Friday, June 16, 2006


Grief is a harsh word. It may even be that it is too dramatic for what I'm trying to say. But, I grieve for my loss of innocence of trying to conceive.

Now, granted it is very early for me to say this, after all I am still waiting to find out what is WRONG with me. But, yet I believe that I grieved over the thought of my fertility in October, November, and December of last year.

In October, I felt at a loss. It had taken me several months to finally get a doctor's appointment with my primary care. She is a busy woman, she has three boys! (Please note that I'm not sarcastic about the boys, I'm sarcastic that she can't get her schedule together!) The initial appointment was made three months in advance. It was cancelled on me for two months later. Hence the feeling of loss, there was nothing more I could do to take things into my control. Another issue I have.

In November, when she said "Well you are obviously having an issue. We (Meaning: myself, her, and another doctor. Little did she know that should also include a reproductive endocrinologist.) will find out what is wrong and in a few months, you'll be back here pregnant. Really, well, can you please put that in writting.

She gave me a ton of blood work and arranged for the consultation with the gynecologist a week later. Maybe she felt bad for cancelling on me.

I went to the gynecologist appointment. Well see below for how useless that was, but after this appointment I felt at a loss. On my own. Yes, she did not make me feel taken care of. Despite of the words she said to me, she did not make me hopeful. She gave me some words of encouragement. Told me to find a specialist (mind you on her description it states infertility) and try clomid. No referrals. No supervision while on the clomid. See the door on your left and don't let it hit you on your ass.

I cried after this appointment. I wasn't being taken care of. This was not going to bring me closer to "our" dream. It left me feeling hopeless and also sad that my thoughts and suspisions were true. I was indeed infertile.

How weird to admit this, I like to think I am a realist. However, on this day, I was the furthest thing from that category of people. What I really wanted was for my primary care and gynecologist to tell me I was making a moutain out of a molehill. I didn't have a problem and all I needed to do was bed on ______ and be done with it.

What I got was the truth, what had been lurking in the back of my mind for so long. Instead of just trying and praying for the best. I was entering the world of the infertile.

Now, this may sound dramatic. But it is.

For me that has meant that I must take control of an uncontrollable situation. I must pee on a stick on a almost daily basis. It means that I must assume the best at all times, so no heavy drinking and watching what I eat. It means that I check my cervical mucus and cervical position. It means that I will start having blood work on certain cycle days. It means that I will have to start going through medical procedures with the first being the HSG. It means that T and I have to decide about IUI. It means that a beautiful thing of trying to conceive has turned into a science project.

Yes, I grieve for the simple idea of making a baby. For having the thought that it should be easy and happen right away. Magically like it happens for so many others without any special effort or confusion.

In November, a very special woman told me of her story. She told me how she and her husband have "unexplained infertility." (This category should be, we just can't figure it out infertility so we need to call it something and we don't feel comfortable saying we don't know.) How she and her husband don't have anything serious that the medical communuity can name. How she and her husband went through countless tests, attempts and it never happened. How they decided it was better for them to be together childless than to continuously pursue the unattainable baby.

Yes, I grieve for the thought that this too can happen to me. For I am not any better than she. I can see how this may happen.

In December, a friend of mine, (the one that is all ready pregnant with her second), came home with her daughter. (Further refered to her as New Mom.) Myself and another friend came with me to visit. At first, I didn't want to play with the baby. After all it is the one thing that I may not want to give back once I have in my arms. But, I breakdown, and she and I play.

The comments come naturally, "Oh, your so good with her. When do you think it will happen for you and T?" She is a close enough friend. I don't have the energy to deny or to placate the situation especially right now, I am grieving. I say, "I just don't know if it will."

I play and chat for the rest of the day. As New Mom, my friend is discussing breast feeding and day care. My other friend is playing in the fantasy game. I'm listening, but not participating in the conversation. New Mom says, "What do you think?" I answer, "I don't. I don't know if it will happen, so I don't."

I know that she doesn't know what to say to me. My other friend knows more of what is going on in my head, that I have been depressed. How I really am grieving, how I don't know what the future brings, and how I must come to grips with it soon.

We leave. Before we do, New Mom's sister innocently gives me "Little Earthquakes" by Jennifer Weinner. I take it with no intention of reading it. Unless we have a miracle. It is still in the back of my driver's seat.

I part ways from my friend.

I start to drive home. Must get away from my friend before I start to cry.

I cry in uncontrollable sobs. I grieve. I remind myself that isn't a good idea on a busy highway, but I cry anyway.

I get home. I wipe the tears, because my husband, God love him, doesn't know what to do with me when I cry.

I recover. Spend a few hours with him that night chatting about nothing and then I go to bed. I cry myself to sleep while he is watching TV in the livingroom.

Yes, I grieve for the innocence of trying to conceive.

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