It still hurts

We've been TTC for five years now.  That "anniversary" was earlier this summer.  My first thought is that IF still hurts.  Maybe you're thinking, "Well, duh."  The tears still catch me off guard from time to time.  Almost anything that reminds me of the joy of children and our lack thereof has the potential to trigger the waterworks and re-open the deep pain of longing and grief.  Even though the emotional pain hasn't gone away, I dwell on it less often than the earlier days of IF, so in that way it's not as all-encompassing as it used to be.  The number of days in a month that I shed tears related to IF is significantly decreased from previous years.  Whether this is a natural progression over time or not, there has been a lot of God's grace bringing me to this point because the "please-God-give-me-babies" crying tantrums were much more frequent in the past, and yet the desire for children is still as strong as ever.  Now it's tempered with an outlook that I am not in control, I don't get to know ahead of time when/if our family will grow, and it's possible it may be a long time before it happens.  And many days out of the month, I find there's peace knowing that's a possibility.  If God can bring me to some level of peace—me, the girl who added a prayer intention during her wedding Mass specifically asking God to bless her marriage with children because there weren't enough other places in the Mass where that same prayer was offered and surely God would listen to the prayers of everyone in attendance—God can bring anyone to that same peace. :)  (I distinctly remember my thought process in adding that intention.  It's as if I subconsciously knew we would face infertility, but I needed to feel in control that my dreams of children would come true.)

I still do have this fear of long-term childlessness, and I can't quite put my finger on why it bothers me from time to time (it comes and goes like the tears).  Maybe it's the fear that I'm going to spend many more years in a state of grief?  When the waves of grief come, the emotional pain can be intense.  But like I said above, those feelings happen less often these days.  Maybe I still can't let go of the desire for children.  Complete abandonment to God's will is really hard, especially when your dreams are involved.  I know I need to trust God that if He's asking us to live a childless life for a while longer or indefinitely, that it will be okay.  Maybe it's a good thing I don't know today how long we'll be childless—that could send me into despair quickly.  If I know God's in charge of my future, I'll just work on getting through today.  :)

Today's Gospel was quite fitting:  the story of Peter getting out of the boat and walking on the water to Jesus (Matthew 14:22-33).  Peter takes his eyes off Jesus for a second to look at the storm around him and fear sets in.  The same thing happens to me.  I take my eyes off Jesus to look around at all the happy families having babies and wish I could have that too.  Then I become sad (or any number of negative emotions) and start to whine to God about my life.  One look at a crucifix is usually enough to realign my gaze (and my emotions), but it's almost as if I can hear God saying to me (as Jesus did to Peter), "Oh you of little faith, why did you doubt?"

I've been wondering this lately:  do I have to never get what I want? (i.e. children)  Is that what it is going to take for me to really trust God?  It reminds me of the story from Exodus of the Israelites in the desert after they had been freed from slavery in Egypt (Exodus 16-17).  Even though they should have been grateful to God for their freedom, they grumbled and complained.  God sent them manna and told them only to collect enough for one day.  He was testing them to see if they would trust Him that He was faithful and would give them more manna the next day.  They found other things to complain about, like being thirsty.  God gave them water.  They stayed in the desert for forty years, and God provided them manna for every day.  Is it going to take forty years for me to learn to trust God that life will be okay if my dream of children goes unfulfilled?  On the flip side, if He does bless us with children, will I rely on Him as much as I do now, because I have no other choice than to cling to Him in my suffering?

Even though we've been TTC for five years and during that time there have been plenty of people around us get pregnant, I still struggle with how I react to their news.  I mean, I'm better than I used to be, but there's still room to grow.  Sometimes when others announce a pregnancy or give birth, I feel joy for them.  I have managed (with plenty of grace of course) 100% joy/0% jealousy for some formerly IF ladies.  Sometimes I still struggle with jealousy and even envy and not just with my fertile acquaintances.  What kind of horrible person is ever envious, even a little bit, of an IFer getting pregnant?  I don't blame you if you want to run far away from this blog and never come back.  Sometimes the bitterness that has come with IF and tends to linger under the surface just brings me to tears because I hate that I feel that way.  I don't remember feeling bitterness in my pre-IF days.

