Fruitpie and I got into it last night…so to speak. She wanted me to talk to her about why I am so upset about not being able to carry a child. I told her I didn’t know…and I really don’t know how to put it into words yet. I don’t know what I’ll miss because I’ve never had it to miss. I’m still sorting these things out in my mind. I’m shattered…the thoughts and feelings are shattered…and I’m constantly piecing through the shards to try to make sense of it. It cuts me to my core and I really don’t know how to verbalize it…other than that.
She said that I’m holding back…that I talk about these things more deeply with others than with her. She mentioned my ex and how we seemed to be able to finish each other’s sentences…that she wants that with me. I thought we did have that. She mentioned how I’d talk to my therapist about everything when she met me. The truth is, it took me a long time to build up that trust and even then, we spoke in metaphors. I miss that shrink…and I don’t know how to explain that it’s a different thing to talk to a neutral person than to the woman I’ve devoted my life to. I cried myself to sleep after that and have been on the verge of tears all day.
We patched things up a bit this afternoon, but I have been thinking about it incessantly. It occurred to me over thawing crab legs that my ex used to accuse me of withholding, as well. With as well as we knew each other, there were still parts of myself I guarded. It had nothing to do with her. It’s how I protect myself, I guess. Even my shrink couldn’t break down those walls. She would chip away at them slowly…try to accelerate the process by increasing our visits. Little pieces came down, but there are still those parts that I keep hidden even from myself. There are dark corners that I guard for dear life because even without them in the open, I’m vulnerable. It’s in my nature and I don’t know if I could change that.
I spoke to my parents for an hour and a half this morning. I told my mom about my reproductive issues and she got my dad on the phone. He said, “Maybe you’re not meant to have children”…and I said, “Maybe you weren’t either”. I hope that cut him as deeply as his comment cut me, but I doubt it. Both of my grandmothers had multiple miscarriages. My great-aunt had an abortion and then a hysterectomy in her late thirties. It was from hemorrhaging, apparently. The symptoms sounded like endometriosis. They were trying to point fingers at whose side my problems came from…as if it mattered. Clearly, I was fucked from the start. I didn’t have a chance with either side.
I feel this loss so profoundly. This loss of something I will never have…never have had. Some say I’m lucky. I don’t think so. I wish my biological clock never worked. I wish I didn’t want this so badly. I wish I could just get over it.
How depressing.
We got there early for a change and I was filled with nervous excitement. It seems kind of silly now. The doctor really knew his shit and it was nice to finally have our options laid out. I didn’t realize, however, that he’d be doing vaginal ultrasounds on both of us that day. Luckily, I took a shower, but I did not shave. He didn’t even seem to have to look, though. It was a good sign. He did mine first, and I was still optimistic. That is, until he found an endometrioma on my right ovary. The entire cyst/ovary ensemble is larger than my uterus…and this is why past technicians have been unable to find it. My left ovary had several follicles. I think he counted fifteen. He couldn’t believe that my periods are regular and concluded that I must not be ovulating very well…producing quality eggs. There also appears to be a polyp in my uterus on top of it all.
Fruitpie’s ultrasound went great. It was over ten minutes faster than mine and everything looked great. The only down side was her age. The conclusion was that the best chance of success for the two of us would be using my eggs and her uterus.
It might be an understatement to say that I’m heartbroken. I never thought that I wouldn’t be able to carry a child. I thought that, if nothing else, my uterus is ok. I’m sure it will be a comfort that I’ll have a biological child…but, right now, I can’t feel it. I’m at a loss.
I had a hell of a time last week deciding whether or not to have my IUI…especially after the indecision on whether or not my right tube is open. I surged on Tuesday and decided not to go through with it. I was supposed to have a good chance this month if they are open and I was really reluctant to give up on a fertile cycle, even though we had decided to go the IVF route. I debated tirelessly with Fruitpie to the point of her being on the verge of angry with me. I kept hounding her for a definitive answer and she just kept telling me to do what I want. It was making me crazy…but, in retrospect, I think that was because I knew the answer but wanted to hear it come from her. I wanted her to tell me how important it was to her, and she wouldn’t. I guess she didn’t have to, but I still wanted to hear it from her.
So, I started tentatively charting my temps again just so I would know what my cycle was up to. It turns out I’m on CD17 and still haven’t ovulated. What the fuck? I know it’s normal to have anovulatory cycles from time to time, but it is very strange to me that it happened this month…when there was so much debate over using Fruitpie’s eggs with IVF. It seems that I’ve needlessly driven myself crazy over something that appears to be preordained by the universe. I so hope that IVF works…because all I really want is a baby…no matter how that happens for us. I would love to see a little Fruitpie running around…I just hope our baby gets her dimples and beautiful eyes.
Do people need to be a special kind of stupid to be put in management? My new boss (COO) spoke to my old boss (CFO) on my behalf about replacing some ancient workstations. Her response? “Computers are luxury items”. Huh. Does that mean that I’m in the Leisure Industry? I had no idea.
What a load of fucking morons.
I am having the most annoying ovulation pain this month. I feel like the whole gang is gearing up to skip town.
It’s quarter til 8 and I really should be getting dressed. I’ve been having such a hard time getting anything done at work lately…and it feels like Wednesday. Fruitpie is staying home sick today and I would love nothing more than to crawl back into bed right now. This incident on Friday has made me even more introspective. The NP called yesterday to say that she was confused because my test results came back normal after the doctor who did it told me that the tube was blocked. I’m having them review the films again because I feel like I’m being dicked around. I’ve been working so hard for this. My thoughts and actions have been consumed by trying to make myself ready for a baby…healthy for a pregnancy. I have this sense of urgency every month…like it just has to happen now. I haven’t peed on a stick yet and I haven’t been taking my temperature…but, I know that I will ovulate tomorrow. If that tube is open, today would be the day to make an appointment. Yet, now I don’t know whether I should. Fruitpie was so excited about IVF, and I think I should wait to see what her Day 3 tests will show before I do an IUI. On the other hand, I would absolutely hate to miss one of my more fertile cycles. I just don’t know what to do and I want this so badly that I can’t even trust myself anymore.
Ten to eight and I should really start getting dressed. I have half an hour until I can finally empty my bladder…because I decided that I should at least keep track of my ovulation regardless of which path we take.
I had my sizeable pity party yesterday and now I’m going to try to start June off well. Feeling sorry for myself isn’t going to make my tubes magically open up, or my genes more desirable and it certainly won’t get me pregnant. I just need to accept the fact that I can only get pregnant via sizable contributions to medical science. I also need to accept that I will never have a genetic child…which I’ve always said doesn’t bother me, but as I get older I have to say that I do feel the loss. I suppose physical attributes aren’t the only way I will see pieces of myself in my child.
