Not such a fabulous Friday

I know I said I would post my current obsession every fabulous Friday, but I'm feeling anything but fabulous today. Everything just seems so "heavy" right now. I'm ready to not feel as if I have the world balancing on my shoulders, or should I say on my right Fallopian tube.

I'm emotionally and physically exhausted; I know this is partially the meds I'm on, but still, I'm ready for this to pass. Just keep praying, just keep praying.

The Story of Malachi

Before we start trying for our baby again, I want to put into words the story of my little Malachi who blessed us for 7 weeks. Malachi, whose name means Messenger of God, and though we didn't know that when we named our little "bean," God sure knew why we needed to choose that name.

November 11, 2011, I was 11 dpo (days past ovulation).  11 was my soccer number in high school and now is one of my lucky numbers (I always play it when I play roulette).  So, because I like to interpret random signs as I mentioned in Tuesday's post, I decided I would test on 11-11-11.  The night before, I bought 6 bottles of wine--one of my dearest friends was coming for a visit--and a pack of pregnancy tests. If I hadn't destroyed all evidence of being pregnant, I would've posted that picture here.  I felt as if the cashier definitely judged me when I checked out at the grocery store.

I couldn't sleep that night, of course, and tested at about 4 am. It was positive. Not just kind of positive, but beautifully, clearly, positive.  I couldn't believe it.  Of course, DH was hesitant to believe it based on our chemical pregnancy, but this is one of the million reasons I adore him; he's the logic to my emotion.  My dear friend arrived that evening I told her.  She would've known anway because we drink wine together! That's what we do. You give us enough wine, we would solve all the world's problems.  I had also told my other dear friend, the one who always listens to me complain/rant/rave and probably knows my cycles better than I know them myself.  After the chem. preg, I didn't want anyone else to know until I had my blood work done.

I tested again the next day and then again two days later--still positive! I went for blood work on Monday to make SURE I was pregnant, and I was.  DH finally started to believe the test was right, though I'm pretty sure he was freaked out, like Chandler right before he married Monica (Friends reference, duh). 

As happy as I was, I was also very nervous about losing my baby. A SLIGHT ASIDE--when I was a little girl, I used to read the end of my books first because I liked to know the outcome of things, what to expect. If you know me, this doesn't surprise you.  So, when I got the book What to Expect When You're Expecting, I read the "Loss" chapters first.  This probably sounds pretty horrible and masochistic of me, but like I said, I wanted to know the possibilities. OK NOW BACK TO THE STORY...I called the doctor because my back was killing me, much like it does before AF (aunt flo) arrives.  She basically told me to just do nothing. No running (EEK!), no sex, nothing, until my December 8 appointment. Ok, fine. I became a couch potato who consumed lots of potato chips. and avocados.

For Thanksgiving, DH and I went to Dallas to visit my younger siblings. On the way, DH was reading baby names off my Baby Bump app and he said to me, MalAkey (accent on the second A). I thought to myself, WTH. That is so not a name...ohhhh he means Malachi! And we cracked up. Or really, I laughed at him, incessantly, and then went back to eating whatever salty snack I was currently craving.

So we named the baby Malachi (didn't know the sex), and for another five days, our little Malachi was safe and sound.  Until he grew wings.  On December 9, our little Malachi, who only measured about 6 weeks, became one of our guardian angels; I believe this, no matter what you may say.  Even though we had the baby's tissue tested, we never meant to find out the sex.  Dr. W. happened to tell me at one of my many visits.  He very clinically said "so I told you the fetus was normal XY, right?" and I said...nothing. I just felt my heart drop into my tummy.

Here we are, almost 4 months later.  I never would have known about my septate uterus or decrepit left tube if it weren't for my Malachi, my messenger of God.  Even in his short life, he blessed me.  I can't wait to meet his future brother or sister. I appreciate now-after all this-what a precious blessing from God that will be.

