Maybe I'm still having that temper tantrum after all. Last night I bit B's head off during a conversation that went something like this...

B: So, one more month on the Clomid, huh?
Me: Yep.
B: And then we give up for a while?
Me: Yep.
B: My cousin, Lisa, said not to worry because it took them 8 months to get pregnant the first time. (Lisa has two kids and she got pregnant with both of them without any medical intervention.)
B starts snickering because he knows his last statement will make me furious.
Me: WELL EIGHT MONTHS IS A LITTLE DIFFERENT FROM EIGHTEEN, SHE NEEDS TO STAY OUT OF IT, AND I'LL WORRY ABOUT IT IF I WANT TO!

Seek ye first

I realize I've abandoned this blog for over a month. There's been a lot going on inside my head, but all of it in some inaccessible region of my brain...the kind of thoughts that can't be put into words. I've been feeling a lot of emotions that I don't know what to do with, primarily anger, leaking out all over no matter how hard I try to contain it. And I think these emotions were just the outward sign of the inward struggle. And I'm coming out on the other side now.

This was bound to happen...my vision of how my life was supposed to go coming up against the way it is actually happening. Depression and bitterness are the natural consequences. And now I feel like the 2-year-old who didn't get her way. I've been throwing a hell of a temper tantrum for the last 12 months or so, and I'm emotionally exhausted. My kicking and screaming has not affected the outcome at all, so I've finally stopped. I'm lying face down on the floor, quietly sulking. And although I think sulking still constitutes rebellion and is not the response God requires of me, at least I am quiet, and maybe, just maybe, I'm now in a place to listen to my Heavenly Father, to receive his rebuke, his forgiveness, and his comfort.

I can continue to ask him "how long?" I can continue to cry out to him in my disappointment. I can recognize that this is not what God intended...our bodies not working, not accomplishing what God designed them to do...I know that this is the consequence of a fallen world. But God is on his throne. He is the conqueror in all of this, and if he chooses to overcome our brokenness in this area, he can. He is merciful and mighty. And he will do (or not do) whatever he chooses in the best possible way--the way that will bring him the most glory.

But even as I'm writing this, my heart is breaking, yearning to know the outcome. I tell myself that if I could just skip to the end of the book, then I would be content, then I could trust him fully. If God could just tell me "in five years you will have a baby," or even "you will never be pregnant, but you will have children," I like to think that I would be okay then. But the stories throughout the Bible indicate that even when God declares his promises, his people tend to forget, to doubt, to try to take matters into their own hands. And I know I would be the same way...focused on what I can get from God instead of on God himself.

So, I search for meaning in the waiting, and I hear God simply saying, "Seek ME."

Another fantastic fortune cookie...

Seriously, how do I keep getting these fortunes? It's just cruel, really.

And exactly how long is "long?"

Alternative medicine

We're still trying Clomid, of course. One month of failure is not a cause for despair. But, in my ever-increasing pessimistic way, I am already exploring other options. Turns out there is an overwhelming number of "natural" remedies for infertility!
1. Acupuncture: lying naked on a table while someone sticks needles in my abdomen? Not sure I could do that.
2. Vitamin supplements: specially-formulated and ridiculously overpriced pills for both male and female...unfortunately, B can't swallow pills and probably wouldn't agree to take them even if he could. Is it unethical to crush them up and hide them in his food?
3. Alkaline diet: apparently, we unhealthy Americans have very acidic diets which can throw off the specific pH crucial for conception; so if I give up diet coke, desserts, refined grains, and meat, I can alkalinize myself.
And for each remedy I find there are glowing endorsements to go with them... "After months on Clomid, I switched to Fertilaid and we got pregnant right away!"

There are lots of other studies out there, too, about all the different factors that can affect fertility. For example, some studies have shown that sedentary, slightly overweight women conceive more quickly than active women. Oh yeah. That was a good justification for months of exercise-free laziness. But instead of pregnant I just got chubby. Really, if I did all the things recommended by "studies" to increase my chances of conceiving, my life would be ridiculously unliveable. So as I ventured out for a jog today, I decided to accept that this elusive conception thing can only happen if God makes it happen. God has to make those sperm reach that egg and make that egg implant in my uterus and make it stay there for 40 weeks. And standing on my head after sex or being poked with needles or making radical changes in my diet is not going to accomplish anything outside of His will. So, I'm letting go a little bit.

