As I sit here about to take Day 3 of my new birth control pill, I am taunted by the irony that requires me to take them when I never could get pregnant. It reminded me of a poem I wrote last year.
Flash Of Red
I am ready to let go
To give up on the dream
Of holding our newborn son or daughter
I no longer imagine her face
Would his son have his eyes and my hair?
I don’t dream of these things…
Anymore
I want to move on
To different, if not better, dreams
But memories rush in
Painful splashes of red
And tell me I’m not really a woman,
Just a facsimile of one
My hell is this excruciating reminder
Of my failure to give him both of us
My soul as torn to shreds as my insides,
I’m barren like the trees of winter
My mind as twisted as their stark, black limbs
My heart repeatedly crushed,
Just as it beats again
The healing process endless
The pain a relentless rush of red
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Day 48
I am overwhelmed. I want to write, but words do not come easily.
I am job hunting... and it sucks. I have an interview for a job I've had and do not want to have again.
But I need the job. Life requires money, annoying though it is.
*sigh*
And so, my writing for today is simply this blurb about how I want to write but seem to not have the focus.
I am job hunting... and it sucks. I have an interview for a job I've had and do not want to have again.
But I need the job. Life requires money, annoying though it is.
*sigh*
And so, my writing for today is simply this blurb about how I want to write but seem to not have the focus.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Day 47
It's been a while. My head has been too full, and writing would've caused a meltdown I wasn't prepared to handle.
Until today.
My husband works from home. Today he napped during his lunch hour. When his nap was almost over, I went in to snuggle him. I do not know why my mind went where it did... but suddenly, I flashed back to February 2007.
It was Valentine's Day week... I was about to start a new pack of birth control pills. He and I were sitting at the table. I can't remember the words that were said. I think there were few. It was more about gestures. He took the pack of pills from me. He said something about maybe we should just throw those pills out.
I was a few weeks from 31. We'd been married almost three years, and together for eight... and I'd been hearing my biological clock ticking since I was 25 - when I didn't even actually want a kid. I was utterly ecstatic. He said, "Happy Valentine's Day."
I'd found out I had PCOS in 2004, just a few short months after we were married. I was crushed. All I ever dreamed of was having a family. I wanted to stay at home with my kids, and he was 100% supportive of that. It was what he wanted, too. I figured maybe someday I'd go to graduate school and get a teaching degree, but I wanted to be a hands on mom.
I shouldn't have been so hopeful. Not when I knew about the PCOS. Still, the reproductive endocrinologist in Manhattan had told me my best odds of getting pregnant would be in those first few cycles off the Pill. I did all things you're supposed to do. Bought the books. Bought the basal thermometer. Took my temp. Peed on ovulation sticks.
And I ovulated. I had a "perfect" 28 day cycle. I did not, however, get pregnant.
I remember sitting at my birthday dinner badly wanting a margarita, but being unwilling to drink even one because I *might* be pregnant. The weekend it became pretty clear I wasn't, my husband took to Black Hawk to distract me. We hadn't been yet, and we wanted to see what it was like. We gambled and I ordered a sloe gin fizz, which was exciting because no one ever knows how to make that drink.
I need the distraction desperately. A few days later, when my fears were confirmed with a bright splash of red, I was devastated. I moved on, though, thinking... next cycle. That was a bust, too. By May, I knew. I knew that it wasn't going to happen.
I tried to convince myself I was wrong. I'd met a lot of awesome women on a site called Soul Cysters. I read with excitement the stories of each of their cycles, and cried with them when they didn't get pregnant. I cried with them - and for me - when they did. I knew it happened.
I went on Clomid. I did four cycles. With each passing one, I had more and more pain. And still no BFP (big fat positive - as in pregnancy test). The pain wasn't just emotional. It was physical. It was excruciating.
After two years, I forced myself to realize that it wasn't going to happen. Unable to tolerate another crushing disappointment - and the brutal pain that would come with it - I went to my doctor and asked to go back on the Pill. It regulated my cycles again... but it did nothing for the pain. I knew what the pain was. At 25, my aunt had a complete hysterectomy because of severe endometriosis. At 50, the told my mother she should have one for the same reason. I'd been hit with a double whammy. Not only did I have PCOS... I had endometriosis. Which meant all that time and emotional energy on fertility treatments (not to mention money on books, devices, etc), was for naught. I was unlikely to ever have gotten pregnant anyway, even without the PCOS.
