A BIG WIN

"Questioning things when you're happy is like taking a shit after a shower." 

-- Kelly Oxford, via tweet

So two pretty big things happened last week.

1) I got the promotion! (What?!)

2) We did our third IUI.

Here's how both things went down.

On Friday, I was expecting to find out about the promotion, and I really was SO SURE I didn't get it. All the signs pointed to a big, fat: Let it go; it's not happening. I had updated my résumé; I had created a website displaying all my writing clips; I had drafted a cover letter and made an Excel spreadsheet of jobs I intended to apply for over the weekend.

At 3:45, my new boss called me into his office. I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. I am ready to be told I did not get the position. I am ready to just know for sure. I am not going to cry; I'm going to take it like a champ.

I closed the door to his office, sat down and forced a calm, bright look onto my face.

"How are you?" he asked me.

"I'm good," I said. I really was. It was OK; it was time for a new life chapter.

"Well, I wanted to tell you that I'd like to offer you the position of executive editor," he said.

And I lost it. I gasped, I clapped my hands over my face, and I cried like a baby. I was shaking all over; I couldn't think or speak. I was SHOCKED!

When I pulled myself together a little bit, I luckily remembered to thank him, and I told him I didn't think he would be disappointed. After more than two months of buildup, uncertainty, competition, wins, losses, frustration, meltdowns, over-analyzing, strategy sessions and crazy-hard work, the whole conversation lasted less than five minutes.

I got to make several joyful phone calls. Then a few friends joined me for an impromptu celebratory happy hour. Afterward Philip and I went out to dinner with a couple more of our friends. (Philip said I could choose any restaurant, and I opted for Mellow Mushroom. Soda and pizza, bitches!)

Congratulatory texts and emails kept coming in. It was such a high! My friend Amber said, "You deserve to have something go your way," and I have to admit the same thought had already crossed my mind: After years of struggling to start a family and dealing with an unfair work dynamic, it was about time for a big win.

Eighteen hours after I got the good news, I was on my back getting inseminated for the third time. It was yet another new doc, but she was twice as fast as the previous two dudes, and she gave Philip's sample a B+. His numbers were much improved from our last IUI, so I was pleased.

I came home and slept for hours. It was the deep, delicious sleep of relief.

By Monday night, I was already questioning things. A big meeting at work didn't go my way, and I wondered if the promotion really meant anything, or if it was just a begrudging effort to keep me from leaving the company.

Of course, infertility insists on bringing me down as well. I have defeating thoughts like, I'm glad I got the promotion, but what I really want is a baby. And I fret that the added work responsibility will bring more counterproductive stress into my life.

What is wrong with me? Why can't I just let myself be happy? Why can't the sweet, positive mojo of a win last more than 24 hours?

Thankfully, the work week has progressed in an encouraging manner, and I'm starting to let myself believe that the way I've dreamed about things functioning at the office might actually come to fruition.

I'm not terribly hopeful that the IUI worked, but it's kind of a relief to pretend I'm pregnant for two weeks and not feel any pressure to go running or show up at boot camp.

But somehow I've got to figure out how to rise above my circumstances. I don't want to continue to be tossed around by temporary setbacks and momentary successes. And I don't want to keep waiting anxiously for the other shoe to drop. Life is life; it's good and bad. I've got to just roll with it. And right now things are good, so I want to savor it for as long as I can.

HEY! I'M ALIVE!

Happy one-month anniversary to me of not having posted here! Yikes.

Well, to answer all your (imaginary) questions: I still don't know about the promotion (but am not feeling too hopeful). Our South America trip was amazing! And we're 10 days into our third and final IUI cycle.

There's not a lot to say about treatment so far. At my day-three ovary check, everything was "nice and quiet," so that's good. Although I did get pretty annoyed when my medication protocol wasn't in the system and I had to wait 10 extra minutes for the nurse, who promptly asked me, "Do you just want to do the same thing as last time?"

I gave her what amounted to an incredulous look and said, with a forced laugh, "Well, I'd like to try something different, since last time didn't work! But what else is there? We've tried everything."

I could tell she felt bad, but seriously. YOU'RE the nurse! You tell me what to do! Der.

I had to tell her that we've done injectables. We've done progesterone. We've done estrogen. Yep, let's do it all again, because I don't think we have an alternative? And oh yes, let me tell you what the dosage is, because what it says on that there chart is wrong.

Then, while I was waiting for my prescriptions to print, some random lady in a white lab coat who I'd never seen before gave me a strange smile and then began studying my discharge paper, which was sitting on the counter. Um, who are you, and why are you looking at my very personal papers? Go away!

