Part of the reason I'm having such a hard time with not being successful at TTC yet is because I'm such a goal-oriented person. As explored in previous posts, any time I've identified a goal, I put 100% of my effort into achieving it, and I did. So having this new goal that I am trying 100% to achieve, and having it not happen is, well, driving me crazy.
But another aspect of being so goal oriented is that I tend to be very focused. I keep my "eyes on the prize" (I really do hate using such hackneyed expressions, but it's early, and it works, so let's roll with it) and don't waste attention on peripheral details. That means when I was studying for entrance exams I stopped watching TV; when I was teaching I worked every weekend to prepare something awesome for the upcoming week; and when I was training, I lost track of laundry, bills, traveling to see family, spending time with TH, etc. And now that the goal is getting KU, that's all I'm focusing on. My attention has become laser focused on one singular point: the success or failure of conceiving.
I have stopped thinking about the world of change that that singular point brings with it.
Once we get a positive test, our entire existence will never be the same. We slept 'til 10 a.m. yesterday just because we didn't have anything pressing to get up and do. No more of that. We were sitting around Friday night and decided last-second to go catch a movie. No more of that. We have a quiet house. A tidy house. A laid-back, calm house. We can spend money on whatever we want. We can travel wherever we want for as long as our jobs allow. When we leave the house, I only have to check to make sure I have my wallet and cell phone. We lead simple lives. Lives that will never be the same after that BFP.
We want to have our kids close in age, so once this baby train finally leaves the station, it ain't stopping again for a while. It's like we're poised at the top of a hill, and all I am thinking about is starting down the other side, not remembering that once we do, this point, this peak, this view, will never be reached again.
It's not that I think that our lives are the best that they'll ever be right now, pre-kid. Because I don't. I think that our lives will be more richly blessed when we have kids than I could ever even imagine right now.
I just know that I spend a lot of time focusing on the single goal: get pregnant. And I tend to forget that it comes, much like the Verizon network, with a whole lot more. What we are trying to do is not just get pregnant. We are trying to change our lives forever. It's a big deal. It's not as simple as just TTC. And it helps me to remember that, to remember to enjoy the view right now, because once we start down that other side, there's no coming back.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Two-Post Thursday
Because it's too cute not to share.
After TH forgetting about last Friday being "the" day, we got in a big fight and came to the resolution that I need for him to be more involved on his own, not just responsively involved by doing what I tell him. So I emailed him my chart for him to bookmark and gave him another little run-down of what the chart is/does/means.
I got this email from him this morning:
Wow, your temperature dropped a lot last night! Were you cold, or did I just not snuggle enough? Thanks for letting me be involved with this stuff. Love you,
TH
So. Freaking. Cute. Not just that he remembered (yay!), but that he said "letting me be involved" instead of something more along the lines of "getting me involved" or "making me be involved" or "shoving this crap down my throat."
I love that man.
After TH forgetting about last Friday being "the" day, we got in a big fight and came to the resolution that I need for him to be more involved on his own, not just responsively involved by doing what I tell him. So I emailed him my chart for him to bookmark and gave him another little run-down of what the chart is/does/means.
I got this email from him this morning:
Wow, your temperature dropped a lot last night! Were you cold, or did I just not snuggle enough? Thanks for letting me be involved with this stuff. Love you,
TH
So. Freaking. Cute. Not just that he remembered (yay!), but that he said "letting me be involved" instead of something more along the lines of "getting me involved" or "making me be involved" or "shoving this crap down my throat."
I love that man.
A New Day, a Stoplight, and a Loss of Context
Things always look better in the morning. The sun is shining. It's starting to warm up a bit. It's, well, not yesterday.
I've discovered something. I do much better when I forget all context pertaining to our TTC journey. If I think to myself, "We are trying to get pregnant this month," I can feel that excitement that I felt in the beginning, that hope. Even now, at the beginning of my cycle, when usually I'm all gloom and doom. It's when I think "We've been trying to get pregnant for six months" that things go down hill for me. So, if I forget the context, refuse to think about the back story, it's much better! I also can't really think about the future, either. I don't daydream much about babies anymore. I don't even think much about my doctor's visit next week. When I think about the future, I feel this kind of generalized anxiety about what it will--or worse, what it won't--bring. So the key is, thinking about life in one-day increments. Focusing on today. That doesn't work out so well when you have a bad day, as seen yesterday. But the nice thing is, when you wake up in the morning, it's a new day. It's a chance to reset and face things fresh. Like Drew Barrymore's character in 50 First Dates. No context, no history, no baggage.
