Playing the waiting game.

That’s really all TTC is, isn’t it? A waiting. Wait for your period to be over, wait to ovulate, wait to test, wait to see if the baby makes it.

Now, I’m waiting on test results. The nurse drew 20 vials (yes, you read the right — 20 vials) of blood on Monday, during which I almost passed out — not because I have a fear of needles or blood or anything, but because I’d fasted for 12 hours before the test and 20 vials is a LOT of blood! She told me I “did great” after she’d given me some crackers and a juice box. I felt like a little kid that was being patted on the head and sent on her merry way.

It will take about a week to get the results back, maybe more. If I have the mutation, I’m not really sure how we’ll proceed. I guess it depends on the severity (I guess there are several levels of the mutation? One or two on different chromosomes or something? I’m very confused). Right now, I’m doing everything she told me to do. I’m taking all the vitamins, I refilled my Prometrium prescription, and probably Friday, I’ll start peeing on those damn ovulation sticks again. (I hate those things. I’m thinking this cycle I’m going to splurge and go for the digital ones. Smiley faces are my friend.)

Waiting waiting waiting.


Taking baby steps.

On Wednesday, I had an appointment with my OB. (Have I mentioned how much I love her? Because I do.) I had been hoping that my period would be gone by then, but of course, it started in pretty heavily that morning. My body just isn’t cooperating with me lately.

I went to the appointment anyway, figuring it was a good chance to talk to her about my situation and what options I might have. We talked about my history again, about my high blood pressure with Maddie and about how the farthest I’ve taken a pregancy, besides Maddie, is 5 1/2 weeks. She said that based on those factors, she was pretty sure there was an underlying issue and I wasn’t just dealing with “bad luck” here. As I suspected, she recommended that we do the big blood panel to test for the mutated MTHFR gene. It’s going to be expensive, but I need to know with certainty whether I have it or not.

She told me not to stop trying. She said, “Don’t give up. It will happen, you might just need a little help.” She told me to keep taking the folic acid, and the B6, and the prenatal, and the baby aspirin, and the Prometrium.

So, here we go again.

Covered or not?

At the recommendation of one of the women on BBC, I started reading a book called A Few Good Eggs: Two Chicks Dish on Overcoming the Insanity of Infertility.

Just a few pages in, I read this.

We have come to think of infertility as a game—The Infertility Game. It is a game in which, believe it or not, everyone is a winner. We know you don’t feel like a winner right now (who would?), but the truth is if you want a baby in your family, you will have one. Go ahead, read that line again. If you want a baby, you will have one. Now you may not actually have a baby the biological way—or maybe you will, thanks to drugs, in vitro fertilization, intrauterine insemination, or some other technical assistance. Maybe you will use a surrogate,donor eggs, or donor sperm or maybe you will adopt or foster parent. The bottom line is — if you want a family, you can have a family.

This really got me thinking. I never in a million years imagined myself having a baby via IUI, IVF, or anything of the sort. I already know with 100% certainty that I will never use a surrogate or donor eggs. But what if the problem I’m having is easily fixable and I, by being scared and hurt and angry and jaded and etc etc etc, will never find out because I’m afraid? It can’t hurt to just SEE, right? (Scratch that. It CAN hurt, I know. If it’s something bad, if it’s something that can’t be fixed, it will hurt like hell.) But anyway, after reading further into this book, I decided today that I was going to call my doctor to set up an appointment. Just to talk. Just to feel it out.

Before I did that, I thought it would be a good idea to check with my insurance to see what types of infertility treatments are covered. I figured then I’d have all my ducks in a row when I went in to talk with my doctor.  Imagine my surprise when I found out that nothing — NOTHING AT ALL — is covered. Nothing related to infertility. Not treatments, not tests, not prescriptions. Nothing.

I felt like throwing up. How can they do that? How can they NOT consider infertility a medical condition? It doesn’t make sense to me.

After talking with some other women who are seeing an RE, I’m told that doctors know how insurance companies are about covering infertility and there are ways around the whole “no coverage” thing. Sneaky doctors. Love them for it.

Long story short, I called today to make an appointment with my OB. I had to schedule my yearly anyway, so I figured I could do that and then chat with her while I’m there. Turns out she has a cancellation on Wednesday, so I’m going in at 3:30. I have my period right now, heh, oops, but I’m going to keep the appointment anyway, then play dumb on Wednesday if I still have it and act like I didn’t know it was coming. Ha! I don’t want to wait until January or February.

In other news, I’ve had two friends miscarry in the last week. What the fuck. Life is not fair.

Guess not.

Well, I’m pretty confident that I’m not, in fact, pregnant.

