Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Nothing Screams Inadequacy Quite Like a Fertility Specialist

At least nothing screams as loudly in my head, pointing out my failures, as a needed visit to a fertility specialist. I am self aware. I pride myself on that. But being self aware and having the capacity to change every little piece of yourself you don't like and every situation where you could have reacted better are not the same thing. But, let's back up.

Dig back in my blog. I've only been married since January, so it's not like we've been trying that long. Well, actually...

We decided to live fully in sin (like champions of our own destiny) when we got engaged. Because we are in our mid thirties, we almost immediately came off birth control and decided to let the chips fall where they may. We wouldn't obsessively try to get pregnant, but whatever happened happened.

Nothing happened. Well, nothing good. My cycles were more irregular than usual, cramping had reached an all time high, and then there was a really unpleasant ultrasound... like inside...

Fibroids. A lot. Not too big, but several. So back on the pill I went. "Sometimes that can help them shrink or even go away", Dr. Ladybits said.

Success!

Then there was the matter of my health. I needed to lose 30 lbs naturally (check) and lower my cholesterol (check).

Still winning at life.

Then came the serious question, when do we really start trying? We weren't getting any younger and as it was, we only had a few months to try before I would either celebrate reaching advanced maternal age while pregnant or have to have a premature baby to avoid it. I get it. It's not like some magical switch flips on at 35 that forces you to have a baby with developmental or physical disabilities.But much like knowing I'll never be a size 0, it would be easier to let go of if it weren't shoved down my throat by every freaking media source.

I did a round of hormones and at the end of November we started the overly scheduled, don't even care if you're even having fun, very frequent, reproductive sex. Maybe we would be pregnant in December. After all, Dr. Ladybits did say this was our best window.

Well, maybe by January.

February would be a romantic V-day treat.

Or March?

April?

May...

June.

So here we are. Already knowing we won't be pregnant in July either (thanks to work travel for both me and the hubs... two tired travelers passing in the night).

We've had the tests. Another transvaginal (TV) ultrasound. Then the Hysterosalpingogram (HSG): an xray of the uterus and fallopian tubes that involves a cold table, a paper gown, and injectable dye. Followed by the sonohysterogram, where they infuse a saline solution into your uterus for (wait for it) yet another TV ultrasound. Then there's the peeing in cups and giving of blood. Super fun.

The silver lining of all these tests? We don't have to play the blame game. We know who's at fault. We know which one of us is crap at a basic human functions. That asshole who is at fault? That's me.

So, back to what I was saying. I'm self aware. I know that we haven't been trying as long as some others. I know that I'm not that old. I know that my husband doesn't want to talk about babies and our lack thereof every single day. I know that my friends don't want to listen to me cry about it. I know I'm a downer. I know that I'm slightly less than excited for pregnant friends than a better friend would be. I know that it's weak to cry in the car when yet another person around me gets pregnant. I know that it is a terrible thing to be jealous of others about. I know that picking fights with my spouse for not remembering what day I am most likely to ovulate is damaging to our relationship and unfair to him. I know, I know, I know, I know...

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