LAYING AWAKE AT NIGHT

Here's what kept me awake last night: Dread. In the darkness, in the languor, it was hard to pinpoint the feeling at first, but it eventually came to me: I was feeling a deep dread sitting on my heart like a heavy, smooth stone.

OK, so what was I dreading? In my head, I tried to make sense through the fog, and I started making a mental list.

Sadness and disappointment.

Anger.

Shame.

Fear.

Doubt and hopelessness.

This is the cycle of emotions I go through every month when I fail to conceive, and I am dreading having to endure the pattern one more time.

First I'm just sad. So, so sad. I mourn the lost dream of growing our family and all the excitement that comes with it.

The outrage is always quick to follow; sometimes it even shows up before the sadness does. It infuriates me to think of all the wasted injections, pelvic scans and swallowed pills, all the times I handed over my credit card for nothing.

Then the questions start coming, and I have to admit to everyone that my body has failed again. Not only am I disappointing myself, but also my husband, our families, and all our friends who so fiercely root for us. I feel like less of a woman, like a fool for thinking it could happen, like maybe I don't deserve children. I am ashamed.

Inevitably, I start to worry that we'll never be able to start a family, that we have years more of failed treatments ahead, followed by ... what? All the uncertainty, expense and case work of adoption? Waiting for the phone to ring, wondering if it ever will ... ?

And on and on my fears go, until hope recedes and I begin to doubt this dream. Maybe we should just give up; maybe it would be easier, or at least less painful. I always thought that a major part of my purpose would be to raise children, but maybe it's something else. But what? I feel like a boat lost at sea with no anchor, just drifting.

Anticipating this monthly grieving process keeps me up at night. But the amazing thing is, I always seem to cycle through it and come out on the other side -- ready to try again. Ready to believe again that it could happen. Ready to let others into our vulnerable dream. Ready for more needles, more specula, more vaginal suppositories and transvaginal wands. Ready to hope again.

LIFE GOES ON, EH?

The IUI failed, and I've been trying to sort out how I feel about that, which is hard, because my feelings seem to change on a moment-by-moment basis.

When I first took the pregnancy test and that single negative line traveled across the result window without any delay or equivocation, I was not surprised in the slightest. Prior to taking it, I had tried to envision a plus sign, and I couldn't even do it; it was unfathomable. So my first reaction was something like, Yep. That's what I thought.

I went and laid back down in bed, where fury at my own dysfunctional body washed over me. I had done all I could think of for it -- prenatal vitamins, yoga, massage, a nutritious diet, hormone-boosting drugs, perfectly washed sperm placed directly in my uterus without passing go. Still, no dice. WTF. How deceptive this body is from the outside, looking so healthy and normal. It betrays me every month, letting down not only me, but also Philip, my parents, our families, and everyone else who so lovingly hopes and prays for us faithfully.

Oddly, Philip and I had plans to go water-skiing later that day. Water-skiing isn't something we do regularly; in fact, we had never water-skied together in the entire 10-year history of our relationship. But it was the perfect activity for the day you find out you're not pregnant after your first IUI. We basked in the sun on a speedboat. I savored every drop of two bottles of Mike's Hard Lemonade. I water-skied with abandon and wiped out epically. I was happy to be alive and thankful to have an answer.

The next day wasn't so great. My period arrived in full force, and I physically felt terrible. Philip and I had a hard discussion about our upcoming trip to Bolivia in July. We feel called to go; we're very excited to meet our sponsored child of the last 10 years; we have an amazing itinerary planned. But do we keep trying to get pregnant before we leave? If we actually succeed, there are questions about the safety of recommended vaccines, risks with high altitude, and uncertainties about the remoteness of some of the areas we plan to visit. But it seems crazy to not try. The odds of me getting pregnant are low, and we can't plan our lives around what-ifs. Plus, three months off from treatment seems like an eternity.

It was a stressful conversation -- and one in which Philip made a compelling argument for pressing on with treatment. He reminded me of all the ways infertility interferes with our life: the strain it puts on our relationship, the isolation is causes between us and our friends with kids, the general frustrating and irritating feeling of life being on hold until we get this all-consuming issue resolved.

On Sunday evening we dragged our asses to church. I mean dragged. We had been arguing; I had cramps like a mother #<(&er. But somehow we got there, and as usual, we were thankful we went. Afterward we ended up having dinner at Tijuana Flats with a young married couple from the church. We had only spoken with them here and there at the end of the service, and I'd guess they're about five or six years younger than us. So we were SHOCKED to learn that not only had they also been trying to conceive for two years, but they have the same fertility doctor!

It was an amazingly comforting conversation. I wouldn't wish infertility on my worst enemy, but it can be such a relief to connect with another infertile couple. It's like, you're not alone; you're not crazy; it's all truly as much bullshit as you think it is. It felt like God throwing me a bone.

And then, just like that, it was cycle day three, and I was back at the fertility clinic with my old friend the transvaginal wand. I was grumpy to be there, but I was nice to the sonographer; as she poked at my cervix, we chitchatted about how roaches come into the house when it rains.

So into another treatment cycle we go, risks and sacrifices and upcoming travel and all. My mom texted me, "Life goes oh, eh?" and it's true. I keep living, keep trying, keep swimming through the confusing storm of emotions, keep searching for the silver lining in each day. Picking up my Letrozole at CVS tonight, the guy next to me in line was looking for something to help his brother's cough. "He has lung cancer," he told the pharmacist matter-of-factly. So I gotta keep perspective. Also, who can despair when there are new episodes of amazing shows like New Girl and The Mindy Project airing on TV?