Just a link to a beautifully written blog post

Beautifully said, and right on

That's all for today. She summed up exactly how I feel :)

Dreading It

I haven't really been in the mood to post.  See yesterday's post if you're wondering why I haven't imparted some wonderful, witty knowledge to all of you today, as I'm sure you are all waiting with bated breath.

But, as part of this journey, it helps to share--even if no one reads this but me--what I'm feeling at this moment: petrified.  Maybe petrified is too strong a word; I'm not sure.  As a teacher of rhetoric, I realize I should pinpoint my word choice better, but I don't have it in me today.  As we get ready to TTC (try to conceive) again, the feelings I had when we were TTC the first time are all flooding back. The anxiety, the what ifs, the schedules, the charting, the over-analyzing-every-possible-pregnancy-sign, and now, I add to this the fear that maybe the septum will some how regrow and come back to haunt my uterus again.  AND who even knows if I'll have a viable egg this month?! If Left Ovary wins and produces the egg, then there's not even a chance I will get pregnant.  UGH. I'm already tired.

People who've never experienced infertility will say, "Just let it go!" "It just happens when it happens!" "There's a plan!" "I knew such-and-such who had QUADRUPLETS as soon as she stopped trying!" Trust me--when you've had 4 surgeries in 4 months and lost a little boy baby, you can't just let it go.  I HAVE to obsessively analyze everything because I want a baby THAT BAD. If I had to walk around on my hands for two weeks straight just to ensure I would get pregnant, I would do it. (Enter Jillian Michael's workout video for arm-walking) Seriously.

Approaching my April cycle, I have done the following:

• Read blogs (obsessively) of other women with septate uteri
• Searched Fertility Friend for charts of women who get pregnant with only one fallopian tube, with only one fallopian tube after miscarriage, with only one fallopian tube and pregnant with a boy, and so on
• Started to monitor every little thing I eat, because maybe, just MAYBE eating pineapple will help me get pregnant. (ha.)
• Stocked up on OPKs (if you don't know what an OPK is, you're lucky and have never worried about when it's the right time to make a baby)
• Wished on everything. Clock numbers (11:11, 1:11, 12:34, 5:55... you get the picture), shooting starts, pennies, rabbits feet
• Interpreted random signs (if I get pregnant on THAT day, it would mean...and therefore, I will get pregnant this month)
• Prayed (the only logical thing on this list)

At least I recognize my obsessiveness and trust me, I know  it will only get worse as the month goes on.  The two-week-wait for two beautiful pink lines on that test is hell.  So, make a banner or a t-shirt and root for Right Ovary.  I know I will be.

Quite Literally a Manic Monday

The song "Manic Monday" always reminds me of my college roommates for some reason.  I feel as if we sang this often, or maybe that we used to put on 80s thrift store dresses and just dance around to it. But anyway...

I started taking my progesterone last Friday to hopefully jump start my next cycle and begin TTC (trying to conceive) again in April.  A little background--the estrogen/progesterone hormone therapy accomplishes several things: healing and building up the lining of my uterus, increasing cervical fluids to help fertility, and jump starting my next cycle by helping "slough off" the lining of my uterus.  In my head, I think these hormones are just making my uterus a nice fluffy pillow-like place where lots of little embryos want to implant; I envision my uterus being like a big, puffy, pink cloud.  I realize this is a very strange image, and yes, I do actually know what the inside of my uterus looks like (thanks to a lot of pathology bills and a very thorough doctor), but I prefer to think of it this way.  Don't question me--I'm full of hormones.

