Celebrate!

Well it took over a year, but I finally received something I have been praying for since I went off birth control. 

I wish I could say "A baby!" but nope, not the case, at least not yet. 

I think that on December 4th, I was the happiest woman ever to get her first natural menstrual cycle! Yay cramps! This happening means that A. it is the first cycle since I went off birth control over a year ago, and B. the first NATURAL cycle I have had since I stopped getting them at age 15 and was required to take bc to stay regular. 

10 years is a LONG time for my reproductive system to sleep, since you don't ovulate with the pill. And one year is enough to lose all faith in your body's ability to ovulate when you really truly believe there is no reason it shouldn't. They say you are your own worst enemy and BOOOOY, was I the biggest bully to myself! Not being able to perform a function my body, as a young female, should be able to do, terrified me and made me feel dysfunctional and less womanly. An expectant woman is to me one of the most beautiful things on this earth, so fruitful and natural, that I felt barren and stuck, unable to move forward to my goal of being one. 

I don't want to say that you have to ovulate or have a baby to feel womanly or be seen as womanly by me or anyone else (and if that were the case, you shouldn't care what I think anyway, because we all feel oriented to our sex in different ways, all perfectly good if they make us comfortable in our gender). Doing what the female body was most perfectly equipped to do, and failing to do so though? It's been a hard blow for me. 

Since moving to Omaha, I have been seeing a different psychiatrist in O-town's branch of doctor's that is associated with the ones I saw in my hometown. My new doctor listened to my woes of managing anxiety and depression, some of which was triggered by my strong desire to become pregnant. 

"Wait ... you're trying to get pregnant?" he asked. He looked over my chart, then said "You know, one of your meds may increase your prolactin hormone and trick your body into thinking your pregnant, and that might explain you having no cycle to speak of."

Eureka?

At this point, I had had a period with my Clomid, but had been told I could not continue since it thinned my lining, not something a gal who had a surgery like I did should have happen. I was in a tight spot: I didn't want to have to induce my cycle every month with hormones, but I didn't have the time to go in to several doctor's visits a month under other scary, more painful fertility options. What was I to do?

Warily, I accepted my doctor's suggestion to test my prolactin, and see if the hormone was high and if so, if the medication I was taking was responsible. 

A call the next day confirmed my prolactin was much higher than it should be, considering I wasn't pregnant or nursing, and my doctor started me on a plan that Halloween to decrease that medication slowly out of the picture, as there was no way the medication was not influencing the prolactin to increase. 

Over a month went by, and strangely, gradually, I experienced the same symptoms I felt before getting my period with Clomid. Hesitantly, I began to have faith that the gears in my body were starting to turn again, on their own terms. 

Lo and behold, I headed into the bathroom to find that I had, indeed, gotten my cycle, and the cramps/bloating confirmed it. I felt the same way I did when I got my very first period, like I had re-joined the female human race. 

What faith I had in myself at that very moment overwhelmed me, and the pessimistic, agonizing worry and fear that I would never get on track to get pregnant, or feel completely womanly again were washed away by a powerful tide of hope. I laid an egg! I could dust off that package of maxis from under the sink and USE them! I had cramps because my body was performing a womanly duty! I COULD do that womanly duty! And better yet, I had faith it would happen again. 

I honestly don't care when my next period comes (I have renewed faith it will come again though). What I rejoice is that I had one, that no, my body isn't dysfunctional, I should believe in it! Treat it with respect, take deep breaths, relax, and let nature do it's thing. All I can say is 

I LAID AN EGG! And it feels good. 

Furbabies and Clomid

It's been quite a while since I wrote last, I apologize. There has been a lot that has happened since my last post, allow me to catch you up on these last few months.

We found there were issues with both my husband and I fertility-wise. Hubby has been working to holistically improve his side of things, and I'm proud of him for it. We even went to a holistic treatment session, where we visited with a doctor about possible internal energies that might be messed up or running poorly or too strongly, which was very helpful and insightful.

