Dr.'s office called today... it's not good news.
My tests all returned normal. Pap - normal. Thyroid(Free T4 and TSH) - normal. Hemoglobin - normal. Both doctors felt the HSG looked good and both tubes are now clear.
My darling husband, on the other hand, is a different story. The first SA was submitted last Friday. We have major problems in this department. Motility, progression and count were all way below normal - with "count" being the most below normal. He has one more SA to submit. In August he will meet with a urologist.
Our first infertility consult isn't until mid-September. Depending on the results of the next SA, we may need to have a conversation about whether to proceed, or not. Each consult, with our particular doctor is $300. Yikes! Part of me feels like I would rather spend $300/hour on a lawyer/social service that will help us adopt.
In the meantime I'm still frustrated, angry and now feel a great sense of loss. I feel torn between wanting to have the experience of being pregnant, and realizing that I am not willing to go broke over this and possibly end up with nothing but more heartache.
Anyway. That's the news for now. Will continue to look for the silver lining - I'm sure it's there.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
The Infertility - Day 1
No phone call from the doctor's office today. This might just be worse than waiting for a guy to call the next day after a good date! At least this time the person on the other end of the phone can't say, "It's not you, it's me."
I have had a great time recalling just how ridiculous yesterday's procedure was to a couple of friends. I can't imagine that God ever intended those things to go UP there - but alas, up they did go. At least the Radiologist seemed optimistic.
Several of my girl friends have tried to reassure me these last couple of days. It seems, these days, difficulties in getting pregnant are the norm rather than the exception. I'm still trying to figure out how that's supposed to make me feel better. "Don't pay any attention to numbers and statistics, " they say. Except the rational, or perhaps cynical, part of me says, "but those numbers reflect NORMAL people! Clearly I am not normal!" At least this doesn't feel normal.
What ever happened to the days when the condom stretched over the banana put the fear of God so deep into your soul you were absolutely convinced, should it ever come off, you'd instantly become pregnant?! Shoot... if I knew this was how it was going to go, perhaps I would have considered having a bit more fun in college (or even high school!) (Just kidding, mom!)
Anyway. As the day closes I'm clinging to the small hope that tomorrow will bring even just a glimmer of hope from the HSG. And that one little piece could begin to restore my aching soul.
I have had a great time recalling just how ridiculous yesterday's procedure was to a couple of friends. I can't imagine that God ever intended those things to go UP there - but alas, up they did go. At least the Radiologist seemed optimistic.
Several of my girl friends have tried to reassure me these last couple of days. It seems, these days, difficulties in getting pregnant are the norm rather than the exception. I'm still trying to figure out how that's supposed to make me feel better. "Don't pay any attention to numbers and statistics, " they say. Except the rational, or perhaps cynical, part of me says, "but those numbers reflect NORMAL people! Clearly I am not normal!" At least this doesn't feel normal.
What ever happened to the days when the condom stretched over the banana put the fear of God so deep into your soul you were absolutely convinced, should it ever come off, you'd instantly become pregnant?! Shoot... if I knew this was how it was going to go, perhaps I would have considered having a bit more fun in college (or even high school!) (Just kidding, mom!)
Anyway. As the day closes I'm clinging to the small hope that tomorrow will bring even just a glimmer of hope from the HSG. And that one little piece could begin to restore my aching soul.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
The Bad
I turned 30 in February. A date that came and went with relative normalcy until I read somewhere just how much my chances of getting pregnant decrease in my 30s. Slightly alarmed, yet still optimistic, I decided we'd better get a bit more serious about getting pregnant.
So... not feeling greatly compelled to do the whole Basal Body Temperature charting, I downloaded an app on my iPod Touch that would help me track my cycles, allows me to add notes on my calendar and, I subconciously assumed, would magically help me get pregnant by virtue of the fact that at least I was making an effort!
Next I bought the ovulation sticks and the PreNatal vitamins. Perhaps these were the "magic makers" I was looking for. Turns out, no amout of magic helps you when your cycles go something like: 32, 36, 26. Hardly regular, hardly helpful.
