Sunday, January 30, 2011

The Intoxication of Hope

Hope--it is what I am filled with right now.  It is what I am filled with every time I stop grieving my last unsuccessful cycle after that damn period had to come and snatch every morsel of optimism away.  I imagine her cackling wickedly as she does so, that little bitch!  Tearing apart my dreams and insides every time.

But hope is what comes after the tears are gone.  We begin doing everything we "should".  Prescribed sex which is sometimes sensual and enjoyable as it should be and unfortunately, sometimes more like a chore because we are tired after a long day of work.  Still, it needs to be done.  I begin taking the OPKs and charting my temperature, waiting to confirm that my body is showing any signs of fertility whatsoever.  I dream of my little bean, coaxing it to come down this time, right into my womb, we are ready!  (This session of conversing with my unborn child, of course, is followed by a long bout of assuring myself that I am absolutely not insane.)  And then, after the ultra sexy act of peeing on a stick, I finally get the smiley face and we venture eagerly to the boudoir.

That sexual encounter is always full of hope.  There is no chore here, we are ready to do this, and we are ready to do this right!  As we stare into each others eyes, we seem to get lost in the hope surging through the other.  If eyes are the window to one's soul, then at these moments I can see right into his soul, flooded with hope and promise.

Then, we wait.  We wait two weeks.  It is unbearable.  I feel every twinge and every last one makes me think this is it!  That is my little bean burrowing into my uterus!

The feeling of this hope is intoxicating.  At times I flashback to wild college nights where I, all smiles and lighthearted laughs, downed a line of shots with good friends.  We were carefree, loving every minute of the experience.  I was there to soak it in.  And just as if I were laying out in my bikini, I let every inch of myself be slathered with unadulterated happiness.  That is exactly what it feels like now, only my drug of choice is now hope.  I am drunk with hope, high on the idea of a potential conception.  Still, just as I experienced when I was younger while knocking 'em back and dancing on bars, a familiar choking feeling inevitably rises in my throat.  My stomach turns, I grimace.  This was not all I thought it was going to be.  It is not the carefree ride I signed up for, I think.  Luckily, (or unluckily, if I were dreaming of morning sickness), I am not about to hurl into a toilet or trash can as I have on those nights of wild binge drinking.  But it feels very much the same.

Hope is intoxicating and it can transport me to the highest, most blissful places.  But at times, it also makes me miserably ill.  Why would I be hopeful? I begin to ask myself.  What is the point?  And then, I lay, draped over a pile of pillows rather than a trash can, purging myself of that which once took over my body.  Now the toxic thoughts that barrage my mind leave a bitter taste in my mouth and I wonder if this low is worth the high.  I remember a time where these moments only came after I confirmed that my lovely period had indeed arrived.  But now, they can come at any time.  It is not enough to make me want to give up hope, but it always makes me second guess how I let myself get that inebriated.  

I am sure I will continue getting wasted on the sweet stuff.  Rough nights never stopped me before.  For hope is intoxicating, even if it is ultimately nauseating.  Maybe one of these days I'll learn how to hold my hope and maybe, just maybe once the smile and laughter will remain and the outcome will be beautiful!  My beautiful little bean!

Friday, January 28, 2011


In the spirit of sharing resources out there for those searching for answers and support, I am also providing a link to Resolve, The National Infertility Association.  The first time I heard of Resolve was through a friend who had suffered infertility and recently adopted her first child.  Through her journey, she found Resolve and became active in the organization which, among many other things, runs support groups across the country.

The second time I heard of Resolve was at the end of our first fertility appointment.  At times, it is hard to say where I am exactly in this journey.  Am I at the point where I need a support group?  A point where I begin to truly use the word infertile?  Am I headed there?  I am scared to pinpoint where I am, scared to put myself in a group, to begin using terminology that is daunting in its very definition.  Recently, I found myself at a point where I needed to find some sort of support and soon found myself on an internet search that would eventually lead me to an incredible community.  Maybe someday, I will be to the point I need others I can speak about issues with face to face.  Maybe you are there.

