I can not begin to tell you about the power of conversation regarding something you're passionate about and how it can completely make your mood do a complete 180. Wait, yes I can. Pretty sure telling you stuff is the sole purpose of this blog in the first place.
I've been an utter, no nonsense, total Debbie Downer the last three weeks. Today is Day Twelve of my first cycle of IVF. DAY TWELVE!!! Technically, this is IVF Cycle 1.5, considering the first round was cancelled due to my doctors' impending Hawaiian vacation.
Last month, I was literally counting down the hours to when my period would start so I could begin round one. Then it got cancelled; something that FOR FREAKING ONCE was NOT my fault. No matter that I've been let down in so many ways years before while trying to conceive, that one cycle post-poned side-swiped me and threw me down into a rut that surprisingly, I'm just able to start climbing out of.
I've been on THE pill for almost two weeks now. Birth control used to be my BFF. We'd do everything together. It kept my skin clear, kept me kid-free when I ultimately did NOT need a kid, and it kept my body working like a well-oiled machine. Now, apparently, I did something to straight up piss my BFF off. I guess when I cut all ties with it 3 years ago, it got angry and decided to be vindictive. Hours after taking that first pill twelve days ago, I became nauseous. And. It. Hasn't. STOPPED. Because of this, I've basically become the green Hungry-Hungry Hippo. Having a full stomach seems to settle my spinning head, but it's also making the hard work of my last seven months of diet and exercise go down the drain. Did I mention the gigantic zit that has taken residence on my chin? Pretty sure it's given birth to triplets over the past week. God must think he's pretty hilarious because even my pimples are having babies while I'm not.
Lastly, if you haven't picked up on it yet, the most documented side-effect of this particular medicine is irritability and mild depression. Somebody nailed THAT on the head.
Needless to say, things have not been the best the last two weeks. I go to my doctor for my first ultrasound this cycle on Tuesday. Normally I'd be chomping at the bit to get there, but I'm secretly dreading it at this point. I just feel like I'm going to get there and he's going to see that my eggs have already developed and they missed it, or something equally devastating that will inevitably post-pone our efforts for another month.
Where is this coming from? Since the first miscarriage (which will be 3 years ago this Thursday) I've always been the annoyingly positive one. I've always had the most hope in becoming successful. Lately, I've even caught myself saying, "IF I have a baby" instead of my usual "WHEN I have a baby". I keep thinking that yes, IVF can get me pregnant, but it's not for certain that I'll be able to keep it. Most women freak out in utter joy when they get a positive test at the end of their cycle and sadly, I won't be able to because I know there's a ridiculously high percentage that even if it works for me, I may not be able to go full term. I'm very frustrated with myself. I'm not a fan of the Pissy-Krissy I've become.
Then today I had two conversations that have seriously boosted my spirits. Both were with women facing infertility just like me. I blog for two reasons: to vent and to open my door to other women who are going through similar situations. It had been awhile for me to actually talk freely about my feelings of insecurity and bitterness and downright frustration with others who know EXACTLY how I feel, I forgot for a minute that I'm not alone in this boat. I finally have woken myself back up and realized, you are human and it's more than okay to visit the crap-fest that is infertility...as long as you don't buy real estate there.
Both ladies that I spent time chatting with today pointed out something. I've been through it all. I've faced all the testing, gone through all the options, been through four losses. I'm still here. I'm still fighting. I'm. Still. HERE! For years now, I've been in wars with my body and wars with my emotions. I'm basically the queen of this all. (Okay, so neither girl said I was a queen, but let's just go with it. And the Queen of...what...exactly? Queen of Miscarriages? Queen of Non-Existent Tubes? Probably should have thought that out before I mentioned it...)
Either way, you get knocked down and you linger there for awhile. Then you get back up. And that's just what I'm going to do, no matter what happens this cycle. Let's be real. I'm The Queen Bee. Or I guess technically and more appropriately, I'm The Queen "V". Clearly, that's the vicinity where all these problems started in the first place.