Usually there's a protective layer around my heart.  The thickness of that layer changes along with my hormone levels.  It's much thicker during the "fertile" time (so far I'm only fertile on paper) and most of the post-peak phase.  It gets rather thin a few days before AF arrives and remains that way until AF has stayed for a couple days.

There are of course exceptions to this pattern.  I've had pregnancy announcements from fertile friends on CD1 that don't make me cry.  And sometimes the tears will come when I thought I was feeling pretty emotionally stable.  Take a Sunday from last cycle, for example.  It was mid-post-peak so I should have been fine.  But I was not fine.  I cried on and off during Mass as if it were CD1.  Maybe knowing we've been TTC for five years was the reason.  The music director played an instrumental version of a very fitting song too—I sort of think of it as my IF theme song.  I've posted it here before.

"Be Still My Soul" - Jean Sibelius

Be still, my soul: the Lord is on thy side.
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain.
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
In every change, He faithful will remain.
Be still, my soul: thy best, thy heavenly Friend
Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

Be still, my soul: when dearest friends depart,
And all is darkened in the vale of tears.
Then shalt thou better know His love, His heart,
Who comes to soothe thy sorrow and thy fears.
Be still, my soul: thy Jesus can repay
From His own fullness all He takes away.

Be still, my soul: thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as He has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul: the waves and wind still know
His voice who ruled them while He dwelt below.

Be still, my soul: the hour is hastening on
When we shall be forever with the Lord,
When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,
Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored.
Be still, my soul: when change and tears are past,
All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.

(this version has verses 1, 3, and 4)


(this version by a boys' choir has verses 1, 2, and 4)

Reflections on four years

So it's getting to be the end of the cycle, and I'm trying not to think too much about it or worry, but you all know how that goes...much easier said than done.  I haven’t had any post-peak symptoms that are different from any other previous cycle, just some breast tenderness which I almost always have.  PMS was super mild this month.  Sometimes it rears its ugly head a day or two before I start the HCG, but not this cycle, which was nice.  I took my waking temperature two days ago for my monthly T3 monitoring, and it was kind of low, so I estimated I was about two days from AF arriving.  Also two days ago I had my usual what I call “cloud of sadness.”  Fairly often 24-48 hours before AF starts I get this overwhelming feeling of sadness that I can’t shake.  I wasn’t even thinking about IF or AF or DH’s continued unemployment or anything sad; I was just going about my day and then like with a snap of the fingers I felt instant sadness.  I feel like I did most of my crying already in the last two days, so if/when AF comes, I might be all cried out. (if that’s possible)  ;)  Right now I sort of dread going to the bathroom because I just don’t want to know if AF has started.  I guess I still have hope because it’s not over until the fat lady (AF) sings.  I wouldn’t mind taking a three-day nap so I could wake up and find out what happens and bypass all this time of limbo that is doing nothing good for my sanity.  :)

I do think I could win an award for the most delusional in-hopes-of-pregnancy moment.  It happened five days after my good mucus started. (Normally this would be prime time for ovulation.)  Almost exactly 24 hours after writing an i on the chart, I developed a headache, upset stomach, and fatigue to the point of falling asleep on a chair in the living room.  I couldn't really explain what caused any of the three or especially why they all happened at the same time, so where does my mind go?  I must be pregnant, of course!  But then I thought it has to be impossible to have any symptoms that early...right?  I consulted Dr. Google.  Unfortunately I found anecdotes from women who had symptoms a day after conception.  My delusional thinking didn't need any more support, but I had found it.  Now looking back at my chart, since I had another week of good mucus after that day, the chances that I actually ovulated that early are pretty much nonexistent.  You'd think after TTC for this long, I'd have learned to be a bit more rational in my thinking.  Or maybe I'm in complete denial of how crazy I've become and I need to be locked up somewhere...  ;)

