The Idiosyncrasies of a Sister Mary Elephant

I have a lot of hair on my head. It’s super thick and curly.

But, as explained in my answer to question #2 here, I have light—in color and texture—body hair. But I still hate body hair. (I don’t hate it in general; I just hate the way it feels on me. And—NO—hairless men are NOT sexy. I like my burly, bearded men.) I think because I was blessed with light hair, I have higher expectations with regard to my bodily hairiness. I don’t know.

You probably always wanted to know this about me, huh?

What I’d like to share with you as that when I was on Lupron for 60 days, along with the headaches and hotflashes, I noticed that my body hair was even more thin than it already is naturally. I usually shave every three days or so; during my menopause, there was nothing really to shave.

It was fantastic. Today, I’m not loving the current status of my body hair. I just took a shower after my run and cringed at the touch of my armpits and legs … but I’ll just shave tomorrow morning in celebration of the work week.

Those who’ve been on Lupron, did you experience this with your body hair too?

I’m kind of a crazy person when I run. Like, creepy crazy. I zone out and start contemplating the meaning of life infertility with myself. Me, myself, and I have really great discussions during my runs. Again, I’m weird; I know.

Today we talked about how crazy it is that one phone call filled with some standard information (at least in the infertility world) turned into this mess.

I was supposed to take Clomid for two or three months and become pregnant. It was supposed to be that easy. My doctor had all the confidence in the world that this 23-year-old patient sitting in front of her with all the doubt and fear in the world would be visiting her soon with a baby on board.

Nope.

I’m quite proud of my body and it’s last menstrual cycle. There was actually something to shed. I don’t know if the first cycle post IVF is supposed to be heavy, light, long, short, painful, painless … but mine was mild in pain and heavy for me. It seemed normal. It was probably even tampon-worthy. (I don’t wear tampons because my periods aren’t heavy enough, and the thought of pulling out a semi-saturated tampon is kind of like nails on a chalkboard for me.)

Me, myself, and I discussed the fact that I probably should have known better as a late teen/early 20-something-year-old woman. But—then again—how could I have known any better? It’s obvious NOTHING was happening with regard to my cycle. I didn’t know cycles were actually supposed to be like clockwork … or at least predictable.

Of course, I didn’t want to be a teenage mother or anything; but, later on in life, I started to wonder why I hadn’t “accidentally” become pregnant.

Of course, after my wedding when I schemed sex every other day on CDs 10 through 20, it was a shot in the dark. “Oh I have no idea if I’m ovulating, but I’m supposed to be, right? So, let’s go ahead and do it.” I didn’t need OPKs or to monitor my temperature; it was obvious NOTHING was happening. Of course, I didn’t know nothing was happening because nothing was all I’d ever known.

Relaxed or not, a 23- and 24-year-old should fall pregnant when they do it every other day for two weeks.

I remember that June, my parents visited for the weekend. We were enjoying each other’s company on the beach and discussing a friend’s desire for children. It was obvious this friend and her spouse were having trouble conceiving. My father sarcastically asked, “Well, are they having sex?” As if it’s that easy. That was the first moment I thought about telling my parents … but I didn’t.

Instead, I was tipsy from margaritas enjoying their company at the beach again over that Labor Day weekend. My little brother called my mom; as they were talking, her countenance changed. I knew what was coming. He told her he was going to have a baby.

I lost it.

I got up and walked toward the boardwalk. My husband rushed after me, and I let it out. Apparently there were onlookers who pulled out their phones to record the shit show … At least that’s what my husband told me. Well, fuck them; go ahead and record what infertility looks like on your iPhone.

At this point, I had to tell my parents what was going on. I wanted to tell them too. I WANTED TO TELL SOMEONE. I was worried they’d think we were ridiculous. “You want to have a baby in the middle of law school?” Instead, my mother said, “So, in October you’re starting that medication to make you ovulate? Good. Don’t wait.” She wasn’t effing around, and neither was I.

*My father has an interesting sense of humor. You either get it or you don’t. I happen to think he’s absolutely ridiculous and hilarious. I am 5’0″; you can imagine I was a very small baby. My parents compared my size to that of a kitty cat. Because of my size, my father nicknamed me Sister Mary Elephant. I think he was being ironic.

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9 thoughts on “The Idiosyncrasies of a Sister Mary Elephant

  1. I kinda wish I was one of those assholes on the boardwalk. I bet your temper matches your hair. In regards to Lupron. Consider it a preview into the distant future. Menopause manifests itself differently for every woman. Yours will probably include hair loss. For a girl with a thick mane of hair like you, it’s probably welcome. For a girl like me with only 8 hairs on her head to begin with, it’s a scary possibility. Your period will probably just stop showing up someday, as opposed to women that have bizarre lengthy uncomfortable bleeding sessions. Your hot flashes will probably be more uncomfortable then because you’ll probably weigh a bit more and there are no guarantees it will happen during winter. We’ll probably both be more explicit with our daughters on what her period should be like. Does he still call you that? I think it matches the weight and complexity of your personality.

    • I do have a temper. Menopause will certainly be interesting. :/ I’m more inclined to save up an emergency infertility fund vs. a college fund for my kids. My dad has many nicknames for me that he rotates through. We are very similar, so maybe he had more insight than I thought when nicknaming me that.

  2. Oh how I remember those talks with so many Drs. “You’re so young why do you want to have a child. I’m sure in time you will get pregnant.” Sigh. It’s been so long that I don’t even remember how I came out to my family. Eventually everyone found out because everyone in my generation was having kids and I was being left behind. Hope everything works out with Mary. Xoxox

  3. Sigh my friend. Sigh. I love when things happen like this. A nickname that manifests it’s self years later. You’re on the right path. I’m so sorry that this journey has been so long. For both of us.

  4. blah… I kind of already had a hunch that this wouldn’t be easy. when my OBGYN ruled out endometriosis after a hystroscopy and laproscopy (6 months before we started “trying”), that was the first time modern medicine pissed me off and didn’t give me the answers I wanted.

    I’m really excited for this new chapter for you! Lots of love, xoxo

  5. Standing ovation for your husband’s remarks on what those onlookers could do with themselves! Well put hubby. I hope this is the year that all of those horrible moments start being replaced with happier and more exciting things to look forward to!

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