So anyway. I'll go back in tomorrow to measure my follicles, so please pray there's one or two good ones in there, please? I can't help but fantasize about how not only would a pregnancy be a dream come true and the fulfillment of my deepest desires and blessed relief from the constant nagging misery of infertility, but it would also put an end to my ongoing work woes. Who needs a high-powered job when you're too busy being pregnant and glowing?

I wish I could get into more detail about the drama at work, but I don't think it would be prudent. In a nutshell: It SUCKS.

One thing I will expound upon is our wonderful trip to Bolivia and Chile! I have been composing three separate entries in my head, starting with our stay in Santa Cruz and our very memorable/emotional experience meeting Carmen. So stay tuned for that. Until next time ...

THE MOST IMPORTANT

See that photo in the top right-hand corner of this blog? That's the hubs and me on July 4, 2012. One year ago. This year, we had virtually the same day we had 365 days prior -- we got up early to run the Watermelon 5K, we shared a meal with Philip's family in Mount Dora, and we ambled down to the lake to enjoy the fireworks with the Hueneke clan.

It was a lovely day, but I can't help it -- my thoughts always turn to infertility at these annual events. A year later, and we're still not pregnant. I sat and watched the fireworks in 2012, thinking wistfully about how fun it would be to share this holiday with a family of our own, and I sat and watched the fireworks in 2013, thinking wistfully about how fun it would be to share this holiday with a family of our own.

I love the Fourth of July fireworks so much -- the unabashed patriotism, the long summer night, the childhood nostalgia, the sheer wonder of these artful explosions in the sky. But how many more times will I have to watch them with a quietly heavy heart?

Philip and me in 2012

Philip and me in 2013

I had Friday off too -- a last-minute surprise from my company's CEO -- but I worked all day from home anyway. I finalized my feature outline (yep, same feature I bellyached about a week ago), I caught up on emails, I worked on updating my résumé (which I hadn't touched in six years). By the end of the day, I was wracked with stress. So much remains to be done before we leave for South America in a mere nine days, both at home and at work, all under heightened pressure and major uncertainty.

While I worked inside, Philip and his brother worked out in the garage, going through their father's belongings -- a task at which they've been chipping away for over a year. It's an emotional, overwhelming endeavor, not to mention just a lot of tiring physical labor out in the Florida summer humidity.

By the end of the day, Philip and I were totally beat.

Stress is the absolute worst. It's this invisible weight, and it's inescapable. The moment I awake in the morning and remember everything that's going on, I feel dread to the point of nausea. It's terrible.

This morning wasn't any different, but Philip suggested we go for a run, and I agreed it would be a good release. But halfway through, I had another crying meltdown (par for the course these days). "Why is everything so HARD?!" I wailed like a child out in broad daylight, blowing my snotty nose into my shirt. "Running is hard! Work is hard! Trying to have a baby is hard! Preparing for Bolivia is hard! Going through your dad's stuff is hard!"

Philip was amazingly patient with and encouraging to me, and we managed to finish the workout without further incident.

We also made some major headway on Bolivia prep. We went through old letters from Carmen, our sponsored child, making notes on key people and interests in her life (conversation starters), and we brainstormed gift ideas for her and her family.

Then we went out and freaking shopped till we dropped. Like, we just crazy-shopped our brains out.

It was pretty cathartic, spending all that money. (For me at least. I think Philip was feeling a bit panicky about our upcoming credit-card statement.)

Shopping for Carmen was so very exciting. To think of things she'd like and enjoy, to imagine her pleasure at opening these gifts and using them -- painting her nails with her friends, writing about teenage crushes in a pretty journal, carrying her pink Adidas drawstring backpack to soccer practice -- made me so happy, happier than I've felt in weeks and weeks.

We went bonkers buying stuff for her because it just made me feel so good to focus our energy 100 percent on doing something special for someone we care about. It felt like we were doing something that mattered, that was pure. It was empowering and humbling; it was purposeful; it was good and right and true.

Gifts for Carmen

And unlike all the irresolution of infertility and work, it's a sure thing that on Wednesday, July 17, we will meet this girl with whom we've been corresponding for nine years, and we will get a glimpse of her day-to-day life in South America's poorest country. It's becoming real, and it's awesome. And it's so much more important than anything waiting for me in my office cubicle.

Carmen, age 7, when we first started sponsoring her in 2003

Our most recent photo of Carmen, age 16

So here I am, at 1 in the morning, thinking about what's important. (I'm wide awake because we brilliantly had Starbucks for dinner.) Being some big-shot bridal editor doesn't seem that important. Traveling to tropical islands to go snorkeling doesn't seem that important. Any job that requires extreme amounts of my time -- whether it's time away on travel or time spent continually taking on new responsibilities while never being able to shed old ones -- doesn't seem that important.
 
