One year ago today...

52 Fridays ago I discovered the tiny uterus I'd gone about life with for over 27 years, yet never knew about. 52 Fridays ago, my whole paradigm shifted. It's overwhelming to think that something that I have carried with me for my entire life in my body could possibly have been oblivious to me and upon its revelation have had such power over my emotions.

I wondered the other day why I must go through the endless monthly cycles of PMS and inconvenience if I may never get to cash in on the one benefit of having a uterus. And the reason we all have one in the first place. It's not fair. Why do I feel cheated, tricked and betrayed by my very own body? Sure, my body will gladly prepare each month for a baby, but forget about it actually following through to allow life to take root and grow. Why is there such a disconnect here? It's like an endless dress rehearsal for a show that never takes place.

I know of a woman who just had her first ultrasound after years of infertility. She explained how is was so good to see her baby, that it was small, but that it was THERE -- that she has seen way too many pictures of her empty uterus. The comment resonated with me and instantly brought me back to the days of endless ultrasounds of my own empty uterus. Each time alone in the ultrasound room, waiting on the tech to come in, I'd look across the room at the ultrasound pictures of pregnant uteruses on the wall and daydream about that being me. Me looking at my name at the top of a screen or picture of my uterus with a baby in it -- with life in it -- and something other than uninterrupted black and white fuzz. Anything other than empty, hollow, barren nothingness. Is it even possible that my womb could house life? At this point, it's hard to believe it ever will.

One year ago today, on this Friday, I knew sorrow and pain at a whole new level. It was more than I ever thought I could bare. Even though I had gone through a whole year of infertility already, somehow the year since finding out about the UU has been such a roller coaster of its own. I've known hope, disappointment, sorrow, pain, disbelief, frustration, helplessness and anger. Somehow in the cloud and haze of it all though, I've known grace too. I have experienced times of great peace and joy admist unspeakable pain. I have wrestled and cursed at and screamed and shunned the God I love but struggle to know. How could he allow such pain to sift through His hands? Twelve years ago, when my mom abandoned us and I became the mother to my three younger siblings at the age of 16, I struggled to understand God's purpose in it all. Where was He? But there were glimpses of grace and there was joy ahead. Twelve years later, I still don't have any more answers than the day my mom left. There have been no apologies or reconciliations on her end. There is no pretty bow. Things are actually probably worse. But I am at peace and I'm not bitter and I am okay and there was joy and there is joy in my life. I know that the same God who sustained me in those dark nights when I grasped for Him and couldn't sense him and placed each star in the sky also has a plan in all of this heartache. I know from past experience that while I may never have answers, apologies, a mom, or a baby of my own there IS joy ahead and enough strength and grace to take another step and even better, live a fulfilled, joyful life despite unthinkable pain.

Reflecting

I am a reflector by nature. I remember people's birthdays and significant dates. I will often look back on the anniversary of that day or time and reflect and experience the emotions -- even years later. The day my mom left, the day I met my husband, my husband winning his first film festival, the day I found out about my uterus...

The thing about reflecting, though, is that as I look back, it causes me to look forward. I realized recently that had my first IUI worked, I'd be giving birth this month. I remember May 31. I remember the doctor telling me that "February was a great month to have a birthday" and I remember the unabashed hope I had that day. As I put my vacuum away in the guest room last night, I thought about how if it had worked, that room would be a nursery. I might be rocking my baby right now. I would be going to the park this spring with a stroller.

But here I am. I still have a flat stomach. I have no cravings. I've not been sick. My body still resembles someone who's never been pregnant, never had a baby. I still fit into my jeans. I don't have stretch marks. I'm not trying to breastfeed. There are no late nights. No crying baby. My arms are still empty.

A couple of weeks ago at a scrapbook get together, a woman was due in February and I couldn't help but think that that would have been me. Her swollen abdomen in contrast to my flat stomach was a painful reminder of what might have or could have been and mostly just what was supposed to be. What my body can't do or won't do. What others so easily can. She was the ultimate picture of femininity. I was the defective version.

I'm not sure why it's different than any other month. But I think it's mostly because it was at that point I started treatment and was so full of hope.

Oh well. Maybe February's not such a great month to have a birthday after all.

Tag, I'm it!

I thought this would be fun. Thanks for tagging me, Sara. I figured I'd just do the 6 or 7 quirks/habits/interesting things about me and not worry about tagging anyone else. Hope that's okay!

So, without further adieu, here are seven things about me!