But I still might buy those Fertilaid supplements...the testimonials are pretty convincing!

There is still life to live...

...and I'm loving it lately. Maybe it's the 78 degree weather we had today, or the tulips blooming on the west side of my house, or the fun out-of-town/hiking/exploring weekend we had, but today was one of those precious days when I wasn't sad about my childlessness.

B and I did a lot of laughing together this weekend, and we talked about everything except our infertility. It was perfect. I wonder if infertile couples often forget how to just enjoy one another. Your entire purpose as a couple becomes reproduction, and all the other beautiful aspects of marriage just fade away in the endless pursuit of baby-making. And each successive disappointment seems to chip away at your relationship. I'll admit our infertility has left me with scary questions, such as "is God not letting us get pregnant because I wasn't supposed to marry B?" This weekend was an amazing reminder of all the ways he's so good for me, all the ways we're a great team, all the joy God has placed in our hearts, regardless of our circumstances.

At least for today, I'm content.

30

It's such an arbitrary number. Why do we infuse it with such grave meaning? And, yet, here I am feeling incredibly depressed today, because I realized it is now officially too late to have a baby before I turn 30. That expectation is dead.

For the first time, B was visibly disappointed that I didn't get pregnant this month. I thought his sadness would help me feel less alone, but actually it just made me more sad. Because now it feels like I'm letting him down, failing to provide him with something that would bring him joy. I know that's an irrational way to think about it, but I desperately want to declare the news that I'm pregnant and see him celebrate. I want to give him that gift.

Code Pink: Why I'm not jealous (no, really, I'm not)

My coworker and friend had her baby last week, and since we work at the hospital, I was able to run up and hold her daughter literally two hours after she entered the world. What an amazing experience to witness such newness...so much promise and possibility in this tiny bundle. While I was in the room, the nurse came in to put on the infant's ankle bracelet, equipped with an alarm system. I joked with my friends that if it weren't for the lights and sirens and security guard take-down, I might just try to run off with her. And I was kidding...mostly.

The amazing thing is, I didn't feel jealous! I have learned to expect the sharp pain in my gut whenever I hear the news that someone else is pregnant...that terribly uncomfortable but undeniable feeling of envy. And I'm pretty sure the commandment "thou shalt not covet" applies to not coveting another woman's pregnant belly, so I'm left with guilt on top of the jealousy. But seeing my friends with their newborns doesn't provoke the same response, somehow. The joy I have for them conquers the pity I have for myself in those moments. And I'm so thankful for that.

This could all change, of course. As I continue down this infertility road, the emotions seem to intensify every month. I used to judge my infertile friends who refused to attend baby showers because "it's just too hard." I thought they were selfish. Now, I'm starting to understand. But I just really don't want to let my own disappointment rob me of the opportunity to celebrate with others. I don't want to look back on these years and regret that I was so self-absorbed I couldn't be present in my friends' lives. So I pray that God will help me through this phase of life, and I know He will. As my mom always says, "this, too, shall pass."

Lay off me, I'm STARVING!

Apparently, the side effects from Clomid set in about two weeks after you finish taking the pills. I can handle the cramping and bloating, but oh the ravenous hunger! I'm like Chris Farley's character in this old SNL skit.

When you're breaking into the package of cookies before you're even out the door of the grocery store, you know it's bad. After work the other day I consumed three giant cookies, two swiss cake rolls, half a bag of chili-cheese fritos, two marshmallow eggs, and a handful of twizzlers within an hour.

And right now I would kill for some Taco Bell.

Procreation Vacation?

I clicked on an MSN link the other day to an article entitled "Procreation Vacation." In my mind, this phrase surely meant taking a break from the exhausting task of procreation, but it actually refers to a growing trend among hotels to offer vacation packages for couples who are trying to conceive. You pay your $2000, spend three relaxing nights at an exotic locale, with massages and acupuncture and reflexology, sipping seaweed smoothies and other "ancient fertility boosters," and go home pregnant! Sounds nice, actually. If only it were that easy...

