I’m kind of afraid to discuss a certain topic, one that nags me every single day, because I’m always worried that if I say too much, if I think about it too much, I’ll jinx it all.
But you see, I’ve gotten some good news! Small scale good news, but good news just the same, and I feel like I deserve to celebrate this amazing discovery, even if it is silly or completely insane.
I’ve been charting my menstrual cycles for some time now — a little less than a year — and this month is the first in which my chart clearly reflects ovulation. Yes, that Big ‘O’ — what were you thinking?
I know, it’s goofy to be elated about what most women consider to be a simple thing, but really, ovulating has never been something my body has done effortlessly.
I suffer from PCOS and the disease really messes with me; physically, emotionally, mentally and reproductively. I take medication for this condition and I will have to take it for the rest of my life (save for a miracle), so when I saw the data on my chart, I cried. Happy tears. Tears of joy.
All of the charts before this month had inconclusive data, meaning that it’s possible I ovulated each month but stress or other factors may have affected my physical health and hormone production so there’s no solid proof — and if my ovaries did release eggs, they may not have been viable or were unable to be fertilized.
My doctor believes that for the past year, my body has been trying to adjust and regulate itself and perhaps I’ve finally crossed the threshold. Maybe this is the month. Maybe. I’m not getting my hopes up. Seriously. I’m betting I’m not pregnant and I’m okay with that. The fact that my body is finally working is amazing, and I’m content with this. I feel like I’m one step closer to my wish coming true.
Send all your good luck my way. You know, just in case.
Yesterday was awful. After all the emotional stress, after all the crying, I crawled into bed at two o’clock and slept for over an hour. Okay, I cried myself to sleep, and when I woke up I felt like a truck had ran me over.
I had to quickly get in the shower and wash away all the tears, wash away the pain, before leaving for CCD. I’m teaching 2nd grade this year, and tonight was our Christmas program.
I didn’t know how I was going to get through the lyrics of “Away In a Manger” without crying, but when I arrived at church I felt calm. No more tears. No more anger. Just a feeling of peace. A welcomed feeling that everything was going to be okay.
And then the nausea hit. On top of the cramps from hell I had to fight the urge to throw up in the beautiful poinsettias in the foyer. Although, strangely, the plant’s red leaves reminded me of my awful PMS.
I managed to get through the wave of nausea. And the students sang their songs beautifully.
Aren’t they sweet? After the little concert I rounded up the kids and their parents and led them to the Mary room for cookies and juice. I then quickly excused myself to throw up in the ladies room.
It’s the freakin’ flu. I figured it out once I got home and threw up again. Cold sweats, body chills and stomach upset quickly followed. This morning? I feel like death warmed up.
So maybe my body was too busy fighting this awful bug and couldn’t be bothered with conception.
Okay, I know. I’m losing it. At least I’m trying to look on the bright side.
Although if puking all night and day is the bright side of this situation? All I have to say is, “Ugh!”
I’ve spent the day moping around the house. Partly due to the depression of my infertility, partly due to the immensely painful menstrual cramps that are plaguing me. Oh, the pain. Not only is it physically awful, it’s emotionally draining. Sucking the life out of me.
In between bouts of crying, yelling and fists to the wall, I’m trying desperately not to lose sight of the big picture. I can always try again next month. I’m rolling my eyes. The frustration is just too….oh I don’t know…too much to deal with.
I’m so sick of sulking, and yet I feel better when I let these emotional bursts ooze out of me.
Did I tell you I prayed two rosaries this week? I did. And the whole time I was fighting the urge to yell at God. I know it’s all up to him. I know I can’t let this consume me. And yet, all I want to do is tell someone or something to go straight to hell. But that would be very un-Catholic behavior so I refrain, being the season of Christ and all.
Oh, the sarcasm. I can’t stand it myself. I’m thinking I just need to attend a penance service and cleanse my soul of all the angry thoughts. That might help. For awhile, I mean. Until the next disappointment, you know? And then I’ll be in the same hole of emotional suckage that I’m drowning in right now.
And the thing that really gets me, is that I know I’m being ridiculous. This wallowing isn’t healthy, but it’s all I can do to not lose it. I’m grasping at straws here, trying so hard to keep my composure…trying not to make my problem someone else’s problem, too.
I’m trying to be kind to my husband, but really, all I want to do is blame him. He’s done nothing wrong, but I want him to take the blame for our infertility problems. I want him to carry the burden, I want him to erase this deep emotional scar, the one that fills my uterus where a baby should be.
