ONCE UPON A TIME

There was a girl who had an enviable life -- an amazing husband, a beautiful bungalow-style house, two loving cats, a vibrant career, even a recent promotion! She was in good health, except for one problem: After trying for two and a half years to conceive, she was still barren.

All around her were reminders of the life of motherhood she wasn't living. Pregnant bellies, strollers and babies were everywhere she turned, from the grocery store to the hotel pool. Anniversaries and annual events reminded her of how long she'd been fruitlessly trying. Future plans were made with ambivalence: Should she go on that trip/buy that car/accept that responsibility, or make a different choice on the small chance that she could be pregnant by then? And of course, friends and acquaintances were regularly announcing pregnancies, as it was that season of life.

Summer was winding down -- another season passed and still, no child -- and the weekend had been emotional: Two pregnancy announcements on Facebook had thrown the girl into a private tailspin. Not only did she feel pain at the news, but she also felt guilty for being upset at another's joy.

But she bore the heartache quietly. She didn't want to weary her husband with fertility obsessions. And indeed, what was there to say that hadn't been said a thousand times?

In her mind, she counted the days. She and her husband had undergone an insemination, their third, and were awaiting the results. They had agreed the insemination would be their last; the statistics didn't show much success beyond three attempts. They also agreed that neither felt particularly hopeful about this treatment cycle. They had swallowed every pill, administered every injection, and showed up at every appointment, but robotically.

It was also true that they hadn't made any attempts at reducing stress. Work had been intense for both of them, long-term household responsibilities had piled up, and they had gotten into several nasty arguments over the previous weeks. The girl had fallen far from her routine of yoga, massage and healthy eating.

Nevertheless, she knew every day where she stood: eight days past ovulation; nine days; ten. In a few short days, they would have their answer, and what if it was negative? Always a planner, she considered the next steps. Ostensibly, they would meet with their reproductive endocrinologist to discuss in vitro fertilization.

But it seemed impossible that they were already on the doorstep of IVF. How could they have tried everything else already? How could it be that nothing worked? Her RE had said most of his patients got pregnant without needing IVF, and the girl had seen the proof: The simple ovulatory drugs had worked for that friend of a friend; the progesterone supplements for the old work acquaintance. But not this girl. She needed the full $12,000 last resort, reserved for the extremely infertile and the extremely desperate.

It was hard to accept. The failed inseminations made her angry -- the wasted money and the wasted months. The checked-out nurses made her angry, and the RE made her the angriest of all -- that mirage with whom they had talked only three times. THREE TIMES, in a full year.

All of this she mulled silently in her head. Finally she spoke to her husband: "I think I will call tomorrow to make an appointment with the RE. If it turns out we're pregnant, we can just cancel it, and if we're not, we'll get in to see him that much sooner."

Her husband affirmed it was a fine idea, but then said, "I don't want to pay for it."

Suddenly all the emotions boiled over the surface. The disappointment, the anger, the loneliness fused into an accusatory arrow that she threw at his heart: "You care more about money than you care about having a baby!"

A long discussion followed. They sat on the bed facing each other, trying to understand. First it was about the money: She didn't want to talk to the clinic about pricing, because it's always stressful and never straightforward. He didn't want to pay $200 for an IVF marketing pitch. She didn't know what else to do other than talk to the RE. He wanted to research other doctors to see if there may be a better overall value and fit for them. She was overwhelmed at the thought of leading that new charge. He felt that if they're going to spend that much money, they need to be sure it's with the best possible doctor. She said it's not like buying a car! He said it's absolutely like buying a car!

Finally the girl started weeping. "I will pay whatever it costs!" she cried, choking out words through her sobs. "Why don't you feel that way? I want you to feel that way! I will do anything! This desire is overwhelming! It's always with me, always! I just want it to go away, but it won't. I see Brittany's pregnancy announcement on Facebook, and I just feel so behind. And helpless. And BROKEN. Everywhere I look there's some glassy-eyed parent pushing a stroller, and they have NO IDEA what a blessing it is that they have that child! Starting a family is the most natural thing in the world for people, it's so easy, and I CAN'T DO IT! No matter what I try, I can't make it happen, and I wonder if it will ever happen. I see a family of four sitting around a table, and I wonder, will that ever be us? Will we ever get there?! Or in ten years, will we just be that couple who never had kids, living some totally other life, one that I never imagined would be our life?"

Her husband listened attentively and compassionately, feeding her tissues. Always a fixer, he looked for ways he could participate more fully in the quest for a family. He should give her more opportunities to share her feelings; he should encourage a more relaxing lifestyle, he said. He volunteered to call the fertility clinic to ask about the cost of the IVF consultation. He confessed that he didn't feel how she did -- he felt good about their life: They were trying everything they knew to conceive, and in the meantime, they were still living fully -- traveling, having fun, and eating leftover flautas at 10 p.m. He didn't constantly long for a child, but he didn't want her to feel alone.

She said she felt that way sometimes, and she certainly tried to live that way: making the most of the current life season. She acknowledged that the desire for a baby was completely illogical, that a child would seriously interfere with all the freedom they enjoy now. But in a way she was thankful for the misery of her constant overwhelming desire, because it drove her forward; it kept her pushing through a merciless process that would otherwise defeat her.

The next day, she felt a little better. The outburst had been cathartic, and she put on her face and her work clothes and functioned effectively the entire day in her Normal Person disguise. She saw on her calendar that her husband had added an IVF consultation appointment four weeks from the day, and he had also added information about a local Resolve support-group meeting.

She said a prayer of thanks for her husband, and she counted on her fingers: eleven days past ovulation.

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?