What I do know is that I am thankful that I have already heard of Resolve not only through a friend, but also my doctor.  I feel that there is a good sign mixed up in there!


A community for all

I am new to this blogging world and as such, am just learning about the huge community out there welcoming all who are trying to conceive, trying to pin down their fertility, or struggling with infertility.  It is funny how you find these things.  It seems like an underground world almost.  I didn't find any of the more prominent, well written blogs by a simple google search, but rather by referral.  After a ranting email typed furiously to my friend in the wee hours of the morning, I received a link for a moving post.  The post was from a blog she follows, having dealt with infertility issues herself.

The writing definitely spoke to me as I read about the author's struggle to hold herself together in a grocery store parking lot--the exact place I seem to have an uncanny knack for loosing all possible composure.  But even more than that one post, is the community that I discovered with this blog.  I know many who visit here are from TCOYF, which is, itself, a wonderful community.  But did you know there was more out there?  I am elated by this news!  If you're anything like me, TCOYFers, you're on the computer always anyway, right?  Checking your chart, counting days, scrolling through the Forums, searching for a pregnancy chart that resembles your own?  : )

Maybe I am the only one who hasn't run across this, but I still feel a duty to share these sites in case you are looking and lost, much like myself.  So, if you are searching for outlets and a community to share your emotions and struggles, it is there.  The two blogs I have recently added have proved incredible.  They are Hannah Wept, Sarah Laughed & Stirrup Queens.  In my explanation of these, I hope I do them justice, as I am just beginning to explore them and the blogging world myself.
Stirrup Queens is a great resource that will link you to all of the ALI (adoption, loss, infertility) blogs out there.  Here is a link to the blogroll she runs, which includes 52 categories and 2712 blogs!  Who knew there were so many others out there!  A big shoutout to Mel at Stirrup Queens for providing this lifeline!

                Stirrup Queen's Blogroll

She also runs a page called Lost and Found and Connections Abound, which certainly speak to the ALI community.  Here, people can submit news which is then compiled in a newsletter and published.  It is a quick and easy way to see news about new blogs, reach people, and stay up to date on people's journeys.

                 Lost and Found and Connections Abound

Hannah Wept, Sarah Laughed is actually from the creator of the What IF? video you may or may not have seen.  If you have not viewed this video, you must.  It speaks so bluntly about every what if running through the minds of those dealing with these issues, you will feel as if it could be your very words.

I encourage everyone to check out these blogs, knowing that they opened my eyes up to a much larger forum, while simultaneously bringing a bit of relief.  Here is the link to the What IF? video, but before you click play, please go get your tissues!

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

For Breaking my Solitude . . . Thank You

Is it completely bizarre to post that I am ridiculously excited to get my first comment?  Oh well if it is, I am through the roof!  Through the roof simply because it feels as if someone has thrown me a lifeline and that I am not alone in this journey.

Since I began, I was never, and am still not sure who is out there reading any of this--if they get far, or click away quickly.  What I do know is that writing this blog has made such a difference in my emotional state.  Since I began, I feel as if I am no longer continually trying to push emotions away, packing them tight until they weigh me down so much that I simply crumble.  Rather, I find that I am letting myself feel whatever may come.  When the feelings surface, I jot something down.  And later, I return to my chair and get it out.  I get it all out.  I believe it is this purging of the mind combined with the crafting of words that has helped me do something constructive with the feelings and, ultimately, made just the writing of this blog such a personal saving grace.  What I didn't realize was that a simple comment could be my saving grace as well.  So thank you to anyone and everyone who, though unknown to me, are still here with their anonymous support.  Thank you for breaking my solitude.    