And here's a warning: apparently MSN monitors what you click on, because now every time I open my email, there are links galore related to infertility. One article that kept popping up today was all about how infertility destroys marriages. That's just great.

Yippee for hormones!

I was able to start Clomid this cycle after all! I recently finished my 5 days of popping teensy-weensy white pills. Seriously, they're so little, it's hard to believe they could do anything. And I had a moment of panic on day 3 when the pill almost went down the drain! No side effects yet. Just renewed hope that we might get pregnant in the next few months. It's so difficult to hope, and impossible not to.

We ate Chinese food the other night, and my fortune was kinda dumb, I thought. It was one of those that's not really a fortune, but more of a "words of wisdom." Annoyed, I tossed it aside, but then B picked it up and infused it with wonderful meaning. It said "be careful what you wish for, because you might just get it." B grinned and said it means I'll get pregnant with twins! Now, I place absolutely no predictive value on fortune cookies or my husband's interpretation of them, but just the fact that he thought to say that made me incredibly happy. Because maybe I'm not the only one who's thinking about babies multiple times a day.

Where's the stork?

A friend of mine, who has been dealing with infertility for over two years, recently shared this fantasy with me... She said that whenever she's out hiking, she imagines that just around the next bend in the trail, she will find a newborn, wrapped up in a blanket, lying under a tree, just waiting for her to find him. Because it's her fantasy, she can take the infant home and raise him as her child. No need for police or birth certificates or any of that legal stuff. She feels like she just wants God to drop a baby out of the sky for her...

And I thought this was an interesting fantasy, because we do want things to be simple. We don't want to be forced to deal with complicated sadness around first parents or discarded IVF embryos, and we don't want to wrestle with all the deep, yucky, selfish stuff inside of us, or the brokenness of this world, or how unfair life seems. I've been amazed at the big theological questions raised by infertility. And, of course these big questions are raised all the time by suffering and trials and injustice much more significant than mine!

And this also got me thinking about the storks dropping all the baby circus animals in the Disney movie "Dumbo," and how sad Dumbo's mother was when she thought she was being passed over.

Call PETA

I hit my dog yesterday. In public. In front of lots of disapproving dog owners.

I was at the park, leaning over to collect my doggie's poo, plastic bag on one hand, leash in the other, when suddenly my hyperactive friend lunged forward, spun around, and just generally went crazy in response to two little terriers walking by. I got tangled in the leash, fell on my butt, and the poo I was in the process of collecting went flying. In a moment of rage, my hand came down on my dog's rump (and I think it hurt my hand much more than his rump). He sat down and turned his head to look at me as if to say, "what's your problem?" As I brushed myself off and collected the scattered poo, I saw several people glaring at me.

I feel terrible about it, I really do. If there's one thing I've learned from having a dog, it's that my frustration tolerance is not nearly what I thought it was. And I feel completely undone when I lose the illusion of being in control. Being responsible for this creature that almost never does what I want him to do...it's enough to drive me to the edge of insanity. And really, he's just being a dog.

Maybe I'm not ready for parenthood after all?

Please just give me some drugs!

Got an email from my ob/gyn today. She wants to consult with a fertility specialist colleague of hers before starting me on Clomid. I don't know why. I feel like I've jumped through so many hoops already just desperately trying to qualify for medical intervention, and now she's telling me to just keep waiting. I'm especially grumpy about all this because my cycle started today, and I was convinced that I would start Clomid this cycle. Now, I'm stuck waiting until my body decides to have another cycle (which could be up to 60 days). I know, right? I've been waiting 15 months, what's one or two more? But it feels like an eternity, and no one else understands the urgency, leaving me to feel very much alone. The mood swings that accompany this "time of the month" are made exponentially worse for me lately by the intense disappointment that I am not pregnant. Again. I've been a complete wreck this week...yelling at B over socks on the floor, crying in the bathroom at work, and just generally walking around with a big black cloud over my head. Actually, just seeing Britney on the cover of a tabloid magazine with a supposed "baby bump" was enough to cause an emotional breakdown while standing in line at the grocery store.

