Broken legs and broken uteri

Today I saw the Healer. He was surprised that I even managed to have one child given the desolate state of my reproductive plumbing. According to him, my reproductive plumbing was under some serious stress. Not the mental kind, but physical stress/trauma. If he’s right my left ovary has woken up from its comatose state and my blocked fallopian tube is halfway open. I want to believe this. Oh, how I want to believe this. I have to admit that I felt quite optimistic after my session that maybe, maybe there is a second child for us. I even could look at pregnant bellies afterwards, smile and think, I’ll get there. I will. And I was tempted to postpone our IVF plans a little bit to give the “natural” pregnancy a chance after things have been set (pulled) right in my pelvic area (and legs and wherever things just were a little off in my body due to previous accidents. Legs and reproductive plumbing have apparently a lot to do with each other and I once had broken my right leg). Plus, a summer without ART would actually be quite nice. Almost relaxing. The Healer wasn’t too thrilled with my plans to have another lap (IVF) anyway. He seriously thinks I won’t need that.

This euphoria has worn a little bit and I came back to planet earth. However, I still want to believe so badly that my chances of a natural pregnancy or if not that, then at least my chances of more (and better quality) eggs during IVF have now improved significantly. And I am still seriously thinking of postponing our IVF plans.

Now if I could get my RE to just do another HSG for free (of course), I would at least know whether that sweet fallopian tube of mine has indeed recovered a bit…

I guess, we will see. According to my “source” he’s helped quite a number of women achieve pregnancy when western medicine wasn’t quite so successful. Oh, it would be so nice to be one of them, wouldn’t it? We shall see, lovely internet, we shall see.

So, to sum up my experience today: I am a bit more hopeful and that is something. That is something, indeed.

Infertility Blame

A couple of days ago, I read an honest post by fabulous DD. She’s asking whether women diagnosed with male factor infertility call themselves “infertile”, even though with a different (assumingly fertile) partner, they would not have infertility issues. It’s an honest question. So often, you read that infertility is the problem of both partners in a relationship. But is it really?

If Mr. H one day decides to leave our relationship and build a family with someone else, chances will be good that he could. Most likely he would be able to father another child with another (fertile) woman. However, I wouldn’t (not even with another fertile man).

The infertility we are experiencing is mostly* mine biologically. My entire reproductive plumbing has taken a beating at one point or another. None of it my fault, and yet I feel guilty: Because Mr. H could be the father of a litter with someone else. I can never get rid off this thought, never get rid off that self-imposed responsibility. It’s a heavy burden to carry in our relationship.

I always wondered about male factor infertility. For me, apart from the obvious, female factor infertility has also robbed me of my trust in my female body (though admittedly, that was shaken before). It has robbed me of my self-esteem as a woman. I feel worth less as a woman because of my dysfunctional female plumbing. It’s not rational, I know, but I can’t help feeling it. I wonder, do women with male factor infertility who go through exactly the same treatments as I do, feel this, too? Or is at least their self-worth protected by thoughts that they could have gotten pregnant many times over had they just met someone ELSE? Is the anger and stigma of being labeled infertile** easier to deal with if you have someone other than yourself to "blame"?

I read on DD’s blog that women with male factor infertility indeed often silently blame their partners for not getting them pregnant. Do you think only women silently blame their infertile partners or do men, too? Lovely internet, I completely understand why the biologically infertile (BI) partner is blamed by the partner who is infertile by association (AI) only. I probably would, too. In fact, I do blame myself for my (our?) infertility. But I do something else, too. I, being the BI in our relationship, actually sometimes resent people with functioning reproductive biology because they get spared the blame and all negative feelings that arise from it. I even sometimes resent Mr. H for it, because he can fly through this infertility shit with at least his self-worth intact whereas I can’t. When he had his semen analysis done, I actually wondered whether it would make ME feel better if I wasn’t the only one to blame.*** It’s not fair to resent anybody for being healthy but it’s not fair to be blamed for not being healthy either.