Yours truly, tearing it up on Lake Maitland

NATIONAL INFERTILITY AWARENESS WEEK

It's National Infertility Awareness Week, which is quite appropriate, because I don't think I've ever been more aware of my infertility than now, during the second agonizing week of my two-week wait after our first IUI. We don't know yet if it worked, but that doesn't stop me from obsessively trying to figure out if it did or not. I reason out all the known factors over and over and over again in my head. It's all I think about, no matter where I am or what I'm doing. But I keep coming to the same conclusion: There's about as good a chance that it worked as that it didn't. We'll just have to keep waiting.

It seems that the waiting is driving everyone around me nuts. My parents, my sister-in-law -- even my boss -- are going nuts wondering. But believe me, folks, NO ONE is going more nuts than me.

It doesn't help that every night, I have to insert a tablet of progesterone into my vagina. What the progesterone does to my system is essentially like PMS on crack-cocaine. I'm exhausted. I'm constipated. I have headaches and boob aches and cramps.*

Worst of all, my emotions are going bonkers. It's almost like I'm standing outside myself, watching this crazy person cry and get mad and then suddenly laugh and then bounce between half-finished tasks with total ADD, and I'm going, "What is WRONG with that girl?! Pull it together, sister! You're a mess!"

But there's nothing I can do. The smallest annoyance sets me off and makes me aggravated beyond imagination. Then the next minute, I'm sobbing over something very serious, like it started raining. I'm exploding with nervous energy, but there's nowhere to direct it. The inside of me looks like a twisted, googly-eyed snow monster that terrifies everyone but really just needs its sore tooth pulled.

Thankfully, Philip has been very patient. And also, I don't know how evident my inner turmoil is on the outside. By most appearances, I think I still look pretty normal. I mean, I'm showering and applying makeup and what not.

So what happens if I'm not pregnant? I'll cry and be very, very sad for about a day or two, and then we will return to our regularly scheduled programming. I don't know why I'm dreading that so much. I try to cheer myself with the condolence prizes of wine, soda and boot camp class, but the reality is, I really want to have a baby. It's beyond all rational thought that I want to fully surrender my freedom in exchange for sleepless nights, poopy diapers and inconsolable crying, which will eventually give way to disobedience, begging for candy and spilling everywhere, which will eventually give way to sulking and getting into car wrecks and choosing terrible people to date.

And that's BEST-case scenario! Worst-case includes painful possibilities like serious health problems, behavioral issues and loss.

But here we are, striving and striving after it, risks and all. And the thought that it may never come to us is a boulder on my chest.

Regardless of the outcome, I may be a little radio-silent on this blog for a bit. I'll either be processing a miracle or processing a crushing disappointment, and my ability to compose anything articulate will be seriously hindered. Thanks as always for your prayers and interest in this saga, and thanks for your patience as you await our news, one way or the other.

*If you are thinking, "But wait! Those are early pregnancy symptoms!" I would like to share with you my belief that there is no such thing. "Early pregnancy symptoms" and PMS symptoms are identical. They are caused by progesterone, which is in your system after you ovulate, regardless of if there's a fertilized egg or not. The only real early pregnancy symptom is a missed period.

VULNERABLE INFERTILES AND SNAKE-OIL SALESMEN

When you are undergoing fertility treatment via assisted reproductive technologies, you may think to yourself, “I should go get acupuncture. I have heard many times that acupuncture can be quite complementary to Western reproductive treatments, and people continue to recommend it to me.”

What you might do is go ahead and make an appointment at an acupuncture clinic that has been recommended to you by friends — including one friend who had success with IVF.

Then you might drive all the way there at 8 a.m. to fill out five lengthy forms and have a consultation with an awkward, mustachioed man in what amounts to a closet. He may check your pulse and glance at your tongue, quickly concluding that your pulse is weak, and your tongue looks infirm — signs of run-down internal organs. Then he may demonstrate complete ignorance about Western fertility treatment, contradict himself, confuse you regarding the safety of taking Chinese herbs, and refuse to treat you because you just had an insemination and there is a small chance you’re pregnant. Then he might bid you adieu, but only after charging you $25.

The next day, you might go to yoga and feel like a failure. Every pose may feel strained, and you may feel like you can’t keep up. You may dwell on your weak pulse, ill-looking tongue, and malfunctioning kidneys and spleen. You may think about how you strive and strive to do everything in your power to be well — the disciplined exercise, the careful stress management, the scrupulous diet, the restraint when it comes to sugar, caffeine and alcohol — and how none of it matters; you’re still an unhealthy, infertile mess. You might lay in shavasana, silently ball your eyes out and assume that your yoga instructor thinks you are an emotional train wreck.

But then it might dawn on you that said mustachioed acupuncturist might just be a giant asshole, and that it might behoove you to seek out an acupuncturist who actually has a clue about your lifestyle, your condition and the treatments that typically accompany it.

You might have someone suggest to you that you call the fertility clinic to see if it recommends any specific acupuncturists.

This is good advice.

When you call your fertility nurse, she will tell you to stay away from Chinese herbs while undergoing hormone-injection treatment. She will say it’s safe to have acupuncture after an IUI. And she will give you a recommendation of an acupuncturist who has a whole section of her website devoted to the use of acupuncture in conjunction with Western fertility treatment.

So, if you think to yourself, “I should go get acupuncture,” the first thing you should do is call your fertility nurse. Then you will avoid all mustachioed swindlers who make you feel like shit. This has been a public-service announcement.