What I Want

Infertility continues to beat the entire shit out of me. She is the worse abuser. Not only are her kicks and punches indescribably painful, but they’re well placed. I know they’re there. I feel the impact, but none of it is visible to the naked eye.

I just wish I had one friend, one family member who could or would hold my hand and let me cry. I don’t want to hear I’m sorry. I just want someone to say, “Fuck this shit. Fuck infertility. Let’s go drink and pout.” I want them to be angry with me and okay with my anger. I know that’s a lot to ask of people. We always want to make others feel better. I’m guilty of it too.

It looks as if we have finally diagnosed my infertility: fibroids, endometriosis and bad tubes. Perhaps I would have become a mother, if I had caught the tube thing earlier. It doesn’t matter now because to top it off, my eggs aged prematurely.

I thought I didn’t have anymore tears to give this, but here I sit. Crying. It’s ugly. It’s a tear-stained, puffy, snot-falling cry. I know this is not a punishment from God, but it certainly feels like it. This certainly feels like more than I was ever meant to bear. How does one find authentic joy when their body has betrayed them so?

The answer to that question doesn't matter anymore. This long, dramatic, ridiculous chapter of my life is over. I'd like to say that I finally have the strength to walk away, but that's not the truth. I'm just out of weapons. I'm defeated. It's not the way I wanted it to end, but at least I can say I fought - no matter how un-valiantly - I definitely fought...to a fault and likely to my detriment.

No Luck

I got one embryo and she failed genetic testing.
Booo!
Heartbroken, but not broken.
I have the twinges of sadness, but not the devastation.  Repeated failures will do that to you. You know? Make you stronger (or something).
My family and I just moved.
We had Thanksgiving with no chairs because our stuff hadn't arrived in time for our holiday meal.
I don't know what's next for us, but I'm still not giving up.
Maybe it's an addiction.
Who cares?
Hope is still very strong over here.

My Dog Thinks I’m Pregnant

I took a trigger shot last night. You and I know it’s artificial pregnancy hormone. My little dog, Roxie, doesn’t quite understand it. She’s staying close and snuggling more than normal. She thinks I’m pregnant. My attempts to convince her that I’m merely trying to cook some eggs have failed.

We learned that she’s sensitive to pregnancy hormone after my ectopic pregnancy in November of 2014. She could not get close enough to me. She actually climbed up and covered my face. It was the strangest thing she’d ever done. We laughed it off. It was probably a week later that we learned I was ectopic.

When she pushed past my laptop for extra-close cuddle time today, my husband and I questioned what she was up to, then it hit us. That damn trigger has triggered Roxie. It’s cool. I like to cuddle and snuggle, despite her smelly breath:-)

Retrieval is tomorrow.

P.S. My Aussie, Wally, notices nothing. He does not care about my hormones. LOL!

Race Against Time

I’m in a race against time. It’s two weeks since my surgery and I’m trying to stem for eggs because the fibroids and endometriosis are already trying to take over AGAIN.

I’ve been taking fertility drugs for the last four days. Today I went in for an ultrasound and things are not looking well at all. A new endometrioma is forming and there’s a large cyst on my right ovary. I’m currently waiting on my doctor to tell me if I should stop stemming now. 

Per usual, I’m so very hurt, but we knew this was a shot in the dark, my real last chance. The trifecta of rapidly aging ovaries, fibroids and endometriosis is too hard to beat at the age of 35.

What Will They Take Next?

I’m pretty sure there’s a doctor out there with jars of my lady parts on his trophy shelf. Picture pickled fibroids, fallopian tubes and cysts. I figure he’s like a hunter always looking to add to the display.

I had my latest surgery just about a week ago. I went in with the most negative and nasty state of mind you can imagine. It’s the worst I’ve ever felt mentally before a surgery (this was my fourth, so I am a surgery veteran). Here’s the crazy thing: when I woke up after the surgery, I felt the best I’d ever felt post-op. Maybe the drugs were better?

This was indeed my least invasive surgery. My uterus is a normal size, there were no massive fibroids complicating the situation, and I truly believe my increased water intake helped make this particular operation easier on my body than the others.

