April 10

Thank you, Sara, for telling me I should blog. It seems like a good idea....but I guess we'll see if it really is or not.

So a bit of me in a few words...well, this will probably end up being more than a bit and WAY more than a few words. Women speak 2000 more words in a day than men and I talk a lot more than that. I'll probably talk about my job, my son, school, and whoknowswhatelse. Today, I'm going to start with whoknowswhatelse.

I've been married for almost two years. My husband said that he always saw himself with a wife and kids. Before I met him, I was SO not interested in anymore children, the one I already had was enough of an offspring experience for me. But Bill is an excellent step-father and a really good man and he deserves to have his own kids. So we started trying right after the wedding.

I went balls to the wall full force on this exceedingly complicated science experiment. I read everything I could find about timing and cervical mucous and basal temperatures. I was shocked that it didn't happen after 3 months. So, I went to see my doctor. He said there was nothing wrong with me and to come see him in a year. So I did more reading and joined a fertility group and tried all kinds of supplements and voodoo and chicken sacrifices (well, not really chicken sacrifices and voodoo, I don't want my neighbors to talk). Then, the day came. A positive test. And it all went downhill from there. Numbers that were supposed to double in a short period of time never got more than halfway there. Hundreds of dollars of blood tests and vaginal suppositories later, an ultrasound showed an empty gestational sac. So I had a D&C the same day.

In the midst of all of this, no one (other than online friends) knew we were trying, so it was a BIG shock to our mothers. The secret was out. The secret was out and the pressure was on. I waited. And waited. And waited. And my period never showed up. My doctor put me back on the pill to regulate my hormones. Wait a minute, aren't my hormones screwed up because of the pill in the first place? Ok, whatever. On my own accord, I had a CBC blood test that showed my thyroid was not functioning correctly. Ten days after I started Synthroid, my period returned and my doctor prescribed Clomid.

Let me tell you about Clomid. If you're interested in hot flashes, headaches, wicked mood swings, tennis ball sized ovaries and stragetically timed love making, then it's the drug for you. I've lost my marbles on Clomid. I've lost my marbles because of Clomid. I hate it. HATE.IT. I had one biochemical pregnancy that never implanted on Clomid and lots of false hope. I've nearly bled to death on Clomid and lost all of the physical components of fertility imperative to sperm meeting egg on Clomid. After 7 rounds of Clomid, I've decided it's not helping.

In there somewhere, we decided to consult a fertility specialist. He did $1500 worth of bloodwork to rule out clotting factors and genetic problems and immunity issues. He did a vaginal ultrasound in front of my very squeamish husband. He did a uterine x-ray that was really interesting, really expensive, and in the end, really a waste of time. Other than the fact that my estrogen is low, which is causing a weak ovulation and weak progesterone in the luteal phase, there's nothing wrong with me. The damn Clomid should have fixed that, and it did, but alas, not for a 9 months stretch.

So that brings me to the next part of this story. We want to go camping. We want to buy a travel trailor and go camping. That means we will have to take out a small loan from the bank to pay for it. Compounding that, I'm a mere 3 semesters from applying for nursing school and upon acceptance to the program, our income will dramatically decrease for a few years and I don't want to put it off any longer. And then there's Bailey. I'll talk about him later because that's an entirely different subject. I'll state it simply though: Bailey-stress is bad for my eggs and I can't handle one more thing on my plate right now.

Which brings me to the dramatic conclusion of this first bit of me...we are done trying. We're not done wanting it to happen, but we've passed the point where we are going to TRY. I just put my OPKs, my thermometer, my supplements, my packets of "baby dust", my litmus paper (don't ask), all of my "science experiment" equipment, in a shoebox and put it in the guestroom/nursery that may never be. If it's going to happen, it's going to have to happen on it's own.

Bottom line is, Bill doesn't want to be over 60 at his baby's high school graduation. I don't want to be pregnant past the age of 35. I want to have my RN license before I turn 37. I want to "fix" Bailey. And ultimately, I would like to have a baby. But I've reconciled it in my heart that it may not happen, so I'm going to have to be ok with that. If you go back up a few paragraphs, you'll see that this wasn't really what I wanted to do again before I met Bill. If he's ok with not passing on his DNA or the family name, then I am too.

It's a little bittersweet and it will probably take me a while to get used to not worrying obsessively about my cervical opening or my vaginal discharge or my melon-hard breasts that bounce painfully when I walk right after a Clomid-induced ovulation. I'm relieved as well. I'm glad to be looking forward further than my next ovulation date and waiting for a period that will probably show up, but you never know. I'm glad I can take a Benadryl to sleep without worrying what it will do to my cervical mucous. I'm glad to be able to have an alcoholic beverage when I'm really stressed out and have PMS without thinking "what if?" with every sip. I'm more than happy to keep taking my prenatal vitamins because they make my hair and nails REALLY strong and I'm too vain to give that up. Besides....just in case....