So, on Monday I made my annual visit to my GYN. I was thoroughly scolded for not charting BBT. Apparently everything "appeared" normal, though I was about to embark on a series of tests so great in number I half expect to have several letters after my name by the time we're done. First a thyroid test. Then an x-ray. Then (finally), Stan has to do something. He's got two little cups to fill. Sounded good. "Let's go," I thought. No big deal. Then, as I was checking out I saw the description for the consult we had just booked with the OB-GYN in the same office - "New Infertility."
I hadn't said it yet. Certainly I had thought it, but somehow saying it out loud (or, in this case, writing it down) seemed like a sentence, or worse perhaps, a diagnosis. That was fast! It seems to me there should be a lot more "stuff" between "Hey doc, we're having a bit of trouble" to "New Infertility." Nevertheless here we are.
Today was the x-ray: an HSG (hysterosalpingogram). All I have to say, "NOT fun." What you should expect: a speculum opens the cervix where a catheter is inserted, then a ballon is inflated to hold the catheter in place. A dye is then injected into each of the fallopian tubes to check for blockages. My right side went just fine - dye spilling into the peritoneal cavity freely. The left side was not as easy. The Dr. pushed more dye through and it was painful! You should expect pressure and cramping. The tube finally filled with dye and appeared to spill dye into the PC, but by that time so much had come out of the right side it began to obscure the picture. I gave the Dr. and radiology tech a good laugh when I commented that my husband was complaining about having to wear boxers, and this is what I got to do! Somehow it's really not that funny. Results should come tomorrow.
In the meantime I'm doing my best to deal with the hate. Yes, I said "hate." The feeling of so much anger that if one more person posts of Facebook that they're pregnant I'm seriously considering de-Friending every single female "Friend." The feeling of being so left out of something I so want to experience that I feel compelled to open a GYN practice for NON-prego folk, because, yes, sitting next to you and your baby bump waiting for the lab tech to call me in sends me into a fit of depression. Yes, hate.
I'm thankful that my best friend might just be the most level-headed person on the face of the planet. When I shared the idea of this blog the question posed back to me was, "are you sure you want to share this in public?" Well, either I keep all of this pain, the suffering, the anger, the hate, the confusion, frustration and exhaustion to myself and am crushed by the weight of it all; or I share it publically and maybe, just maybe, find a community of support and understanding I could never have imagined. I am hoping for the latter.
So... not feeling greatly compelled to do the whole Basal Body Temperature charting, I downloaded an app on my iPod Touch that would help me track my cycles, allows me to add notes on my calendar and, I subconciously assumed, would magically help me get pregnant by virtue of the fact that at least I was making an effort!
Next I bought the ovulation sticks and the PreNatal vitamins. Perhaps these were the "magic makers" I was looking for. Turns out, no amout of magic helps you when your cycles go something like: 32, 36, 26. Hardly regular, hardly helpful.
So, on Monday I made my annual visit to my GYN. I was thoroughly scolded for not charting BBT. Apparently everything "appeared" normal, though I was about to embark on a series of tests so great in number I half expect to have several letters after my name by the time we're done. First a thyroid test. Then an x-ray. Then (finally), Stan has to do something. He's got two little cups to fill. Sounded good. "Let's go," I thought. No big deal. Then, as I was checking out I saw the description for the consult we had just booked with the OB-GYN in the same office - "New Infertility."
I hadn't said it yet. Certainly I had thought it, but somehow saying it out loud (or, in this case, writing it down) seemed like a sentence, or worse perhaps, a diagnosis. That was fast! It seems to me there should be a lot more "stuff" between "Hey doc, we're having a bit of trouble" to "New Infertility." Nevertheless here we are.
Today was the x-ray: an HSG (hysterosalpingogram). All I have to say, "NOT fun." What you should expect: a speculum opens the cervix where a catheter is inserted, then a ballon is inflated to hold the catheter in place. A dye is then injected into each of the fallopian tubes to check for blockages. My right side went just fine - dye spilling into the peritoneal cavity freely. The left side was not as easy. The Dr. pushed more dye through and it was painful! You should expect pressure and cramping. The tube finally filled with dye and appeared to spill dye into the PC, but by that time so much had come out of the right side it began to obscure the picture. I gave the Dr. and radiology tech a good laugh when I commented that my husband was complaining about having to wear boxers, and this is what I got to do! Somehow it's really not that funny. Results should come tomorrow.