Sunday, January 23, 2011


Friday night, after a delicious night of tantalizing sushi, we settled down by the fire to watch Vicky Cristina Barcelona.  To summarize, the film is about two young American girls who vacation in Spain for a summer and the antics that ensue.  I don't want to give too much away, so I will not discuss the plot.  But, I will say that as the viewer, you experience each character's love, passions and deep seeded emotions, rage and discontentment.  It is easy to find a character with whom to sympathize and the story and its meaning stick with you long after the credits run.  In the end, what stuck with me was the commentary on the contented mind, body, and soul.

Having traveled a great deal when I was younger, I read my own experiences into my understanding of this film.  I know what it is like to travel to far off places and become absolutely enamored with their beauty, their simplicity, their power.  I cannot count the times that I have sat at a museum or a side street cafe relaxing, watching the world pass me by, wishing that this was my life.  I have entered Buddhists temples barefoot, lit incense, and settled in for a meditation session, trying to mentally transport myself to this life.  I have hiked mountains in the dawn to see the sunrise at the precipice, skinny dipped in hidden waterfalls, and lounged on beaches that seem like they are at the edge of the earth.  And every time, I thought, I wish this was my life.  I have melded with the indigenous people eating street food and respectfully celebrated their holidays.  I have even become a real part of some families and now have "sisters" and "brothers" across the world.  As I write this, I miss each and every experience I have had abroad.  I want to go back, feel carefree, experience beauty.  I want that to be my life.  

But, just as I have experienced when returning to everyday life after a long sojourn or even short vacation, the key to contentment is perspective.  These are all wonderful experiences and I count myself very lucky to have had each and every one.  Though I sit here, still wishing myself back to far off places, I always remind myself that that, those dreamy experiences and incredible bonds I have formed, that is my life.  I have been on countless trips with others who constantly muse, in a snarky tone, "Look at that house.  Don't you wish that was yours?  It would be great to be them!"  I want to shake them and scream, because what they are missing is that they are here!  For a month in a beach house!  Don't they realize how fortunate that makes them?  I wish that they would open their eyes and realize that this is their life!  Their discontentment in the midst of their fortune is unbearable.  

To me, the message in the movie was similar--so many souls are tragically discontented, unsatisfied because they live their life without perspective.  When one travels, almost always one wants to immediately transport themselves to that life, that world, wishing desperately it was theirs.  It seems so much simpler, so much more carefree.  But so often, what people do not have at these points is perspective.  They forget that this is indeed, vacation.  It is their life, but it is not everyday life.  Who wouldn't feel carefree and enamored on vacation?

It may be a stretch to connect this to a fertility journey, but I find that that the idea of maintaining perspective through difficult times is imperative to one's survival.  The situations I find myself in that challenge my perspective on my fertility are well documented here already.  Indeed, while I sit now, trying to list them, it seems as if everything challenges my perspective these days--from doctor's appointments to simple conversations to . . . water!  I suppose though, that the situations that challenge it the most are those where I experience the happiness of a complete family--watching mother and baby, hearing the joy in your friend's voice when she shows you her sonogram, seeing a son smile at their daddy.  For me, tears well up and I get that choking sensation in my throat because I wish that was my life.  

But, to put it in perspective, I need to remember, I must remind myself that this will be my life.  It is not my life now, but it will be.  Someday, somehow, we will be there, with a baby, our little bean.  Some of the people I see in this stage of their life have gone through a great deal of heartache to get where they are today.  For others, it was easy.  But I do not sit, barraging them in my head with snarky comments.  At least, I don't usually.  I cannot.  Because, if I put everything in perspective, I am happy for them and their joy.  Because the new life they are fostering enriches my own life immensely.  And because, ultimately, I know that someday that will be my life.  It will.

H20 & Saliva

Who actually stresses about water and saliva?  uhhh . . . This girl!

