National Infertity Awareness Week ends in 12 minutes, so I'm going to try to whip out a post before it's too late and the moment passes forever. This year, the theme is, "Resolve to know more." I've been pondering on this theme all week ... What to say about it ... What I think about it.
As it turns out, I'm pretty good about knowing more. I started out this fertility journey by reading every word of Toni Weschler's Taking Charge of Your Fertility, so I knew all along that our timing was solid. I started using ovulation predictor kits pretty early on too. I read blogs and articles. I attended an open house and a free IVF seminar given by our clinic. I studied every haphazard paper and brochure they threw at us. I made giant lists of questions for the nurse. I tried acupuncture and read about eating for fertility. I bought books and signed up for newsletters. I spent hours on the phone with my insurance company and compared medication prices across four different specialty pharmacies. I scoured through reviews of Fertilaid and other fertility-enhancing supplements. I attended Resolve support-group meetings. I powwowed with other infertiles and picked the brains of those who had gone before.
So where has all of that gotten me? I sit on my sofa at the close of my third NIAW with a full head and an empty womb.
I was talking with Philip about the theme, and we wondered if ignorance is bliss. Some women go through this fertility-treatment process not knowing much of anything about the (scary) meds they're taking, about the (depressing) odds of the therapies they're trying, about the (infuriating) specifics of the failures of their own bodies. And I think often, they might have an easier time of it. They trust their doctors; they do what they're told without questioning; they believe it will work. And I think it might save them considerable time, confusion and anxiety.
Still, I was never going to be one of those women. I'm a researcher. I study how to do something, and then I do it. I don't leave things up to chance or luck or other people. And I don't wait around for God to magically step in and fix my problems either. I work. And I work fucking hard. I stay up late. I learn. I do. And experiencing infertility has only made me more this way.
I can tell you what (three) companies in Orlando offer insurance plans that cover IVF. I can tell you who the best fertility doctor is (mine) and what clinic has the highest success rate (mine). I can tell you about the benefits of acupuncture. On a miserable Christmas-break day spent on the phone with my insurance company, I found out it actually covered $2,000 worth of our IVF drugs. And Philip and I spent our entire Saturday today resolving to know more about the sign-up bonuses and travel rewards of various credit cards, so that when we unfairly have to pay out of pocket for IVF, we'll at least get something in return.
I can't tell anyone to resolve to know more, because maybe your defense mechanism in dealing with the pain of infertility works precisely because you know less. But I know that when I weigh it all out, I'm glad I know more. In the end, when we've reached our resolution, I won't have any regrets. Either we'll have a baby, or we'll know we did everything in our power to make one. I won't wonder if there was some clue I missed or some thread I didn't pull hard enough.
And that's all I hope for my fellow IF girls. I don't want anyone to give up because they just didn't know enough. If you hit a wall, consider if maybe you need to know more. Plus I'm here, and I know a lot. So don't be afraid to ask me questions!
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Monday, April 21, 2014
STILL FIGHTING
These last couple of weeks were rough for Philip and me. It began with our final IVF consult, which did not go awesome. Here are some things that happened:
1. The cheerful woman who came in to take my ultrasound chirped at me: "Let's see if that cyst went away!" To which I replied, "Uhhhmm, I don't think I have a cyst?" She frowned and claimed that my nurse had just told her we were checking for a cyst. I've never had an ovarian cyst in my life, to my knowledge.
2. We found out our stimulation injections were going to start a week later than I thought, and I had to stay on birth control for another week.
3. My nurse tried to rush through all the injection instructions while Philip was in the bathroom. I interrupted her: "Can we please wait for my husband to get back? He's the one who will be administering these injections."
4. After being shuttled from an exam room to a nurse's office, we were shuttled to the checkout area, then shuttled BACK to the nurse's office so that, at our request, our doctor could give us a wham-bam overview of preimplantation genetic screening (PGS) of embryos, a test the doctor had never brought up to us as an option.