In the meantime I'm doing my best to deal with the hate. Yes, I said "hate." The feeling of so much anger that if one more person posts of Facebook that they're pregnant I'm seriously considering de-Friending every single female "Friend." The feeling of being so left out of something I so want to experience that I feel compelled to open a GYN practice for NON-prego folk, because, yes, sitting next to you and your baby bump waiting for the lab tech to call me in sends me into a fit of depression. Yes, hate.
I'm thankful that my best friend might just be the most level-headed person on the face of the planet. When I shared the idea of this blog the question posed back to me was, "are you sure you want to share this in public?" Well, either I keep all of this pain, the suffering, the anger, the hate, the confusion, frustration and exhaustion to myself and am crushed by the weight of it all; or I share it publically and maybe, just maybe, find a community of support and understanding I could never have imagined. I am hoping for the latter.
The Good
My husband, Stan, and I met ten years ago. Ten years ago I never would have dreamed that getting the little family we always imagined would be so painful and so difficult (not to mention expensive!).
We were married in July of 2004. A week after the wedding we moved to L.A. so that I could attend grad school. The whole time I thought I was doing the right thing by continuting on birth control. After all, I was, and am still, convinced that our 500 sq. ft., one bedroom apartment was only big enough for the three of us: me, Stan and my books! Where in the world would we have put a baby?! It was the right thing to do... or so I thought.
I certainly had friends, and they had friends, who had babies while we were all finishing our Masters degrees. They would say, "There's no such thing as a 'good' time. You'll always be able to find a reason not to do it." I still thought they were crazy. "There will be a good time." I thought. "This just isn't it."
During my last year in grad school we stopped all methods of birth control and we were officially, "trying." And try we would, for four years. I guess I assumed that as soon as we stopped the pills and made and effort, it would just "happen." I had absolutely no idea that this was how it was going to go.
In the meantime we moved from California to Georgia. We continued "trying," but never really gave much thought to just how long it seemed to be taking to get pregnant. Now that we've moved back home, have bought a house and seem "settled," we long to take that next step. I don't think either of us could've guessed that step would seem quite so difficult.
I don't know why you're reading this blog. Whether you're going through this same process and are looking for someone to identify with or you just "happened" upon our little story - I hope that something, anything, you read might be helpful. Selfishly I'm hoping this blog, for me, is therapeutic. That in some way I might feel less alone, less like I'm charting new territory. I hope that if this journey at all resonates with you that you'll read, comment and keep reading and commenting.
We were married in July of 2004. A week after the wedding we moved to L.A. so that I could attend grad school. The whole time I thought I was doing the right thing by continuting on birth control. After all, I was, and am still, convinced that our 500 sq. ft., one bedroom apartment was only big enough for the three of us: me, Stan and my books! Where in the world would we have put a baby?! It was the right thing to do... or so I thought.
I certainly had friends, and they had friends, who had babies while we were all finishing our Masters degrees. They would say, "There's no such thing as a 'good' time. You'll always be able to find a reason not to do it." I still thought they were crazy. "There will be a good time." I thought. "This just isn't it."
During my last year in grad school we stopped all methods of birth control and we were officially, "trying." And try we would, for four years. I guess I assumed that as soon as we stopped the pills and made and effort, it would just "happen." I had absolutely no idea that this was how it was going to go.
In the meantime we moved from California to Georgia. We continued "trying," but never really gave much thought to just how long it seemed to be taking to get pregnant. Now that we've moved back home, have bought a house and seem "settled," we long to take that next step. I don't think either of us could've guessed that step would seem quite so difficult.
I don't know why you're reading this blog. Whether you're going through this same process and are looking for someone to identify with or you just "happened" upon our little story - I hope that something, anything, you read might be helpful. Selfishly I'm hoping this blog, for me, is therapeutic. That in some way I might feel less alone, less like I'm charting new territory. I hope that if this journey at all resonates with you that you'll read, comment and keep reading and commenting.
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