Eat this, not that, just kidding, don’t eat this or that

When I found out I was hypoglycemic, I changed up my diet and focused on reducing carbs and sugar and adding in healthy vegetables. The point was that I needed to eat a complex carb and a protein every two to three hours. I did my best, but will admit I’ve slipped in the last year or so.

Now, I’m reading about the thyroid diet. Avoid gluten. Ok. Avoid coffee. Already doing that. Avoid sweet potatoes, almonds, and other nuts. Um, but sweet potatoes are also supposed to be anti-inflammatory. Avoid kale. Um, but kale is supposed to super rich anti-oxidant. Avoid dairy as this can trigger inflammation. Um, but I’m supposed to have a serving of full fat dairy every day because it was shown to increase fertility in lab mice.

There is too much conflicting information on the Internet (of course there is). At this point, I feel safe eating seawood and drinking 10 glasses of water everyday to wash down the copious amounts of supplements containing selenium and folic acid but everything else is hugely questionable.

There are things I can do. Add in more wild caught fish. Reduce carbs (again). Quit caffeine all together. There are things I can’t do. Become completely insane about what I eat. I’m pretty sure that will stress me out even more than I already am.

 

We all need to take better care of ourselves.

In the beginning of this cycle, I thought I’d take a three month break. This was before I found out some hormone numbers and when I thought I’d be working full-time. The job I interviewed for last week? I didn’t get it. YOU try to be positive when fertility treatment keeps blowing up, and you can’t get a full-time job. It should be one or the other, right? It’s been two years.

I try to keep in mind that I do have a job, and I do work, and I do feel fulfilled in that career, and I do like my co-workers. The problem is I don’t make any money and in two weeks, I get my last check for a month. Luckily, N’s work picks up in the summer so we’ll be ok but we have enough to pay bills and stuff. Not, like, drop a grand on fertility treatment. But if I was working full-time, I’d have trouble scheduling doctor’s appointments. This is a no win.

We still need all kinds of stuff for the house. Patio furniture. A lawn mower.

We still want all kinds of stuff for the house. A new kitchen table. A new couch. A new desk. New picture frames. A new mirror for the downstairs bathroom.

I just wish I had a clear indication of what I’m supposed to do. Doesn’t everyone?

I’ve been battling some kind of sinus issue all week. Know why? Because if I’m going to ovulate, I’ll do it this weekend and instead of being healthy and all that, my body gets sick. I’ve been exhausted all week, my ears are plugged up, and I’m coughing. The doctor said the sinus infection is on the brink. If I take care of myself the next few days maybe I can fight it off. My immune system has been down for the last two years. All the stress, probably. I’ve been sick probably five or six times plus I had a urinary tract infection plus food poisoning plus HPV which won’t clear.

I have to learn how to take care of myself under stress. I’m not taking care of myself. Not at all.

We’re not sure what we’re going to do next cycle. Most likely, I’ll be on break until summer school starts so again, and I’ll have all this free time to spend money at the doctor’s office. I think we’ll probably try to do an IUI next month. Third time is a charm? Maybe?

We have talked more and more about IVF. Like, maybe we just need to do it and then call it if it doesn’t work. But then there’s the single cycle or the package deal with FET. It’s like yoga. The more you spend, the higher the discount.

My clinic has a three package deal for $23,000. If I don’t get pregnant in three cycles, we get our money back. I’m not sure how it works if I get pregnant on the first. We get a refund? I’d have to check.

I hear this “just relax” thing, but I think it really means stop focusing. I focus on the lack of baby, my body as a failure too much. I focus on scorekeeping. My two friends just had babies like without even blinking an eye. I focus on looking for pregnant women in Target so I can feel bad about myself. In the process, I keep getting sick and feel like I can’t move forward.

In other news, drama with the Pirate (that’s what I’m calling Kiddo’s mother). I really wish I could totally talk about it here, but I feel really uncomfortable that someone will find it. Let’s just say she’s once again crossing boundaries and getting involved where she doesn’t need to be involved. This does not help with my stress level. My counselor has no idea what she’s in for.