I've been thinking recently about how we've been TTC for four years.  When the actual "anniversary" happened earlier this summer, I didn't realize it had come (and gone) until weeks later.  It was sort of an afterthought, "Oh, we've been TTC for four years now.  Hmmm.  That's a long time."  That's quite a different reaction than I had to the first and second TTC anniversaries where I watched the date approach for weeks ahead of time and when the actual day arrived I moped around sad and depressed.  Maybe over time has come more acceptance that this is how it is for us, so the milestones don't play as significant a role anymore.  That's not to say that the grief isn't still there--it definitely is--but that the sad times where I'm dwelling on IF and what it means to not have children seem to occur less frequently.  If it's possible though, I think the pain has gotten deeper over time, either because each cycle compounds the pain from before or because the longer we go it seems the less likely we may ever conceive (ignoring the fact that medically we have our best chance now).  I still struggle with the weight of this cross, and I still ask God to remove it if it be His will.  I know this is my path to heaven, but the human side of me wishes things were different.  I trust God that He's looking out for me though.  :) 

It's still hit or miss when others announce a pregnancy if I'll be able to share in their joy or just want to go cry in a corner somewhere because it's a reminder of my own wounds.  A friend recently shared her pregnancy news with me, and I was 90% happy and 10% sad.  She was extremely sensitive in the way she shared it because she remembered what it was like to be on the receiving end of BFP news that was not her own.  It took them ten months to conceive, which may not sound like that long, but she had been given a diagnosis years ago which meant she might not be able to conceive and if she did, she'd be at very high risk of miscarriage.  I remember her wedding last year distinctly because she's the only person I know who included most of the saints who are considered patrons of infertility in the litany of saints sung during the wedding Mass.  Most are not included in typical litany lists, so they stuck out to me:  St. Anne & St. Joachim, St. Elizabeth & Zechariah, St. Gianna, St. Gerard, and St. Anthony.  It just broke my heart to hear them asking for their intercessions as they were beginning their marriage, so I'm not surprised that I was able to (mostly) rejoice with her.  I don't handle all pregnancy announcements that well.  I think a lot of it depends on where in the cycle I am and when the last announcement was.  I can handle one BFP every once in a while much better than three in a week.

And speaking of BFPs...

Remember earlier this year I saw a BFP license plate and then saw an AF one in the same week?  Lately I've been seeing AF license plates rather frequently.  It's like they are following me around or something.  I knew there was someone at our parish who had one, but this past Sunday, there was not one, not two, but three (three!!) AF license plates all parked in the same vicinity.  Two were parked next to each other.  Seriously, what are the chances??  I just rolled my eyes...


But then I came home to see this sitting on the floor: 

Just some random letters on the flap of a box...

So that made me feel a little better...  If this end-of-the-cycle limbo doesn't drive me certifiably crazy, these random messages just might.  ;)

Saturday update:  AF is here.

Meltdown

It was the adult version of toddler behavior. It was not pretty. If there had been stomping of the feet, I would have called it a tantrum. Just in case I ever gave the impression that I have this IF thing under control, the following episode should burst that little bubble.

It started off like any other normal day. I was in a good mood. “Fertility” had begun the day before. (I put it in quotes because my body has yet to prove it’s fertile when my chart says it should be fertile.) ;) We were off to a good start for the cycle, TTC-wise. There were plans to continue the TTC efforts at bedtime.

But first, we were meeting up with some acquaintances in the evening. One of the attendees was pregnant. It’s very early in her pregnancy, and she hasn’t told everyone (my DH doesn’t know), but I know she has told a lot of people. She’s a sweet girl. She doesn’t know about our IF, but she’s never said anything remotely insensitive or even asked why we don’t have kids. She has never been anything except super nice to me. But seeing her now reminds me that there’s a thorn in my side. I see her about every week or so. (Up until now I've been pretty much isolated from encounters with pregnant women or women with babies on a regular basis, other than seeing them occasionally--and from a distance--at Mass or at the mall.) Now all I can think of when I see her is some variation of, “She’s pregnant. We’re IF. IF hurts.” I’m trying not to be envious, but usually there’s at least a healthy dose of jealousy when I see her. (Envy=sorrow at another’s good or wishing another didn’t have her good; jealousy=I wish I had that particular good. Big difference.)

