Turn of Events

I have been the world's most negligent blogger! The waiting game has changed a bit. I'm still in awe that the Chlomid and the HCG shots actually worked. Oh me of little faith, I know. But they did and I am now 12 weeks pregnant! My negligence has everything to do with fatigue and trying to tell everyone the good news in a more personal way than just posting it here on my blog...which I pretty much failed at due to the fatigue.

I took a three hour nap today. It was glorious! My weekend naps are my saving grace and I miss them terribly during the week. I sleep so much better during the afternoon than I do at night...mostly because I'm up every couple of hours and turn from side to side numerous times throughout the night. My poor husband.

So, I have transitioned from the pain of infertility to the joy of motherhood and I feel so unworthy. I'm truly humbled by the mercy God has shown us. And I still feel intensely for all who struggle to conceive. I am grateful, even as I was when I was going through it myself, for the insight into what that struggle is like. I feel like I have an understanding that so many others do not. For that I am truly grateful. And I certainly understand what a miracle the creation of new life is. How people can take that for granted is beyond me. It is such a miracle and not to be abused or disregarded.

I shall try to be better about writing more frequently.

By the way, my meal planning is on hiatus. My husband is on a diet and I can barely find anything I can stomach, so I'm back to winging it...and am indebted to NutriSystem for feeding my husband so I don't have to think about it!

The Waiting Game

I realized this morning that I've never really written about this critical element of the struggle to conceive...waiting. I took my last injection last Friday morning. All in all, they weren't too bad; and like I've mentioned elsewhere, I did feel much better, so that made it worth it. The unfortunate thing is that the medicine can lengthen the post-peak phase. In other words, it can make the waiting longer. Ugh. You also can't take a home pregnancy test and instead have to wait a little longer and go for a blood test. Waiting, waiting, waiting. That's the name of the game. So, we wait.

The waiting is where the torture part comes in. A woman's mind can be a terrible place...imagining all of the possible outcomes, clinging to the ones she hopes will come true despite whatever signs may point in the opposite direction. That constant question..."Do I/you feel pregnant?" Well, I have no earthly idea what that might feel like, so how the heck am I supposed to answer that? I can read all of the supposed "symptoms" of pregnancy, but then you hear, "but everyone is different." So, really, there isn't any way to know, except that I would imagine that when I am, I will know. People will also say not to focus so much on it, but in the same way people train for careers as doctors and lawyers and accountants, I've trained for this. Motherhood is the only career I've ever aspired to...well, that and being a wife.... I just want to know when graduation is and I can finally start the job.

What's for Dinner?

My mom was a master meal-planner when we were growing up. After I got married, I remember my parents mentioning that my dad got paid once a month when they were first married, so my mom didn't have any choice but to plan ahead. She did one big shopping trip once a month, filling in with the necessary milk run in between. When I was a kid, my mom had all of our meals planned out; I want to say a month at a time, but that might be an exaggeration. Point is, she had it all written down. Every dinner was accounted for.

I've always known the value of having a plan. For the past two years my meal planning has been taking place primarily in my head. Last Sunday, however, I actually sat down and wrote out a plan. Thanks to the beginning of football season, I now have a guaranteed three hours to sit and plan on Sundays. So, I looked through cookbooks and, with the help of an awesome magnetized "What's for Dinner" notepad I found in the dollar bin at Michael's, I made my very first real meal plan.

What a difference it made to have it all written out! I had no idea. I knew it was important and would help, but this was downright life changing. I can't tell you how many meals out we avoided by this simple written plan. It also helped me be more flexible. When I made my husband salmon and potatoes on Wednesday but cut one more potato than I needed, I was able to cook it up and make the potato salad that, though originally on the menu sometime the next week, was moved to the next night. After moving that dinner to Thursday night, I was able to make the potato salad and the cucumber salad for Thursday night on Wednesday, knowing I would have to work late Thursday night. My darling husband was then able to cook up the chicken and we ate when I got home. Without a plan, I would have been begging to go out and then a.) angry we spent the money to do so, or b.) bitter that we couldn't afford to and I had to whip up some crummy last minute dinner. Three cheers for sanity!!!

Now if I could only get motivated to sit down and make that financial plan that we so need!

