Infertility Myth – Infertility means you will never get pregnant

As you’ve noticed, I’ve dedicated my posts this week to National Infertility Awareness. This awareness week is sponsored by RESOLVE. This organization has challenged bloggers to bust an infertility myth. The goal of this challenge is to bring together bloggers from the infertility community as well as other bloggers interested in the topic to answer the question: What is the biggest infertility myth and how has it effected your life or the life of your friends and family members?


The Myth – If you are diagnosed with infertility, it means you (and your partner) can never get pregnant. The second part of this myth is that once you get pregnant, you are CURED or no longer affected by infertility.

We are so lucky to live in a society with medical advancements that make it possible for someone like me, with a hormone imbalance, to take medication to assist in conception and pregnancy. Don’t get me wrong, each month that I take my ever increasing dose of drugs, get blood work and skip lunch for a doctor’s visit it eats away my hope for a positive outcome. But the chance is still alive. My doctor is confident that it will work.

Infertility means something is medically wrong, standing between you and your future. Infertility steals the romantic picture you imagined of that unexpected surprise. It divides you from your friends and family that don’t understand your journey. For a time, It silenced this typically outspoken woman. It challenges your sense of self as a woman. It erases any naivety that you control how you will have your family.

I know this process has worked for MANY other women. If When it works, infertility will still haunt me. Even if I get the positive result I’ve been seeking, I’ll still be plagued by the knowledge that my hormone imbalance could cause me to miscarry. If I am able to have a baby, I will always carry the knowledge that this emotional, cold, scheduled process will have to be endured for each subsequent child.

I am extremely hopeful that I will end up with a healthy pregnancy. Please take time to read some of the other myths that bloggers have busted, here. There is an amazing diversity of stories. As I was sifting through these blogs, I was inspired and comforted.

Thank you for taking the time to read my blog posts this week. Hopefully I've given voice to a topic that is typically silent.
A basic understanding of infertility here - http://www.resolve.org/infertility101
Background on National Infertility Awareness Week - http://www.resolve.org/takecharge

National Infertility Awareness Week - Day 3

This week I'm honoring National Infertility Awareness week by sharing the one way I've been able to remain positive throughout this journey, letters to my future baby.


To learn more about infertility and how it affect 1 in 8 couples visit http://www.resolve.org/.

Come back tomorrow for a post that is part of RESOLVE's Bust a Myth challenge.
 
Dear Baby,



Well baby, this wasn’t the month for us to meet you. It is better this way though. As long as you spend the proper 9 months in the oven, I will qualify for maternity leave. It will be a better financial situation for all of us. I’m going to take this month to get healthy so everything is good and ready for you baby. I’m also going to schedule the appropriate Doctor’s appointments so we can get everything checked out. If we can’t conceive you, we need to know so we don’t lose time trying to adopt you. I’m open to all the potential ways you may come into our lives. We are getting ready for you.


We saw a friend’s baby yesterday. She was asking all about you. Why you are not here yet? Why we are not talking about all our efforts to find you? She made me mad baby. She doesn’t understand that this is going to happen on YOUR schedule, not ours. I was upset about this because she made me question my efforts and process.


I need to let it go. She doesn’t know how hard it is to wait for you. She may have her own struggles that I don’t understand. I went to see your Aunt Biscuit and she was so supportive. She listened to me be angry, sad and finally helped me rediscover my confidence. You will love her baby. She is almost as impatient as I am to meet you. It would be great if you were here to see her wedding!


Oh baby, we have so much planned for you. Your dad and I have so much fun together. It almost makes me sad that you aren’t here to experience it and play with us.


We love you!

National Infertility Awareness Week - Day 2

As I mentioned yesterday I'm honoring National Infertility Awareness week by sharing the one way I've been able to remain positive throughout this journey, letter to my future baby.
To learn more about infertility and how it affect 1 in 8 couples visit http://www.resolve.org/.

I should add a caveat that these letters were all written in the previous 6 months and represent the roller coaster of emotions I'm always trying to curtail.

Dear Baby,
Oh I hope my uncomfortable cramps are you…. Your dad and I got into a fight last night because I told him I’m pregnant. He is doesn’t want me to be sad if it’s not true. He hates to see me sad. I tried to make him understand that I’d rather fantasize about how great it will be. If this is not the month, I will be sad, but I am still full of hope and anticipation.


Plus I feel little twinges. Is that you baby? Are you trying to let me know that you are growing? I will take a test this weekend and see...

National Infertility Awareness Week

This week is National Infertility Awareness week. First, let me start with a basic definition of infertility so you can understand what 1 in every 8 couples are struggling with:

Infertility is a disease or condition of the reproductive system often diagnosed after a couple has had one year of unprotected, well-timed intercourse, or if the woman has suffered from multiple miscarriages and the woman is under 35 years of age. If the woman is over 35 years old, it is diagnosed after 6 months of unprotected, well-timed intercourse. You can learn more here, http://www.resolve.org/.

In dealing with my own struggle with infertility, I have tried many different things to cope and remain positive. One of my private outlets has been to write letters to my future baby. In an effort to shed light on a problem that has women suffering in silence,  I’m going to share one of my letters each day this week.

Dear Baby,

Every day lately I think about you. I am so impatient; it is hard for me to wait for you. I know you will come to me when the time is right, but I think about you all the time.

Right now I spend every day thinking you might be a tiny embryo. Will the next nine months be spent preparing for your arrival or is not the right time yet? I tell your dad every month that this is the month and I am pregnant. He doesn’t believe me. I’m hoping you and I can play a trick on him. He is so used to me claiming pregnancy that when it is really time, you and I can surprise him. Oh baby how much fun we can have with announcing your entrance into the world.

