Infertility Bites

Infertile, Trying to Conceive, and Forty-One Years Old – Ain't THAT a Bummer!?!

Dollar Tree’s My Enabler March 28, 2008

So not only have I given in to my need obsession to POAS ever since about 6dpiui, but I’ve found a new supplier to provide them to me at a much reduced rate of…you guessed it – a dollar.  DollarTree HPTs rock if you’re trying to placate that urge to mark your territory and feel like you’re doing something semi-useful during the TWW.  It helps me satisfy my serious desire to see something, anything, while remaining much more affordable than if I were using the ones I’ve used in the past.  Yes, I’m still getting BFNs – duh! 

I’m now 10dpiui, and did my daily POAS episode on el cheapo $Tree HPT.  It’s a BFN again today.  Sigh.  Still, as long as AF doesn’t show, I’m a happy camper.  I can still hope. 

I really do know that it would’ve been highly unusual for me to see anything remotely positive before this.  Still, there’s a touch of the windmill-tilting insane optimist within the confines of my person.  Who knew??  I keep imagining that I’ll be one of those oh-so-fortunate ladies who POAS after only 8- or 9dpo and get that beloved BFP.  After all, I stand just as good a chance as any other PCOS-ridden 40-year-old, right?       

** ALERT:  mention of potentially uncomfortable subject to follow. Scoot down to the ~Change of subject~, if you desire. 

Sigh.  It’s days like today that make me really wish I didn’t work in high school.  As I was walking through the hall towards the teacher’s lounge, I happened to overhear a couple of 16-year-old girls talking.  I wish to hell I hadn’t.    One of them was telling the other one, “Man, if my mom finds out that I’m pregnant, she’ll kill me.  I going to get rid of it this weekend.  I don’t want it, anyways.” 

I have to say that I died a little inside upon hearing her annoyed comment, and not being able to spill my guts to her, about how the “thing” she wants to dispose of as if it meant nothing would mean everything to someone in my shoes.  Someone who has been trying to be blessed with her problem for nearly eight years now.  It was all I could do to not yell at her, and tell her how many couples I know of (mostly from the internet, mind you) who would love to be “burdened” with her condition, no matter how inconvenient it is.  soooo wanted to tell her of the thousands of dollars, countless hours of pure angst and devastating heartbreak that many, many people subject themselves to, all in the interest of becoming laden with the similar circumstances as she…only to never attain that lofty goal.  Or, worse yet, have nature perform a similar procedure as what this young woman was choosing to do to her own offspring.  Okay, it’s similar, as in the outcome’s the same…a precious life taken before it’s time.  But, I had to remain mute, and continue to walk away…tears blurring my vision.  Like I said, today wasn’t the best day to be a teacher of teenagers.  Ready to peruse something a little less vitriolic, yet??

~~Change of Subject~~

My follow-up appointment is this next Tuesday, April 1st.  It would be really ironic and hilarious if I got to tell F he’s going to be a daddy on April Fool’s Day.  He wouldn’t believe me this time either, I bet.  Heh. 

Back on that same day in 2005, I managed to fall while walking across the street in San Antonio.  I was in that beautiful city because I was attending an TESOL Conference.  I broke my left elbow, sprained my right arm, right elbow, and both wrists.  I know – graceful, huh?  Anyway, after going to the emergency room, and walking out with both arms in slings, I called my clueless husband to tell him, and so that we could figure out how I was going to get me, my stuff, and my manual transmission car back home ASAP. 

I’ve always been known for my Bad Timing, and this was no exception.  I called my husband right after his sister and niece had pulled a nasty April Fool’s joke on him.  I mean, he’d literally just hung up the phone with them, and was still fuming about it. 

So, here’s how that particular conversation went, with the names altered just a wee bit “to protect the innocent”:    

Me:  F?  Honey?  I have some bad news.  I was in an accident.

F:  What??  Are you okay? 

Me:  Uh, no.  I fell and broke both of my elbows. 

F:  Yeah, April Fool’s – I get it.  You’re not funny, you know.

Me:  No, I’m serious.  I really did do it, crossing the street.  I’m sitting here now, at the WalMart Pharmacy, waiting for my pain pills. 

F:  Seriously, vamplita, it’s not funny.  I’m not buying it, so knock it off, already. 

Me:  I know it’s not funny, F.  I wouldn’t kid about this.  I’m serious as a heart attack.  I need you to come get me. 

F:  That’s not funny, damn it!  vamplita, you’d better not be screwing with me.  If I find out you’re lying to me, I swear, I’ll break your arms myself. 

He then proceeded to tell me of how our niece had called him, pretending to be pregnant, and that his sister confirmed what our niece had told him.  They had him completely convinced that it was true, and after about 25 minutes of him trying to console his supposedly-distraught sister, they finally told him it was a joke.  As soon as he got off that call, more than a little pissed about his own family being so cruel to him, I called with this news.  Small wonder he thought I was trying to pull his leg again.

