I’m just not in a very good mood.
It’s not that I’m walking around in a terrible mood; it’s just that topics that emotionally affect me are affecting me a lot more this week.
It’s probably because my period is starting soon. Though I’m not really sure what happens—or doesn’t happen—during my cycle, I do know that I turn into a bitch about a week before CD 1.
Would you like to know the latest? Haha.
Lately (really within the last 16 hours or so), something has been bothering me.
“It’s not over.”
“This will work out for you.”
“You’ll be pregnant soon; don’t give up.”
Well, guess what? It is over. It didn’t work out for me. I didn’t give up until there was literally nothing else to give, and … here we are.
Just because I’m using donor eggs doesn’t mean we can pretend it’s not over.
My children will not be MINE in the same way many children are their parents’. That part is over. It didn’t work out for us.
I know my journey toward building a family isn’t over. I strongly believe donor eggs will bring us pregnancy and our baby/ies. Lord knows I hope to be pregnant soon and have signed up for six donor egg cycles, so I don’t plan on giving up anytime soon.
But, stop. There is a huge part of this journey that has come to an end—forever.
We failed. I’m not ashamed of it, but it’s the truth.
Donor egg ladies, am I making any sense? Do you know what I mean? It’s okay if I’m just being CD 26-ish and need to take these words of encouragement more graciously. But, I don’t know, let’s not sugar coat it.
I’ve become used to the fact that my baby/ies will be built from Mary’s eggs. It’s my reality. I’m happy about that; relieved.
But I have approached closure regarding a pretty big issue—an issue some women spend a lot more money and time trying to be on the “good” side of.
If the world has to include a certain number of mothers who require donor eggs in order to keep spinning, I’m glad God chose me. I don’t know why, but when I really asked myself—back in June—what was most important to me, it was pregnancy; not a genetic connection.
But I’ve reached a devastating end to this road of IVF with my eggs.
So, it didn’t work; we failed; it is over.
But I will still get to be pregnant, and I will still get to be a mother.
Included in my repertoire of health conditions, I suffer from dysphagia. It’s lovely.
When I was 19 years old, I kind of realized that, “No? Food doesn’t get stick in your throat all the time too?”
It could take up to an hour for me to eat a Chipotle burrito. Meat, pastas, chips, just a certain texture of food would get lodged in my esophagus. Drinking water didn’t help because the food was going to “go down” on its own time.
Anyway, I went to the doctor and was diagnosed with gastro esophageal reflux disorder. He instructed me to chug this highly carbonated liquid then flipped me upside down; my esophagus clearly displayed an acid reflux condition on the x-ray machine. He prescribed Prilosec, and I’ve taken it every day since.
I still struggle with dysphagia. Sure, I struggle with acid reflux a bit, but not really. I’m not sure the Prilosec addresses the food-stuck-in-my-throat situation. Of course, my diet plays a big role into how easy (or difficult) it can be to swallow food.
So, let me explain: Sometimes I swallow food, and it remains stuck at the very top of my esophagus. It hurts, but it’s mostly claustrophobic. People suggest I take a sip of water. The sensation I feel tells me that drinking anything to “wash it down” won’t help—rather it will hurt the situation. Three months ago I was snacking on nachos with my parents and husband at a restaurant. I wasn’t paying as close attention to my dysphagia as I should have been (I’m the slowest eater of all time). I was talking and eating too quickly. I took a sip of beer; when I swallowed, the liquid just fizzled on top of the food in my esophagus. I wasn’t exactly choking, but it was urgent. It scared the hell out of my parents and husband. See, I usually don’t wash food down once I feel the “stuck” sensation. I get anxious and try to let it go down on its own. BUT THERE’S NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT. Sometimes it takes seconds, a few minutes; sometimes it takes 20 minutes—literally. It really sucks. This happens AT LEAST once a week.
I have to eat very slowly, and I have to sit in a particular way so my throat is as straight and upright as possible. Often times there’s nothing I can do about it.
I’m one of those women who claims she can’t swallow pills. Family and friends used to constantly tell me it was just in my head. But I seriously CANNOT swallow pills. A few of them have witnessed some of my episodes and now understand—SHE CAN’T SWALLOW PILLS.
My father suffers from this weird condition as well. I get anxious whenever we eat together. I act like his mother and tell him to eat carefully. It’s scary when it happens to him because I know what he’s going through. I hate it.
Last week I was eating dinner at home alone. My husband was out running. It happened , and it was a “bad one.” I actually put my shoes on and prepared to go outside in case I needed to find a stranger to offer moral support or the Heimlich. Again—it’s not like I’m actually choking, but when the food won’t go down, where the hell else is it supposed to go? Thankfully, it went down.
I texted my dad and asked him about this esophageal dilation procedure he had done after experiencing a REALLY bad episode of food-stuck-in-throat. I’d begged him to go to the doctor because this particular episode scared the absolute fuck out of me.
He told me he couldn’t really feel a difference after the procedure.
I made an appointment with the doctor and mentioned my wish to have this procedure done. I don’t know what advice the doctor will offer. I guess it would be nice for him to “take a look” at everything anyway.
It’s probably scar tissue because I swallowed a dime when I was five years old and had to have surgery to get it removed. It’s also probably hereditary. I don’t know.
I always worry these things are you-know-what or will lead to you-know-what. It causes me great anxiety. My husband reminds me that I would have been dead by now if it were.
Wish me luck.