1. Nestle Toll House break and bake cookies. I'm talking the bar, not the roll. There is a difference. I LOVE chocolate chip cookies, but not just any. I love Nestle Toll house straight from the oven with cold milk. I used to have these every night for desert, but have cut back to only every once in a while. It's kind of a joke at work. Everyone knows how much I love chocolate chip cookies. And don't even get me started on Cookie Cakes...mmmm. My first word was "cookie". No lie.

2. Whenever I'm finished using my curling iron or flat iron I check to make sure it's off a million times -- even though one of them turns off automatically. I am so afraid I am going to burn my house down!

3. I have to have Avon brand chapstick with me at all times. My husband got me started on it, and now I can't live without it! I am not much of a lipstick person, more of a chapstick, lip gloss kind of girl.

4. As far as fetishes go, I love Coach bags and Seven jeans. Love them.

5. I am obsessed about keeping the baseboards in my house clean. I am in the process of touching them up with paint right now. I know it's strange, but if they are dirty, I feel like my whole house looks dirty.

6. I love TV. It's how I unwind. I love LOST, Friday Night Lights, House, American Idol, Oprah, etc., etc.

7. And one more, since Sara got seven. ;-) I love Chick-fil-a fountain cokes. They have the perfect mixture and the Styrofoam cup helps the ice not to melt. It's the perfect coke!!

Tales from the Hair Dresser's Chair, Part II

Well everyone, my hair dresser has come up with the solution for my and everyone else's fertility problems. If you're new to my blog, this isn't the first time he's inquired about my ability to have children.

So, I'm sitting there. He says, "What are you doing today?" I say, "I'm going to go home and play in the snow."

"You need kids!" "You'd be a great mom!" Silence.

"Do you want kids?" "Yes."

"Does your husband want kids?" "Yes."

"Have you been trying?" "Yes."

"For a long time?" "Yes."

Now, at this point, you'd think he'd back off right? Wrong.

"Well, my friend (doesn't it always start out that way?) so and so -- he and his wife -- tried for two and a half years and it just finally happened. I'm convinced all it takes is a bottle of cheap wine and a Def Leppard record."

Um. Are you serious? Did you really just say that to me? I've got to say, out of all the advice I've gotten, that's got to be the most original. Gosh, the money and time I would have saved! I just wish I'd asked him first before spending all that money at the fertility specialist!

It's amazing to me how many people offer their advice after finding out you're having problems conceiving. As if we need more advice and guilt. Keep your mouths shut and listen. That's all we want. I guarantee we've thought about whatever you are going to suggest and no, it's not about relaxing and not being stressed. I've had plenty a vacations and relaxed times. Infertility is not a state of mind.

"Most people I've known make an appointment with a specialist and get pregnant right before they go!"

"Uh huh."

Now mind you, this is a 35 year oldish male. This was uncomfortable. I was not getting into my fertility problems with him.

"Keep trying!"

Oh the ignorance of it all. I quickly changed the subject.

So, there you have it people. All it takes is a bottle of cheap wine and a Def Leppard record. Look out fertility clinics of the world, you may just be put out of business.

I never knew that wine and some Leppard could magically make me have a whole uterus. Wow.

I was assaulted one last time by a clerk that day when I stopped by the vitamin store on the way home. "Stress kills off everything in your body. Don't stress if you want to get pregnant." Do you know that saying that makes me stress about having stress?

Thank goodness for advice. Where would we infertiles be without it?

Snow!

We don't get this too often in Atlanta, so it was a real treat. I am from Florida, what can I say? It was so much fun!

Guilty Pleasures

I've been a little down lately. I can't help it. I completed my second cycle on Glucophage and was convinced I might have just managed to get myself pregnant. But alas, as usual ... it wasn't meant to be. I hate hope. It's a thorn in my side. I feel like such a fool for letting myself hope every month. I know better, I always tell myself, but I do it again anyway. Hope is both a blessing and a curse.

As my temperature climbed and various other signs started popping up, I got to live in this euphoric land of what it must feel like for others who get pregnant easily at anticipating a potential pregnancy. For just a couple of days, I indulged in THAT world of joyful anticipation and what ifs and when I'd be due -- a rare guilty pleasure I usually don't dare allow myself to even take a bite of. But for two days, I let my hopes run wild. And it felt good to live in that world for just a little while. Despite knowing the downfall would be harder if I let myself go there, I just plain hoped. I hoped like I'd been trying three months and infertility wasn't part of my vocabulary. I hoped like I'd never been to a fertility doctor. Like I'd never taken a fertility drug. Like my heart had never been broken.

I hoped.

Unfortunately, I was rudely awakened out of my euphoria, but despite my disappointment and sadness, it was worth it to indulge my hopes. It was worth it to dream. Perhaps because for a couple of days, hoping made me feel normal and like the fertiles of the world. Hope makes me crazy and keeps me sane.