Anyway, I didn’t talk with her much that night, but just sitting near her really started to stir up some ugly feelings. I could feel the tension and anger building up inside me. At the end of the evening DH and I walked back to the car. The minute we shut the car doors, I exploded.

Normally I have some sort of filter for my brain, but not then. I said every single negative thing I was thinking. Most of it amounted to "It's not fair that we have such a heavy cross (IF and DH's lack of job)." I tried to ignore the small voice of reason in my head that countered each and every negative thing I said. I know it's really not a good idea to compare crosses, but I did anyway. I named a few things that would be worse than IF and declared that everyone who didn't have to face those things had a much easier life than us and it wasn't fair. DH tried to tell me that we don't know what hidden crosses others face or what difficult suffering might lie in their future, but I wouldn't hear any of it. It's not like God (in His permissive will) makes sure everyone gets equal doses of suffering; it's quite obvious to me some people get more than their "fair share."

I was angry and half crying. It was all because I hate infertility, and it hurts so much. It really had nothing to do with the pregnant girl. She was (figuratively) in the wrong place at the wrong time. I guess anything could have set me off? I was surprised that I went from 0 to 60 on the anger scale so quickly given that I should be ovulating soon. This reaction would be more understandable and expected during PMS time, but near the beginning of the mucus cycle?

By the time we got home, I had run out of angry rant and just sobbed on DH's shoulder...half the tears were because IF is so painful and the other half were because I felt awful for my angry outburst...embarrassed, ashamed, disappointed in myself, etc. Needless to say, all this ruined any TTC attempts for the rest of the evening. DH is on his way to sainthood based on how he handled my meltdown. I know as his wife I'm supposed to be helping him get to heaven, but I'm not sure this type of behavior (on my part) is the ideal way to get him there... ;)

I hope this doesn’t turn into a PTSD-esque reaction. 1. See pregnant woman acquaintance. 2. Feel emotions begin to boil while in the same room. 3. Enter into a fit of rage after having the privacy of the car.

Of course things looked much brighter in the morning, and I couldn't figure out why I overreacted so much. I'm really looking forward to the infertility retreat this weekend that Rebecca is organizing. It really couldn't come at a better time. A fresh perspective on infertility, fellowship with others carrying the same cross, and some sacramental grace are just what I need.

Three years of TTC

We are on cycle #30 of TTC. It's been three years since we started. That's a lot of TTC. And a lot of BFNs.

In some ways, IF has become comfortable—not enjoyable, mind you. I know what to expect. I know when I'll be extra sad or sensitive. I know when I can handle baby-related news with the greatest likelihood of having dry eyes. But I'm weary. Living with prolonged grief is emotionally draining. This third year of TTC has been noticeably harder than the prior year, probably because we've checked more and more things off the treatment list that haven't worked. I can see some good fruits that have come from this suffering. I know it has brought DH and me closer. I can sympathize better with others going through IF (like some of my clients) or anyone facing a difficult cross. As painful as IF can be, I trust that God will bring a greater good out of all of this. I may not know what that good is this side of heaven, but I know there is value and power in offering up this suffering. Without taking a more "eternal" perspective, I think it would be so easy to fall quickly into despair.