Though I am embarrassed to admit this, yesterday I was literally a pile on the floor sobbing about . . . water.  Among the many recommendations I have received to up my fertility, the latest is "drink at least 90 ounces of water a day."  Now, I drink a lot of water.  I love water.  But 90 ounces?  After measuring it out, I realized I probably drink about 60-70 ounces of water, while also getting more fluids through milk and orange juice.  Of course, you would think drinking water is about the easiest thing I could do.  Still, I have roadblocks - like it is hard to remember to drink throughout the day, I can't go to the restroom whenever I'd like or often at all (as I am a teacher), I won't drink the water from school, etc.  Such little things, but these little things stress me out!  Of course I will suck it up and get drinking, but this is great example of yet another thing to monitor.  I guess today I will have to buy a bigger water bottle!

Oh, and saliva.  Having been an avid user of pre-seed, the sperm friendly lubricant, since trying to conceive, I was also told by a doctor that all lubricants can hurt sperm and that they recommend saliva.  WHAT???  Now, as an educated woman, I am fairly picky with my sources.  I do not sit around finding random websites with no credit and quote them like the Bible or the Koran.  I use credible sources.  And every source I have ever found states that saliva kills sperm.  This makes complete sense as it is full of bacteria, not to mention that quick drying saliva doesn't really act as much of a lubricant at all.  So now I am stuck in another awkward place, wondering what to do about saliva.

Agggh!  Again, I must ask why do I have to worry about any of this?  Although, I do admit, I find it a bit humorous that these are some of my most pressing worries right now.  Perspective.

Saturday, January 22, 2011


I am so surprised that I haven't written all week.  When I started this blog I felt like I could post every hour I had so much on my mind.  I suppose I haven't written this week because I haven't needed to write.  As an outlet to get all my overwhelming emotions out, I am sure that I will write more often when I am down than when I am up, though my initial purpose was to document the good and the bad times equally.

When I opened this page this morning to write, I was trying to find the words to share how extraordinary my husband's love and support has been throughout this process.  I sat, conjuring up images in my head of times a simple touch or look has saved me.  I reminisced on words of wisdom that have come at the exact moment I was about to abandon all sanity.  These are all things I definitely want to write about, things I want to document and share.  Yet, while sitting, searching my head and heart for the words, I suddenly became vehemently bitter.

And so, this post has changed.  What is to come, you may ask . . .  A pity party?  Yes.  A lamenting why me rant?  Undoubtedly.  A waterfall of things I simply have to let pour out of me less they drown me?  Absolutely.

As I was musing on the rock that is my husband, I did hear his words, feel his comforting touch and looks down to my soul.  But what I also experienced were the events and feelings that made those very lifelines necessary.  In a matter of minutes, I relived negative pregnancy tests, hours researching positions and timing, dietary changes, and obsessive ovulation testing.  My mind ventured back to the dark places where it mocked my fertility as if it already knew that I could indeed, never conceive.  At this point, nothing is known.  We have started our fertility testing, but there are no more answers than there were months ago--a fact that makes the questions all the more meddlesome.

While I realize that we are on the path to answers, my mind is still here now.  It is still asking a very simple question:  why?  Last night, I bemoaned to a friend that, "I am so annoyed that it takes me anything more than just fucking to get pregnant!"  (If you are offended, I apologize for the language, but my crass choice of words seem to help color my current jaded view of this entire process.)

Why do I, under doctor's orders, have to gain even more weight while also increasing my physical activity?  I am sorry to those who may sneer at this dilemma, thinking that it may be a wonderful problem to have.  But please understand, for me it is a real challenge, and one that may drastically alter my ability to conceive.  This prescription currently has me sitting down with a dietician and personal trainer for consults, consumed with researching whether building muscle, packing on the fat, or both is optimal for my situation.  I am planning my meals with measuring cups and a scale, counting calories and fat grams, trying to understand how I can gain weight and exercise simultaneously.  And all the while, I am obsessing about how to gain weight and still eat heart healthy as to avoid the cholesterol baggage my family has so generously blessed me with.