In July, I underwent surgery to remove a uterine septum in my uterus, a large growth descending from the roof of the uterus, taking up space, and giving me a high probability of a miscarriage if I fell pregnant. This had me feeling a newfound luckiness that I hadn't fallen pregnant, only to experience the tragedy of a miscarriage, even if not being pregnant yet was discouraging.

 The surgery was a complete success, and I recovered quickly. I was told upon a post-op check-up that I wouldn't have to have it redone, thank goodness! Being my first surgery, you can imagine how nervous I was! Prior to the surgery, I debated whether or not I was brave enough to undergo treatment in the pre-op room, and went a little crazy, terrified about what might happen. I even thought for a second that perhaps this was a sign I was meant to adopt, and refused to go any further. But the shrill and beautiful cry of a brand new baby down the hall ( and a prayer session in the hospital bathroom with my mother) was the push I needed to go ahead, and I'm glad I did, because here's what happened on Monday:

I started fertility treatments. Yes, the dreaded treatments, but at least I got my OBGYN on my side. My RE really pushed the envelope to have me do all sorts of medically invasive procedures and shots, including IVF and IUI. Feeling in my heart that it might not yet be necessary, that I believed my husband's side of things had improved greatly, and learning that it is best to go with least invasive first, I requested we start with oral medication as opposed to shots. She, wanting to keep her perfect rating of successful pregnancies, refused. So I called my OB, and he agreed to three months of Clomid treatment, which would hopefully jump-start my ovaries into finally ovulating, giving us a fair chance at pregnancy.

Upon reading the side effects, I dearly wished I didn't have to take it. Not only could the drug work against our efforts (it can thin the lining in the uterus, making it less fertile, and diminish the cervical fluid, needed to transport sperm) but the side effects included ovarian cysts (when tissue surrounding an egg fills up with fluid into a painful blister of sorts that can be dangerous) and blurred vision, were scary and not anything I really wanted to even risk getting.

So far, the medication appears to be affecting me, with mild cramping in the ovaries, but thankfully, not much more than that. The real test will start from this Saturday through the end of next week, as the cysts only occur during that ovulation period. Prayers would be appreciated!

At least my motherly yearning have been satisfied momentarily. Last month, we adopted an adorable apricot-colored labradoodle named Rayne. She is our fuzzy baby, and I love her so much. She is my little shadow, and we love to snuggle, play fetch and be outside together. That little face brings me so much joy, and knowing how much she unconditionally loves me is beautiful to the point that it brings me to tears. As if I don't have enough mood swings!

This month is the first of three opportunities for us to, in the most comfortable way, bring a child into our world. Our fingers, toes, arms and legs are crossed, and we pray for a little miracle to join our family of three. Here's hoping!

A little one sleeps

There is a little one sleeping in our nursery room right now.

She isn't our little one, but our goddaughter, over for a visit while her parents and siblings go to a movie. Even though she isn't ours, it makes my heart happy to have a child in that room.

I wasn't thrilled with the idea of having our "future nursery" as we call it turned into a temporary storage room. As the boxes piled up, and the room became crowded, it became more difficult envisioning a crib, a changing table, and a rocking chair by the window overseeing the cornfield, the view from that window being a strong reason why I choose it to house our future munchkin.

It has been almost 7 months, and no luck on falling pregnant. Lots of doctors appointments, stressing over missing work to schedule bloodwork, popping medication meant to adjust my body to prepare it for pregnancy, and miserable side effects of those medications have made things especially difficult.

Plus side? I've lost almost 25 pounds from that nausea/stomach upset due to the Metformin. And I am alert for work since I set my alarm an hour before I have to get up to take my thyroid medication (which must be taken 30-60 minutes before I eat breakfast).

Tomorrow, I'm seeing a reproductive endocrinologist. B/c my body insists on being lazy and refuses to give me a monthly cycle (which I haven't unassisted by medication since I was 15). B/c my endocrinologist was baffled that the cocktail of medication she gave me didn't restore my cycle, at the very least. B/c I'm about to lose my mind with no results.