Starting a family seems important. And in my case, starting a family requires a lot more time, money, effort and emotional reserve than it does for 90 percent of the population.

My mom texted me yesterday: "I am feeling that when you get back from South America, you will dive into the fertility treatments again and probably have a whole new life beginning for you."

I can't even tell you the thrill that thought sent through my gut. To just pour all of my resources into the quest to build a family, to not let anything -- stress, work drama, travel -- stand in my way: What freedom! What purpose! It was the course I was on for the first half of 2013 before I got derailed, and while it seems so distant now, I want to get back on that road.

It's the most important.

I don't know the way back to that road. There are no directions; there's no clear map. But at least I know now where I need to get.

Have any of you experienced this conflict -- a job that's too demanding to coexist with fertility treatment? What did you do?

TOO MUCH

I had another crying meltdown on Friday night. It had been a hell of week, every day feeling like at least two. We're on deadline with the magazine, which is a very stressful, overwhelming time even in normal circumstances. I typically have to work late, there are a million last-minute fact-checking details to keep straight, and everyone starts to ride on everyone else's last nerve.

I'd also had two Big Idea meetings during the course of the week about how to improve the magazine's blog and the print magazine itself, in which I felt a great deal of pressure to be super prepared and impressive and sparkly while trying to read my new boss' mind.

On Friday I was just so infinitely tired; I spent the day researching a feature and it was just taking way too fucking long, and I wasn't happy with my outline, and at 7 p.m. I finally admitted defeat and drove over to my best friend's birthday happy hour that had started at 6. I couldn't find parking, and I knew Philip and I were leaving that night to drive two hours to St. Pete for the weekend, and I still hadn't packed my suitcase. I was getting more and more frustrated, and then I saw it: a perfectly pregnant girl in a tight-fitting white dress and heels, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulder, holding hands with her man, on their way to some fancy babymoon date. And I started to sob.

Oh yeah, I remembered, I'm ALSO infertile! I had kind of forgotten about it for the moment, so preoccupied with all the intense work drama and the general nonstop pace of life. But the universe wasn't going to let me forget.

Finally I found a parking spot, and just as I pulled in, my husband called, and I choked out all of life's injustices over my cell.

In the end, he came out to meet me at the bar, all my girlfriends rushed to console me as soon as they saw me enter with the Look of Death on my face, and I drank some delicious wine. We got on the road to St. Pete at 10:30, which was retardedly late, but the drive went by quickly, and Philip and I had a ton to catch up on, having barely had a minute to talk all week.

I had a hard time relaxing on our weekend getaway. It rained on the beach, the Tigers lost, and work uncertainty hung over me like a cloud. But it was definitely still fun, and I did my best to be a pleasant companion to Philip and our friends who joined us.

I'm dreading the two weeks ahead of me, as it's all just too much to think about. Ship a magazine, then have another Big Idea meeting, then have an even bigger Big Idea meeting two days after that, then jet off to South America on a complicated two-week trip we've barely had time to plan. And oh yeah, the Big Announcement about who gets the promotion will happen when we're in the middle of the Bolivian salt desert.

Tomorrow Philip and I get inoculated -- a big check-the-box item -- and at some point we need to book a couple of tours, buy domestic airline tickets and purchase a backpack full of appropriate gifts for a  teenage Bolivian girl ... any ideas what's on that wish list?

I am taking off Thursday, and we're running the Watermelon 5K at 7 a.m. "Running" is probably generous, as my exercise routine has fallen into oblivion. But it will feel good to hopefully burn off some of this tension.

Even tonight I have a pile of work to do for a promotion I'm not sure I'll get at a job I'm not sure I want. Treatment Erika will be back in August (provided I dubiously use my leftover progesterone tablets to delay my period while I'm in South America), and I have no idea how she's going to mesh with Jetsetting Power-Editor Erika -- or if she'll even have to.

My future is a hazy question mark, which drives the control freak in me bonkers, and I lay awake at night asking myself and God, What do I want? What do you want for me? What are my options? What is even within my power to try? If it turns out I can't be a mom, do I want to keep climbing the ladder at this job? If I don't do that, what else is there? What life choices would allow us to just move to a lazy beach town and escape all this aneurysm-generating corporate and infertility nonsense? Would you ladies join me if I opened Infertility Island where you'd never have to see another pregnant belly in your life, and you wouldn't have to keep pretending your career is all you need?

And while I'm thinking these things, I just keep getting up and going to work and pasting on a smile and attending meetings because for now, there doesn't seem like any other choice.