Your dad and I talk about you when we’re alone, away from the pressure of other people’s expectations. We debate names, funny ones, serious ones and even family inspired ones. We wonder if you will have more of my genes or his, if we will be able to conceive you, or if we will be blessed to adopt you. We know you are out there; we just have to find you.

I can’t wait to see your dad in action. He is so excited to take care of you. He has so much love just waiting to shower you with.

It is such a hard task, waiting for you baby. I’ve never been very good at waiting. Maybe that is your first lesson for me, patience. If it is, you are just like your father.

I’m hoping that writing you letters will help me deal with the waiting. Help me explore my hopes and not be disappointed when it’s not yet time.

Happy Easter

While the weather maybe cold and gray, I'm excited about the Easter weekend. I was remembering how we celebrated the holiday as kids. We usually spent it with Momma T's side of the family.

In the morning there would be three Easter Baskets lined up on the hearth, each with one large chocolate rabbit nestled in that iconic florescent plastic grass, sprinkled with jelly beans and other various candies. There might also be some peeps and a Cadbury egg in there too.

We'd get ready for church, fighting the whole way with Momma T. about the outfit she pick out for us (OK, maybe that was just me. If you saw the pictures, you'd know why I was protesting). There would always be a picture taken in the backyard of us three girls together to be sent to family members afar. Then off to church where the thought of all that candy waiting at home would make us act like Satan's children during the longest Mass EVER. 

One home we'd dash through the door to do a quick inventory on our Easter baskets, making sure none of that candy had gone missing. We'd dig into some of the candy before we could be told no. If we were having everyone come to our house, we would then be permitted a reprieve from the itchy, binding dress clothes.

The family then all came together for an early dinner. The parents hid the eggs. And we'd all be waiting patiently for the figurative horn to blow, unleashing me, my sisters and my cousins to scatter through the yard. We would diligently search for each of the hard boiled eggs that we so carefully decorated earlier in the week. We learned at a young age that the eggs that could be easily located were for the "young kids". We were smarter than those babies anyways, right?. A cry for attention would arise each time an egg was discovered, lauding ourselves for finding a well hidden egg (OK, probably only me again).

I did a quick survey at work today to see if others had the same tradition. Turns out most other families hid the plastic eggs full of candy or coins. That seems like less of an adventure to me. It would be OK if not all the plastic eggs were discovered. Now the hard boiled eggs, you HAD to find all of those or risk a smell come summer that left you running.

Because Momma T and Padre might have not been paying attention to where they hid all these eggs, they used the egg crates to keep track of the count. There would usually be one spot left in that cardboard crate that would send the clan clamoring back into the yard, searching for the last elusive egg. 

After that we'd all keep ourselves busy, probably eating candy and driving our parents crazy as they attempted to get dinner on the table, ultimately celebrating the way our family always does - over food.

We had some great Easters growing up. What was your Easter like as a kid?

Good Morning

Earlier this week I had a RUDE awakening, but before I get into all that, you have to understand some background. 

Sammy used to have all kinds of stomach problems when she was a pup. There were weeks straight where we would come home to find her crate a mess with diarrhea. It was heart wrenching to see her ashamed, cowering in her own mess. We didn't keep her in her crate for long. While we were working with the vet to solve her 'issues' we did many things to ensure she could let us know when she HAD TO GO. First we hung a bell from the door and every time we let her out, we encouraged her to touch her nose to the bell. It's amazing to me that years later, she still uses this technique, especially when we are ignoring her. Second she must sleep upstairs with us. I am a light enough sleeper that I can hear her paws on the linoleum. This discover came after we discovered she would sneak to the basement to do her business in the middle of the night. Now if I hear those paws moving, I'm up in a flash. If I'm really sleepy I''ll tell her to get back in her bed. If she REALLY has to go, she'll whine and I know I'd better get up.

OK, fast forward to earlier this week. I'm snug as a bug in a rug when I hear those tell tale paws heading for the stairs. I was so comfortable..."get in your bed Sam" I told her as I started to drift back asleep. It could have been two minutes or five minutes, but I heard her paws on the floor again. Just as I was about to tell her to get back in her bed, i hear a sound of something between a liquid and a solid splat on the ground. No matter the end it came out of I was on my feet, out of bed, giving her a WIDE berth fumbling for the light switch. There was probably two seconds in the dark that my mind tried to discern based on the sound, which end the mess originated from.

The second I found the switch, the smell smacked me in the face. It wasn't puke. I raced downstairs to let her out and grab cleaning supplies. By the time I cam back to the bedroom, I was walking into a wall of the foulest smelling dog poop you could imagine. Hubs was in bed, covering his face with a blanket, gagging. I normally have a strong constitution for these type of things but this time, this time I almost vomited all over that mess.

I cleaned furiously.  i did not want to give that smell enough time to permeate. When I got the mess cleaned as much as I could, I went outside to find Sammy. I opened the side door to see her hiding around the corner of the house. She wouldn't come near the door as she stood far away. Her ears were perked as she looked at me as if to ask, "are you mad at me mom?"  Damn that dog is cute. Almost cute enough for me to forgive her. I cheerily invited her back inside to show I wasn't mad. She ran straight to her bed. I gave her a couple pets to reassure her that I know it was her fault while I mentioned that she could have at least whined once or twice. I mean, I thought that was our system.

So here we all are, back in the bedroom with the poop stench still lingering and I look at the clock: 5:30 AM.