A good friend shared her BFP news with me recently. She was technically IF (according to NaPro's definition of six cycles) but never mentally crossed over...she hadn't been TTC "that long." She knew of our IF from the beginning and was supportive, offering frequent prayers for us. I tried to be happy for her, and in some sense I was. I am glad she doesn't have to delve deeply into the sad world of IF—either the emotional side or the medical treatment side. But when she told me the news my first feelings were ones of hurt. She waited until nearly the end of her first trimester to tell me. Why did she wait so long? I had spoken with her more than once since she would have learned she was pregnant and specifically asked about the latest in her TTC attempts each time I spoke with her. I guess I could see not wanting to tell "people" (in a general sense) until after the first trimester in case there would be a miscarriage, but I thought I was closer to her than that. I wonder if this self-pity is a by-product of IF. In my head I sometimes think others should feel sorry for me because I'm IF, so I also feel sorry for me. Now here's another opportunity to feel sorry for myself. I'm trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. I have no idea what's it like to decide when to share news of a first pregnancy. I guess if it were me, I'd want prayers from at least a few others as soon as I found out...especially with an increased risk of miscarriage (which she has). Maybe she was trying to protect my feelings by waiting to tell me...although the manner in which she shared the news with me was not sensitive to an IFer, so I doubt protecting my feelings was the reason. If you're super excited by your pregnancy, that means everyone you tell is going to be super excited as well...including your IF-for-three-years friend. (I did manage a fair amount of excitement in my response.) Apparently I never shared with her how hard pregnancy announcements are...or I didn't repeat it enough times before she got pregnant.

With her pregnancy announcement, it really hit me how left behind I feel. Just since last summer, there have been six weddings among our friends. Five of those six are pregnant or recently gave birth. We were TTC before most of them even started dating. I try not to be jealous, but sometimes I can't help it. IF is so hard.

As for this cycle, against my better judgement, I have hope. ;) (although I completely forgot to take Clomid at the beginning of the cycle...oops) I used to think that the more hopeful I was in the 2WW, the worse I'd feel when CD1 arrived. I guess for the most part, it has been true. But last cycle, for whatever reason, I had very little hope that the cycle would end in a BFP—with a week of TEBB staring me in the face, clearly something is still wrong—so AF arriving wasn't a surprise at all...yet I still felt as sad (and cried as much) as any other previous cycle. So if I'm going to cry when CD1 arrives regardless of my hope level, I might as well be hopeful now.

Do I know if the IV antibiotics got rid of my TEBB? No.

Am I putting way too much stock in quasi-pregnancy symptoms? Yes.

I have no breast tenderness at all. This is a change from usual. I always have a little bit of tenderness post-peak. Well, I'm pretty sure I always have it. I stopped writing it down a long time ago. But I still pay attention even if it's not recorded on paper. This could be just my brain trying to over-analyze things in an attempt to convince myself I could be pregnant. It has happened plenty of times before, and I've been wrong every time. haha Hopefully all the fun 4th of July festivities will distract me. :)

On grief

Today is our two-year anniversary of living with IF.  On 12/8/09, CD1 arrived marking the end of six failed TTC cycles (with fertility-focused intercourse).  I’m sure I was a sobbing mess at Mass for the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception that night, especially during the reading from Luke about the Annunciation.  Not that Bible passages normally pour salt in a wound, but I think that night hearing about someone else (even the pure Virgin Mary…) conceiving a child (even the child Jesus…) would have been a painful reminder for me of our new undesired state.  The reading does contain the beautiful and comforting words “for nothing will be impossible for God” in reference to Elizabeth’s miraculous pregnancy, but I’m not sure that was much consolation for me that night.

It’s been a long, hard two years.  Really I should say two and half years that we've been TTC because the sorrow and pain didn’t just appear suddenly on 12/8/09.  Each of those cycles before we were labeled as IF added tears and heartache little by little so that by the time we fit the definition of IF, we were grieving.

Grief of this magnitude was new to me.  I had mourned the loss of beloved grandparents in the past, but the deep sorrow that followed their deaths didn’t last very long.  I had known both clients and friends who were struggling with IF, but I never imagined the depth of pain that they experienced until I experienced it firsthand.  If I had been a better FCP intern, I would have read one of the books they recommended on IF so I could sympathize with my IF clients better…but I didn’t.  With each new CD1 I mourned the loss of what could have been but never was and then tried to pick myself to try again in the new cycle.  Each new CD1 re-opened the emotional wound that had never completely healed in the previous month.  My dreams of having a large family (or even conceiving one child) died a little each month.