And he looks at me and says, “You look tired, Hon…” And I know I’m tired, and all I can do is shrug, force a half-smile and grieve. Grieve over a loss that isn’t really a loss. I mean, how can you lose something you never had to begin with?
I look at Dawson and I cry. He’s so beautiful. He is so kind and sensitive, too. He sees me crying and asks, “Mumma, why are you so sad?”
And I don’t know what to tell him. What can I say that his 4-year-old mind will comprehend.
“Mumma wants to have another baby and it’s just not working out right now.”
“Don’t worry Mumma, you can have a baby in two days,” he says, as he hold up his two little fingers. Oh, how I wish it were that easy.
For so long, Doug and I have talked about babies and pregnancy and made “dates” to do the BD (baby dance, I know it’s a funny term). When things were more optimistic we’d ask Dawson if he wanted a sister or brother and he’d reply, “I want a baby brudder. I want to feed him and change his diaper and share my toys, too.”
It breaks my heart.
This morning he decided he no longer needs to use his little potty chair. He pushed the step over to the big toilet and after doing his business he said, “I’m a big boy, now. That baby potty will be for my brudder.”
And last week in church during the petitions, Father Trempe said a blessing for all the prayers in our hearts. Dawson says, “I pray for a baby, Mumma!”
Through tear-filled eyes I said, “That’s great, Dawson.”
“Lord, have our prayer!” he said. I couldn’t stop crying. I was thrilled that he was so excited over the possibility of being a big brother.
I think that’s why this week’s disappointment is especially difficult for me. I feel like more than just my hopes were shattered.
I don’t know where to go from here. Right now, the mourning is all I can do….
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Just after I wrote this post, I read a blog post titled “Christmas IS a Time for Miracles” or something like that, in which the author revealed she was pregnant. At least someone’s miracle came true, I thought. And then I read the part where she said pregnancy was the last thing she and her husband wanted. And I found myself shouting at my computer screen.
“Fuck you. Fuck you! Fuck you!”
Sure, I felt better for all of five seconds. Then the guilt set in, because it’s not fair of me to be so angry at someone I don’t even know.
I realized that I set myself up for this let down. I did. When we were tracking my ovulation with OPK’s and found the most fertile day, I kept thinking this was the month. I had dreams of conceiving and taking the pregnancy test after I missed my period — my test date would have been tomorrow — and seeing that word “Pregnant” appear on the stick. I envisioned not telling Doug until Christmas, with a surprise card signed, “Love Dana, Dawson and Baby.”
Oh how naive I was. How stupid I am. How utterly freakin’ stupid. It’s my own fault…..
To distract myself I went outside in the cold Wisconsin weather to get the mail. Christmas cards were crammed inside and I was delusional in thinking they would cheer me up.
The first card I opened was from our neighbors and it was signed “A, M, J & The Twins”. My friend is pregnant and her twins are due next May. She decided to announce this in her card… Surprise!
I broke down into a fit of tearful rage. Everywhere I turn I’m reminded of the fact that I’m not pregnant. God, what am I supposed to learn from this pain? I just don’t get it!
My head hurts from all the crying, my eyes are red and swollen, and I just can’t take this anymore….
And then I clicked on this blog post and I realized I’m Full of The Angry, too….
And that’s just the way it’s gonna be for awhile. No sense in fighting it.
Don’t read into this too much, I think it’s just my period.
Five days early…
But I’m curious…
Have you experienced this type of thing? I want to know all about it.
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Never mind. It turns out it’s just one messed up cycle. Here we fucking go again. Disappointment and anger. Anger and disappointment. Crying, crying, crying.
So, a period five days early, indicates a luteal phase of around 10 days. This may not be long enough for my body to sustain a pregnancy. So, if I did conceive, the embryo probably never attached to the uterine wall and blah, blah, blah.
The nurse at the doctor’s office was quite bitchy, implying that I was wasting her precious time with my ridiculous questions (insert eye roll here). I just wanted to know what to expect. I wanted to have some idea as to why my body is failing me.
I tried to be postive, because things were looking up. Things were going well. And now this. This is just too much for me. I’m so tired of it all, and yet I can’t let it go…
This isn’t making my holiday season any merrier. I know, there are more important things to worry about. It’s not about me.
I realize I should be celebrating the birth of Jesus, but can I just tell you how difficult that is when I hurt so terribly?
Dana began her Mom career in 2004 with the birth of her first son, Dawson, aka The Doodlebug, and little brother, Owen, was born in 2009. She spends her days putting out fires, climbing mountains and chasing monsters. More About Dana.
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