One thing I'm realizing through all this is that I've definitely sold my soul to Clomid. I thought I was carefully guarding my heart from hoping too much, but if I'm honest, I've been counting on Clomid to be my miracle drug, and this delay in starting it has been devastating. I really need a reality check. We could get pregnant without Clomid, or I could take Clomid for months and still not get pregnant. And God is in control, blah, blah, blah. But it's hard to think a rational thought when you're hormonal and depressed! Thank heavens this altered state lasts only a week, and then I expect to regain my coping skills and sunny disposition. For now, I'll just take comfort in eating an entire package of purple marshmallow peeps.

Not the best swimmers

We nervously tore into the official-looking envelope from the andrology lab. Well, okay, I did. B looked on with feigned indifference, but I know he was curious. It was like getting your SAT scores in the mail...you desperately want to see the results, you've been checking the mail every day looking for this envelope, and now that it's here, you're not sure you want to know.

Here's what it said: he has millions and millions of the little guys (262 million to be exact), but only 23% are "progressively motile." What does that mean? The other 77% are swimming around in circles? To add to the ambiguity, his "overall fertility score" is 18, which apparently falls in the "moderate range." I watched B's face like a concerned mother trying to figure out how her child feels about his below average test scores. And he just laughed and said, "with my weak swimmers and your retroverted uterus, no wonder we can't get pregnant!" Somehow, this comment made me happy, because I felt, possibly for the first time, that he was acknowledging we're in this together. We're both terrible at making babies.

With only a few decent swimmers in the bunch, our odds at conception may not be the best. But it could be worse...as Lloyd said in Dumb and Dumber, "so you're telling me there's a chance!"

Some thoughts on adoption

I've been thinking so much about adoption lately, finally saw "Juno," and I'm reading lots of adoption blogs (one always links to several more, and before I know it I've been staring at my computer screen for hours). I think adoption is absolutely beautiful, painful, joyous, heartbreaking, and just really complicated. One thing I know for sure: adoption cannot be "the alternative" or "Plan B." I am ashamed to admit that I used to be one of those people who thought infertile couples should stop whining and "just adopt." Now that we're embarking on fertility treatment, I realize it's not nearly that simple. It seems wrong to choose adoption out of desperation or disappointment over failure to conceive. To do so makes adoption into a selfish act, i.e. "I want a baby and I deserve a baby, so I'll get one." At least for me, I will need to grieve the loss of infertility separately from making the decision to adopt. That doesn't mean the former has to happen chronologically before the latter. In many ways, I can already feel my heart being pulled more toward adoption even as the outcome of our fertility journey is still unknown.

And isn't that how so much of life is on this earth? The already and the not yet. The sorrow and the hope all tangled up in eachother and happening simultaneously. So much of this blog is, and will likely continue to be, a self-pity-party, because I have many moments where that is my honest state of mind. But God is faithful to draw me back to His truth.

I'm having a hard time articulating what kind of heartfelt desires should spur one on to adopt, but there are lots of more eloquent people out there who have described it so well. For example, one of my friends is in the process of international adoption and sent me this link in which John Piper wonderfully describes our adoption as sons and daughters of God and the applications to earthly adoption. Piper also includes the letter he gave to his wife when he decided to say "yes" to her desire to adopt. I was blown away by the obvious patience and gentleness, yet perseverance, his wife had in dealing with him on this issue.

Last night, over dinner, I mentioned that we should start saving extra money for a future adoption, and B's response was "maybe God doesn't want us to have children." Now, I can't say I haven't wondered the same thing many times, but to hear him say it out loud was so hurtful. And yet, I realized today how thankful I am that he is not going to "just go along" with whatever I say on this matter. He is going to point out all the potential problems and argue all the opposite ways of thinking. He is going to drive me to my knees in prayer over this, and I will continue to ask God to persuade his heart until I'm blue in the face. And someday, I hope, B will want to adopt even more than I do, and he will not let me do it out of vanity or pride or unmet needs, and he will not let me back out due to fear, and he will lead us in the process of expanding our family. I don't see how it could work any other way.... Actually, Juno helped teach this to my heart, too. The "painting the nursery scene" was so painful to watch for just that reason.

