Not crazy, just tired

Recently I started to wonder how do people, as they use to write in some novels, "cry themselves to sleep". Turns out I cannot do this (this and having a second baby, apparently). I cry while lying down, my nose gets all stuffy, which makes it impossible to breathe... so I don't get any sleep for a long, long while.

Since our second cycle since my surgery did not give us any positive result, my Dr. of "crappy uterus" theory suggested to try Lethrozole, and I am having a scan tomorrow to ensure there are no cysts on my ovaries. A scan on my heaviest bleeding day, sounds like fun, right? But anyway, good luck to me, my ovaries make cysts too often for my taste. 

Also, next week I am seeing the Dr. himself to discuss stuff, and then I am seeing my RE to listen whatever she has to say, and to try not to burn any bridges (I mean, this woman DID NOT TO SHIT for me, and I had to request most of my tests, while she could have done them a year ago and save me some heartbreak... and of course she does not believe in basically any form of treatment I've been reading about - except IVF of course). I am also making an appointment with an acupuncturist, though I am scared shitless of what needles can do to me.

I thought the arrival of AF will leave me crazy - throwing the dishes and cutting my hands crazy. Nothing of the sort had happened. I am just tired and don't really want to come out of my room, or have dinner. Just want to be left alone for a while.

And here is the TWW again

So, I am in the middle of another TWW, and I am slowly going crazy. Last time there were lots of distractions to take my mind off things, but now there are none - and predictably enough I've been having it all. Seriously. Back pain, pulling sensations in lower abdomen, breast pains and fullness... until it all just stopped today, and I am, of course, freaking out because it stopped. I already had my share of peeing on sticks, all negative, of course, and ordered a new bunch of Wondfo finest. I talked my RE into checking my 7dpo progesterone levels, and they came out surprisingly good - even "great", as my RE said in her email, which is very uncharacteristic of her (she's of doom and gloom, remember). 

I also had a talk with a friend, who, at 44, decided to give her kid a sibling and went for fertility check-up before starting in earnest. Her AMH is almost the same as mine, so it looks like I've got my Best Fertility Friend (or maybe not). Her Dr. did not check FSH, just prescribed her some Clomid and wished best of luck. I am sooo going to make an appointment with her Dr. and have a third opinion, just because.

The business with Best Fertility Friend is very confusing, still. First, it's not that easy for me to share too much personal information (blogging is different, isn't it?). Second, it's a precarious position to find yourself once one of BFFs gets pregnant... I personally am not sure I would be able to maintain contact if she gets pregnant and I don't. It's just too hard, and when we were talking and discussing AMH, Clomid, CoQ10 and such, I couldn't help but see it, this writing on the wall. Oh well. Please, please, dear Universe, let me have another baby, and let her have another one, too - so we can continue being friends. I've lost too many friends to this RPL shit already.

National Sibling Day

According to my Facebook feed, today is the National Sibling Day - another one of these days that are designed to break hearts of those who feel left out. Everyone, of course, is posting pictures of their kids together - brothers, sisters, looking at each other, holding hands, hugging, squabbling. I wish with all my heart and soul that next year, and years and years and decades and decades after that, my kid would have someone to share and celebrate this day with.

The tale of two doctors

The Dr. from out of network emailed me today - it's been more than a month since I've contacted him, but I am still glad he finally found time. I relayed the whole sorry story again, with the updates - my follicle count is at 6, as it happens - and he told me that he's going to update my supplements protocol, and also to give me some fertility medications to help me get pregnant sooner. He gives out an impression of such optimism and hope, that it's hard not to get caught in it. My spirits have certainly lifted somewhat, though I know how dangerous is to allow myself to hope.

This encounter made me think of how weird the whole scenario is. I have two doctors looking at the same patient with the same panel of tests. One is projecting doom and gloom and is probably going to push me hard into IVF (with donor eggs, I think). The other is - well, not exactly all unicorns and rainbows - but hopeful and wanting to make it work more or less with a natural cycle. And despite his communication flaws, I am under the impression that he actually works with me, instead of trying to fit me into some preconceived plan.

Coincidentally, yesterday I was trying to figure out if we need to go to some other Dr., to get the third opinion, just, you know, for variety. But I don't know where to turn. Most clinics in our area are specializing in IVF. There are two huge research institutions around with infertility programs, but their internet reviews are bad enough for me to not want to go there (I already have a Dr. with horrible attitude and IVF-pushing, thank you very much - and she's at least partially covered by my insurance). So I need to do more research - and to finally finish "It starts with an egg" (so depressing, makes me want to switch to some other read).