Ironically, one of the best "treatments" for endo is pregnancy. In my case, with the PCOS and the endometrial issues, I was not likely to ever have gotten there. I was unwilling to go through expensive IVF (and they may not have been willing to do it anyway) or IUI. It was pointless.
For the past six months, I've been getting a shot of Lupron monthly. It's a medication that induces medical menopause. It's used to help combat endometriosis. I had thought I'd be getting a Mirena IUD at the end, but now my gynocologist is saying he thinks birth control pills would be a better course of action. Which makes me laugh bitterly. I don't need birth control pills... and yet I do. My alternative is a painful, agonizing one - on many levels.
Maybe I thought of that day nearly three years ago because I am seeing the doctor next week to figure out where to go from here in treating the endometriosis. I don't know. All I know is, I was struck by an overwhelming pain. It was that kick in the stomach you hear people talking about. It just plain hurt.
Tonight one of my best friend's is about to become an aunt. She knows the pain I am feeling very well, as she has dealt with infertility for almost ten years. I will be an aunt in March or April, but given the relationship between my mother and I and my sister and I, it is unlikely that I will ever know my nephew. It makes me feel horrible to say that there's a part of me that is grateful I don't have to be there for his arrival. Of course, she's the most immature 18 year-old on the planet and has never held a job and will barely graduate from high school, so there are many, many reasons for mixed emotions where her pregnancy is concerned.
But I digress. I've been watching my friend's sister-in-law update her status from the hospital... and I am SO happy for her and her husband. It's weird to think that my best friend's "little" brother is about to be a daddy, but they are happy, settled and they deserve this joy. I know that when my friend holds her new little niece she will cry tears of bitter happiness... her heart will break for what isn't hers, but will be full of love and joy for her brother and his wife and for the new little girl in her life that she'll spoil as she would her own (and maybe a bit more!).
I started to cry reading the status updates, and was back in that moment this afternoon. I've let go of the dream. When does the pain go away? When do I stop being thrown back in time to that moment of hope, that minute when my dreams were right there, nearly tangible? I don't know how long this hurts. I suspect forever. I suspect it is a wound that will partially heal repeatedly, with a thicker scab every time, and yet one that can suddenly be torn off without warning.
I don't think I will ever be healed from the loss of this dream. I think that no matter how much time passes, it will haunt me always. I will never be free of the ghost of what could've been, and no matter how much they love me, only the friends who have been through this can know the anguish. Only they can know the gut-wrenching pain that strikes as suddenly as a viper.
When this pain washes over me, I feel alone in a way I cannot describe, and need, more than ever, the arms of those who love me.
I am adrift... and need an anchor only love can provide.
Until today.
My husband works from home. Today he napped during his lunch hour. When his nap was almost over, I went in to snuggle him. I do not know why my mind went where it did... but suddenly, I flashed back to February 2007.
It was Valentine's Day week... I was about to start a new pack of birth control pills. He and I were sitting at the table. I can't remember the words that were said. I think there were few. It was more about gestures. He took the pack of pills from me. He said something about maybe we should just throw those pills out.
I was a few weeks from 31. We'd been married almost three years, and together for eight... and I'd been hearing my biological clock ticking since I was 25 - when I didn't even actually want a kid. I was utterly ecstatic. He said, "Happy Valentine's Day."
I'd found out I had PCOS in 2004, just a few short months after we were married. I was crushed. All I ever dreamed of was having a family. I wanted to stay at home with my kids, and he was 100% supportive of that. It was what he wanted, too. I figured maybe someday I'd go to graduate school and get a teaching degree, but I wanted to be a hands on mom.
I shouldn't have been so hopeful. Not when I knew about the PCOS. Still, the reproductive endocrinologist in Manhattan had told me my best odds of getting pregnant would be in those first few cycles off the Pill. I did all things you're supposed to do. Bought the books. Bought the basal thermometer. Took my temp. Peed on ovulation sticks.
And I ovulated. I had a "perfect" 28 day cycle. I did not, however, get pregnant.
