And then life happened..
Literally.
With my fist.
I punched dry wall.
Who does that? Idiots, that's who. I got pissed and the wall was just.. there.. so I punched it. All I go out of it was a handful of bloody, bruised knuckles and some (barely) dented dry wall. And I was still super angry.
Not my best decision.
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What's brown and rhymes with 'snoop'?
Dr. Dre.
Scratchy, scratchy.
I have an itch that cannot be scratched. Not a real itch. Although, I'd welcome a real itch. Slather on a little calamine and away I go. This however, will only take time. And while time is all I have, I've also already spent a lot of time on this. And a lot of energy. And thought. And how about I just get to it already?
I made a big decision the other day. It's time for outside help. I'm looking for someone to knock me up. Er, Reproductive Endocrinologist (infertile speak: RE) , here we come! This is huge. YOUGE! Only, not yet. I have to find the guy first. I'm kind of a pioneer in this, personally. I feel like picking an RE is a REALLY big deal. They all aspire to accomplish the same thing: get people pregnant. But I want The RE. The best ever. How do I figure that out? The other people that I pretend to know read about, who have RE's of their very own, live in other states. First on the agenda: Research! Then there's the seeing the old doctor. And getting my medical/surgical records. And family history. On and on.
But now that this decision has been made, I'm ready.
I'm also sort of freaking out already. I have quite a bit to look forward to in the near future. Ultrasounds, bloodwork, hormones, needles in my stomach, mood swings, bloat, needles in my thighs, acne, more ultrasounds, needles in my rear, debt, more bloodwork. Then some invasive, humiliating procedures for Mister and I both. And we're going to be paying out my bruised, track marked arse for this. And then maybe, MAYBE we'll get a kid out of it.
I tried as hard as I could. Then I tried as hard as I could to not try. Then I tried as hard as I could to pretend like I wasn't trying. And ultimately, everything I tried failed. Huge'r than huge, I've admitted defeat. Layed my pride down. I'm a prideful person. This is hard.
If nothing else, maybe I'll actually use this blog for it's intended purpose: Blogs! If I were to blog about our attempts it would go a little something like this:
Trying..
..Didn't happen again.
Trying..
..Didn't happen again.
Trying..
You get the picture. I like the idea of keeping an up-to-date blog but I'll be honest, I have no life. I bore myself reliving my life. Perhaps a couple rounds of IUI's or IVF will spice this place up.
Giddy up!
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Where does the King keep his armies?
In his sleevies.
I think I may have this biznass' figured out. I even managed to figure out how to get a picture of myself on this thing. Baby steps, ya'll.
This being my first real live blog, I'm not quite sure where to go from here. I suppose a "Hey! This Why I'm Hot Doing This" post is in order. Aaaannd go!
I'm me! I have a husband. I'll refer to him as The Mister. He is unbelievable. He makes me laugh. Constantly. He does my laundry! He treats me like a princess. He's my BFF. I traded in my last name for his in 2007. We're in our twenties, we work terrible jobs for a living, and we own a rotten, black cocker spaniel named Gizmo. We had a very happy little life. All is well.
We're also infertile. More specifically, I'M infertile. If you're reading this, and you know anything about me, you'll already know this. I haven't exactly hidden this part of our lives. But I do keep my mouth shut quite a bit. You know how talking something over can shine a brighter light on whatever you're facing? When you're facing infertility, that doesn't happen. People get weird when infertility is brought up. And by weird, I mean rude. It's impossible to talk to someone who's never been through it because they all say the same things. "Just relax." "You're too stressed out." "Your time will come." "If you stop trying, it'll happen." "Have you tried standing on your head?" Just to clarify, the only way to "stop trying" is to birth a healthy, screaming baby. Trust. I've been trying to stop for the better part of 2010. And no, standing on your head doesn't work either because I've tried that too, thankyouverymuch.
There are a handful of people who refuse to coin me as infertile. (Hey, Momma!) Truth is, it's true. Clinically speaking, if a couple is unable to conceive within 12 months of actively trying, they are considered infertile. We've been trying for just under three years. This does not mean I am barren. This does not mean that I have zero chance at eventually finding myself with child. Simply put, I am, for now, unable to get pregnant. We've had tests run. At some point or another, I've taken a multitude of pills, vitamins, and herbal supplements. I've tired moxibustion. (Think: Acupuncture but with less needles and more burning.) I've had surgery. I've prayed and pleaded. I've cried. A lot. All with no luck. I have a definitive diagnosis and I'm told that it's "fixable". I just haven't been fixed yet. Hence, the title: Infertile.
Before you get lost in your assumption that I am being eaten alive by the terror that is my inability to conceive, let me set you straight. I've already been eaten alive and I'm coming at you from the other side. I promise I'm okay. If nothing else, dealing with all this shizz has taught me that, contrary to what I thought from the time I was able to rock a baby doll, I can be truly happy without a child. But I still have bad days. It still kicks me right in the gut sometimes. And that's when I really need to talk about it. To make a needlessly long story short, I've started this blog so that when I do need to get all the bad day thoughts out of my head, I have a place to do it. And no one will tell me that perhaps I'm not meant to be a mom because if it hasn't happened yet, why should it? (Oh, yes. It's happened.) I also like the thought of being able to refer friends/loved ones this way so that maybe they can understand, if they only catch a glimpse, of what dealing with this is like. That way, next time I totally lose it at the dinner table during Thanksgiving dinner, they'll get it. (Yep. That happened, too.) And maybe someone out of the blue will stumble upon all these words and be comforted knowing that they certainly aren't alone. Because nothing has made me feel more alone than being infertile in a world of ridiculously fertile women, who want to hear none of your infertile woes.
Never fear, though! My life no longer revolves around my attempts to go forth and multiply. For example, I have a deep love for terrible jokes. In fact, I've decided to end each post with a joke. And I really like to brag on The Mister because he truly is the greatest. And I just like to write words. And there you have it. So, if you're feeling particularily nosey, and we all do, feel free to read on about all the different kinds of messes I can make.
This blog is, eventually, going to be where I come to ventilate. Mostly it will be about my inability to procreate. It's kind of a big deal to me. But I have other things going for me, too.. like a job I hate, a husband I cannot get enough of, a stinkin' cute puppy dog, and a handful of idiots peers who keep me annoyed entertained just by speaking words.
Goal Numero Uno: Learn how to work this thing. And maybe think of a more appropriate title. And maybe decorate a little. Stay tuned.