5. After all of this stellar customer service, we went back to the checkout area, where the clerk asked us how much we owed. "I don't know?" I replied. She made a phone call and then said, "That'll be $11,710." <commence choking on my own saliva>
Would you like to know what is stressful? ALL OF THAT. Being caused unnecessary alarm about an imaginary cyst. Getting my carefully plotted timeline thrown into the dumpster. Getting overwhelmed with information when my partner is taking a quick pee. Getting herded from room to room like cattle. Getting the world's most rushed explanation of a very complex, controversial testing procedure. And then being charged an astronomical amount of money for all of the above.
The appointment threw me into a massive funk, and in the midst of that funk, we had to make progress on two giant homework assignments: Figure out what credit card to apply for that would yield the best rewards for spending upwards of $11K, and read/decipher a pile of jumbled papers about PGS so we could let our doctor know asap if we wanted to do it.
Oh, and by the way, in the middle of that, Philip was trying to get his mom signed up for health insurance via the Affordable Care Act before the deadline, AND he was working on filing our taxes.
So what happened was, we started bickering. A tense moment here, a moment of lashing out there.
Things came to a head on a Saturday night. We were out at a pub crawl in our neighborhood for a friend's birthday, and I didn't want to be there. I just wasn't in the mood to be celebratory and crazy with a bunch of people I didn't really know. Plus, we'd been trying to cut out alcohol consumption ... Philip wasn't in the mood to babysit me, and on the walk home, our patience ran out. There was yelling in the streets. There was sweater throwing. There was stomping on said sweater.
When we got home at 2 a.m., the quarrel escalated to even higher comical telenovela levels. We were both drunk and tired. At the height of the argument, I ran out to my car barefoot with no license like I was just going to drive away. (Where the eff was I going to go?) Philip followed in his underwear, angrily hurling my shoes up onto the carport and standing behind my car to block my path. The standoff lasted for awhile before I agreed to come back inside if he would get my shoes off the carport roof. He did.
The next day, we laughed about the dramatic fight, but we were war-weary. Usually weekends are our time to reconnect and recharge, but we went into the following workweek completely drained, and the bickering continued. My closest ally was distant and cold. The loneliness I felt was crushing.
On a Thursday night, Philip went to see a friend perform in concert while I ran a 5K race. I tried to meet up with him afterward, but I had the venue wrong. I stood inside Austin's looking in vain for a group of people who were at Stardust. Back in my car, I started crying maniacally. I was bawling so hard I had to pull over. I let the sobs just wrack me; I wailed as loud as I wanted. I cried until I was weak and shaky.
Is this when it happens? When the infertility becomes too much? When the couple doesn't recognize each other anymore? When they finally give up on each other?
Philip texted me, offering to leave and bring us dinner.
I replied: "No don't leave. I tried. I've cried what's left of my makeup off. I'm smelly. I'm going to take a shower and go to sleep. I feel really bad for dampening your evening. I'm lonely and unhappy and that doesn't make me an appealing wife."
He wrote back, "I'm coming home."
He decided to keep trying, to continue fighting for us, like he has since the very earliest days of our relationship. He had plans with some friends on Saturday, but he canceled so that the two of us could reconnect. We slept in, made love, made breakfast. We booked a kayaking tour near Cocoa Beach, and after, we sat overlooking the water enjoying nachos and mixed drinks. We prioritized each other; we prioritized relaxation. We traveled the distance back into each other's space. And in the following days, he lovingly studied all the medication instructions and bravely injected me with very high doses of artificial hormones.
1. The cheerful woman who came in to take my ultrasound chirped at me: "Let's see if that cyst went away!" To which I replied, "Uhhhmm, I don't think I have a cyst?" She frowned and claimed that my nurse had just told her we were checking for a cyst. I've never had an ovarian cyst in my life, to my knowledge.
2. We found out our stimulation injections were going to start a week later than I thought, and I had to stay on birth control for another week.