Sometimes when I am tired of the blame that I envision Mr. H may or may not put on me (though I am sure I blame myself plenty more than he ever could), I think of in-laws. Some of us are lucky and are born into great families, some of us are unlucky and are born into shitty families. And some of us are unlucky and marry into a shitty family. Can we really blame (resent) anybody for the family one was born into? Isn’t bad luck bad luck, regardless of disguise (born vs. married to)?

But it seems regardless of whether it’s your family or your in-laws, it’s the women who seem primarily in charge of family interactions, such as remembering birthdays and writing thank-you cards. Same in the reproductive department: The burden (and risks) of human reproduction seem to fall primarily on women. This is obvious in pregnancy, but it is also true for infertility. All that men have to do physically is provide their specimen. This may be a bit uncomfortable, but to me it seems nothing compared to the ordeal that women go through. But does this mean we (theoretically speaking) have more say in all reproductive matters? Can I as an infertile woman decline egg donors whereas infertile men “should” accept donor sperm (after all I assume that this was a reasonable “treatment” for many barren women throughout the centuries)? I can only speak for myself, obviously, but the thought of donor eggs is not a particularly cheerful one for me. I assume that at least to some infertile men, the thought of donor sperm could be similarly troublesome. So, I don’t know how to answer that question. Regardless, however, whether it’s their sperm or our eggs that don’t cooperate, I believe men, who see their partners go through an extraordinary ordeal to get pregnant (and lovely internet, that includes all the vitamins and herbal concoctions that make us want to vomit every time we just smell them), anyway, I think men could at least inform themselves how to keep or make their sperm as happy as can possibly be. Or listen to us when we tell them. For some of us, good enough sperm is THE key in knocking us up, for some of us it’s the only factor in our favor. So, please, guys just take your vitamins. Thank you.

Infertility causes us a lot of heart-ache. Riding the rollercoaster of infertility can be at times so emotionally and physically draining that we can’t help feeling resentment and anger towards those that get the easy ride. But what to do with all this anger? In cases, where you know who hurt you, it’s relatively easy to find an outlet. In cases, where you can’t blame but a crappy hand of cards –yours or that of your partner- , it is more difficult. Out of sheer frustration, some of us start blaming our partners because without them, we wouldn’t have that problem. Without them, we would be mothers or fathers. Without them, we would lovingly rub our swollen bellies and never even have to know that our swollen belly may be a source of pain to others. Without them, we would never know that the innocent question “do you have kids?” can send others in emotional turmoil. Without them, we would be able to take the sunny road to motherhood (and who wouldn’t want that?). Without them, we would be normal. If I wasn’t the BI in our relationship, I’m pretty sure I would feel like this at least some of the time (And then feel shitty about myself). As the BI though, I can only blame myself (and life (or god), but that would be another post).

Infertility isn’t a stroll on the beach, damn it. What we long for is something so ordinary, so basic to life it cannot be but painful to be denied, particularly if it seems few around us are. It denies both partners in a relationship equally. It is unfortunate for the BI one to have to deal with shitty, sometimes even painful reproductive shortcomings. It is unfortunate for the AI partner to have to suffer indirectly from these shortcomings as well. There is a German saying that sums it up pretty well “mitgefangen, mitgehangen” (caught together, hung together). I wish it wasn’t like it. For none of us.

And with these profound words I shall end here.

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* Mr. H semen analysis actually showed a potential problem with his morphology. According to our RE, this is probably not relevant to our problems having another child, because Mr. H has already fathered a child. His guys therefore can do the job. The fact that I mothered said child didn’t seem to matter quite as much.

** Stigma of Infertility: Sometimes when people ask me “why I don’t have anymore children”, I simply tell them that Miss V.’s birth caused extensive damage to my uterus (which is true). I don’t tell them that I have endometriosis on top of that (which is much more likely to be the cause of my infertility). I do that because it’s seems somewhat more “honorable” to have lost fertility on the battleground of birth compared to a disease (and possibly a genetic one). Twisted thinking, isn’t it? As if it mattered.