 

Depressed babies at depressed baby bars.

I think I’ve talked about this before, but maybe not. One of my former counselors asked me how I was born. I said it was an emergency c-section because I was breech and had the cord around my neck, then I came out all different colors and had to be put in an incubator for a long time. She nodded and said this was the root of my anxiety.

I also think my anxiety comes from a family history of anxiety (my great-grandfather was OCD, my grandmother is an extreme worrier) and also my stepfather and also my intellectually disabled sister (who had a perfectly normal calm birth).

So last weekend, in my complete and horrible breakdown, I was sobbing and crying and talking about how this will never happen, I will never be a mother, and maybe I deserve this (the Catholic in me) and on and on, and N talked about my need to be more positive, not just about the baby thing but life in general and it’s not healthy for me to negatively spiral so much. Of course he’s right, but easier said than done.

Anyway, so I was just sitting there with tears streaming down my face, like, unable to speak and he said, “When you do get pregnant, you can’t think like this or be like this, it’s not good for the baby. She’ll be able to feel all your emotions and if you’re depressed, then the baby will come out and be depressed.”

I know what he meant, but I started laughing. I pictured this baby being born with, like, unkempt hair, a sullen expression, a book of poetry and some cigarettes and being like, “the darkness of the space behind me was my salvation, now my demise” or something. Depressed babies are funny. They sit at their little baby bars with a whiskey, and a phone that isn’t ringing, looking for other depressed babies in which to engage in temporary exchanges of emotional trauma for physical pleasure.

Pinching

I’ve been feeling some pinching/twinging on my left side. This is the side with the cysts.

Pretty sure this means they will all burst at once instead of gently receding as my doctor seemed to think.

Dumb cysts.

The Hardest Job

lucy50:

Totally agree.

Originally posted on Conception's Bitch:

If you haven’t yet seen the video about motherhood being the hardest job, don’t watch it if you’re infertile. Just don’t.

You can, however, read this article in which the author takes issue with the video.

I posted that article yesterday on Facebook and pissed off a bunch of moms and was told it was a feminist attack on motherhood. I was not in the headspace yesterday to respond to everyone’s comments but I was this morning. This is what I wrote:

First, before anyone says it, no, I’m not a mom. So no, I can’t make a statement based on my lived experience that motherhood is or is not harder than anything else in my life.
Second, I have no doubt that it’s hard. Like incredibly indescribably hard. I can’t speak for the author but in sharing this article I was in no way trying to imply that it’s…

View original 286 more words

Mother’s Day Cards for the Rest of Us

I’ll Do My Best.

Love, Your Follicle

 

Sorry This Shit Has to Happen Again

Love, Your Cysts

 

Congratulations on Not Breaking Down in a Heap of Despair and Sadness Today!

Love, your Emotional State

 

Try Not To Let the Advertisers Make You Feel Like Worthless Shit Today

Love, The IF Community

 

Don’t Do It

Love, the abnormal supply of FRERs in your medicine cabinet

 

Enjoy This Glass of Water

Love, all your supplements

 

You’re Special and Pretty and You Will Get This

Love, that really nice well-meaning nurse

 

Here’s Some Mood Swings and Extra Cramps

Love, Clomid

 

You’re My Best Friend, My Hero, and Something Else Overly Sentimental and Sparkly,

Love, Mother’s Day Cliches

Intake Form

This afternoon, I filled out the intake form for my counseling thing I’m starting next week. Under loss section, it asked which, if any, major losses I’d experienced in the last two years. There were eight listed. I circled four: Divorce, Job loss, Income loss, and Friendship loss.

That’s what happens when you get divorced. You lose friends. Good friends. Like, you’re ok with leaving your spouse because you’ve thought about it and reflected and made decisions, but you aren’t prepared for losing the friends.