As I drove to work this morning, I pulled up in line at the light getting out of my neighborhood, and almost immediately the cars in front of me started going. What luck! I usually get stuck at that light, and it's a long one. Then I realized that that traffic light, and the power it wields over your morning commute, is a great metaphor (and 'cause I'm an English major, I'm all about finding the great metaphors in life). Some women hit the TTC green light without even having to slow down. They head down the road and just keep going with nary a pause. Some women have to wait for a little bit to get the green light. Some women hit the light just as it's turning red and have to wait a long time. But, and here's what I liked, do I get MAD at the traffic light when I get there and it's red and I have to wait? I don't. What would be the point in that? It's not a sentient being. It doesn't make value judgements about who waits at the red light and who goes straight through. It just is. You might as well enjoy the music while you're waiting.
My metaphor breaks down a bit when, say, you think about getting stuck at the red light when you're in a hurry. Then you do get mad. And you probably yell at the light. It also breaks down a bit if you believe that the light IS sentient, that it does make value judgements, that it does consciously decide when you get to go. And it breaks down if you focus on the fact that some cars will never make it through the light without outside help, without a tow-truck or something.
But for me, right now, this morning, the stoplight helped me remember that sometimes people get to go and sometimes people get stopped and that's just the way life is. C'est la vie.
I've discovered something. I do much better when I forget all context pertaining to our TTC journey. If I think to myself, "We are trying to get pregnant this month," I can feel that excitement that I felt in the beginning, that hope. Even now, at the beginning of my cycle, when usually I'm all gloom and doom. It's when I think "We've been trying to get pregnant for six months" that things go down hill for me. So, if I forget the context, refuse to think about the back story, it's much better! I also can't really think about the future, either. I don't daydream much about babies anymore. I don't even think much about my doctor's visit next week. When I think about the future, I feel this kind of generalized anxiety about what it will--or worse, what it won't--bring. So the key is, thinking about life in one-day increments. Focusing on today. That doesn't work out so well when you have a bad day, as seen yesterday. But the nice thing is, when you wake up in the morning, it's a new day. It's a chance to reset and face things fresh. Like Drew Barrymore's character in 50 First Dates. No context, no history, no baggage.
As I drove to work this morning, I pulled up in line at the light getting out of my neighborhood, and almost immediately the cars in front of me started going. What luck! I usually get stuck at that light, and it's a long one. Then I realized that that traffic light, and the power it wields over your morning commute, is a great metaphor (and 'cause I'm an English major, I'm all about finding the great metaphors in life). Some women hit the TTC green light without even having to slow down. They head down the road and just keep going with nary a pause. Some women have to wait for a little bit to get the green light. Some women hit the light just as it's turning red and have to wait a long time. But, and here's what I liked, do I get MAD at the traffic light when I get there and it's red and I have to wait? I don't. What would be the point in that? It's not a sentient being. It doesn't make value judgements about who waits at the red light and who goes straight through. It just is. You might as well enjoy the music while you're waiting.
My metaphor breaks down a bit when, say, you think about getting stuck at the red light when you're in a hurry. Then you do get mad. And you probably yell at the light. It also breaks down a bit if you believe that the light IS sentient, that it does make value judgements, that it does consciously decide when you get to go. And it breaks down if you focus on the fact that some cars will never make it through the light without outside help, without a tow-truck or something.
But for me, right now, this morning, the stoplight helped me remember that sometimes people get to go and sometimes people get stopped and that's just the way life is. C'est la vie.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
I hate waiting
It seems like all I do anymore is wait. I wait to O, I wait to test, I wait to start my period. I wait. I wait for our new lives to start. I wait to stop feeling . . . sad. And envious.
And now I'm waiting again. Another trip to the dermatologist. Another check-up. Another two spots removed. Another wait. To find out if I'm still clear. Or if it's popped up again. I wait to find out if I can continue to work on waiting on the other stuff.
