start of a plot for my newest novel than a TTC (trying to conceive) problem. Alas, this is nonfiction.

Recently, I was chatting online on the Single Mothers By Choice discussion boards with other women trying to conceive, and the topic of “jinxing” one’s chances of becoming pregnant came up. One brave soul admitted her fears, and suddenly we were all confessing our own worries that saying, doing, or even thinking the wrong thing might cause the cosmos to curse us with another NTT (Not This Time). Here we are, a group of educated women who all know how the biology of conception works, as terrified of our own thoughts as we were of Bloody Mary appearing in the bathroom mirror at middle school sleepovers.

I’ve given in to more than a few of these fears myself. I wouldn’t order more than two vials of sperm at a time, even when I knew I’d likely have to start the process of choosing a donor all over because of my decision. It felt like I was planning for failure, and I didn’t want such negative thoughts to jinx my chances. Then there’s my Pinterest board with articles on pregnancy and baby gear that I’ve kept secret (until now), because I didn’t want to be counting my chickens before my eggs got fertilized. I worried overly positive thoughts might tip the scales of karma against me, too.

Well, what is it that’s bad for the baby-making juju? Positive thoughts? Or negative thoughts?

All of it. And none of it.

It’s all harmful in the sense it can make you crazy; you can drive yourself nutty with all the dos and don’ts. Remember in that early post when I wrote about how I was doing all this to share the joy I find in life with a little one? At times, this journey can make you forget that reason, that joy. You can easily get so caught up in the end goal, that you let the journey fly by without taking a moment to enjoy the life that’s happening in between. I find myself wishing away whole weeks to get to the next step. At the same time, living in the moment can be a killer, too. It’s exceptionally difficult to find a balance between focusing enough energy to eat well, exercise right, and reduce stress, and focusing so much time and energy that it becomes a time-sucking obsession.

But the process of trying to conceive has also reminded me how blessed I am and how blessed any baby I bring into the world will be. (See there, I said it, with no fear of jinxing anything!) So many people have shared with me their best wishes, prayers, and positive energy. My best friends have donned funny socks on the days of my IUIs in hopes that more socks equals more luck. Are good luck charms and positive energy any less scientific than jinxes, or any less crazy for that matter? Nope. Yet those types of ‘superstitions’ aren’t harmful; they’re the buoys that keep me swimming and smiling when I might otherwise feel like I’m drowning.

So if believing in the magic of positive thoughts and funny socks means I also need to occasionally throw some salt over my ovaries, I’ll do it. I’ll try not to take any of it too seriously, especially the foolish fears. But I can’t dismiss it all either—there is power in footwear, any woman can tell you that.

And if people think I’m nuts, so be it. Writers are supposed to be a bit loony. I just keep telling myself this is all great fodder for my next novel. The question is will it be a sweet chick lit book or a murder mystery? (You never know what a character on artificial hormones might do!)

In the meantime, cross your fingers for me, okay? Hey, it can’t hurt!

Photo credit: Baby Love via photopin (license)