Two years

Today marks two years since we started trying for a family. It also marks a year since infertility has officially been a part of our lives. A lot has changed since two years ago. I remember how excited I was, assuming we’d be expecting in no time. We talked about names and I thought about how we would announce to our families. We thought about how we would decorate and I had a mental list of baby gear I liked. Things are very different now. The room that I once walked by thinking, “that’ll be our nursery” is now part-way through its craft room transformation. I’m working daily at dealing with the loss (even just infertility itself is a big life-changer for couples, much less deciding to walk away from trying anymore) and taking care of myself and my husband emotionally. Still, it’s a sad day for us. I miss this day two years ago when we were hopeful and optimistic for a family. I’m hopeful and optimistic for new things now, but there’s an empty space where a dream once was.

I am thankful that the most important thing - my wonderful husband - hasn't changed. He continues to be my rock, and we continue to be strong and loving. The last year especially has had big challenges and disappointments for us, but if we can get through this, I know we can get through anything life throws our way.

Show Us Your Life: Infertility

I'd already posted once today and then saw that Kelly's Korner is featuring infertility stories in her Show Us Your Life series today. So, if you're coming here from there, welcome! This isn't an infertility blog - it's about our life since we got engaged, and infertility just happens to be a part of it.

Our story (the short version): my husband, Dan, and I started trying for our first child in April 2010, when we'd been married 6 months. I charted my temps to know my cycle and time our trying to the best of our ability. We had no luck in the first 12 months, which made us eligible for infertility testing. What they found is a progesterone deficiency with me as well as issues with my husband. We later got further info that I've kept private here (if you're dealing with MFI, though, and would like to email me about it, I'm happy to elaborate in private) that made treatment much more difficult. We were told we could try IUI, but that IVF with ICSI would be our best bet. Even for IUI, we'd need a vast improvement and that private little issue I mentioned makes improvement a costly balancing act (for us, due to insurance) and unlikely that IUI would truly be successful.

After weighing our options, chances, and costs, we decided that we were going to walk away from trying to conceive. We're not open to IVF (this was discussed even prior to our first RE appointment), and adoption just isn't for us (though it's wonderful for families who choose that route - we're not anti-adoption in general). So we've chosen to be childfree and make the most of our marriage and life together. We're not risk takers, and the low rates of success made the high costs hard to justify. It's not an easy decision to make, but we're confident it was the right decision for us. We're just thankful to be on the same page.

So technically, we're not going through infertility (treatment), yet we live it every day. We experience the same heartache and feelings of inadequacy that couples going through treatment cycles do. I go to therapy to deal with that stuff, and my husband, friends, and family are incredibly supportive. I identify strongly as "infertile" and hope to someday work to raise awareness and support for couples facing similarly difficult decisions.

To see my posts regarding infertility, click HERE

For some reading on choosing childfree living after infertility, check out Sweet Grapes by Jean and Michael Carter

Deep breath...

After receiving a lot of support and encouragement from people here, on the Twitter and on Facebook - along with an incredibly sweet card from an amazing friend and fellow IFer - I've decided to reveal my tattoo and what it means. Dan helped me with the concept - he paid for it as a gift to me, so this is something meaningful to both of us. Our wonderfully supportive friend and artist did the work.

Sparrow tattoos have a long history in tattoos and have many meanings depending on depiction, placement and angle. For us, though, the sparrows represent me and Dan. They mate for life and travel great distances, always to return home, and that's a profoundly strong symbol for us - we're in this together, no matter what. They're also a symbol of hope and renewal, and they stand for our hope for a fulfilling and happy life. The ribbon held by the birds is an infertility awareness ribbon in the colors pink and blue (it also symbolizes miscarriage and baby loss, which you would find more predominantly in a google search). We carry it together symbolically and literally.