Why do I have to chart every cycle, spend a fortune on ovulation predictor kits?  Why do I become giddy at the sight of a smiley face after I pee on a stick when we never end up catching that little egg anyway?  Why do I feel every twinge possible in the two week wait and become optimistically hopeful, only to have to admit to myself later that they were absolutely nothing?  Why do I have to worry about oils and lubricants, vitamin and mineral supplements?  Why do we (now also by doctor orders) have to schedule having sex every other day?  Though we generally have no problem having sex, the idea of it being prescribed in certain increments is incredibly unnerving, as is the idea that  if we want it two days in a row, we can't have it?  Talk about sexual frustration!  Oh, and while I'm on the subject of sex, why do I have to prop my hips up, holding my legs up in the air to help the little guys out with gravity.  Aiding gravity is doing nothing more for me than assuring that I finish in the most unattractive, comical way possible.  Why do I work to calm myself, meditate, hoping that that the peace inside will bring the babies into my body?  Why do I have to find times to squeeze appointments into my schedule?  Be poked, prodded, scrutinized?  Go through the anxiety of waiting for test results?  Why do I feel as if I have to tell everyone we are trying to conceive, thinking this is the only way I will get the medical, dietary, physical fitness, and emotional support I need throughout this time, thinking that my sharing this will help give reason and understanding to those times I seem dismal and distant?  Why do I have to do any of this?  Why can't it just happen for me as it seems to for so many others?

I realize that I am not the only person in this place, desperately asking why.  I empathize with every why out there as I sit and wonder what whys may be on other hopeful mothers lists.  If there are others out there, what are your whys?  And what do you do with them?  How do you cope?  I realize that there may or may not be many more crushing whys in my future.  I realize that these aren't all of my whys right now, but that I am exhausted by documenting them.  I realize that my current list of whys may look insignificant compared to other's lists.  If it causes any angst, I sincerely apologize.  But this is where I am now and this is how I feel.  

I suppose it was one of these very "why me?" moments that inspired this entire blog in the first place.  It was the moment last cycle where I realized I was 10 days past ovulation, traditionally the day I start to torment myself with pregnancy tests that inevitably come up negative.  I didn't take a test that morning, but I did realize where I was in my cycle.  I did recognize the hope rising in my body.  But, that morning I shut it down.  Why, I asked myself angrily, why would I get optimistic right now if sorrow is bound to follow when I find out I am yet again, not pregnant?

As I recall that moment, I wonder what my reaction will be this time around.  And the next time, and the next time. . .  What will happen when I hit that 10 dpo marker that so defines my mental state?  Is it wrong to deny hope when it fills the heart?  Is acknowledging those hopeful moments the only saving grace I really have?  I don't have answers to any of the questions that I raise today, but it would not be honest of me if I didn't admit that they were in me.  The only wish, I suppose, is that they do not eat away at me, consume me, become me.  I will have them, of course.  We all will.  The struggle, the question, is how to not allow them to overtake you?  If only that question could be answered!  

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

The Appointment

I am delighted to report that our first fertility appointment was a remarkable success.  I have heard so many horror stories that I was terrified, as I'm sure you could grasp from my previous posts.  I had visions of an uninviting, cold room; I could almost hear the scoffing at my charts; I could feel the anxiety rising in my throat.  But, very fortunately, there was none of that.  I was comfortable and there was laughing and jokes rather than scoffs.  And most surprisingly, I actually feel like the entire appointment has dramatically helped ease all anxieties!  I am so pleasantly surprised, so taken aback by my own emotions!

I keep waiting for the unpleasant thoughts and dark times to creep back, wondering when they will surface. I find myself checking my emotional state often, asking myself, "How are you doing? You doing ok?  Is it all coming back?"  I wait for a second, mentally scanning my body and mind for those wretched feelings.  "No?  Wow!  Nothing there!  Well, ok then,"  I say to myself unexpectedly, completely baffled that I am just fine.