I picked up a book called "A few good eggs" about infertility, and they said one of the last steps a person takes to get pregnant is seeing a RE. I remember reading that book all those months ago, and dreading, worrying, agonizing over the idea that I would ever have to resort to an RE for help, . I am terrified of injecting myself with hormones. I don't want to undergo the expense and pain of IVF and IUI. If it's necessary, I will, and I hate to sound snobby, but I don't want it to come to that.

One thing that has possibly affected my progress is that my anxiety disorder came back with a vengeance after being off the medication for 6 months. Now that I'm back on it, and feeling like my old self again, perhaps things will go back to normal?

I can only hope.

Why I'm Mama Duck

It was Christmas Eve.

My husband Theodore (I will often call him T for short, especially online) and I were cozy on the couch. I was on FB (no big surprise) when I came across a link my friend had posted about how the Christmas story might have be told through FB.

I know, it sounds cheesy and stupid, but I had been so emotional lately, and upon the joyful news of baby Jesus' arrival, and the swelling music, I was beside myself. I felt foolish for, yet again, forgetting the "real reason for the season" especially among all this stress and worry I had been experiencing, scared that my body wasn't able to conceive a baby (even though at that time, we were not trying, not preventing (or NTNP, in Trying To Conceive (TTC) lingo)

"Mallory? Mallory! Are you ok?" my husband asked, very surprised that I was red in the face from sobbing, with tears rolling down my cheeks (one thing I hate about glasses is I always take them off when I am crying, and they draws attention from doing this). He gave me a hug, then took my hand, telling me he had something to show me.

He led me up the stairs. "I was going to give this to you tomorrow, but now seems like a good time" he said with a smile, and I followed him into the room we had envisioned as our baby's nursery from the day we first toured the house when it was still for sale.

He placed his hand on the closet door, and I already knew what was next. Theodore said he would buy them when he was truly ready for the next step in our marriage. More tears!

Pushing back the door, I saw the most precious gift; baby feetie pajamas and a baby "sleep sack" hung up on tiny white hangers, fuzzy, soft, and covered in bright yellow duckies. The piece de resistance was a small stuffed duck that sat on the shelf above, his little webbed feet dangling off the edge.

It was the best Christmas present I've ever received. Afterward, there was much hugging, and my husband telling me "I'm ready to be a dad" and I was on Cloud 9.

------------------------------

Nowadays, I sometimes like to visit the closet. I know, it's silly, and definitely strange, but there is a sense of comfort, a swell of joy, thinking of dressing a little person that looks like Theodore and I, in these warm, soft clothes. I rub the little feet between my thumbs and index fingers, imagining the little feet that would one day occupy them, and I give the stuffed ducky a kiss on its bill. I say "Someday", put on a brave face to stop the tears from surfacing, because I don't know when that someday will happen, and close the closet door.

I can be so negative, upset at God, at myself, because I don't understand why my body, the one he gave me, is having so much trouble doing the one thing I want it to do more than anything. I read the newspaper and watch it online, seeing all the children who are abused and die at the hands of people who should have never been able to have them, and I know there are couples like Theodore and I who would make fantastic parents, but do not have what it takes to have children of their own. I have become very angry, even enraged, at how nonsensical this world is, and how unfair it can be.

I don't expect to understand God's plan. After all, he is God, and we're not supposed to be able to figure him out. I love him dearly, no matter how upset I get at him sometimes, and nothing is going to change that.

The fact is, I am a very blessed woman. I do not want to wallow and feel sorry for myself for this one thing, even though it's something I want very much, because I feel like I am closing the door on the plethora of blessings I already have. I hope this drive to become a mother never blinds me from seeing all the people who love me, and the comforts of life that not everyone has.