Mutant

My husband and I watched one of the X-Men movies on TV last week. I hadn't seen any of them before and I sort of watched this one while doing odds and ends around the house. My husband is a fan of the Catholic mutant...the one who prays the rosary throughout the film; it was an interesting take and a pretty positive portrayal of religion, so that was good. I had trouble getting over the fact that it was "Bloody Sean Walsh" from Circle of Friends. But I like Colin Firth now (for those of you who haven't seen Circle of Friends he was a JERK in that film), so I suppose I can get past seeing Alan Cumming as a creep and find the Nightcrawler endearing...though the name gives me pause.

I contemplated the movie after it was over and realized that I feel like a mutant. My body doesn't work the way it is supposed to. I think of all of the people who can say that and know that I'm lucky. For the most part my body is fine. I'm fairly healthy etc. etc. But I still feel like a mutant. Women are supposed to bear children; that's one of the main points of most of the stuff we've been given, at least all the things that make us women. So it's frustrating. I wallowed in that self-pitying mutant image for a bit. It feels so dramatic to consider myself a mutant. Ridiculous, I know. There's no accounting for feelings. Or rationality.

Speaking of rational...I started my hormone injections on Saturday. I have to admit, I feel a bit calmer, and more rational. That feels nice. More and more, though, I am coming to believe that stress is my biggest problem. I think that if I wasn't so stressed, if certain specific factors in my life were altered (i.e. quitting my job) then my hormones would fall back into line and do what they're supposed to do. But I'm scared to up and quit...even though I imagine walking out every day. Change is due, and soon. Somethings gotta give.

Seeds of Discontent

Yea!! My first comment! That's what best friends are for. I have so many things I want to post here...and I'm practically jumping out of my skin trying to figure out where to start. I am convinced that the success of my future lies in looking to the successes of my past. That being said, I'm going to post something I wrote earlier this year. It took 8 months for the seeds of that discontent to sprout, here in this blog...

1.25.08

This has been an interesting week for me. I feel like the Lord is trying to tell me something, or help me rediscover who I am and what my passions are. I took this job basically to bide my time until I had a baby and could leave to be a full-time wife and mother. But that has taken so much longer than I ever imagined it would. And still there is no end in sight.

Along the way, pieces of me have been chipped away, or covered up. I know how to do this job, it’s comfortable, and I’m competent, but it doesn’t bring me any joy. There are moments I like, or maybe the best way to put it is, don’t mind. But more than that, I have come to realize over the past few days that it has really dampened my spirit because all of the things that make me “me” have been covered up. I can play on certain strengths in this job, but not on my passions and talents. I figured that since I was in a ministry that was serving and honoring God, this was a sacrifice He wanted. But now I see that by denying the joys he has put in my heart, I fail to honor Him; and I take the place of someone better meant for this work. The other repercussion is that I have become moody, exhausted, and short-tempered, none of which helps my vocation as my husband’s wife.

As I was working this morning, I thought about the magazine I used to work for. My husband started his own website this week and it didn’t cost much. It made me think that perhaps it was possible for me to also begin my own site, like I always wanted to, dedicated to the intersection of popular culture and faith. Even writing this makes me feel more fulfilled.

Today, another occurrence made me question my current situation and what the Lord might be desiring of me. An actor I once interviewed called our office. I went up shortly thereafter to relieve the receptionist who was on the desk and she was amazed and giddy at having spoken with him. It made me sad. I don’t think so much because I didn’t get to speak with him, but because I missed the excitement of my past jobs. Anyhow, it was further fodder for the thoughts unfolding in my head about where I am to go, what I am to do, and when. Lead me Lord!

Hysteria

A few months ago, I sat in bed sobbing. I was an hysterical mess. Recognizing this, I wondered about the root of that word, hysterical. I though about the word hysterectomy: the removal of a woman's uterus. Maybe our emotions are tied much more profoundly to our reproductive capabilities than anyone would care to admit. It was, after all, that very topic that led to my own hysterics. About once a month I go through this, to varying degrees. The easier months are usually so because I am more contented in other areas; I don't loathe my job and I feel like we can pay our bills.

But the really bad months usually come with a hatred of my job, a hopelessness about our finances, and, more often than not, news of another friend's pregnancy. The last of these ticking points is often exacerbated either by the friend's young age or her (lack of) marital status or circumstance...all situations that make me cry, "Why?!"