I suppose that this is due to the empowering nature of simply taking charge.  I feel that through this appointment I have taken charge of this situation.  There were no tests performed, no answers given, but the process has started and that is very reassuring.  It is bad enough worrying about getting pregnant, that when you are worrying simultaneously if you can get pregnant, things get a bit overwhelming to say the least.  But the mere act of making an appointment and sitting down made it all much more manageable.

I suppose, to put it all into a very corny analogy, this is a bit what it feels like....Previously, it was as if a dark cloud was hanging over me.  One that I sat under just wondering when it will really open up, when will the storm come?  When will the deluge come down on me?  In no way do I expect sunny skies from this day on, but at least for now, I am no longer worrying myself with the storm, but more so, I am looking forward to the weather report.  Oh, so very corny, I admit.  It is so hard to put all these emotions into words that convey exactly what I am feeling.  This is the best I can do!

Monday, January 17, 2011

Rise Above

While curling up last night and reading more of my new book, Eat, Pray, Love I came across something so meaningful and empowering to me right now.  Gilbert explains that there is a notion in Yoga where Yogis point to mistaken identity as the reason for the human mind's inability to sustain contentment and feel a calm.

         We're miserable because we think that we are mere individuals, alone with our fears and flaws and resentments and mortality.  We wrongly believe that our limited little egos constitute our whole
         entire nature.  We have failed to recognize our deeper divine character.  We don't realize that 
         somewhere within us all, there does exist a supreme Self who is eternally at peace.  That supreme
         Self is our true identity, universal and divine.  

I love that idea and take real comfort in knowing that If I try hard enough, I can truly transcend the worry and the fear and find my inner calm.  However hard it is to imagine that somewhere inside me resides a small but powerful fragment that is eternally at peace, it is extraordinarily comforting and empowering.  

So this is where my head has been this morning as I prepare for the appointment.  T minus one hour and fifteen minutes right now.  I have been counting down the minutes like I'm anxiously awaiting the launch of a rocket at Kennedy Space Center!

Now if any of you are like me, you enjoy a generous dose of useless reality television.  My personal line-up is spearheaded by The Real Housewives series, lightened by some entertaining but heart wrenching Giuliana and Bill, and spiced up with those crazy ass Kardashians!  (Please don't think any less of me, I beg of you!)  Trash, I know.  But, as I found today, you never know when their brilliance will actually strike and make a lasting impact on you.  

For instance, this morning, while in the shower, I kept hearing the lyrics to an Atlanta housewife's song "Rise Above".  Now I know no more lyrics than "I rise above", but these three words made all the difference in me today as I sought that inner peace with warm water running over the very body that is about to undergo a great deal of scrutiny.  I feel it is my mantra for the day.  

I rise above

I like that.  Now let's just hope that my egg's theme song isn't the other Real Housewives hit, Tardy for the Party!  That would be terrible!

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Fear - Seeing the doctor about our Fertility for the very first time

In a few hours I will be sitting in a small room with my husband, awkwardly awaiting the moment that that door opens and we will finally see the very person who just might deliver the best or the worst news of our lives.  Maybe I'll be fully clothed in my high heel boots that usually give me so much confidence, tapping my foot nervously, or maybe I'll be in a robe and socks feeling uncomfortable that the open back is exposing me and lamenting that I look like I just rolled out of bed to sneak into the kitchen for a midnight snack.  Maybe I will be right next to my husband and I can hold him--his leg, his hand--and I can feel his touch when he squeezes my hand when he senses I need something.  Or, maybe I'll be across the room settling for eye contact and understanding smiles, wishing desperately that I could be enveloped in his safe arms that shield me from the harshness of the world.

The questions are endless and nauseating.  These are the worries that don't matter--the uncomfortable silences, the finding a way to candidly talk about your entire sex life, the cringes as someone pokes and prods at your skin and goods in front of your husband.  And even though I don't want them to cross my mind in fear that my conjuring them up might give them the permission to surface and gnaw away at me all night, there are the real fears, stalking me.  

