I’m back. I had to go for a while; it was just driving me crazy. So much has happened in the last three months or so. I am only
dwelling on revisiting my thoughts as a way to remember this time in my life. It has been pretty damn rough, but things are looking up.
I had to erase all spheres of influence (Facebook, Twitter, blogs, etc.) because sharing in the
heartache joy of another woman being pregnant or having a baby was just unbearable. So I cut all of that stuff out of my life, and it helped me a lot. For some sick reason, Facebook was a crutch for me. A source of entertainment? A way to torture myself? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, but that habit is broken, and—let me tell you—it’s a healthy one to break.
I sound very selfish right now. I don’t mean to be, though; I’m also not overly concerned about “how I’m coming off,” because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that most (if not all) women experiencing this horrible situation feel the same, exact way. And, for the record, this is what psychological … trauma? … issues? … problems will do to you, people. You become so darn self-involved; all you can think about is your emotions. I’ve been in this place before, so I know how it is. One of the best advantages to seeking help for depression, anxiety is that you finally get out of this cycle of dreadful emotions and are able to care about things that actually matter. Ha!
Back to the point: catching up. As I shared prior to my hiatus, my husband and I visited the our first infertility clinic. Drumroll please: We are infertile. Our doctor suggested comprehensive blood work for me and an analysis of my husband’s essentials, if you catch my drift. All the while, I was on my fourth month of Clomid.
Well, that fourth month I didn’t get pregnant. And in the middle of my fifth month of Clomid, we visited our beloved doctor again. We received all the information we needed: bad news. I am not comfortable sharing the specifics of our situation. Why? Whether it is respect, pride, embarrassment, etc., I’m just not going to share it, and the only thing you need to know is that my husband and I will will mostly likely need IUI or IVF, whichever does the trick. 😉
Oh, so romantic! Kidding.
At this very moment, we are among break cycles—a term I just learned about yesterday! A break cycle is one in which an infertile couple takes a break in the various, valiant attempts to achieve pregnancy. Obviously, this opportunity comes every month, so, by not participating, we are soaking in the break cycles. In keeping with my secrecy approach, I will not explain as to why we are taking a break, but there is a scheduled time when we will jump back on the bandwagon. In July, we will probably “do” our first IUI.
So, that’s the story, folks.
The last few months have been rough. From my grieving process, to a season of arguing with my husband, followed by the realization of yours truly that I had better cherish my husband and stop being a
bitch selfish spouse, to worrying about finances, to going to church very regularly, to praying nightly, to worrying about everything, to having anxiety attacks, to having had the worst week I’ve had in nine years, to anticipating my first counseling session in six years, to wondering if I need antidepressants again, to worrying if that will throw off this whole baby thing, to discovering that perhaps there are more important things to worry about in this season other than a nonexistent blessing from heaven, to my husband taking his last law school final RIGHT NOW, to planning for his graduation, to revisiting the dermatologist about a very harmless, very treatable rash (or something) on my back that I stressed and stressed and stressed over all last week, to having visited my parents the weekend MY BABY BROTHER’S WIFE DECIDED TO HAVE HER BABY, to Bar prep, to the actual Bar exam, to life—oh, this life of mine—to actually thanking God for the first time along this journey for the lessons He’s teaching me and the blessings He has bestowed upon me, we’re climbing the mountain, and we’re almost there. Oh, and did I mention the stress and worry that my father put me through while having trouble swallowing his food during my husband’s and my visit last weekend? It’s the same condition I have—GERD—but, of course, my “glass is half empty” mentality goes to the worst case scenario.
NOBODY EVER SAID IT WOULD BE EASY.