But to get back to the pity party theme, sometimes I'm just mad that I have to think and pray and struggle through this when other people just "end up pregnant." It seems like most people spend more time contemplating which car to buy than how to grow their family (or whether to grow it at all). And I'm not criticizing all those people...just jealous that I don't get to be one of them.

Why are we so hard on eachother?

I was shopping at Wild Oats the other day when I overheard a conversation between two female friends about a third friend of theirs who recently had a baby... The first woman was telling the second about how their friend was having serious problems with nursing the newborn, and the second woman replied, "Well, that's what she gets for trying to introduce the bottle so soon." The first woman agreed that their friend was obviously being selfish in her desire to sleep, and now she had ruined any chance at breastfeeding. I wanted to turn around and yell at them to give the poor woman a break!

It seems to me that as women we spend so much of our time and energy finding fault with one another. We moan about the "superwoman" ideal and the pressure of trying to be all things to all people, and yet we inflict unrealistic expectations on ourselves and criticize our friends when they fail to meet the impossible standard of perfection. Working women feel judged by stay-at-home moms and stay-at-home moms feel judged by working women, blah, blah, blah, and really we're all just trying to do the best we can with what we have.

I know I fall into the same trap, constantly comparing myself to other wives I know and keeping a mental list of all the ways I'm superior and all the ways I'm not measuring up (I don't grow my own vegetables, but at least I do my husband's laundry). I can't imagine how the competition intensifies once you insert babies into the picture!

Praise God for his mercy that covers all our sins. Not the "sins" of buying veggies at Wal-mart or introducing the bottle too soon, but the true sin of a judgemental, prideful, anxious, discontented heart.

Now, if only we could remember to extend a tiny portion of this grace to one another.

Sperm in a cup

Semen analysis...what a traumatic experience. I won't go into all the gory details, but let's just say it was quite an ordeal trying to get a semen sample out of B. There was absolutely nothing romantic or loving about it. I was being anal about the rules ("but it says right here in the instructions!") and B just wanted it to be over already. He finally managed to put about a teaspoon of semen in the damn cup, we screwed on the lid, wrapped it in a towel, put it in the oh-s0-discreet brown paper bag, and raced out the door.

We had to drive separately, since I was headed to work and B was going up the mountain to ski. Somehow, I ended up with the paper bag, and I nervously clutched it between my thighs while attempting to drive. I was hoping the warmth of my inner thigh region would suffice to keep the sample at an "ideal temperature of 94.5 degrees." Heaven forbid I should "expose the sample to extreme temperatures" and kill all the sperm we worked so hard to get. Never mind that it's 21 degrees outside!

We pulled up to the lab and hurried in. The receptionist ignored our presence at her desk for what felt like an eternity. She finally looked up at us as if we were an inconvenient interruption to her internet surfing. Her dagger eyes actually pushed B back against the wall, and I was left standing up there alone, clutching the paper sack to my chest, spokesperson for our family (as always). I was suddenly very aware of all the other patients in the waiting room (what is that pregnant lady doing here? get out!). I quietly explained that we had an appointment, and we have the sample already because we collected it at home. She did not acknowledge the urgency of our situation at all and, with a roll of her eyes, just told me to "sign the clipboard and have a seat." Really!? I just spent an hour torturing my husband to get a teaspoon of semen and now you people are going to let all the swimmers die here in this waiting room??? But we followed her orders and sat down. I tried handing the bag off to B at one point (why should I have to hold it? it's his bodily fluids, after all), but he nonchalantly tossed it onto the seat next to him, so I had to grab it back and continue pressing it against my body for the sake of warmth. Clearly, I will have to be in charge of these things.

Thankfully, the wait was not long, and we were called back to a weird tiny office to answer a few questions, sign a few forms, and pay our exorbitant fee. The perky lab tech gave us a label with B's demographic info and instructed us to stick the label on the outside of the cup, then leave the cup on the desk and show ourselves out. As we walked back down the hall, I couldn't stop wondering if any little spermies had survived in that plastic cup. B interrupted my thoughts by saying "that was dumb." I have no idea what he meant by that comment, so I chose to ignore it, but in my mind I was thinking "I couldn't agree more."