So, there I was, bawling my eyes out, certain my dear husband must be thinking, "What the hell happened?!" He was consoling and comforting. He held me and let me cry. When I asked him how he felt, he said, "Happy." Happy? I didn't understand how someone in such close proximity could be feeling such an opposite emotion, or how someone witnessing my purge could not take on the residual sorrow. So I think I looked at his smiling face a bit cockeyed, but also grateful that though I was lodged deep in the pit, he was above on the surface, basking in sunlight I couldn't even imagine existed.

The next morning, I still felt the periphery of the pain, though a good cry cleansed me of the overflowing sense of sorrow. The issue still remains and has continued to resurface each month with the ebb and flow of my hormones. At the time, I struggled with knowing what action to take. I knew there were things I could do that might provide answers to the "Why?" of my dilemma. But these actions would focus us intently on our fertility issues. All I really wanted to do then, and still want to do now, is forget about it and have it happen, like it seems to for everyone else. Why is it so easy for others? Even accidental. I don't want to live and breathe this quest. Indeed , such focus only makes it worse in my opinion. Then there is nothing else.

Before I started to pursue answers, when there were only questions and a lot of negative pregnancy tests, I still thought about it all the time. But it was new then, too. It was a possibility that had never before existed. A "might-be" that was impossible prior to that time. So, the question remained, if I were to forgo all testing at that point, would I still think about the possibility constantly, or would I focus on other pursuits? I wanted to think that it would free me to focus on something else--like finding a new job or becoming the writer I always perceived myself to be. But I also knew that my mind could be a terrible place and that thoughts of my reproductive failure can creep up without warning. I stood on the precipice, believing that less focus on the problem might be the solution; but the fear of some actual physical impediment beckoned me away from leaping into what might or might not be freedom from an all encompassing torment. I feared taking a break from the investigation only having to start all over months down the road. More valuable time wasted. Did my desire to give up the treasure hunt make me a bad pre-mom? Mom. I'd always imagined myself in this role. But my repeated attempts at joining the club had been met with consistent rejections. It's hard to come to the realization that I don't belong to a group I had always associated myself with. The perception had become a deception.

This specific incident of hysteria, and the journaling I did the next morning, took place in February. Not much has changed. There are more answers; still the same unknowns. We have been through a number of tests, all in line with Catholic teaching, which is of the utmost importance to us. Next month we take the next step. The first part is a breeze...merely swallowing half a pill. The second part, injecting myself, gives me chills, at which point I relegate the thought of it to the far, far back of my mind. It seems strange to me that they let any old joe schmo stab himself with a needle. Silly, I know. People do it all the time...sometimes not even because they have to. It's a strange world. Anyhow, I'll let you know how it goes.

New Kid on the Block

I'm new to the blogosphere...well, the action part of things. I'm naturally analytical, so I've been considering this foray for some time; there was research to do, decisions to make, and that final leap. I have to give credit where it is due and thank my husband and friends for their encouragement to finally just do it! Some would call my slow progress procrastination, but I think that would entail ignoring the call altogether rather than doing intensive research...well, perhaps that does describe me; thinking about research occupied more of my time than actually doing it!
I once read somewhere that the dread of a task is worse than just doing it, and that's certainly proven true in my life. Not that I dread doing this...I have just dreaded the vulnerability of putting my story and my writing online for all to see.

That seems strange for a writer. The presumption is that writers like to be read. I like to be read, too, I suppose; particularly if it can help people. I do love to write and share my thoughts, which is why I finally began this blog. The actual impetus for jumping online has been a very personal struggle my husband and I have been going through (the subject of my second post, and more than likely many others). But I can't promise that's all I'll write about. I've been writing for years and I'm excited to share some of what I've written in the past, and new thoughts that occur to me down the line. I'm a published writer, a proofreader, and an editor so this isn't a far reach for me. However, my "day job," is quite the contrary...all numbers and balance sheets. Ugh. I'm sure you'll hear more about that as well. So, the misery of my 9-5 has catapulted me into this creative outlet; an act of self-preservation as much as anything else. Well, that's me in a nutshell, and why I'm here. I do hope that people will enjoy what I write and benefit in some small way. Thanks for reading.