What if there is something wrong with his sperm?  Can this be reversed?  What if blood work shows a deficit in me that presents an enormous hurdle for us?  What if we are told that our odds of conceiving are shockingly low?  I know that there are so many different things, male and female factors that can affect conception, that this small list doesn't do the profession of reproductive endocrinology its due in any way.  And I am terrified of each and every one--those I have run across while anxiously biting my nails obsessing over internet fertility resources and those I am completely oblivious to as I absentmindedly rub my stomach, dreaming and worrying, dreaming and worrying, wondering why there is nothing there.  I am worried about all of it.  But, what if I go away with nothing?  I don't expect a great deal of answers tomorrow at our first appointment, but how long will it take to get answers?  In that wait, what will my state be?

I honestly can't imagine the following days being worse than the past days.  Still, there is something about your first fertility appointment that excites you with the promise of answers and solutions and an entirely different thing that paralyzes you, as if your decision to seek help makes it a foregone conclusions that there are serious problems here.

So, true to form, I have now walked you through one of my near breakdowns and now, true to form I am picking myself back up, putting the pieces back together.  I am sitting straighter in my computer chair, the tears are no longer allowed to flow, and I occasionally shake my head as if to shake all the pain, doubt, and fear right off my skin.  I know my fears, but that doesn't mean I need to let them smother me.

And, so tonight, I believe I will strive to worry about backless robes and looking silly in stocking feet.  I will wonder if my legs are shaved well enough to be in stir-ups and remind myself incessantly to put lotion on my legs tomorrow morning!  I will roll my eyes when I think of the inevitable cold of the table seeping through the rough, cheap paper they put down to make you oh so comfortable.  I will worry about finding my voice so that I can truly ask all my questions and kindly demand all possible tests.  I will choose my outfit and insist on high heel boots, so that I at least have the facade of confidence when I walk into the office armed with ovulation charts and knowledge to prove that I don't need fertility 101, for I have already passed that.  (But I will also pack flats in the car for the lunch, movie, and shopping the hubs has promised me after!)

And all night I will look over at my husband, press up against him, and slip under his arms into that little niche I always call the just right fit as it seems molded just for me.  And all the while, I will lay knowing that he is my strength and that no matter how far from each other we sit tomorrow, I can and will draw on him for everything.  Just as he on me.

ahhh (big sigh)  Now just how am I going to sleep while thinking about this outfit?   : )

Too funny! What does little bean mean to you?

oops!  So while searching the web, I have just learned that beans have often been associated with men's sexual dreams, representing female reproductive parts.  I suppose I could see that, though it hadn't even crossed my mind!

hmm...this give quite a new meaning to my URL - little bean dreams!

Hope this doesn't offend or cause too much confusion out there.  Of course, by little bean dreams, I am really referring to dreaming of the little baby (or little bean) we are hoping to conceive.

So, I guess if someone finds my site and immediately moves on, we know what they were looking for!
Yikes!  That makes me laugh out loud and shudder all at the same time!  : )

Why now?

I have been giving a lot of thought to what brought me to this point.  Indeed, for me, it is a sort of breaking point.  Putting my story on the web with the possibility of even a handful reading the intricacies of my life is not the sort of thing I do lightly.  Yet, there wasn't much hesitation after I read over a few blogs.  They brought such calm, such hope, that I simply knew that I needed a way to get my story out of me.  At times it seems pompous, egotistical, but I assure you it is not.  Simply, it is an attempt to be  part of a community of similar women I could relate to.

All told, I am starting this now because it is the beginning of what may be a arduous journey.  With our first fertility appointment this Monday, I am feeling excited, anxious, and downright scared to death!  In light of that, I feel that logging my emotions and finding others now will be beneficial later.  Such things are a process.  Thus, I want to be able to look at where I was emotionally at every step along the way.  I need to have a record of what helps and gives a bit of light and what makes me just sink further.  I need help along the way from others who know such things already, or will explore this uncharted world alongside me!