This piece is different than most of my others in style. It's darker, and there's more chaos. One girl who saw it said she could see the pain. Many times, sparrows are depicted in a traditional American stylized fashion. Mine are more realistic (in style, not necessarily color), and I like that they demonstrate the reality of our situation - all too often, people dealing with infertility are told to relax, stop thinking about it, go on vacation, get drunk and "do it." In doing so, it often makes us feel as though our struggle is minimized, our concern falsified. Dan and I are real people with real diagnoses and had to make real (tough) decisions. My Our sparrows depict that.

Thanks for your love and support, friends <3

Random Musings Friday

Happy Friday! Holy shizballs, this week felt long! Here's my brain dump:

- I just can't get into a sympathetic frame of mind over Whitney Houston's death. I respect that she's a person who died and that's sad for her family and loved ones, but in my humble opinion, she was a crackhead with a once great voice and her death was not surprising due to her lifestyle. I say "once great" because her continued drug use damaged it. She was a troubled soul, and I'm glad that she no longer suffers, but I always find it interesting when celebrities with troubled pasts pass away and we seem to forget the troubled part. Either way, rest in peace, Whitney.

- I had my second lia sophia show last night, hosted by my mother-in-law at my house. It was small and fun, but I was hoping for bigger sales for her. I'm kicking tail on my start-up sales goals, which is great, and I've gotten bookings out of both shows, so I'm thankful for a successful start. I have two more shows this weekend, and I'm just hoping they go really well for my hostesses, because I am so thankful they agreed to help me get started.

- Dan and I bought the paint for the craft room on Sunday, and I'm hoping we can get started with the makeover this weekend.

- Speaking of this weekend, we're going to the body art expo. I've never been to one and I'm really excited. I really have no idea what to expect. Our tattoo artist is entering one of Dan's pieces in a contest and I'm super excited for both of them.

- Confession: I got a tattoo symbolizing our infertility and - aside from posting it on Facebook with a vague explanation of its meaning - haven't really shown it to anyone. My confession is that I worry that people would think that since we didn't try treatment, getting a permanent mark of our experience would be making a mountain out of a molehill. I struggle a lot with feeling like we haven't "suffered" enough, and I need to come to terms with that.

Hope you all have a wonderful weekend! Don't forget to go see the other link-ups at Shana's site. Oh, and! Amanda's lia sophia virtual jewelry extravaganza ends Wednesday and a I threw in a special deal for orders submitted this weekend, so go visit her, too.

Talk it out

I did something good for myself yesterday. Almost 4 months to the day after finding out about the major cause of our infertility, I went and talked to a counselor. The last four months have been up and down. The initial news was really hard, and the first couple weeks were very painful. Now, like with any other grief, the pain is beginning to subside and the sharp pains come with longer and longer intervals in between, and we're sorting out what we're going to do. There have been even more developments that I'm going to keep private, but I can tell you that they make our chances even more slim.

And so, considering the fact that we are truly grieving a loss, I decided to talk to someone. I found a great counselor and sat down with her yesterday and blabbed on and on about our fears, my confessions, the stumbling blocks, the day-to-day stuff and how our lives are affected by infertility. I cried my eyes out, I laughed, I listened. I learned that it's okay to feel how I feel, because there is no wrong way to feel. The counselor was amazing. She's dealt with other couples struggling with IF, so she's familiar with the things we go through. She listened sympathetically as I got angry about people expressing to me frequently how I just need to do this or try that. She complimented me on how I care for my husband, shielding him and emphasizing how we are a unit in this. It felt really good to have someone sense the strength of our relationship through just an hour of conversation.

I'm glad I did something good for myself. It's not easy to say, "I may not be able to deal with this alone." I often have thoughts that things aren't that bad, relatively speaking, and I have nothing to be upset about compared to ladies who've been through 5 rounds of IVF and still don't have a baby. It was good to hear that I don't have to suffer a certain amount to be worthy of that care. It's also not easy to have to tell a stranger - though a very kind and comforting one - very intimate details in order to convey the gravity of our situation. But I feel so much better having gotten it off my chest and starting the process of working through the losses we've experienced and those we'll continue to endure as we figure out which way is up.

