This blog is a secret for a reason Friday, Apr 3 2009 

Happy hour gone wrong:

It started with an innocent confession:

Me (tipsy at happy hour this evening) : I saw  an adorable baby on my commute today, and I wanted to steal her. (but I can’t post about it for fear that if a baby ever goes missing in my metro area the FBI will show up at my door asking questions of the infertile-of-a-certain-age-and-her-new-beautiful-child-of-questionable-parentage)

Friend: Do you really want a baby or just like the idea of a baby because they are quite a lot of work (let me be generous and mention that she is 5 years younger than me, and while supportive in theory, is proving to me by the minute that SHE DOESN’T GET IT)

Me: I know how much work a child is, and my interest in having one doesn’t discount the effort involved (it isn’t like you can tell me it’s hard and I will change my mind-Follistim injections, repeated blood draws, and vaginal ultrasounds for two weeks plus are hard, but that isn’t the issue. I feel like  Premature Ovarian Failure pretty much means my minutes are sliding away like a giant hourglass over my fucking head. Even if this isn’t an ideal time to have a child, I can’t ignore the biological reality of my eggs and their GIANT CLOCK.)

Friend: Well , you know if you need my eggs, that would be cool.

What the fuck do I say to this after 3 glasses of wine? The good girl in me wants to say thanks and march her directly to the clinic for  ovarian stimulation and retrieval before she sobers up and realizes the injections, discomfort, medical procedures, and risks  involved (but I’d freeze the embryos because I haven’t come to terms with donor eggs yet-I’m totally struggling, and for those of you who have wrestled with donor eggs, I’d be grateful for advice as I feel like I’m in denial.  A post on this issue is forthcoming-I realize I’m being trite, I don’t mean to trivialize the decision)

The pissed off infertile wants to give her a lecture on the intricacies of being barren. I’ve been through this before with well meaning friends. Sitting here in my happy hour state I can think of 3-4 friends plus my sister that have offered their eggs out-right. I believe my sister. Of the others, I think 1 (of the remaining))/3-4would probably step up, but even she might have regrets. To be honest, it is very possible that I’d be overwhelmed with offers if I let it be known that I needed donor eggs  (my friends are amazing, and I’m probably underestimating them, but I’m totally emotional about this, and I’m most likely underestimating their willingness to consider donation), but that isn’t the issue. Frankly, I’m fucking sick of fucking defending that  I  want children. I know this isn’t a new subject in the infertile blog world, and I think that’s why I’ve tried to avoid it until now, but I’m tipsy from happy hour and done with listening, nodding, and protecting the feelings of my would-be-feel-good-offering-without-thinking-it-through-donor-wannabes.

I want a baby. Why should I have to defend my reasoning? People have babies because they crave  a teeny mini-me through which to live their hopes and dreams. They get pregnant by accident. They have children because they think they are supposed to. Why do we have to justify our reasons? Like most couples that give family building a thought, we have a mix of selfish and altruistic justifications.

Dear Friend: Thank you for you offer, but please don’t make offers of such a personal nature that you can’t live up to. This is a very personal and sensitive situation. I know you mean well, but I’d rather have your true support and genuine comfort than an offer you will regret when sober. I love you, but you don’t get it.  Sometimes a well played, “I’m sorry it is so hard. Is there anything I can do to support you?” Is the best gift.

PS: Congrats  on the baby, Friend M. Your daughter is beautiful. I admit I’m deeply jealous but even more thrilled for you. I can’t wait until I have the chance to spend the afternoon with her and her brothers. I promise not to steal her….I think:)

I don’t go to therapy to find out if I’m a freak Tuesday, Mar 31 2009 

Dar Williams, you have a song for everything.

I fired my therapist. Or we broke up. It feels a little like both. It’s cliche, but she wasn’t meeting my needs, and I think we have different goals in life. It’s been over a month since I’ve seen her, and I think I’m doing pretty well, but I mean that in the way that someone a little nuts means it when she manages to hold it together.

I think we might have spent almost as much time discussing our therapist-client relationship as we did talking about my other relationship complications, and the last thing I need is another relationship to deconstruct in a 50 minute hour.

To be frank, because after all part of what we worked on in therapy was my assertiveness, she was cold and, I suspect, a little judgmental. I spent more time qualifying my statements out of worry that she’d latch on to a small piece of the story rather than understand my whole point than I did spilling my deepest fears and darkest secrets.  I’m sure I’m at fault too, mostly for caring so much what she thinks about me, but isn’t that part of why I was there in the first place-to gain some self-confidence and not care what people think? Instead, she made me feel misunderstood and like more of a mess than I thought I was when I walked in.