As usual, my doctor said it didn't look like it was anything to worry about. "Definitely doesn't jump out at me as cancerous." But this time he admitted that the spots didn't look normal. Great. TH told me my body is just exceptionally good at making abnormal cells. Great. That's exactly the skill I want to have. Can I showcase that at our company's talent show? He joked that of the 10 spots I've now had removed, only one has been cancer, so the odds are pretty good that these new ones aren't. I have to admit he has something there--if you have a 20% chance of getting pregnant, and that hasn't happened yet, surely something with a 10% chance would fall in my favor as well, right?
I made the mistake of reading the pregnant check-in on the board today. I only make that mistake once every two months or so. That's how long it takes me to forget how it makes me feel, to read all the happy posts from women who got exactly what they wanted. It probably wasn't the best day for me to make that mistake, considering my morning at the dermatologist, my fear that these spots will come back with results that I'll have to go back to the office "to discuss." But what's done is done and I read it and I spent the afternoon with a boulder on my chest.
Why does it have to be this hard? Why do some women get to skip through life, blithely think, "oh, let's have babies now, that will be fun!" and then get pregnant, like they are checking off a to-do list, pick up milk--check! get a haircut--check! buy birthday present for mom--check! get pregnant--check! It's not just one or two women in my life. I can list four, five, seven, ten off the top of my head. And I know everyone has their own struggles and that no one's life is as easy as it may appear from the outside. But I also know how hard my life is. I know the kinds of things I've had to deal with the past year, the kinds of things my husband has had to deal with, and some days, on the days I have to worry again about fighting cancer, on the days TH breaks down because his mom is not his mom anymore, on the days I read about everyone else who got exactly what they want . . . I just . . . I just . . . hate . . . the wait.
Two days from now, when I hear back from my dermatologist and find out everything's fine, I'll look back on how I'm feeling and laugh at myself. For not being more patient. For not trusting that everything would turn out ok.
And one day, when I'm pregnant, I'll look back on this whole process and laugh at myself. For not being more patient. For not trusting that everything would turn out ok.
But the reality is, in that moment, I will no longer understand this person. I will no longer understand the fear and the angst and the impatience. Knowing how things turn out changes the perspective.
Those who look back with wisdom will never truthfully remember what it felt like to look forward in ignorance.
And I hope I remember in that moment, that this person should not be laughed at for her impatience, for her fear. That is it all real. All justified. All understandable.
I hope I can look back on this person and know that she waited the best she could.
And now I'm waiting again. Another trip to the dermatologist. Another check-up. Another two spots removed. Another wait. To find out if I'm still clear. Or if it's popped up again. I wait to find out if I can continue to work on waiting on the other stuff.
As usual, my doctor said it didn't look like it was anything to worry about. "Definitely doesn't jump out at me as cancerous." But this time he admitted that the spots didn't look normal. Great. TH told me my body is just exceptionally good at making abnormal cells. Great. That's exactly the skill I want to have. Can I showcase that at our company's talent show? He joked that of the 10 spots I've now had removed, only one has been cancer, so the odds are pretty good that these new ones aren't. I have to admit he has something there--if you have a 20% chance of getting pregnant, and that hasn't happened yet, surely something with a 10% chance would fall in my favor as well, right?
I made the mistake of reading the pregnant check-in on the board today. I only make that mistake once every two months or so. That's how long it takes me to forget how it makes me feel, to read all the happy posts from women who got exactly what they wanted. It probably wasn't the best day for me to make that mistake, considering my morning at the dermatologist, my fear that these spots will come back with results that I'll have to go back to the office "to discuss." But what's done is done and I read it and I spent the afternoon with a boulder on my chest.
Why does it have to be this hard? Why do some women get to skip through life, blithely think, "oh, let's have babies now, that will be fun!" and then get pregnant, like they are checking off a to-do list, pick up milk--check! get a haircut--check! buy birthday present for mom--check! get pregnant--check! It's not just one or two women in my life. I can list four, five, seven, ten off the top of my head. And I know everyone has their own struggles and that no one's life is as easy as it may appear from the outside. But I also know how hard my life is. I know the kinds of things I've had to deal with the past year, the kinds of things my husband has had to deal with, and some days, on the days I have to worry again about fighting cancer, on the days TH breaks down because his mom is not his mom anymore, on the days I read about everyone else who got exactly what they want . . . I just . . . I just . . . hate . . . the wait.
