This is probably going to be a long post. I’m not in a good place right now.
I haven’t been myself lately. I’ve been really depressed since the miscarriage and I don’t know if I need to see a therapist or not. I’d prefer not; but I’m getting worse as time goes by. It’s been what, three months? I’m not sleeping well; I’ve gained 8 lbs since October and I don’t feel like socializing at all. I have the best friends in the world but lately I’ve left early for things or just cancelled stuff day of, which isn’t usually like me. I’ve never been a flake, but I just don’t feel like leaving my house right now.
Obviously, last month was a bust. I don’t know if things weren’t normalized enough or if it’s just not going to happen for us, but everything was perfectly timed. We were on vacation. I had my OPKs with me. I surged as expected, and we had plenty of time to do what needed to be done. And for the first time in a long time…it was fun again. It was romantic. Actually trying to make a baby was secondary to physically needing to be with each other, as man and wife.
But my period came and went, and here I am again, so absolutely miserable that it’s hard to get out of bed in the morning.
My friends and I are having our annual Christmas party on Saturday. I’m forcing myself to go – I can’t flake on my best friends. We build gingerbread houses, exchange gifts, drink hot chocolate and eat way too much candy, but my heart isn’t in it like before. This holiday season is just making me sad. That’s not even an accurate description. I’m…I dunno. I feel like I’m in a daze. I can’t focus on anything and I don’t want to do anything or see anyone.
Usually Christmas music just annoys me (especially since it’s been playing in the mall since Labor Day). This year it’s making me cry, which is way worse than just being annoyed. I usually love the holidays, but this year I just want them gone. I haven’t even started shopping for my nieces and nephews, which means if I can’t get it on Amazon Prime, they’re not getting their gifts before Christmas, which just makes me feel that much worse.
Depression is such a clinical term. I know people who suffer from depression, and I know it’s a real disease. It’s more than just feeling sad; it’s headaches and body aches and fatigue and a whole lot of stuff I don’t even want to think about. This isn’t depression. I don’t think what I’m going through is clinical. So depressed really isn’t the right word.
Grief. That’s a better term. I guess I’m grieving. I have good days and bad, and while Quincy swears he likes the new, heavier me, it just adds insult to injury. I’m miserable and weepy so I bake to cheer up (I usually love to bake), or I’m lonely and feel like crap so I don’t want to get up and get on my treadmill, and then I put on a shirt that doesn’t fit anymore and just feel disgusted with myself. So I get more depressed and eat a cookie or go lie down and read instead of going for a run. On a good day, I’ll make plans or want to hang out with people, and but then I get a bad day, and I don’t even want to leave my house and end up cancelling plans, which makes me feel like an ass. I hate letting people down.
I’ve held off from talking to my close friends about all of this because even though we’re all the same age and we all eventually want kids, I just don’t think anyone can truly understand unless they’ve been trying for so long. Or, unless they’ve miscarried themselves. I just can’t explain a lot of what I’m feeling. I’m not even doing a great job writing it all down…and if I can’t explain it, there’s no way anyone can really know unless they’ve felt it, too. It’s like trying to explain color to a blind person.
I was 23 when I learned that it may be difficult to conceive because of an autoimmune disease. We got married as soon as we could after Quincy proposed – I had less than six months to plan the wedding. We actually planned the wedding weekend around my ovulation so, theoretically, we could conceive on the honeymoon. We’d been together so long, it seemed like the natural escalation.
But it didn’t happen. And now we’ve been trying – REALLY trying, with calendars and ovulation predictor kits and tests and procedures and fertility-friendly products – for over three years.
This is all like a roller coaster ride. The two weeks before I ovulate, I’m starting up the slope. I feel great, full of hope and possibilities, and a little anxious. Then, the two weeks after ovulation, I’m at the top of the ride. I’m hopeful and excited and more than a little anxious. I start analyzing everything going on with my body, I pay extra close attention and make sure I’m eating right and taking my vitamins, I give up caffeine – everything. And then my period comes and the bottom drops out from under me and I fall into a deep, dark valley.
It’s awful.
I start climbing back uphill – hopeful for the next month; trying again. Rinse and repeat.
Recently though, every month I plunge a little farther down, and it’s harder to climb back up. Since the miscarriage, it’s been a thousand times harder to get to the top.
I’m glad I switched doctors, but I feel like I wasted years with Dr. H. When Dr. T did her very first baseline ultrasound, we learned I don’t have as many follicles as I should. I feel that’s something Dr. H should have caught years ago. But she never did. That makes me so angry, with both Dr. H and myself for just blindly trusting her.
Not having those follicles may mean IVF, which we can’t afford and insurance doesn’t cover. The procedure I had run in September – that painful, awful thing, was null and void because I miscarried. I was supposed to be super fertile for three months. I was – I got pregnant. And lost it, and it can take weeks to normalize after a loss.
When Quincy and I went to Texas in November, I relaxed. I had normalized (I think); I had gotten my period again and would ovulate during our vacation. I honestly thought we’d conceived again. All the stars aligned in Texas. I was relaxed and still technically in the 3 month fertile window after the HSG. I took my OPKs on vacation with us, and everything was perfect, timing wise. We had plenty of time to ourselves to…try. I may not have felt exactly like I did before, but every pregnancy is different. And then, sure enough… two weeks went by and I got my period right on schedule.
I’ve pretty much given up. I ovulate again over Christmas break (Dec 26th, supposedly), and I’m off work the 23rd-27th. But I’m not expecting anything. Quincy and I have talked, I’ve talked to my doctor, and we’ve moved up the time line for fertility treatments. If a miracle doesn’t happen this time, I’m starting treatments right after the start of the year.
I’m tired. I’m tired of living my life two weeks at a time. I’m tired of people who mean well saying the absolute wrong things and adding to my mess. I’m tried of having people tell me how to eat, how to work out, and what position to be in when I sleep with my husband, like that is totally their business. And I hate it when people tell me to relax. Clearly, that’s not going to happen. Relaxing won’t change my FSH levels. Relaxing won’t give me more follicles.
Oh, and when people say to try again, because “the fun is in the trying.”
No, it’s really not. There is absolutely no romance or fun in NEEDING to have sex, on a rigorous schedule. No matter if you’re tired, or you worked late, or the dogs are hyper or you need to be up early the next morning or have a cold. Or worse, if you’re annoyed at your spouse, but still HAVE to sleep together or else the entire month is shot. That’s not fun at all.
Quincy and I have a great relationship, and we rarely get annoyed with each other, but it happens. And more than once we’ve had a spat right when I’ve ovulated. It sucks. And, probably the worst part of it all – tests and timing and stressing about schedules gets us so tired of it all that the rest of the month makes you not want to even THINK about sex. I miss just being able to be with my husband. No ulterior motives, not because we’re trying for a baby, but just because. I miss those days.
Friends have suggested adoption or have told me I don’t need kids (which really pisses me off). Those are the hardest to deal with. Because we will eventually adopt – it’s something Quincy and I have discussed – but for someone who has spent their entire life dreaming about creating life and carrying it inside of them, coming to terms with the necessity and not choice of adoption is as painful as a miscarriage. I’m still losing a child.
I feel so deeply alone.
My Stork Got Lost 