As I drove to work, I had the unsettling realization that I have already become the neurotic-infertile-wife-with-a-passive-husband. This is not good.

You've got to be f'in kidding me

Went to the doctor this week for a follow up visit related to some tests I had recently (one of which involved having a large ultrasound probe inserted you-know-where....lots of fun). My gyno sent the med student in first to complete an h&p. First of all, the student was way too skinny, gorgeous, and confident to be likable. And then she proceeded to ask me a series of inane questions about my attempts to conceive..."how often do you have intercourse? have you been taking your basal body temperature daily? have you tried putting two pillows under your hips after intercourse?" Seriously? Is that what they teach you in med school? Pillows under the butt as a cure for infertility. If it were that simple, I wouldn't be here, chica. And, yes, I've tried it. I seemed to have stumped her. I'm apparently a real medical mystery! I could see the wheels turning in her head...why isn't this woman pregnant? She wrinkled up her annoyingly perfect forehead and then she said this: "are you sure your husband is ejaculating when you have intercourse?" This comment was offensive on so many levels, I don't even know where to start. So I just said "yeah, I'm sure."

I must have given her a dirty look (my face always gives me away), because she promptly left the room to find the real doctor.

And as it turns out, all my labs and ultrasounds were normal. Part of me wishes they had said "guess what? it turns out you don't have a uterus!" Sad, yes, but the finality of it would be a relief at this point.

The silver lining...sort of

Pregnancy and babies are all around me. There is no way to avoid thinking about it. I end up contemplating our failure to conceive at least a dozen times a day (and it feels just like that...a huge failure on my part to accomplish something so basic, something Britney Spears was able to do...twice).

So, instead of attempting to banish the thoughts from my mind, I find myself inventing creative ways to keep a smile on my face. Let's look at all the positive consequences of infertility! No stretch marks. No morning sickness. No gaining weight...I can have flat abs forever! No labor pains. No overpriced and ugly maternity clothes. No sleep deprivation. I can drink lots of wine and diet coke and forget to take my vitamins, and I'm only hurting myself. No strangers thinking they have the right to touch my belly. No mastitis (ouch!). No weird changes in the appearance of my breasts. No stretched-out vagina. No crazy hormonal changes. No worries about whether to quit my job or find a daycare. No arguing with B about what color to paint the nursery. I could go on and on.

But the hardest part is, I desperately want all of those burdensome hassles I just listed. I want to see my hips spread and my abdomen grow and my belly button pop out. I want to be awakened in the middle of the night when the baby inside me starts kicking my ribs. I want to experience the pain of giving birth and then the exhausted joy of those first moments with B and our newborn. I want to stumble out of bed at 3am to nurse our child, even when it hurts. I want to be forced to buy massive ugly nursing bras and spend the rest of my money on diapers. I want all our relatives to argue about who the child resembles most.

I don't know how to mourn the loss of this vision. Of course, it's too soon to know for sure. These desires might be fulfilled someday. But it feels necessary to prepare for the possibility that I cannot get pregnant.

I try to think about adoption...to do so helps me feel in control of the course of my life. But that is no comfort to me at this point, because every moment I've listed above requires conceiving a child. And I'm totally lost trying to figure out how to be okay if that never happens for me.

I hate the word "trying"

After years of "not trying," I jumped for joy when B told me he was ready to "make babies." He said it just like that...plural...babies! And if only it were that easy. A year has gone by, and still not even one baby. Not even the tiniest hope of a baby. Just a bunch of money wasted on pregnancy tests that are always negative. (Is that a second line? Maybe? The smallest hint of a very faint second line? Maybe if I give it two more minutes...) And now we embark down a long, windy road called "infertility." We don't want to start down that road, so we linger at the crossroads, and the longer we linger, the more depressed I feel. We try to fill the empty space with distractions. We'll travel more! We get to spend all our money on ourselves! Skiing every weekend! Life is fun! I know, let's get a dog!!! But none of that satisfies this intense, gut-wrenching, undeniable, cellular-level longing I have to be a mom. And most days, I find myself resenting the poor dog we adopted because I really just wanted a baby.

I do realize that babies are much more exhausting than dogs, but at least they don't chew the faux fur off your new boots.