I realized that it wasn’t me, it was her when I noticed that I always felt worse on my walk back to the office after therapy than I felt while walking (up hill, no less) to therapy, and after weeks and weeks of this I could no longer blame it on my excitement for the pizza that  I always grabbed to eat on my way there  ( it was a lunch time appointment). It was as if  I said, “My big toe hurts, ”

and she replied, “Wow, your toe looks awful, and actually your foot is kind of oddly shaped, oh…and now that I’m paying attention I should probably point out that your skeleton is deformed.”

and what I really needed was, “Oh, you poor courageous thing! That looks like it’s really sore. I’m so proud of you for finishing the marathon.”

So, I’m at a crossroads of sorts. I need to decide if it’s worth it to try to find a new therapist.

On the pro side of the equation: I’ve got issues, I really appreciate what a good-fit therapist can do to help me, I have been fighting some situational depression, my medical issues are depressing, several areas in my life are not functioning  how I want them to, and I would appreciate a professional’s assistance

Cons: There are few insurance-approved therapists in my area, and I’ve had really bad luck with the ones I tried (part of why I stayed with this one when I wasn’t thrilled was because she was competent unlike a few others), I’m not sure I have the energy to try to find another therapist, I’m even less sure I have the energy required to explain my complicated “issues”, scheduling-I don’t even have time to post and read blogs-time is precious

So, Dear Barren Spontaneous Habitual Aborters and Assorted Other Versions of Infertiles, what are your therapy thoughts? Experiences? Should I coast solo for a while? Get back in the ring? (What’s with all of my sporting analogies?) Is it worth the effort to keep looking for a good fit?

Opposite day Friday, Mar 20 2009 

Have you heard about these women that didn’t know they were pregnant until they went into labor?  Seriously? I didn’t watch the entire special since I’ve got better things to do like Fa.ceb.ook and on demand Big Love episodes, but the part I saw made me want to punch someone.

I suppose it is possible. They claim they didn’t gain weight or gained only a little. Still, I’ve never seen a pregnant woman that wasn’t clearly pregnant by the end. Did they get dressed in the dark? Do they not own a mirror?

Some of them didn’t get their periods very often to begin with or had light bleeding off and on throughout their silent gestating, but COME ON! A few women  didn’t get regular periods and thought that meant they couldn’t get pregnant.  One woman had an ovary surgically removed and assumed this meant she couldn’t get pregnant. Did that particular brainiac   think the other ovary would give up out of grief from the loss of its mate? Is this what years of abstinence only sex ed has  done to our youth?

I know why they are having symptomless pregnancies, because I’m having their pregnancy symptoms while not actually pregnant. It works out to an even amount of pregnancy symptoms and pregnant people in the world, and yet again I get to take one for the team. They get the baby. I get the nausea, huge, sore boobs, fatigue, and emotional distress. What. The. F.uck. My RE suggests that I need to back off my estrogen if I want to cut these symptoms, but then I’ll get hot flashes, insomnia, and other low estrogen side effects. I’m quite the little estrogen Goldilocks.

Something tells me I won’t be symptom free if I ever manage to get knocked up. Only clueless dumb-f.ucks get all the luck.

Thanksgiving Wednesday, Nov 26 2008 

I, like many of you, am about to embark on a Thanksgiving sojourn to visit friends and family. My trip includes 2 cities. I’m spending the first part of the long weekend with my close friend and her husband, baby, toddler, and a house full of additional strays (both human and animal). Next, I’m driving to my home town to see my family and  staying with different friend , her family, and her baby bump (her 3rd). I will also be visiting my due date twin and her brand new daughter born earlier this month.

Until yesterday I failed to note the perfect storm of this baby trifecta. Yes, I made the plans. I even specifically asked to stay at the pregnant friend’s house since my dad’s guest room is taken, but the trip came together over a few weeks of calendar shifting and phone calls, and I forgot to notice the abundance of babies and pregnancy I’m about to inflict on myself.   I often see all of these people in my trips back home, but I  stay with my sister or dad, not the pregnant friend, and this is the first time I’ve been back since the due date twin baby was born. I did this to myself. Fuck

My game plan:

drink-in abundance and often

be helpful

try to genuinely enjoy myself

not beat myself up for acknowledging that it sucks to be barren, and I’m allowed to be jealous

drink

Any words of wisdom? Stories of comiseration? Drink recipes?

Lonely Sunday, Nov 9 2008 

It has been 3 weeks and 5 days since I’ve seen Honey Bee. Work has kept him away, and I’d complain to his boss except that it’s his company so complaining to him means complaining to the boss, and trust me, I’ve done plenty of that. I’ve been fighting a migraine off and on since yesterday and I’m kind of cranky. I don’t feel good, and I miss my Honey. I’m feeling pathetic