I've taken these hormones before, back in January before my first hysteroscopy, but DH was out of town at the time and not at all prepared for the side effects.  I'd forgotten how crazy this hormone makes me, which isn't surprising given the fact that progesterone is one of the hormones that increases when you're pregnant, accounting for those mood swings as well.  Last time I started progesterone, I looked up the effects and pretty much was able to check them off the list one by one as what I was feeling.  Increased anxiety? check.  Bitchiness Unpredictable mood swings? check.  Increased desire for anything chocolate? check.  Exhaustion? check.  I feel like a crazy woman right now, and the only thing that's helping me through it is asking myself, why are you feeling this way? Are you justified in your anxiety or in your "lashing out"?  I feel like the Old Me, the girl I was in college who didn't understand how to deal with life or herself yet, and this frustrates me. 

DH probably thinks that some crazy alien woman has invaded my body.  He told me on Saturday that I somehow lost my filter and just say whatever comes in to my head without thinking--I would say that sums up my mood swings quite clearly.  He's been so understanding through this whole process, but I know he's just as excited as I am to be done with the hormone therapy, which will last at least through Saturday, unless my next cycle shows up. 

For me, this definitely feels like a Manic Monday. I wish it was (next) Sunday.

For all of the fighters

Thanks to one of my dear friends for sending this picture. Sometimes it feels like the battle is overwhelming and that it would be easier (and cheaper!) to give up, but good friends make it a little more bearable.

Knowing what to say to someone struggling with "baby issues" (again, I hate the word infertility) can be frustrating. Just knowing that someone is there for you and loves you is enough. Having people stand by you, surgery after surgery, says everything. The most encouraging things people have said to me help me focus on having strength, courage, and faith, three things necessary to even keep my head above water.

So, quite simply, thank you.

Fabulous Friday

Every Friday, I'm going to take a vacation from tracking, babies, issues, and the like and post my weekly obsessions.  Because it's fun and sometimes I need to get out of my own head.

First Fabulous Friday honors my current book obsession, the Hunger Games.  Loved all three books and plan on seeing the movie today. Food, drink, and makeup--the Capitol at it's finest. You'll love it, real or not real? Real.

My current food obsession: farro. This oatmeal-looking grain is such a lovely alternative to our usual carbohydrate dinner side--90 second microwave rice.  Yes, it takes more time to prepare, but it is hearty enough to constitute a meal when topped with a protien.  DH doesn't believe that a meal is a meal unless it includes meat, so eating farro alone as a main dish is an unspeakable crime. Farro has a slightly nutty flavor and a nice "bite" to it, unlike rice.  You can cook it softer if you prefer, but I think the more texture you leave in the farro, the more substantial the meal is.  Below is the basic recipe I have been using:

• 1 C farro
• 2 1/2 C chicken broth (or any broth or just salted water).  If you want a softer texture, add more water as the farro cooks and let it absorb more and more water.  
• 1/2 red onion
• 1/4 C toasted walnuts
• Honey
• 2 T Balsamic vinegar
• 1 T Olive oil
• Goat cheese

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Cut red onion into chunks.  Mix squeeze of honey, balsamic vinegar, and olive oil.  Pour over red onions and toss.  Put red onions on baking pan (I lined mine with tin foil) and roast until crispy.  Set aside.  You can toast the walnuts at the same time on the same baking pan, but watch them closely so that they don't burn.  They won't take as much time as the red onions.

Combine farro and water.  Bring to a boil.  Reduce heat to a simmer and cover the pot.  Let simmer for about 20-30 minutes (depending on the consistency you want) until most of your water has been abosrbed.  If you have extra water, just drain it out.

Toss farro with roasted red onions and pecans.  Season with salt/pepper.  Dish on to plates and top with a generous amount of goat cheese.  We usually top this with grilled balsamic marinated chicken.

 

There are many different variations of this, too.  Just Google it :)

My current drink obsession: Cupcake Sauvingon Blanc. I'm sure if I knew anything about white wines (which I don't because I'm a red wine snob) I may not like this, but in my ignorance, I love this wine! The bottle is adorable and the wine itself is light, crisp, and not at all fruity.  It's much lighter than a chardonnay and perfect for a spring day, or a night alone watching Breaking Dawn while DH is out watching college basketball. Don't judge--I know you're jealous of my exciting social life.

