Silver Linings

I’m a firm believer in things happening for a reason.  I also (quite naively at times) believe that if you’re a good person, good things will come to you.  These types of core beliefs can be severely called into question however, when (bad) things keep happening, and there is absolutely no reason that you can see.

That’s sort of how it is with infertility.  At least, how it is with our infertility.

I’ve heard the term “unexplained infertility” a number of times from medical professionals, in reference to myself.  I’ve had conversations with doctors and nurses who have said to me:  “I don’t see any reason why you can’t stay pregnant.”

While it’s comforting to know that we can get pregnant, of course, that fact means nothing really – seeing as how we can’t *stay* pregnant.  That’s the key here.  Staying pregnant is where it’s at.  Staying pregnant has eluded us so far.

Early on, I was *sort of* diagnosed with PCOS as a “best-guess” as to what my problem might be, if I had one.  It’s a common diagnosis, and the most common cause of infertility in women. I even had some of the symptoms.  No one has ever really confirmed it, but everyone agreed that’s probably what’s going on here….so we started treating it with Metformin (a diabetes drug).

Metformin was a nightmare for me – even the low dose I was on caused major issues with my guts.  I felt nauseous 24/7, and usually had terrible diarrhea within an hour of each dose (which was 3 times a day).   I tried taking Metformin on two separate occasions in the last 6 years….both times, the side effects made me go off them within 3-6 months.  I couldn’t handle feeling so rotten all day, and for such a long time.

Over the course of 6 years, my hormones were tested repeatedly, and were sometimes out of whack….but not always.  My most recent hormone panel about 4 months ago, showed that my levels (especially my testosterone) were pretty much”normal”.  All along, I’ve been wondering and asking about my thyroid, as well.  It’s also been tested repeatedly, and continues to come back in the normal range.

I’ve been told to try losing weight – which is standard advice for both PCOS and for thyroid issues….but this has proven to be fairly challenging for me.  My motivation is not at all what it should be, and I’m tired.  So tired.  All the time.   Infertility, multiple losses, grief, stress, and a touch of situational depression can drain a person.

I also really struggle with caring for myself, because I feel so let down by my body.  I’m angry at it.  It’s a vicious cycle, I know.  And I’m not proud of it, nor am I making excuses….I’m just explaining, I suppose.

But back to the title of this post.  Silver linings.  In even the darkest, and most painful of situations….I believe there is some light, if you’re willing to look for it.  Sometimes it’s extremely hard to see.  But it’s there.  I know it.  I’ve seen it.

One of my silver linings, are the lessons I’ve learned throughout this journey with infertility.  These lessons (I think) have made me a better person.  Or at least, a calmer person.  They are:

1. There are no guarantees in life – be grateful for everything you have, and every day you get (even the bad ones).  It’s much harder to appreciate the challenges that come your way, but if you can learn to do this, you will be much happier.  I promise.
2. Some things are totally out of your control. Peace can be found when you finally accept that and let go.  Accepting it was the hard part for me.  Letting go was easy, but can only happen when there is acceptance.
3. You don’t have to suffer in silence. If talking to people about your struggles makes them uncomfortable, find people who can handle it.  There will always be someone else who has felt what you’re feeling.  Sharing pain lessens it.
4. If you want something bad enough, don’t let fear stop you from trying for it….or from celebrating it when you actually get it. (even if you don’t know if you’ll have it forever)

With our last loss, we had seen a heartbeat on the ultrasound.  A perfect, little flickering light on a dark screen, in a dark room.  It was blurry, but that was because of the tears in my eyes.  My husband and I watched it in silence and awe for what felt like forever.

We lost the baby a week later.  That wasn’t supposed to happen.  We had made it farther than we ever had to date – the chance for miscarriage after seeing the heartbeat was less than 2%, we had been told.

But there are no guarantees.

And despite the intense pain of that loss, I will always be grateful to have experienced that – to have bonded with my little one, to have seen it’s heart beating inside me.

A little light, in the darkness.

 

I have a confession to make….

I have completely stopped making my new year’s resolution soaps each week.  😦

I have some really great excuses reasons though – so hear me out!

First, I threw my back out.  Then I got strep throat.  When the strep throat (finally) healed, I got a nasty ear-infection.  And when the ear-infection cleared up, I got pregnant.

Yup.  You read that right.  (I was surprised too)

As I mentioned briefly in my previous post, my husband and I struggle with infertility.