A letter to my friends

I've been writing this letter over the past couple of weeks as I sort out my feelings, figuring out what I would want to be able to say to friends about what's going on if I had the guts to just let it all out there. For my real-life friends, this isn't meant to offend or make anyone feel as though they've done anything wrong. It's just me being honest and as open as I can be.



Dear Friend,

I may or may not have shared this with you, but Dan and I have a sort of secret. We are two of 7 million Americans (one in eight couples) with fertility issues. Both of us are affected – not only do we each have our own issue, but even if it was just one of us, we’d still be in the same place. One of us can’t make a baby without the other, so we’re in this together. We’ve been through testing, we have diagnoses. We have a realistic understanding of our options and our chances. What’s going on isn’t a result of not relaxing or not doing something right or not wanting or praying hard enough. It isn’t about timing, positions, or old wives’ tales. It can’t be fixed by adopting or not trying. I know it seems that everyone knows someone who got pregnant when they stopped trying or started the adoption process, but it’s not the case for everyone. Adoption is not in our cards, nor is IVF. For a number of reasons, Dan and I have made a decision we feel is right for us for the time being, and that’s to not move forward with any testing or treatment. Because of fear of miscarriage made more likely by my issue, we are actively avoiding pregnancy while not in the care of a specialist. We are in full agreement in this decision, and it’s a necessary break to get us to a point where we can re-evaluate if we will be trying again.

Please understand that though we made this decision together and are confident now, it wasn’t easy and it’s still very raw. There is a lot of grief in our home right now. Our hearts are heavy. My emotions are intense and irrational at times. There are good days and awful days. I want you to know, friend, that despite all this, I am happy for you as you grow your family. I am excited for you as you announce your pregnancy, and I look forward to spoiling your child and seeing you as a mom. That said, it isn’t easy for me to watch you experience things I long for. I fear I won’t get to tell my husband we’re expecting, see the ultrasound, hear the heartbeat. I may never get to decorate a nursery, feel the baby move, or give birth and hear that first tiny cry. My husband may never be a father, and my parents may never have grandchildren that aren’t my sister’s kids. So while I am happy for you, dear friend, my heart aches when I see your announcements on Facebook. Baby shower invitations make tears spring to my eyes. Pictures and videos of your little one, though sweet and appreciated, often make a lump rise in my throat. Little moments and glimpses into your life as a mom-to-be can make a good day go bad in a matter of seconds through no fault of your own.

My goal through all of this has been to grieve privately, and celebrate your joys publicly. It doesn’t always work that way, though. While I may not appear sad when you show me pictures or share something cute your husband said about the baby, inside I’m just holding it together. I would never want to take away from your moment. I will not skip baby showers, and I will not dismiss you as a friend for having what I desire. But sometimes, I need time. Sometimes, I may cry – know that if I do so in front of you, it means I trust you with my feelings of grief. Please understand that if I have to walk away or take a day to myself, it isn’t because I don’t love you. It’s because I need that for me. I’m constantly torn between not wanting to be handled with kid gloves, and needing some sensitivity. I don’t want you to not feel free to express your joy and share this experience with me, but I need you to know that sometimes it’s too much and I need a minute, an hour, a day to hash it out. I’m very conscious of my fear of becoming jealous or “bitter.” I’m not asking you to change how you express your happiness and share your family experiences, just to have a little awareness and understanding of how I may react if my emotions get to me. Because it truly is a case of “it’s not you, it’s me.”

There may be times when I withdraw into myself. I go through periods of days or even a week or two where the safest place for my emotions is within me. I may not call to hang out, or talk or text. I may be vague on Facebook. I may just be generally distant. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk to you or hang out, I just feel that I lack the energy and motivation to make the effort. I want to spend time with you, chat, and have lunch. Sometimes, though, I feel that I’m experiencing more reminders of our infertility and keeping to myself means less opportunities for that to happen. Sometimes, not talking about IF is achieved by not talking, period. So please, don’t mistake my distance for lack of care. Your friendship is still important to me. I’m just being guarded, and I’ll come around if you just give me time.