Two days from now, when I hear back from my dermatologist and find out everything's fine, I'll look back on how I'm feeling and laugh at myself. For not being more patient. For not trusting that everything would turn out ok.
And one day, when I'm pregnant, I'll look back on this whole process and laugh at myself. For not being more patient. For not trusting that everything would turn out ok.
But the reality is, in that moment, I will no longer understand this person. I will no longer understand the fear and the angst and the impatience. Knowing how things turn out changes the perspective.
Those who look back with wisdom will never truthfully remember what it felt like to look forward in ignorance.
And I hope I remember in that moment, that this person should not be laughed at for her impatience, for her fear. That is it all real. All justified. All understandable.
I hope I can look back on this person and know that she waited the best she could.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Onward
I didn't even make it to testing this morning. The bottom dropped out of my temp and I knew what that meant. AF was here just after lunch.
This time brought with it a lot of anger.
Much of it was directed at TH this morning--not out loud, but internally. He slept in. He didn't ask me about my temp. Or if I had tested. He still hasn't. He didn't remember that this morning was THE morning. I had girls all across the city praying for me and asking for updates the first thing in the morning, and my own husband didn't remember.
I feel like the longer this goes on, the more he just goes on with his life as usual, the more this whole TTC circus just fades into his background. He's not the one taking vitamins and temping and charting and feeling phantom symptoms and withholding from caffeine and alcohol and changing his life to make this thing happen. He has sex with me when he's supposed to (who are we kidding--that's not even an adjustment for him) and occasionally remembers to take his vitamins (a one month supply has now lasted more than two months) and his life goes on as usual aside from the occasional jealousy when he sees other men who have pregnant wives or other men who have cute kids. I was angry at him for not being equally involved in this as me, for leaving me to feel alone and hurt this morning, for not knowing that I was feeling lonely, that I was hurting.
I know that my anger is not really with him, but that's where this directionless anger is turning.
This has been the first month I've felt like crying. I cried two weeks ago, cried with frustration at my stupid doctor who said that she would neither see nor talk to me before my annual in February. But this is the first time I've felt like crying about the no.
I've been able to channel a little of that anger and frustration--I changed doctors to a man who is literally locally famous in the TTC circles. He's not a specialist, and I have several friends who see him as their regular GYN, and at this point I don't think I need a specialist. I need a doctor who will listen to my concerns and look at my charts and hear why I'm frustrated and have a conversation with me about what's going on. I need a doctor who is involved in the process.
So anyway, I have my first appointment with his NP in two weeks. So I have two weeks to sort through all the angry chatter in my head and heart and develop a list of questions.
As I ate lunch today, there was Christmas music playing. I was first struck with a wave of self-pity--I wanted so desperately to celebrate something special this Christmas. Christmas is a family holiday, and I truly believed we would be on our way to starting our own family by now.
And then, because I loathe feeling sorry for myself, I remembered that I was truly happy last Christmas. And in all honesty, nothing has changed. My life hasn't gotten worse. I have just as much to celebrate this year as I did last year.
So, I'm thinking that I'm glad that it's Christmas time--with all the shopping and parties and traveling and time off work, this month will fly by.
Right?
This time brought with it a lot of anger.
Much of it was directed at TH this morning--not out loud, but internally. He slept in. He didn't ask me about my temp. Or if I had tested. He still hasn't. He didn't remember that this morning was THE morning. I had girls all across the city praying for me and asking for updates the first thing in the morning, and my own husband didn't remember.
I feel like the longer this goes on, the more he just goes on with his life as usual, the more this whole TTC circus just fades into his background. He's not the one taking vitamins and temping and charting and feeling phantom symptoms and withholding from caffeine and alcohol and changing his life to make this thing happen. He has sex with me when he's supposed to (who are we kidding--that's not even an adjustment for him) and occasionally remembers to take his vitamins (a one month supply has now lasted more than two months) and his life goes on as usual aside from the occasional jealousy when he sees other men who have pregnant wives or other men who have cute kids. I was angry at him for not being equally involved in this as me, for leaving me to feel alone and hurt this morning, for not knowing that I was feeling lonely, that I was hurting.