 My boobs DO hurt, and I do have that horrible nagging gassy pain in between my ribs, and I’m not spotting (which I normally do before AF gets here), and I’ve only had a few dull cramps.

 But of course I tested this morning, JUST TO SEE, and got a BFN.

I’m not all that surprised. What does surprise me is how much I really don’t care. I mean, I DO, it would have been nice, but I’m not, like, in a deep depression about it or anything. We weren’t trying, it didn’t happen, lets move on with our lives.

 Someone on BBC asked me today if I planned on seeing an RE about my issues. And the truth is? I just don’t think I’m ready. I don’t want to go down that road, I really don’t, I don’t WANT to know what’s wrong. Not yet. Because I think it will hurt me pretty deeply when I find out what the real cause is, since it’s certainly something to do with me.

 Anyway. That’s that.

There, I said it.


Here’s the thing.

Maybe I’m pregnant.

I don’t know.  I’m most likely just crazy, but anything is possible, right?

I’ve been having crazy-vivid dreams. And I have this horrible gas pain, right between my ribs, that doesn’t want to go away (I had this when I weas pregnant with Maddie.) And I’m bloaty. And I’ve got all this CM and it’s just…not normal for me.

If I had to guess, I’d say I’m about 10DPO. Maybe 9, maybe 11, maybe 8. I don’t know when I actually ovulated. Maybe I didn’t at all and I’m just wacko. Like I said — anything is possible.

Who knows. It’s too much for me to think about. So I’m just going to pretend it’s not happening. Because chances are, I’m not, and I’m just crazy.

What if?

So, last night, I opened my bathroom vanity and sitting there, front and center, was my Prometrium prescription. Up until that point, I truly had not thought about being pregnant, getting pregnant, staying pregnant, or anything about pregnancy (save for the dream I had that I took a pregnancy test and it was positive, but weirdly so, with a really dark, loopy test line.) I thought back, and after remembering that Tim and I had “done it” on both Wednesday and Friday of this past week (without being careful whatsoever, as we both got caught up in the moment and weren’t even thinking about it), I started counting what cycle day I was on. CD20. Which means that I likely ovulated between last Wednesday and Saturday. Which means, though probably not likely, that it’s possible that I could be pregnant. Or, you know, that I will be. I had pretty bad cramps on Thursday and Friday, which is a sure sign that I’m going to ovulate, but for whatever reason, I just wasn’t even thinking about. Probably because I’m so jaded about the whole thing now.

I stood in the bathroom for a few minutes and stared the prescription bottle. Could it hurt to take it? I didn’t know. So I asked Tim. He, of course, was not very helpful. “I don’t know. I don’t want you to take any tests.” Well, yeah, no kidding, I don’t plan to. That wasn’t my question. “Well, I don’t know. If you want. Why don’t you ask your friends?” (Meaning my friends on Babycenter.)

I did, of course, and I got a resounding, “Yes, you should take it.” Mostly because of the “what if” factor. (Sidebar: The women I have met on BBC are absolutely incredible. Amazing. Couldn’t have gotten through all this BS without them. SO thankful for them.)  Thing is, it can’t HURT me to take it. It can only, maybe, help, if even just a little.

Oddly enough, I’m totally at ease right now. I don’t think I’m pregnant, and the thought of peeing on a stick makes me want to vomit. So, that’s a good thing I guess? So, I’m going to take it. Starting tonight. Because I really don’t want to hear that nagging voice in my head saying, “What if what if what if?”

Pushing through it.

After my mega-breakdown on Sunday afternoon, in which I cried, cried, sobbed, sniffled, whimpered, and sobbed some more, I fell into a deep, comatose sleep. I woke up hours later (or what felt like hours, anyway) to the feeling of tiny fingertips on my cheeks, my eyelids, my nose, my lips.

I dragged myself out of the sleep-zone and opened my eyes to find my beautiful little girl gazing at me. When our eyes met, her face lit up and she broke into a huge grin. “Mommy!” she exclaimed, and proceeded to lean in and give me a big kiss.

At that moment, I realized that no matter how much my situation sucks, no matter how bitter I am, no matter how angry or jaded or depressed, I am so, so blessed to have this amazing little angel in my life. To her, I am the world. She needs her mommy to be strong for her, and so that’s what I’m going to do.

It doesn’t mean I’m not pissed. It doesn’t mean I’m not frustrated beyond imagination. It doesn’t mean that I think I’ll ever have another baby (because truth be told, I don’t). But even if this is the end, I am lucky — INCREDIBLY lucky — to have this little girl in my life. She is my light, the one who saves me from drowning in my pain and anger and despair.

So for her, I’ll get through it.