So, why now? hmmm....

  • Because we have our first fertility appointment Monday
  • Because I seem to be ovulating just fine
  • Because I have loads of charts looking at all possible fertility signs (data I hope the RE will find    just as precious and useful as I do!)
  • Because I feel every single twinge in my body and start wondering and obsessing
  • Because I am scared of fertility drugs and treatments
  • Because I am nearing that mark of trying to conceive for a year with no results
  • Because I am always wondering if I am infertile or fertile
  • Because I am a rollercoaster of emotions with no control, often feeling empty 
  • Because my eyes feel like faucets that I have absolutely no control over
  • Because I was recently asked by some random, insensitive male if I was pregnant!  WTH!        (I'm sure I'll feel a need to delve into that further at some point!)  
  • Because one of my best friends just announced she was pregnant the second month of trying to     conceive (lots ofstory there I am sure I will get into later)
  • Because I have to give myself a pep talk every time I see or talk to her. . . "You can do this.  You can get through this.  Stop crying!  You can do this."
  • Because simply everyone seems to be announcing they are pregnant!
  • Because I can't stop thinking about everything I want to say!

I'm sure I could go on and on, but these are a few of the main reasons.  Many I will assuredly have to revisit as they are just too monumental to ignore on such a blog.  And if you're reading this and you'd like to hear about any or can relate to any, please let me know!  I can write or talk for hours on any one and plan on doing just that!

Saturday, January 15, 2011

An Open Invitation

Welcome to anyone who has stumbled upon this blog.  As I am new to the blogging world, I am not sure exactly how people access such blogs.  I assume, as so many things on the internet, that it has to do with key words and phrases.  So, perhaps, just a moment ago, you were Googling the same key words and phrases I have been for so long:  fertility, infertility, how to conceive, conception, ovulation, etc. etc. etc. 
Whatever the search that led you here, I extend a welcoming and understanding hand to you.  

Here is my open invitation to you to join in my fertility journey, which just as easily (and happily) may become my adoption journey, and, in essence, is our family journey.  

At some points, I am hesitant to opening my heart so fully--making such a personal story public.  Yet, at the same time, it has recently become painfully apparent that I desperately need an outlet.  I have always processed my life through writing, filling countless journals that can still make me smile, laugh, and cry in one sitting.  This time, however, I feel my soul is craving more than this cathartic ritual.  Indeed, it is craving company, understanding, empathy, advice.  There is something lately about a blank page that simply magnifies the solitude that accompanies struggle.  And I am not welcoming to solitude these days!

My assumption is that there are countless others just like myself--looking for explanations, company, advice--which is the other reason I'm opening myself.  Not only do need I this, I can imagine others may, too.  Just as I have been searching for an outlet, my hope is that others can access this outlet and find some sort of inner peace.  Inner peace and fertility struggles seem like oxymorons, but my hope is that they can co-exist at some level.

My intentions are for this to be a place where I can say anything--the good, the bad, and the ugly.  It is a chronicle of our dreams for a little bean, (our term for that tiny thing we hope to create with our love, oh and mature eggs, super concentrated, mobile sperm, and impeccable timing, of course : )
While I am sure that there will be updates of fertility appointments and possibly even procedures, this is more so a place for my emotions to flow freely.  And, please be forewarned, that I have a lot of emotions!  This is a place for honesty.  Dedicated to all the truths of trying to conceive, I ask for understanding when I obsess or overreact, rant or fall apart, and especially when I act like just a plain old bitch.  I invite everyone to do the same.  For I firmly believe that truth is beauty and healing begins only after one is honest with the mind, body, and soul.  And, in all honesty, if you are reading this, chances are such drastic highs and lows are truly resonating with you as you navigate your own fertility.  

So, here begins the chronicle of our journey to our little bean.  For better or worse, here I am.  Just me.  Stripped.