My current beauty obsession: Clinique loose powder and Laura Mercier foundation primer.  A-Freakin-Mazing. No seriously. I hate my skin  and this makes me love it just a little bit.  The primer has a beautiful, light consistency and feels fresh on my skin.  It's $30 but works much better than my $38 Smashbox foundation primer.  The powder is silky but matte, not adding any shimmer to my skin.  The trick--warm the powder in your hands before brushing it on with a  big, fluffy brush.  I press it into my palm with my fingers and then dust on.  It stays on ALL DAY (with the help of that amazing Laura Mercier primer) and looks beautiful. Most importantly, the powder doesn't settle into Hubert (my sister's affectionate name for my one annoying smile wrinkle line). 

Happy Hunger Games Friday, y'all! And may the odds be ever in your favor...

I hate the word...

Infertility.

I think it's ugly.  I hate what it implies, that I am in some way, deficient.  I don't like calling my doctor my "infertility specialist." He's my doctor, or as DH (darling husband) says, he thinks he's the best (which is fine with me, by the way, because that means he gets stuff done right).

I am a perfectionist, always have been and always will be, though I do have to say my DH has tempered this quality in me since we have  been together.  I had anxiety and heartburn as early as 8th grade and then terrible anxiety attacks again in my early 20s, mainly due the pressure I put on myself to be the best, or at least better than most people.  I realize that sounds horrible, but that's how I am.  I would rather do someone else's work for them because at least I know I will do it right the first time.

All this to say that it was very much a struggle for me to come to terms with not getting pregnant right away.  WHAT?! Me NOT get something?! Hold.The.Phone. I get what I want because I work hard for it.  Period. So this notion of not being able to work hard and therefore earn something as a result was foreign to me.  Having "infertility issues" doesn't fit my way of life.  Or it didn't. 

I'm still learning, but I would like to think that this process and this label have made me more self-reflective, having to ask why do I feel this way and is it valid? It feels like hundreds of people have gotten pregnant in the last five months that we've been going through our infertility issues.  At first, this offended me.  How DARE Jennifer Garner get pregnant.  Or Jessica Simpson.  Or Snooki.  Or Reese Witherspoon.  Or Sienna Miller.  Or Insert-Name-of-One-of-My-Many-Pregnant-Friends Here .  And no, I do not personally know these famous people, but duh, they shouldn't get something that I'm not allowed to have. 

As the journey has progressed, I've learned that this is not a personal attack against me; it's life.  Plain and simple.  I've only gotten to that place through copious amounts of prayer and reflection,  and I still harbor a few envious thoughts towards these women, but I've learned that my issues are my journey and that they're bringing me to some place so much greater than where I was.  I am still not perfect in this thinking, nor will I ever be, but I'm getting there (in first place, naturally).

The Beginning

It's taken me a long time to muster the courage to write about this, but if this can be as helpful to someone else as the blogs I've read have been to me, then I've done something right. 

People who know me know that I'm petrified of babies. Don't try to hand me your newborn/four month old/nine month old because I'm pretty sure it will start crying and I will freak out, resulting in permanent damage to either myself or your child or both. Now a classroom of teenagers? Sure. Bring it on--I can handle that. Regardless of my abnormal fear of small crying things, I've always wanted to be a mom, probably because my mom rocks. I figured that when the time came and that frightening burrito-wrapped baby was mine, I would somehow magically know what to do with it, or at least someone in my immediate family would. Thank goodness I married a man with two sisters who ADORE children and actually know what to do with them, because the only person with a greater fear of children than myself happens to be my darling husband.

The brief history of our journey is under the "my story" tab.  I will be writing about each part of this in depth on my blog, hopefully daily or at least a few times a week.  Again, my goal is not sympathy or empathy, but to reassure and possibly help girls out there like me, the obsessive "googlers" looking for accurate information to help them understand what's going on.