*** In the end, I was actually sad for him when he got his results. I didn’t really want him to feel as broken as I feel. Good thing is, he doesn’t. He probably has forgotten all about it by now.

Mother's Day Tribute

Yesterday was Mother’s Day. Due to another vacat..., sorry, business trip of Mr. H's, Miss V. and I spent Mother’s day all by ourselves. I took the girl out for brunch in a shopping/mall center close by. Given that the play area is under construction, I felt safe from having to spend some time in SIF hell. But as it turns out, I wasn’t quite so lucky. The shopping center invited my little girl to play in a temporary play area, and how could I resist those wishful eyes?

So I grabbed a chair and joined the array of fathers who were watching their offspring. Some of them, of course, tiny. The obligatory pregnant mothers of one, two, three occasionally drifted by with a nice coffee in their hands, enjoying some well-deserved shopping time all by themselves.

While observing these fortunate, fertile families from my side of the SIF lawn, I started to think of somebody else. I started to think of my daughter’s daycare teacher, who I will call Bella.

Bella sits on our side of the lawn, too. But even worse, Bella didn’t even get a live baby to take home when she was pregnant a couple of years back. When she was about 6 months pregnant, her water broke. She spent a week in the hospital but her baby could not be saved. Had the little one lived, she’d be four years today. Ever since then, Bella has been trying to get pregnant again without success. For four long years.

We SIF women often consider places, in which toddlers and their (pregnant) mothers get together a necessary, but frequently painful experience. For the sake of our child(ren), we go even though for our own sake, we’d rather stay away. And sometimes we do stay away (well, at least I do). Because we just can’t take it.

But what do you do if you work in a daycare? Not only do you take care of other people’s babies every day, you frequently see their mothers get pregnant again and have more and more children. How do you do this day after day, year after year, and still be the nicest and loving woman around?

Miss V. loves Bella and I sincerely think Bella loves her daycare children. Lovely internet, Bella is one of my heroes.

Yesterday was a day for Mothers. More often than not, however, people don’t think about Mothers like Bella. Those mothers who had to bury their children and/or are still waiting for a(nother) child of their own. They are mothers and deserve acknowledgment just like any other. Maybe even more so.

I don’t know who is in charge, but whoever is, it’s about time that Bella gets her take-home baby.

You will have luck in the summer

…said one of the three fortune cookies I opened yesterday. “Ah!” I am thinking “that’s good news for our IVF!”. The next one –appropriately- said “You will have a large family” “Ah!” I am thinking, “that’s even better news for our IVF!”. The last one –mysteriously- said “good news from afar bring you a welcome visitor.” “Hm” I am thinking “how does that one fit in?”

There are two reasonable explanations that came to my mind: (1) our large family is going to be built on international adoption and our next child is conceived this summer in a far away country or (2) I am going to be contacted by my friends, the far away aliens, who take pity on me once again* to get pregnant. Given that we are not seriously considering adoption as a means to expand our family, (2) must be it, don’t you think?

I love fortune cookies!

* given all the less than favorable evidence that we have now about my reproductive system, I have deducted that Miss V.’s conception must have been the result of alien interventions. But, psssss, don’t tell Mr. H.

Sick days

Thursday/Friday are daycare days here at Casa InfID. I love the girl to pieces, but when Thursday comes around, I can’t throw her into the arms of her daycare teachers fast enough and sprint away for a couple of hours*. This is my time to do grown-up stuff, like working on my ART career. I usually try to fit as many of my ART appointments (including acupuncture etc.) on those two days, although we all know with our sensitive female cycles, that doesn’t always work out so well. Sometimes I even manage to do fun stuff, like have a nice cup of coffee all by myself.