I know that my anger is not really with him, but that's where this directionless anger is turning.
This has been the first month I've felt like crying. I cried two weeks ago, cried with frustration at my stupid doctor who said that she would neither see nor talk to me before my annual in February. But this is the first time I've felt like crying about the no.
I've been able to channel a little of that anger and frustration--I changed doctors to a man who is literally locally famous in the TTC circles. He's not a specialist, and I have several friends who see him as their regular GYN, and at this point I don't think I need a specialist. I need a doctor who will listen to my concerns and look at my charts and hear why I'm frustrated and have a conversation with me about what's going on. I need a doctor who is involved in the process.
So anyway, I have my first appointment with his NP in two weeks. So I have two weeks to sort through all the angry chatter in my head and heart and develop a list of questions.
As I ate lunch today, there was Christmas music playing. I was first struck with a wave of self-pity--I wanted so desperately to celebrate something special this Christmas. Christmas is a family holiday, and I truly believed we would be on our way to starting our own family by now.
And then, because I loathe feeling sorry for myself, I remembered that I was truly happy last Christmas. And in all honesty, nothing has changed. My life hasn't gotten worse. I have just as much to celebrate this year as I did last year.
So, I'm thinking that I'm glad that it's Christmas time--with all the shopping and parties and traveling and time off work, this month will fly by.
Right?
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Eve
I. am. miserable.
I've held out this month, waiting to test until Friday morning, 14 dpo. They say it's good to do this, that you shouldn't test early to save money, to avoid the disappointment of the false negative or the chemical pregnancy.
I have made it thus far, and now, on the eve of testing again, I am miserable.
Half of me (who are we kidding . . . 95% of me) is so hopeful. Surely out timing was good this month. Surely the crazy intense O pain I felt on the left side on Thursday and on the right side on Friday of the day TH left meant that my body is working correctly. Surely the signs I've been feeling this week mean something. Surely the unusual temps indicate an unusual outcome. For the last 24 hours (5 days? week? two weeks? month?) I've envisioned seeing something different on that stupid stick. I can see me smile. I can feel the butterflies that would burst into my stomach. I can hear TH's incredulous response. I can imagine our lives changing, our to-do list suddenly exploding, our plans for telling our families at Christmas suddenly realized.
And then the other half, the strong 5%, laughs cruelly, makes me ask myself, "What the fuck are you thinking? Why would this month be any different than the others? Why would you get your hopes up? Why are you so naive, so stupid?" And I remember that I should be hoping for the best but preparing for the worst, and so I try to prepare myself for the same result I've seen since July, I try to remember what it feels like to see that single line, to remember how far my heart falls, to remember what it feels like to crawl into myself so far I don't even cry, I just hide and hurt, so much so that the only way to survive the pain is to wrap a hardened shell around me, a shell that won't let my pain overwhelm and drown me. It's this other half that tells me I'm a fool for hoping.
So here I am, on the eve of testing, again. And I am miserable. I fear tomorrow morning. I fear the tremble I know will be in my hands when unwrapping the stupid test. I fear the wait, the three minutes I can hear my heart beating in my ears. I fear what comes after the wait.
I'm on the eve of taking a test that I have failed four times already, despite every effort on my part to pass.
I'm on the eve of a twisted wedding ceremony where the bride doesn't know if the groom will show up until she's standing at the altar . . . an altar I've been left alone at four times already.
Why do I keep showing up to the stupid altar? Why do I keep believing this time will be different, that this time the groom will be there to meet me, that this time I'll pass the test?
And then, miserable, I remember that despite the outcome, it's better to hope. It feels better to allow yourself the pleasure of the "what if." It feels better to not wallow, to not accept another defeat before you know for sure one way or the other. It feels better to be happy and hopeful and optimistic. So I allow myself to go down that path again. And then I remember that path has brought me nothing but disappointment. And I talk myself out of it. And become miserable once again.
I will test tomorrow. I owe it to myself to hope. But I dread the testing as well. Because I can't imagine anything but another no.