Last Thursday, I went my friend’s comedy show and some of my ex-husband’s friends were there. I mean, they were my friends too. I’ve known the guy for as long as I’ve known my husband. Ten years? My boyfriend went with me to the show, we walked in, V was sitting there, and I was like, oh shit. Because who knows, right? Maybe he took sides. Maybe he was bitter. But he smiled very big, and said, “oh my god,”  and we hugged, and I had this immediate sense of nostalgia and goodness. When he shook hands with my boyfriend, he continued to smile and it was nice. Even after the show, when we all stood around, it was like standing around in Old Times. I realized at that moment I hadn’t seen them or talked to them (V was with his wife) in two years and I missed them. No matter how much you know the relationship you’re in needs to end, there’s a grief period. You grieve what you had, and the friends you had, and the sweater parties and cookouts and afternoons at the brewery you used to have.

V’s wife asked me to lunch, so I said yes, and I met up with her yesterday. I apologized and said I just didn’t know how to handle seeing “his” friends, and she was like, it’s no big deal, we didn’t take sides, and we miss you.

We talked about what happened in the relationship, and I said, it sounds shitty but it was just over. It was just done. It just had nothing left. She told me that (at least in the time she knew me, which was only a few years) that my ex-husband often seemed callous and overly sarcastic to me. Not very loving. She said she thought we were a mismatch, but she figured things must be different at home. They weren’t. I was callous and overly sarcastic to him, too.

Lots of people on Instagram name their houses. Like, Casa de Lovenest. I used to tell him we should call our house “El Fuck Town” and he agreed. We laughed about it and then went to our separate rooms.

I told V’s wife how I knew my ex was married, how I knew he was married in Hawaii, how I knew that came from the sale of our house. I also slyly said, “I’m sure she’s pregnant. If not now, then soon,” and V’s wife said she hadn’t heard anything.

We talked about another friend of ours who went through two and a half years of fertility trouble. Our mutual friend had mild Endo, an ovary removed, a miscarriage, and lots of Clomid and Timed Intercourse before finally giving up. She decided she was so unhappy over everything, she quit her job to pursue her art, started to gather paperwork for domestic adoption, and then got pregnant on a natural cycle and had a healthy boy. It’s a cliche, but I know she believes stress was a major factor in her infertility.

In the last two years, I’ve gotten divorced, moved four times, suffered through eight months of fertility treatment, got a new job and lost a new job, lost my house and any profit that would come from sale of the house, was in a major car accident, still struggling to find full-time work, and acquired a child in the house and all the drama with his mama. In the six months before my divorce, my sister collapsed from a pulmonary embolism (which developed after gallbladder surgery and was a combo of the surgery, birth control pills, and what turned out to be a genetic blood clotting disorder for which I also had to tested). While I was trying to conceive with my ex, I was at the hospital with my sister dealing with the complications from the treatment they gave her for the blood clots. She had a brain hemorrhage. She nearly died, like, five times in one month.

So, yeah, I guess that’s why I spent Sunday night sitting in my bathroom sobbing hysterically after I changed a tampon.

This isn’t to say I’m not happy in my relationship or that good things haven’t happened.  I am. They have. I’ve had some writing published. My boyfriend is amazing. Awesome. Wonderful. He is that person where I said, oh…THIS is what it’s supposed to be like. THIS is how it’s supposed to feel. We fought really hard for our house, but even that was a fucking shitshow. He had the job change. His boss was a nightmare. He got promoted and then demoted. That almost cost us the house. Even my boyfriend said, I don’t think we’ve had a span of time in which to have a normal, day to day relationship. That’s not entirely true, but it feels like it. When I moved in last summer, we got into the car accident. Had to get a new car. His new job started which pretty much took him out of the house for six straight months. The drama at the beginning of the school year with the kiddo’s mom. The list goes on and on. Now, really, a sperm and an egg is about simple biology. I’m not suggesting that I should just relax and it will happen (ha! IF humor), but I have been in emotional chaos.

I also recognize this is life. Life just happens and it’s good sometimes and bad sometimes, but I am definitely tapped out.

 

 

 

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