I value you, friend. I’m excited for you, and happy for your family. That happiness for you is a distinct emotion from my sadness, yet the former often reminds me of the latter. I will do my best to be a supportive and loving friend as you prepare for and experience motherhood. Just please understand that I am mourning something I never had, and even if Dan and I are successful in having a baby one day, this will have forever changed us. We’ve already had to accept many changes and losses since we started trying to start a family. I fear that everything will change, in fact, including my friendship with you. I worry immensely that you being a mom and raising your family will create a divide between us. I don’t want to lose my friends, too. I don’t want to be left out and left behind. Both Dan and I want to be special people in your kids’ lives and spoil them and love them, as we know you would do for our children.
Thank you for being a supportive and wonderful part of my life.

Always,
Brooke

And now, we wait

Yesterday was our appointment with the infertility specialist. I was anxious all day. I didn't sleep well Sunday night because I had a dream that I overslept and got to work late, then couldn't finish work in time to go to the doctor. So I was wide awake at 3am freaked out about over-sleeping. So yeah, anxious.

Basically, some things were as I expected, and some things were better. I had a feeling that our game plan would include working on Dan's numbers first. The specialist wanted to re-test him right away (like, this week) but we both feel that it doesn't make sense to test again before making improvements. Even if we saw a 10% increase in results, we'd likely have to make improvements anyway, so why pay for 2 tests (I have coverage, but Dan isn't on my plan, so we're out-of-pocket for him)? So we were given a list of vitamins and other supplements for him to try. We're thinking we'll test again in 10 weeks, as that's about how long it takes for sperm cells to mature, and we want to see the full effect of the changes we make. The doctor thinks it's realistic to hope that we could improve the counts enough to make IUI successful, which is exactly what we hoped for.

So basically, we get a break. And we're actually okay with that. It's been fifteen months of thinking about timing and testing and everything. The last month or two have had the added stress of worry about test results and what they mean for us. We agree that taking the next 10 weeks (or longer if we want) to just live life is best for us. Once we get started with whatever treatment plan we go with, things tend to get more stressful and emotional than just "seeing how things go," so we want to be in a good place.

And no, we're not at all thinking that "taking a break" will lead to pregnancy. As of now, if none of the vitamins or supplements or other lifestyle changes make any difference, we have about a 5% chance at spontaneous conception (as in, not in a cycle, but ever), and even with some (say 30%, which may or may not be realistic depending on the cause of the deficiency) improvement, our chances are still far less than the average couple, and we also have my issue to contend with. So please, I know people are hopeful and rooting for us and I appreciate that so much, but please spare us the "see, you stop trying and it'll happen!" We have options, and we'll get to those. For now, we just wait.

The bigger piece

After waiting a week that felt like a heck of a lot longer, we got Dan's test results yesterday. They weren't good. Like, really not good. Without going into specific numbers, if the issues can't be corrected through changes in diet, supplements, and vitamins, we'd be looking at IVF as our only option, along with a special procedure to manually fertilize the egg first. And the chances are even more slim than for a regular IVF. And I'm not being all worst case scenario dramatic. These are researchable (read: google-able) facts that also appear right on the test results. Until we see the specialist, I don't know what we're looking at if we're able to correct the problems.

I'm equal parts hopeful for resolution through the RE and the help of a urologist, devastated, and numb. I have so many thoughts in my head. Part of me refuses to let the gravity of it set in before we see the specialist and know for sure what the options are. The other part of me is in panic mode. Mostly, I don't want to freak Dan out. I know how I felt that our troubles were all my fault when I got my results, and I don't want him to feel that way. I married him for him, and we'll take life as it comes. Together. But we're facing a very real possibility that there may not be biological children for us. I had hoped that my issues were all we'd be facing, but it turns out that there's a bigger piece to this puzzle.

