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.