What you may not know (unless you know me), is that we have been trying to start a family for over 6 years; subjecting ourselves to countless medical tests and painful procedures, working with naturopaths, doctors, nurses, and specialists…and enduring immeasurable pain and heartbreak with each loss we have experienced.

I don’t really know how to begin to describe what we’ve been through.  It’s hard to talk about, for obvious reasons….but more than that – it’s still one of those “taboo” topics that people get squirmy about when you bring it up.

Speaking of squirmy  – it’s always felt weird to me that complete strangers have no issues asking others: “do you have children?”.  It’s almost always the second question I’m asked when I’m away at a work conference.

1. “What’s your name?”

2. “Do you have children?”

If I’m wearing a name tag, which I often am at work conferences, “do you have children” shoots right up to number 1.

Sometimes, simply saying no is enough to deter them.  But only sometimes.

More often, saying no to this question seems to open the conversation to further questions about how old you are, how long you’ve been with your partner, whether or not you want children, and comments like: “clock’s ticking!”  Yes, really.  I’ve even received sex tips from strangers, thinking they were being helpful (and not at all inappropriate).

Sometimes, to save myself the onslaught of other questions, I’ll say: “none living” in response to the dreaded question.  That’s a guaranteed conversation stopper, let me tell you.   People get weird when you answer like that.  It makes them uncomfortable.  You can hear crickets, and the rustle of table linens blowing in the breeze created when they couldn’t get away from your table quickly enough.

But here’s the thing…..asking me if I have children makes me uncomfortable too.  Because I can’t give you the answer you want.

Whenever I’m asked a question like that, I have to decide in an instant whether you are someone who can “handle the truth” (we have lost many babies, we are trying, and it’s difficult for us) without abandoning me in the vulnerability that comes with sharing something like this….or are you someone that I have to smile and fake it with; someone that I have to make a stupid joke about “having fun trying!” so that you feel better?  Are you someone who won’t sense my pain and discomfort when I say no, and push on, asking  me more and more questions about my situation?

In addition to trying to choose what response to give (I wish so very much that I could just say yes!)……there’s also a huge internal struggle against my desire to acknowledge that I have children who aren’t with me (because just saying no feels like a lie)…..and knowing that being honest makes people feel weird.  And I wouldn’t want people to feel weird.  I already feel weird enough for both of us, pretty much all the time.

Statistics say that 1 in 4 women experiences miscarriage.  That’s a big percentage of us.

Why then, is it so weird to talk about?  Chances are, you or someone you know has experienced this.  This needs to be ok to talk about.  So, I’m talking about it.

As I’m sure you could imagine – the thought of telling everyone that we are pregnant again, without knowing for sure that this pregnancy will result in a baby, as so many before it did not, is completely terrifying.  (We have told our families, but have not announced this publicly yet….although I suppose some may argue that this is an announcement of sorts, I feel fairly confident that not many people actually read this, LOL)

What makes this sort of thing even scarier is a commonly held belief in our society that you should NEVER announce your pregnancy in the first trimester.  (again, following that whole taboo “don’t talk about it” theme which I’m a big fan of. *sarcasm*)

While this may seem like good advice…this type of secrecy actually means that women who do miscarry  in the first trimester often don’t get the support they need, because no one knew about it.

Do you know how hard it is to go through this type of loss without support?  It’s almost impossible.  This type of loss shakes people to their core.  Most women blame themselves….some feel sure that it happened because deep down, they wouldn’t be a good mother, or that there’s something fundamentally wrong with them and this is nature’s way of weeding that out.  They struggle with thoughts of what could have been done to prevent it, and pour over every detail leading up to the loss to find the reason it happened.

I was once convinced I lost a child because I ate a pkg. of ramen noodles, which are full of sodium and msg.  It’s not rational.  It’s traumatic, and terrifying, and rips your confidence, and who you thought you were to shreds.  Not to mention what it does to your relationships.  This type of thing breaks people.

No one should have to go through something like that alone.

That all considered, we have decided that this baby, however long  they are with us, deserves to be recognized and celebrated, and loved by others as much as we already love him/her.  Should the unthinkable happen, we’ll draw on the support of those around us who know so that we don’t have to weather this storm alone.

As we pass previous milestones, and if we learn that baby is healthy, our joy will be much less cautious.   Until then….. Please keep us in your thoughts (and/or prayers if you do that sort of thing); and join us in celebration of this present moment, with lots of hope for the future.