3. My nurse tried to rush through all the injection instructions while Philip was in the bathroom. I interrupted her: "Can we please wait for my husband to get back? He's the one who will be administering these injections."
4. After being shuttled from an exam room to a nurse's office, we were shuttled to the checkout area, then shuttled BACK to the nurse's office so that, at our request, our doctor could give us a wham-bam overview of preimplantation genetic screening (PGS) of embryos, a test the doctor had never brought up to us as an option.
5. After all of this stellar customer service, we went back to the checkout area, where the clerk asked us how much we owed. "I don't know?" I replied. She made a phone call and then said, "That'll be $11,710." <commence choking on my own saliva>
Would you like to know what is stressful? ALL OF THAT. Being caused unnecessary alarm about an imaginary cyst. Getting my carefully plotted timeline thrown into the dumpster. Getting overwhelmed with information when my partner is taking a quick pee. Getting herded from room to room like cattle. Getting the world's most rushed explanation of a very complex, controversial testing procedure. And then being charged an astronomical amount of money for all of the above.
The appointment threw me into a massive funk, and in the midst of that funk, we had to make progress on two giant homework assignments: Figure out what credit card to apply for that would yield the best rewards for spending upwards of $11K, and read/decipher a pile of jumbled papers about PGS so we could let our doctor know asap if we wanted to do it.
Oh, and by the way, in the middle of that, Philip was trying to get his mom signed up for health insurance via the Affordable Care Act before the deadline, AND he was working on filing our taxes.
So what happened was, we started bickering. A tense moment here, a moment of lashing out there.
Things came to a head on a Saturday night. We were out at a pub crawl in our neighborhood for a friend's birthday, and I didn't want to be there. I just wasn't in the mood to be celebratory and crazy with a bunch of people I didn't really know. Plus, we'd been trying to cut out alcohol consumption ... Philip wasn't in the mood to babysit me, and on the walk home, our patience ran out. There was yelling in the streets. There was sweater throwing. There was stomping on said sweater.
When we got home at 2 a.m., the quarrel escalated to even higher comical telenovela levels. We were both drunk and tired. At the height of the argument, I ran out to my car barefoot with no license like I was just going to drive away. (Where the eff was I going to go?) Philip followed in his underwear, angrily hurling my shoes up onto the carport and standing behind my car to block my path. The standoff lasted for awhile before I agreed to come back inside if he would get my shoes off the carport roof. He did.
The next day, we laughed about the dramatic fight, but we were war-weary. Usually weekends are our time to reconnect and recharge, but we went into the following workweek completely drained, and the bickering continued. My closest ally was distant and cold. The loneliness I felt was crushing.
On a Thursday night, Philip went to see a friend perform in concert while I ran a 5K race. I tried to meet up with him afterward, but I had the venue wrong. I stood inside Austin's looking in vain for a group of people who were at Stardust. Back in my car, I started crying maniacally. I was bawling so hard I had to pull over. I let the sobs just wrack me; I wailed as loud as I wanted. I cried until I was weak and shaky.
Is this when it happens? When the infertility becomes too much? When the couple doesn't recognize each other anymore? When they finally give up on each other?
Philip texted me, offering to leave and bring us dinner.
I replied: "No don't leave. I tried. I've cried what's left of my makeup off. I'm smelly. I'm going to take a shower and go to sleep. I feel really bad for dampening your evening. I'm lonely and unhappy and that doesn't make me an appealing wife."
He wrote back, "I'm coming home."
He decided to keep trying, to continue fighting for us, like he has since the very earliest days of our relationship. He had plans with some friends on Saturday, but he canceled so that the two of us could reconnect. We slept in, made love, made breakfast. We booked a kayaking tour near Cocoa Beach, and after, we sat overlooking the water enjoying nachos and mixed drinks. We prioritized each other; we prioritized relaxation. We traveled the distance back into each other's space. And in the following days, he lovingly studied all the medication instructions and bravely injected me with very high doses of artificial hormones.
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