I've held out this month, waiting to test until Friday morning, 14 dpo. They say it's good to do this, that you shouldn't test early to save money, to avoid the disappointment of the false negative or the chemical pregnancy.
I have made it thus far, and now, on the eve of testing again, I am miserable.
Half of me (who are we kidding . . . 95% of me) is so hopeful. Surely out timing was good this month. Surely the crazy intense O pain I felt on the left side on Thursday and on the right side on Friday of the day TH left meant that my body is working correctly. Surely the signs I've been feeling this week mean something. Surely the unusual temps indicate an unusual outcome. For the last 24 hours (5 days? week? two weeks? month?) I've envisioned seeing something different on that stupid stick. I can see me smile. I can feel the butterflies that would burst into my stomach. I can hear TH's incredulous response. I can imagine our lives changing, our to-do list suddenly exploding, our plans for telling our families at Christmas suddenly realized.
And then the other half, the strong 5%, laughs cruelly, makes me ask myself, "What the fuck are you thinking? Why would this month be any different than the others? Why would you get your hopes up? Why are you so naive, so stupid?" And I remember that I should be hoping for the best but preparing for the worst, and so I try to prepare myself for the same result I've seen since July, I try to remember what it feels like to see that single line, to remember how far my heart falls, to remember what it feels like to crawl into myself so far I don't even cry, I just hide and hurt, so much so that the only way to survive the pain is to wrap a hardened shell around me, a shell that won't let my pain overwhelm and drown me. It's this other half that tells me I'm a fool for hoping.
So here I am, on the eve of testing, again. And I am miserable. I fear tomorrow morning. I fear the tremble I know will be in my hands when unwrapping the stupid test. I fear the wait, the three minutes I can hear my heart beating in my ears. I fear what comes after the wait.
I'm on the eve of taking a test that I have failed four times already, despite every effort on my part to pass.
I'm on the eve of a twisted wedding ceremony where the bride doesn't know if the groom will show up until she's standing at the altar . . . an altar I've been left alone at four times already.
Why do I keep showing up to the stupid altar? Why do I keep believing this time will be different, that this time the groom will be there to meet me, that this time I'll pass the test?
And then, miserable, I remember that despite the outcome, it's better to hope. It feels better to allow yourself the pleasure of the "what if." It feels better to not wallow, to not accept another defeat before you know for sure one way or the other. It feels better to be happy and hopeful and optimistic. So I allow myself to go down that path again. And then I remember that path has brought me nothing but disappointment. And I talk myself out of it. And become miserable once again.
I will test tomorrow. I owe it to myself to hope. But I dread the testing as well. Because I can't imagine anything but another no.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Screw You, Google
Dear Google,
Screw you. When I google something totally obscure and add "+ pregnancy symptom" to it, I'm trying to justify to myself why I am insane. Why I am making shit up. Why what I'm feeling could not possibly have anything to do with maybe being KU. I am looking for sanity.
I am not looking for you to return pages that actually say that this obscure, insane thing could possibly in some cases be considered an actual pregnancy symptom. You comb through 1 bagillion pages--of course you're going to find SOMETHING that says that. I imagine there's at least one page on the internet that links any symptom you could possibly imagine to pregnancy.
So, Google, screw you. I needed a swift kick in the quite-making-shit-up pants, not a pat on the back and an encouragement to keep falling farther down the phantom-symptoms rabbit hole.
Now I have to find another way to keep sane. For another two whole days. Crap.
Sincerely,
Crazy
Screw you. When I google something totally obscure and add "+ pregnancy symptom" to it, I'm trying to justify to myself why I am insane. Why I am making shit up. Why what I'm feeling could not possibly have anything to do with maybe being KU. I am looking for sanity.
I am not looking for you to return pages that actually say that this obscure, insane thing could possibly in some cases be considered an actual pregnancy symptom. You comb through 1 bagillion pages--of course you're going to find SOMETHING that says that. I imagine there's at least one page on the internet that links any symptom you could possibly imagine to pregnancy.
So, Google, screw you. I needed a swift kick in the quite-making-shit-up pants, not a pat on the back and an encouragement to keep falling farther down the phantom-symptoms rabbit hole.
Now I have to find another way to keep sane. For another two whole days. Crap.
Sincerely,
Crazy
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