What a polarity to manage.

Faxed my charts in to the doctor as he wanted to review them. Apparently I'm a huge nerd, because nurse says I am the only one she's ever had actually do it when asked. They were quite impressed. Nice doctor left a message and said they looked good, to keep sending the info and a kind, heartfelt "good luck to you" as if he was signing off or something. There was something so unsettling in that statement. I can't really explain it. I'm not in treatment and am sort of on my own now (and glad to be), so I get that, but the "good luck to you" just seemed so final. Cut-off. Done. My entire year last year revolved around that place with no success, so it was like, good luck to me? Good luck?! That's all you have to say? I'm not sure what I wanted him to say. I think I'm just being sensitive. I know it was just a phone message and I know I can call them anytime, but you know what I mean. I'm still raw and grieving everything that happened and I guess being sensitive is to be expected.

So long, 2007

I walked into a hospital on a cold, beautiful Friday, February morning in 2007 to have this test done -- an HSG they called it, and all by myself. It was to be no big deal, and I sure didn't want to make it one. The clomid they had given me hadn't worked in the last 4 months, and I wanted to have the HSG done to check it off my list just to make sure I didn't have any fibroids like my mom did and to make sure my tubes were clear.

After finally getting in the room and on the table, I remember just laying there. And I remember the lights. Oh, the lights. It was so sterile and medical and cold -- much like the doctor who would eventually deliver the news of my fate. As I lay there on the table waiting for the doctor to come in, the angel God sent to me fashioned in the body of a radiology tech helped to calm me a bit. This was the first real diagnostic test I had and somehow now the fact that I was in...fer...tile hit me like a ton of bricks. I was forced to look reality in the face.

The doctor came in. He preceded to try and put the catheter in for 5 - 10 minutes. It wouldn't go in. "These things happen sometimes." Knowing what we know now, the forlorn look on his face was a foreshadowing of what was to come, yet I was oblivious.

It finally went in. The screen was not visible to me, so I was left with just the physical, painful reminder of what was going on. After a few minutes, he left the room and told me he'd be back in a few minutes after he reviewed everything.

Finally, as I lay there with nothing but a gown on, he delivered the news that rocked my world as I knew it. "You have a congenital anomaly where you have a one-horned uterus." As he turned the screen toward me I remember seeing this banana-like shape and thinking, "How in the world could I ever carry a baby in that?" He delivered the news with an almost reserved look of glee on his face as to appear professional, yet I was just a radiology picture to him and he had just found the find of the month. A true rare gem. Only thing is there was a human attached -- me -- who had hopes and dreams and plans that involved that rare gem. My life had just been turned upside down. But by all means, I'm glad it made your day and I've given you something to talk to your colleagues about at lunch. "I know you are going to ask me the question, can I carry a baby in that uterus? I don't have the answer to that. You'll have to ask your gynecologist." Trying to keep it together and calm as I always am, I manage a fake smile and say okay or something. "Are you okay?" he asks. I guess the fact that I looked white as a sheet gave it away. I felt white as a sheet.

The second he walked out of the room, I just balled. I couldn't help it. I sobbed. Right there on the table in a gown with nothing else on. "I'm supposed to have babies!" I thought. Who, by the way, gives news like that to someone in an already vulnerable position? Couldn't he have at least let me get dressed? I couldn't talk I was crying so hard, and the poor tech tried her best to console me, a virtual stranger. "It's just my worst nightmare, I explained." "It doesn't mean it's over, she said. You don't know yet."

As I went in the locker room and dressed, I just cried out in heaves -- you know like you can't catch your breath desperation. It was like an out of body experience. It felt like the room was spinning around me and I was just standing still. I thought it was over. I was confused and had no idea the uterus formed like it did or that there could be problems with it. Nobody ever talks about that. February 16, 2007 ranks in as one of the worst days of my life. I'll never, ever forget that day.

In March, we met with the RE for the first time, April I had surgery, May and June I had failed IUI's -- July another failed try on fertility drugs. I had cysts in August and September that caused me to sit out cycles and in October I spent $2500 on a cycle that I never got to complete because I overstimulated.

Yeah, that was my 2007.

I have cried more collectively in this year than all my 28 years combined. My heart has hurt over and over and over again with each failed attempt, each hope followed only by disappointment. Most days, I just felt as if I were walking wounded -- functioning yet torn up on the inside.

2007 has been an intense time of growth for me, and for that I am grateful. I am not the same woman I was one year ago, and I realize in the pain is usually where the most growth is. And while it's served it's purpose, I'm ready to put it in the books. It will always be "that year" for me.

I am now ready to embrace a better 2008. It's going to better.

Here's to hoping.