I remember sitting at my birthday dinner badly wanting a margarita, but being unwilling to drink even one because I *might* be pregnant. The weekend it became pretty clear I wasn't, my husband took to Black Hawk to distract me. We hadn't been yet, and we wanted to see what it was like. We gambled and I ordered a sloe gin fizz, which was exciting because no one ever knows how to make that drink.
I need the distraction desperately. A few days later, when my fears were confirmed with a bright splash of red, I was devastated. I moved on, though, thinking... next cycle. That was a bust, too. By May, I knew. I knew that it wasn't going to happen.
I tried to convince myself I was wrong. I'd met a lot of awesome women on a site called Soul Cysters. I read with excitement the stories of each of their cycles, and cried with them when they didn't get pregnant. I cried with them - and for me - when they did. I knew it happened.
I went on Clomid. I did four cycles. With each passing one, I had more and more pain. And still no BFP (big fat positive - as in pregnancy test). The pain wasn't just emotional. It was physical. It was excruciating.
After two years, I forced myself to realize that it wasn't going to happen. Unable to tolerate another crushing disappointment - and the brutal pain that would come with it - I went to my doctor and asked to go back on the Pill. It regulated my cycles again... but it did nothing for the pain. I knew what the pain was. At 25, my aunt had a complete hysterectomy because of severe endometriosis. At 50, the told my mother she should have one for the same reason. I'd been hit with a double whammy. Not only did I have PCOS... I had endometriosis. Which meant all that time and emotional energy on fertility treatments (not to mention money on books, devices, etc), was for naught. I was unlikely to ever have gotten pregnant anyway, even without the PCOS.
Ironically, one of the best "treatments" for endo is pregnancy. In my case, with the PCOS and the endometrial issues, I was not likely to ever have gotten there. I was unwilling to go through expensive IVF (and they may not have been willing to do it anyway) or IUI. It was pointless.
For the past six months, I've been getting a shot of Lupron monthly. It's a medication that induces medical menopause. It's used to help combat endometriosis. I had thought I'd be getting a Mirena IUD at the end, but now my gynocologist is saying he thinks birth control pills would be a better course of action. Which makes me laugh bitterly. I don't need birth control pills... and yet I do. My alternative is a painful, agonizing one - on many levels.
Maybe I thought of that day nearly three years ago because I am seeing the doctor next week to figure out where to go from here in treating the endometriosis. I don't know. All I know is, I was struck by an overwhelming pain. It was that kick in the stomach you hear people talking about. It just plain hurt.
Tonight one of my best friend's is about to become an aunt. She knows the pain I am feeling very well, as she has dealt with infertility for almost ten years. I will be an aunt in March or April, but given the relationship between my mother and I and my sister and I, it is unlikely that I will ever know my nephew. It makes me feel horrible to say that there's a part of me that is grateful I don't have to be there for his arrival. Of course, she's the most immature 18 year-old on the planet and has never held a job and will barely graduate from high school, so there are many, many reasons for mixed emotions where her pregnancy is concerned.
But I digress. I've been watching my friend's sister-in-law update her status from the hospital... and I am SO happy for her and her husband. It's weird to think that my best friend's "little" brother is about to be a daddy, but they are happy, settled and they deserve this joy. I know that when my friend holds her new little niece she will cry tears of bitter happiness... her heart will break for what isn't hers, but will be full of love and joy for her brother and his wife and for the new little girl in her life that she'll spoil as she would her own (and maybe a bit more!).
I started to cry reading the status updates, and was back in that moment this afternoon. I've let go of the dream. When does the pain go away? When do I stop being thrown back in time to that moment of hope, that minute when my dreams were right there, nearly tangible? I don't know how long this hurts. I suspect forever. I suspect it is a wound that will partially heal repeatedly, with a thicker scab every time, and yet one that can suddenly be torn off without warning.
I don't think I will ever be healed from the loss of this dream. I think that no matter how much time passes, it will haunt me always. I will never be free of the ghost of what could've been, and no matter how much they love me, only the friends who have been through this can know the anguish. Only they can know the gut-wrenching pain that strikes as suddenly as a viper.
When this pain washes over me, I feel alone in a way I cannot describe, and need, more than ever, the arms of those who love me.
I am adrift... and need an anchor only love can provide.
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