Another fact: I do have control of my destiny, and I will be a mother, one way or another. The children God blesses me with may not come when I MYSELF think I am ready, and they might not look like me, or be related to me biologically. But they will be the ones I dress every morning and bath every night. I will plant kisses on their foreheads, and hold them tight, making them feel every ounce of love they deserve, which is every ounce I can physically give. I will be silly with them, and I will tend to them when they are sick. They will call me Mama, and in my heart, that is all I could ever ask for.

Starting a journey

Not sure where I'll end up, but I promise in this blog, I will always do my best to stay positive and keep the faith and hope that I will be a mom alive in me.

A little backstory...

It was October of 2011, and my dear sweet husband and I had been married for 3 months, when we tossed out the contraceptives. I had been on the for almost 10 years, and boy, was I done with taking them!

I know, three months of marriage doesn't seem like a very long time for it to be "just us". My husband, for the record, is in his early 30's and 7 years my senior, so when I asked if he was ready for children, it didn't take him long to decide it was a good time.

We weren't trying for a child for those first few months, per se. More along the attitude of "Look ma, no condoms!" (although we'd never actually utter such words to our mothers), that almost juvenille, thrilling freedom of enjoying relaxed, married intimacy without the hassle of remembering a pill or other protection. And if a child resulted? We'd be thrilled and in the position to welcome one into our lives (we had bought our house, which we call "The Nest") by this point, so room was not an issue).

Well November came, with our first married Thanksgiving and a very exhausting day of moving all our stuff to our first real home. December brought us our first blissful Christmas as husband and wife, and the chance for us to celebrate together (T was off both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day). January arrived bearing both snow and freakishly warm weather, which we promptly enjoyed the latter outdoors walking around the block, and the former inside cozy on the couch watching the snow fall on our beautiful backyard view of a sprawling cornfield (yes, we were in Nebraska. Or as hubby calls it "my damn state" every time he gets cold and misses his native North Carolina :-) )

The only thing that didn't come was my menstrual cycle. There were cramps resemblant of ovulation and PMS. But nothing more. Something was not right.

January 25th, my husband and I received the news that I most likely had PCOS. My heart fell, even with my wonderful OB, Dr. C. reassuring me in his quiet, gentle voice that I wasn't to worry, "I'd be pregnant soon". Suddenly, the erratic results I had been getting from all the fertility tracking methods I'd painstakingly recorded over the past few months made sense. Basal body temping, OPKs (ovulation prediction kits) cervical fluid (I'll spare you those details) none of them would be able to help me reliably, all because of cursed PCOS.

An ultrasound revealed that I did have cysts, and blood work, translated into layman's terms, stated that my insulin was low, and my sugar was high, otherwise known as insulin intolerance. Low insulin is a common precursor to PCOS, but thankfully, I was told that if I took Metformin faithfully, lost weight, and stuck to a low-carb/low sugar diet, I could help control this very unpleasant, ugly condition.

A month has flown by, and I have shed ten pounds. I was so determined to keep my carbs and sugar low that I nearly developed hypoglycemia (low blood sugar!) and even when I ate the maximum carbs allowed by my dietician, I felt like a sugar-starved zombie. Dr. C. reduced my Metformin (he was very pleased with my recent blood work, revealing that my insulin level was much better).

Two new flaming hoops popped up: my progesterone level was low (I still wasn't ovulating) and my thyroid was on the verge of becoming hypoactive. My doctor referred me to an endocrinologist, and I in turn, scheduled an appointment to see her as soon as I possibly could.

I hate myself for scheduling another appointment during work (latest appointment I could get at 2:00 still means I have to be there 15 minutes early since I'm new, and 30 minutes more just to get the heck over there.) I am fearing that my boss isn't going to let me go, or worse, fire me, since I've already missed two hours of work this year alone for doctor's appointments. It's still a completely necessary appointment, baby hopes aside (it's not healthy to have an under-active thyroid) but I still feel awful.

It's super late, and I have work in the morning, so I guess I'm signing off for now. More later...