So what did they take, you ask? The Doc and his gang of understudies removed my right fallopian tube, which was dilated, and the endometrioma blocking my left ovary.

What’s next? My surgeon and RE agreed I should take Lupron to put my body in a medically induced state of menopause. The goal is to keep the fibroids and endometriosis at bay, until we can figure out if we want to try to use this bionic uterus to grow some donor-egg-assisted embryos someday.

Money is definitely an issue. I’m still paying off the loan from my first IVF. I’d give anything to have those healthy embryos back. I should have waited to transfer them after removing fibroids, but I didn’t want to have another surgery. My stubbornness cost me big time. Oh well. All I can do is march forward now.

I’m really grateful that I came out of this surgery all right. I attribute the outcome to prayer. I asked people to pray for me and they did. I’m thankful, so I won’t complain.

I am often wondering what the surgeon will try to take out of my body next.  He’s totally obsessed with me. Totally. (I’m just kidding by the way).

Good Bye, Mrs. Right?

What the fuck? I’m starting to think my infertility is just a way for doctor’s to siphon away all of my damn girlie organs. I went in today for a pre-surgery appointment to discuss the removal an endometrioma, which has set up shop right outside my left ovary. During the course of conversation (if that’s what you want to call it), the surgeon’s assistant said something like this:

“The MRI showed that your right tube is filled with some type of bad liquid.  We should just remove it, if it’s okay with your RE. You’ll need to sign a form saying you understand that it will render you sterile," said the evil assistant.

What? WHat? WHAt? WHAT?!?!?!?!?

I told her I could not sign a document like that today. I know that I am basically sterile, but to give someone permission to make me OFFICIALLY sterile (I already don’t have a left tube), is not my idea of awesome. I immediately emailed the Witch Doctor, aka my RE. Do you want to know what she said?  She advised that I let them take my tube. I broke.

It’s like my wall of strength totally shattered. I could not hold myself together. I went to the bathroom to suck back tears, but it didn’t work for long. I had to abandon my husband and go to the car to cry. Poor fella had to pick up my doctor’s note explaining to my job that I’ll need a THIRD SURGERY IN 12 MONTHS.

I’m a complete emotional disaster. DISASTER. I called my boss, who I hate, in tears. He is the one person who I do NOT want to show any morsel of weakness, but I couldn’t go to work with a tear-stained face, swollen eyes, and on the edge of crying over any and everything.

The conversation from the doctor’s office kept playing over and over in my head. 

“Have you thought about having children naturally? That’s the problem with hormone treatments, they make your endometriosis grow,” said the bitch of an assistant who for some reason thought I was undergoing all of this shit out of choice.

I had just gotten over thinking that God hates me. I mean LITERALLY JUST gotten over it, after three years. Then this happens. I know I can come off as cavalier in doctors’ offices, but that’s because I’m trying to keep my soul above water. I guess it backfired because this lady apparently thought I went to an RE for fun.

I turn 35 in two days. My family comes into town tomorrow. I have a birthday party in three days. Somehow I have to turn on the charm and behave like I am ok. I’ll do it too. There’s one thing this has all taught me: the world won’t stop over my troubles. No one cares a single bit, and that’s okay because I don’t care about their problems either. It’s just the way the world works.

Endometriosis, Bitch!

I've got Endometriosis too.

Three months after my last surgery to remove fibroids and create a bionic uterus, a blob appeared on my left side, blocking my left ovary.  "What is it?" you ask.  It's a 10 cm endometrioma: a mass of thick blood and fluid that's the result of Endometriosis. 

An MRI/dye test combo revealed my uterus is heavily scarred, likely also the result of Endometriosis and multiple motherfucking surgeries.  Apparently my touch of Endometriosis is a big deal now.  Whatever.  Fuck you, Fertility and all things associated with it.

If I could get away with killing people, I would choose every doctor who ignored my concerns and told me nothing was wrong, and to keep trying.  Since I can't kill them, I'd like to curse them, and the next three generations of their families. Since I have no powers, I'll just stew in my own anger, which does absolutely nothing to help my situation..

WOOOSAHHHHHH!