The results are coming in...

...and some are not good at all. Makes me wonder why my stupid RE did not bother to work with me a year ago. Instead of a whole year of prolonged heartbreak / hope see-saw, we'd get a clear picture much sooner. Yes, it could have been a bleak and hopeless picture. But we would have saved time, and money, and effort. We would have had more strength and more time to pursue alternative avenues - or to come to terms with being a small and close family of three.

I am very angry at my RE, and at the other Dr. too. But most of all I am angry with myself. I was so confident in my ability to get pregnant, that I did not really stop to think about the implications of my low AMH. Or those of my age, or of my two (now three) ovarian surgeries. I did not do my research, and for that, I am paying dearly now. Apparently, in infertility world, if you don't do your own research, if you don't insist on tests, if you don't push and press and yell and ask and demand, you get nothing. Nothing but measly thyroid pills, endometrin suppositories, and two chemical pregnancies - stuff like that.

So what's now? I've already made new appointments with both Drs, to see them in the beginning of May. Now I need to stop crying for a long enough time to collect the kid from a daycare and spend a pleasant evening together. To skim through "It starts with an egg" and to order all the stuff mentioned there. To do the follicle count tomorrow, and to do another AMH test. And then we'll see. Of course, there's always a chance for a miracle, but I am not holding my breath. Personally, I think our realistic choice is between a) accepting the 3-person family, counting our blessings daily, and moving on - or b) trying with donor eggs. This second option terrifies the hell out of me. I am not very comfortable with the idea of being a mere vessel to someone else's baby - even if one part of the genetic material would be my husband's.

Which brings us to the question of my husband. My husband, who's out of town today, and who is having a rough time now with his parents' declining health. My husband, who seems to close off and perceive my despair as a sign that I am giving up. He doesn't want to hear the stats, he doesn't want to face the reality, he just wants to keep the fuck trying. He wants to hear from me that yes, I am still up to it, to all of it - drinking lots of shitty pills, peeing on sticks, hitting the walls with my new and old psychosomatic symptoms, timing intercourse, hoping. He doesn't mention failing. We need a chance, he says. Otherwise the life is too horrible, he says. 

He is right. But I don't want to be always hoping for a miracle, and to build castles in the air. I want to have more solid foundation on which to build our plans, something more tangible, something less esoteric. 

* * *

This night, I took out a test I took yesterday evening, and there it was, hours later, a faint second line. I know that these tests are useless after a certain amount of time, but despite all reason, my stupid heart soared. I did not even notice how hope crept in. It stayed there even despite a negative morning test - until noon, when the cramping started and my AF arrived.  

I do not know how people do it. How do they live, day after day, cycle after cycle. How do they deal with all this - pain, despair, hopelessness, disappointment. I certainly cannot. If I did not have a kid already, I would have gone and done crazy things - and now I just cry. A glass of wine did not help, and I cannot have more just yet. My thoughts go round and round in circles: what if there's not ovarian reserve left anymore? What if my fall pregnancy (and Halloween miscarriage) was my last, my very last chance? What if there's no point of even trying anymore? This Sunday I am going to do a FSH test (they did AMH last year and did not do this one, but now I requested it), and then I guess I'll have to see my RE and talk to her. Except she does not talk to me, not really. She lectures (in person) and she yells (in emails). And our insurance does not give me much choice.

Two years. We had been at it two years next month, and it fucking hurts nonstop.

And the answer is...

...No. I am not pregnant. Cue despair.
I know it was preposterous to expect getting pregnant at first try after surgery - but I've been known to get pregnant at first try before (keeping pregnancy was another matter). And now I can't help but wonder what if I would not be able to get pregnant at all anymore; what if my ovaries stopped producing eggs altogether; what if the surgery robbed me of my last chance. This cycle felt different all right; I had nowhere as much cervical mucus as I had before, and this worries me.
Sometimes I understand teenage girls who engage in cutting and other self-mutilating activities. The hatred I feel towards my body at times like this... it has to go somewhere. It's scary and it's intense.

Two weeks

So, the dreaded TWW is coming to an end. It's different this time around. I no longer pee on the sticks obsessively on a pretense of "getting to know earlier so I'd get treatment sooner". I admit, I did one test on Saturday (why? search me), and it was negative, of course. And then I waited. And waited. And waited. Then I didn't want to spoil the family celebration we were having this week. Then I didn't want to do it on April 1st (no fooling around this one). It's like I don't even want to know. Not knowing makes me hope that there might be a chance for me. Knowing might take this hope away.