So, it would be more than amusing for me to try to break the news of a pregnancy to him on that day, of all days.  God, I hope I get to!!      

  

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Ugh – it’s official, folks February 4, 2008

Yup, it’s definitely official…vamplita saw her shadow on February 2nd.  I’m now forty years old.  Too old to become pregnant and give birth if you’ve read any of the pregnancy literature written before 2000.  Still, because our society is waiting longer and longer to try to have children, so people began to reconsider whether or not having a baby was something a woman could do later in life. 

Technology is constantly finding new medical breakthroughs, so I felt much better when my RE told me that I shouldn’t have any problems having a child if I do become pregnant.  She said that I would probably have to watch what I eat, and that I would probably be considered a high-risk pregnancy because of my age.  Of course, that’s if I get pregnant at all.  Sigh…only a few more days before I find out if this month’s efforts episode was successful. 

Although I ought to be able to carry a baby to full term, there’s still the stigma of having a child after the age of 35 to contend with.  People look at me as if I’m trying to grow a third eye in the middle of my forehead when I tell them I’m trying to get pregnant at this age.  “Why would you possibly want a child now?”  Gee, I dunno…maybe because I couldn’t have one sooner, not that we haven’t been trying…  “Aren’t you a little old to try to have kids now?”  Well, schmartypants, my doctor doesn’t seem to think so, thankyouverymuch.  “You know, if you just lost some weight, you’d probably get pregnant.”  Again, thanks for the oh-so-sage words of advice.  I’ve gained and lost and gained and lost countless times during my marriage, recently losing 70 pounds.  Still no baby.  I really appreciate you bringing up something that I’m more than aware about, though.  It’s not like I don’t wake up with myself every frickin’ morning, and go to bed with myself every frickin’ night.  I believe I’ve noticed that I’m overweight, but thanks again for mentioning it to me, Ms. Obvious.  That really means a lot.     

At least this last time F and I went to visit his family for Christmas I didn’t get the snide comments and hurtful remarks like in the past.  Every other Christmas, all of his immediate family gets together to spend the holidays together.  We’ve traveled to North Carolina, Washington state, New Jersey, and Florida for past holidays.  This year, we went back to North Carolina, to a lovely beachhouse on Ocean Isle Beach. 

Apparently, someone told his family to take it easy on me this year.  Until this past Christmas, every year since we’ve been married, every conversation I had with his family ended with the question of when we were going to have children.  “I’m not sure,” I’d answer, “whenever the good Lord blesses us, I suppose.” 

Then, F’s youngest brother and his wife decided that we were having a Baby Race.  F and I have lost miserably, at least three times over.  They’re the proud parents of a son and two little daughters.  We’re still waiting for one of either flavor.  As long as it’s healthy, I wouldn’t really care what it was.  Hell’s bells, this particular sister-in-law stole my potential baby name for a girl, Lindsay.  She named her first daughter Lindsay Len…ugh.  Nah.  I wasn’t pissed, nor am I now… yeah, right. 

Each time we talk to them, we get the same song and dance from the sister-in-law, “You just don’t know how hard I have it, with three kids.  I’m tired all the time.  You guys have it easy.”  Insensitive, much?? 

At least her husband is more understanding, sorta.  It’s kind of funny; when he was getting ready to go have a vasectomy, he had the nerve to ask his own brother if he wanted some of his sperm, in case F’s swimmers were the issue.  Wow.  I was floored.  We politely refused his generous (?!?) offer.   

After each Christmas, names are drawn within F’s family for the following year’s gift giving.  There are two lists; each adult provides a gift for the adult whose name was chosen for them, and each child does the same for another child.  Five Christmases ago, our unborn, unconceived child was put on the list of children for the next year, thanks to that same insensitive sister-in-law, and a couple of nieces.  Geez, that made me feel great – no pressure there!!  Needless to say, no child of ours existed when the next Christmas rolled around.  You know, the crappy thing is that they probably forgot all about it after bringing it up that day – I haven’t, and probably never will. 

Small wonder I had some degree of trepidation when it came to going to North Carolina for the holidays this past Christmas.  I just didn’t think I could take another comment from my mother-in-law, wanting more grandchildren, and especially wondering when we were going to make her a grandmother again.  I was dreading the “woe is me” attitude from the youngest sister-in-law, stating that we had no idea how hard it was to be a parent. 

F was the last of his siblings to get married, and he’s the last of his siblings to have children.  Don’t think that we don’t hear about it, either.  Or at least we’d heard about it during holidays past.  Not this time around!  I’m not sure who sent out the memo, but not a word was spoken about it this past time.  Perhaps it was because I’d started going to an RE, and they knew it.  Maybe it was because I wound up in the hospital due to female problems and they wrote off the chance that we’d ever have children of our own after that.  Frankly, I don’t know, and don’t bloody care.  I was just grateful for the reprieve.