I’ve gone back and forth the past few days trying to decide how much of our fertility journey I wanted to share.
But then I realized I’ve always been transparent. Always open and willing to discuss most things in life. So, what’s different now? Not much and yet a lot of things. And (shocking, I know) I have a lot of thinkings.
Jimmy and I did our first IUI last month…and it failed. Such a harsh word, eh? But I guess that’s what they call it: a failed IUI. Even as I sit here, a hurricane of thoughts batters my mind.
Frustration. Acceptance. Sadness. And an overwhelming feeling of just being… tired. I know we’re relatively early in the fertility journey. Too early to be tired. But let me explain.
I’ve dealt with PCOS my entire adult life. Not a single day goes by that I don’t haggle with some sort of symptom or attempt to ignore its hounding presence in my body. I didn’t get to enjoy my twenties without the repercussions of my lifestyle always in the back of my mind. Medicine. Hormones. Diet. Doctor after doctor.
And honestly, being diagnosed at 18 was somewhat of a blessing. At the time I didn’t give a flying flip about having kids, but I knew they were in my future. I had a great doctor who shot straight and let me know I might have trouble. So, I was somewhat prepared. And I thank her for that.
But last month taught me that no matter how prepared you think you are, hearing that negative result read over the phone will always be a sucker punch to the gut.
Want to hear something strange? I was embarrassed. I don’t know why, but after hearing the news, shame was one of the forefront emotions pummeling my brain. I know Jimmy was so excited, and I felt like I failed him. Like he got saddled with a wife who can’t give him children. At least not the easy way without spending thousands of dollars.
We grow up sitting on shaggy living room carpet, watching beautiful, size zero Disney princesses fall in love with studly, square jawed Disney princes and live happily ever after. The credits roll, the screen fades to black, and you know. They’ll have perfect beautiful babies and she’ll never have to cook dinner and the castle will always be clean. Okay—I’m sure that last part didn’t cross my five-year-old mind (sounds wonderful though, right?), but the kiddos sure did. It’s engrained in us gals from the moment we start our blasted periods. We made it! We’re women! And that means one day we can have babies. Unfortunately, though, there’s not a Disney princess with cystic ovaries, a chubby belly, and what looks suspiciously like a mustache (thanks excessive testosterone.) All I’m saying is… we’re not prepared. We think we are, but we’re not.
What’s all this rambling mean? It just means I’m tired. I’m tired of going the hard way. The rocky path. Jimmy and I desperately tried to school our expectations. But there was that one whispered conversation: “How great would it be if it happened first try?” So, we hoped. We prayed we’d be that magical unicorn. Apparently, that broad was busy last month.
I’m sorry if this comes off as whiney. That’s not my intention. I know there are a lot of worse things in the world. I know people are dealing with more. I just needed to get it all out. As mentioned in past posts, this blog is therapeutic.
What’s next? I allowed myself a good cry and a short pity party. I allowed myself a moment of anger and disbelief. I said “fuck” a couple of times because it’s a fantastically therapeutic word. And then we came up with a plan.
Unfortunately (or fortunately however you look at it), I am out of town for most of October. I’m going to Canada (my favorite place on Earth) followed by a work conference. So, we’ll have to skip IUI #2 this month and save it for November. I’m slightly bummed, but I think going to Canada will help soothe the sting of #1. It’ll calm my mind and soul, and I’m hoping to come back refreshed.
So, there you have it. If you made it this far and didn’t roll your eyes at this slightly “woe is me” post… thanks. I have much love for all of you.
Until next time,