Infertility Bites

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

Howdy January 28, 2008

Filed under: pregnant hopes and dreams — vamplita @ 4:11 pm
Tags: , , ,

Not truly sure why I decided to blog.  Perhaps it’s because I have things I want to get off my chest, and can’t tell my husband, F.  Maybe it’s because I’m trying like hell to get pregnant, and need somewhere to vent when things don’t go my way.  It could even be due to the fact that I’ll be (ugh) forty years old this next weekend, and I’m scared to death that I won’t be able to conceive because of my bloody PCOS.  Yeppers – it could be any or all of the above. 

 Take for instance this past weekend… my OPK (ovulation predictor kit) finally showed something I’d never seen before… an LH surge, which meant I would ovulate within the next 24 to 48 hours.  When I went in for my ultrasound (u/s) that afternoon, I told the nurse of what I thought was my good news.  She said, “Really?  Eww… it didn’t look to me as if your eggs had gotten much bigger than the baseline at the start of your cycle… well, just in case you already ovulated, and the eggs were released, have sex tonight and tomorrow night, just to be on the safe side.”

So, vamplita goes home, with her marching orders in hand.  F and I knew that this would possibly be the night they’d want us to have sex.  He even took Friday and Saturday off, planning ahead.  (That hubby of mine is a definite Planner, folks.)  I get home and tell F, “Hey, good news… we’ll get to have sex, ’cause I’ve ovulated.”

This is the response I got:  “Ugh, I’m not feeling good, honey.  My stomach’s killing me.”  I’m thinking, great – that’s just frickin’ great.  I try not to show too much annoyance, thinking he’ll get over it, and, if necessary, “take one for the team”, right???  After all, he does understand that there’s only a damned small window of opportunity, right?  I know I explained it to him before this.  I again mentioned to him that we only had that Friday night and Saturday night to try to get my eggs fertilized with his swimmers.  “OK, ” was his response.

Do I even have to tell you that we didn’t have sex on Friday night?  Does that shock you?  It did me.  How many times have we had sex when I didn’t exactly feel up to it, but I did it because he wanted it, and I wanted to please him??  (Mind you, during those times, I’d wanted it too, but I wasn’t feeling well.)  God, I was pissed beyond pissed when I woke up the next day, without having had so much as a bloody grope.

 We did have sex the next night… make that 4AM Sunday morning, thankyouverymuch.  Guess who (again) didn’t feel well?  Guess who started watching (of all things) Godfather II on A&E?  Hardly a short cinematic event, now is it?  I watched it with him, but was sitting there in a nightshirt and nothing else.  You’d think that would’ve done something to make him want to have sex.  Oh, he mentioned taking a shower, but nope…no shower until the movie was over. 

Now, I’m not usually one to get down on her knees to pray to the good Lord above, but I did that Sunday morning before hubby got out of his shower.  I kept praying over and over the same words, “Please, God, let me get pregnant this time.”  I couldn’t help but think that perhaps F was dragging his feet out of some subconscious rebellion against having to have things so rigidly scheduled.  Maybe he resented not being able to father a child without medical intervention due to his wife’s irregular menstrual cycles; I don’t know. 

After we were finished with our babymaking session, I began to cry as I was laying there.  I was hoping so very fervently for fertilization to occur, in spite of what seemed to be my husband’s (subconscious) best efforts to sabotage us this month. 

It was so very important to me that we follow the doctor’s advice to a T, since I hadn’t experienced that clearly-defined a window of opportunity in over 15 years.  And here we were, barely following the directives given according to our deadline.  Hell yeah, I cried out of frustration, relief that we’d finally had sex, release of stress, quixotic hope that it might’ve worked this time.    

 Long story short?  If any of my (undersized) eggs were fertilized, it’ll be a bloody miracle, but I keep hoping…

I’ll find out for sure on the sixth of next month.  Keep your fingers crossed!