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.

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).