Today is Thursday. But the daycare didn’t want my girl. Apparently they don’t like kids who cough and sneeze and run a fever. I don’t either. What made matters a tad bit more challenging today was the fact that Mr. H is away on yet another “vacation” (aka business) trip to Europe. And therefore I have been alone with a (sick) toddler for a couple of days and nights now. Lovely internet, you probably get the picture.

First I cancelledmy appointments. Then I turned on the TV. When that lost its entertainment value for a while (yes, Miss V. watched a lot of TV today), I tried cleaning. She loves cleaning her potty (which she refuses to use by the way) with a water spray bottle. Then we used the vacuum. Have you ever used a vacuum cleaner when a toddler insists on helping you? The whole enterprise was so hysterical that I couldn’t help but have some good, needed laughs about it. Needless to say, the cleaning wasn’t very thorough. But then again, it probably never is.

So tomorrow is another (forced) sick day for the two of us. I think Mr. H owes me big time when he gets back tomorrow evening. Big, big time. Particularly, since he’ll be gone again in a week. He claims, he misses us on these trips, but come on, he flies to Europe TWICE in one month?!

The reason why he has to come home in between those two trips is, of course, to have ovulation sex. The sad truth is that although the timing is in fact a coincidence, I couldn’t help but make a mental note of it when he told me he was going away.

Lastly, sick girl = sick mother in a couple of days. Fun prospects...

* funnily enouogh, I kinda start missing her at some point and love picking her up in the afternoon.

ART has its prize

It’s been a while since I last posted. It hasn’t been that long though since I’ve written a post, but I never seem to be able to post them. Sometimes it’s because I’m too lazy to actual copy and paste my entries into blogger, sometimes it’s because I censor myself. For example, there was this post about how Mr. H and I had a disagreement about ovulation sex (Infertility hasn’t exactly improved our sex life). But I couldn’t get myself to actual post my frustration about Mr. H. He is my rock, my safe haven. He doesn’t deserve a public flogging.

Now, on to my exciting ART life:

I’ve given myself one year to try out ART to add to our family. The end of that year is in sight, with only a picture of two ARTistic embryos to show for. I made up my mind to try out IVF one more time, however, only after a laparoscopy to drain my endometrioma and the attempt to open my right tube. I need to give this try the very best shot. I need to go for broke this time.

I’m not even sure if I really think IVF is the answer to my fertility problem(s). Deep down it feels futile. Deep down, I think that albeit there may still be a child somewhere in me, IVF may not be the one to bring it out. Delusional, I know. But what can I do? As far as I am concerned, doctors have made mistakes before. After all, they predicted that I would stand at most about 4’10 inches high when in reality I managed to grow up to respectable 5’ 2’’. I showed them, didn’t I? I just hope they can manage to open my blocked tube, because that would increase my chances of a natural pregnancy enormously. Say from 0.5% to 3%. Or something in that vicinity…

I have also decided to go see a kind of a “healer” who specializes in infertility. Most likely he will not be able to help me either but he’s a bit cheaper than my RE. And so far my RE hasn’t helped me get pregnant either, right? So I figured that it can’t really hurt anything (other than my wallet, but my RE hurts that even more) to get his opinion. Apparently he doesn’t believe in old eggs, a belief that is always soothing to me. If I ever manage to get a hold of him (he’s one tough cookie to get in touch with), I will let you know how it all went. At the very least, it should be interesting. And at best, I will get pregnant (and stay pregnant) the very next cycle. Or the one after. I am not that picky anymore.

Other than that? Well, since this exciting yet futile ART year is coming to an end, I will start looking into a different job. Being a professional ART patient wasn’t quite what I had in mind for a career. For one, it’s not only stressful but doesn’t give you a paycheck. And I’d love to have a paycheck again! To be honest though, I have no idea what kind of a job I would be interested in/good at. So far, I have only seriously tried out academia. And, well, I don’t really want to go back there either. Although compared to my ART career, it was actually quite fun. So, we’ll see.

And lastly, I finally paid the last bill for my ARTistic embryo picture. I figure that's what all the bills were for.