Without realizing it, I started going through the first 4 of the 5 stages of grief:

1.  Denial:  This isn't happening to me...  I can't be infertile...
2.  Anger:  This is so unfair!  Why does everyone else have no problems conceiving?!?  Grrr...
3.  Bargaining:  I would do anything to have a child.  Maybe if I promised to be more holy...
4.  Depression:  The sadness is overwhelming.  I feel so empty and alone.
5.  Acceptance:  It's going to be okay whether we have a child or not.  We can trust God.

I was stuck in denial for a long time.  It actually made me postpone starting NaPro for a little while because I was convinced we just needed to try another cycle or two.  Seeking help from NaPro meant that I was admitting we had a problem, which I did not want to do.  Once I started a new treatment (HCG was first), I refused to add another, thinking that all we needed was the current treatment.  I was in complete denial for months that I would ever need surgery.  No, not me.  I don’t need surgery.  (Looking back I laugh a little, but at the time I completely ignored all the stats I knew about rates of endo among IF women.)  I thought I would be different from all the IF clients I had sent to a NaPro surgeon.

Anger was more subtle because it seemed to be provoked by specific situations where (I assumed) any reasonable person would respond in the same way.  Usually it would rear its ugly head when someone announced a pregnancy.  I remember clearly the day when I learned of my now sister-in-law’s unexpected pregnancy.  The anger was intense, but I thought it was a natural response and didn’t connect it to grief.  (I think I was in denial about my anger!)

Once denial faded a little, bargaining took over.  All of a sudden I was ready to do almost anything to become pregnant.  Surgery?  Yes, please.  ASAP.  More supplements and prescriptions?  Bring ‘em on!  I think it filtered into my prayer life too as I found myself making deals with God.  God, if you bless us with a pregnancy, I will __________.

Depression was most obvious and consistent from CD1-CD3 of each new cycle.  But I would find myself slipping into it at completely random times during the cycle also.  Out of the blue, maybe at work, maybe while driving, I would be overcome with a wave of incredible sadness, the kind that feels like it will never end and is worse than anything I had ever felt before.  Even though the pain was profound, I knew God was close by my side—whether I could feel His presence or not (and some days I could not)—which brought me comfort.  On the days when trying to offer up the sorrow was too hard or it felt like it wasn’t helping, I would stare at a crucifix and think, “If such a great good can come from something so horrible as Jesus dying on the cross, surely there will be at least some good that will come from all this suffering.”  During the first year of IF, I thought I knew what depression was.  I probably did.  But in the cycles following my surgery (Feb. 2011), the depression I experienced was magnified.  It literally felt twice as painful, twice as deep as the depression episodes I had before surgery.  I had so hoped that surgery would be the final answer for fixing our IF.  I knew many people who conceived in the months shortly after their surgeries.  I thought that surely within six cycles, we would be pregnant.  We’re currently in the middle of the eighth cycle post-surgery.  It’s like we’re infertile all over again.

Acceptance has been slow in coming.  Sometimes it brings a great peace, but it doesn’t always last very long.  On one such day, I told DH confidently, “It’s okay if we can’t have kids.”  When I said it, I meant it 100%.  The next day DH asked me if I still felt the same, and I said maybe 50%.  This one is the hardest spiritual battle for me—trying to reconcile my desires for children with whatever God’s will is for us.  I want to get to the place where I can say, “Thy will be done,” and accept it if that doesn’t include children.  Sometimes a more honest prayer is:  “God, help me to want to want your will to be done.”

From the little I’ve read on the subject of grief, people tend to progress through the five stages linearly or circularly (see my lovely illustrations here).

Sometimes you can revert back to a prior stage you thought you moved past.  Even though I’ve pretty much described a linear progression in my experience here, it’s mostly a broad overview from memory.  In reality, I think a more accurate diagram of the five stages would be this:

Notice all the bouncing around among the stages...  This picture might represent the span of one cycle, or on my more crazy days, it could all happen in a single 24-hour period. ;) 

All I have to say is thank God for a wonderful, supportive DH who puts up with me on my emotional roller coaster!  And thank God for all of you and your prayers.  Knowing that I'm not the only one going through this is a huge blessing!  Your encouragement and empathy means the world to me. :)