Never had a chance

I'm not even in a state to sugar coat this, so here it goes. I got some bad test results today. I found out that I'm highly deficient (as in 20% of the optimal unmedicated level) in the hormone that's responsible for supporting early pregnancy. Symptoms I've experienced support the results. Basically, even if we'd managed to achieve conception, my body was not going to support the embryo to result in a successful pregnancy.

Today was rough. I got a message from the doctor's office that my results came back "normal." However, upon actually receiving the results, my heart sank. I knew what the "goal" number was, and I was waaaay below. I called back to leave a message that I disagreed with the "normal" assessment, only to be told that my doctor signed off on it and reiterated her opinion that my levels were fine. Um. No. Not acceptable, and I knew I didn't agree with her analysis. Upon walking in the door at home and seeing my sweet husband, I burst into tears and let open the flood gates I'd been holding in all day.

This is a fixable issue, I should say that I'm thankful for that. I am. But there is still mourning. I mourn the carefree thinking that we would just easily have a baby. I mourn the element of surprise for me, for Dan, for our parents. I mourn for the thought that there may have been babies that never had a chance. That's the worst. That's what causes the big fat tears in the steaming hot shower. I know we had to go through the last year of trying to be able to get here to get this information, but it feels like a year wasted. A year of chances that never were.

So what's the next step? We have more testing to do, for both of us. At my appointment with the specialist in July, I'll likely be given supplements of the deficient hormone, and possibly other fertility drugs to correct the issue. Like I said, this is fixable. I know it could be far worse. I'm hoping this is the only issue, though I know that the remaining tests could raise other issues. But we'll deal with them. I debated whether to wish for no issues or for something we could point a finger at. Well, we got something to point a finger at. Now we have to resolve it. Hopefully, I respond well to the supplements and we get that chance we need. In the meantime, it's just me and him.

Well, that's a relief!

I had my first appointment yesterday with my new OB/gyn. I was pretty anxious about it all day. On the one hand, I was almost relieved for the day to arrive when I might start getting some answers. On the other hand, I've been braced for bad news. I had talked to girls who've been through this type of appointment and knew that what was likely to happen was a short physical exam (similar to an annual well-woman exam) and quite a few questions about my cycles. I was worried about what she might say about my blood pressure and my weight, but I know they're both things I need to work on, so it's not like it would be a shock to hear they need improvement. I was also worried that she wouldn't be keen or knowledgeable on charting temperatures to confirm ovulation. In talking to some girls who've gone to their OB/gyns about concerns, the doctors weren't receptive to charting and found it a waste of time.

To my wonderful surprise, my doctor was awesome! She was very impressed with my charting and my knowledge of my cycles. She said we were doing everything right, which is always nice to hear. She did a short exam and didn't come up with anything that was a concern. Even my blood pressure gave a fabulous reading. She suggested the exact tests I had in mind: blood work on hormone levels and an HSG for me, and a sperm analysis for Dan. These are pretty standard tests that rule out funky hormones, issues with my anatomy, and poor numbers/motility etc. for Dan's swimmers. My tests have to be done on certain days of my cycle, so I'll have to wait a few weeks to get started, but we have a plan.

If everything comes out normal, luck just hasn't been on our side. We can try a couple meds to give us better chances for conception, but it won't really explain why we haven't yet been successful. Even though I don't want something to be horribly wrong, I almost feel like it would be easier to wrap my mind around a diagnosis like blocked tubes or a low hormone level. That's something we can fix. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Thank you all for your wonderful messages, prayers, thoughts, vibes, and well wishes yesterday and today. It was overwhelming how many people took a moment to let me know they were thinking of me, and that was awesome.

There is one other cute thing to share, and hopefully you don't all think I'm too kooky, but it really was awesome. A group of girls on The Bump's Trouble TTC board had a sock exchange. Why socks? Well, with all this testing and prodding, we're bound to spend time with our feet in stirrups. The idea is that we figured we might as well be awkward in style. So my sock buddy sent me this last week:


Yes, those are cupcake socks, and I wore them to my appointment yesterday. Somehow, knowing they came from someone who's been through this stuff before was a big comfort.