Archive for April, 2010
What If?
I’ve been riveted by Project IF on Stirrup Queens. If you haven’t read (or contributed to) the list, you might find it cathartic. Or heart wrenching. Or both. This post is in response to Part 2 of the project: write a post about your own What If. It bears noting that I’ve been working on this post since last Thursday. I’ve avoided thinking and/or writing about this for a long time.
What if, despite my ultimate success, I never let go of the emotional baggage I picked up during my struggle with subfertility?
Just one cycle shy of my self-imposed end point,* I saw my third faint positive. Three years and one week after my first IUI, Rilo completed our family. I felt his profound absence for so long that his presence is still a wonderful surprise. I can’t believe that he’s here, that he’s ours.
My subfertility journey should be over, and yet it isn’t. I’m still dragging the baggage I picked up along the way.
Some of that baggage was inherited. Four years before I was born, my mom lost a baby late in the first trimester. The doctor who performed her D&C warned her that she wouldn’t be able to carry a child to term, given her small stature. (The woman wears size 3 3/4 shoes and weighs just over 100 pounds.) She continued to try, avoiding other people’s babies and social situations where the inevitable question would arise. And then she had me, her only living child.
My mom’s fertility struggle has always been part of my narrative. She wanted me to understand that I was a wanted child, a beloved child, a special snowflake. I did come away with a sense of specialiness, a sort of inflated self esteem that didn’t go over well on the playground, but I also picked up an incredible sense of responsibility and guilt. My mom knew a lot of other women who were infertile or subfertile (although how they knew each other without benefit of the interwebs will forever baffle me). When she shared their stories, I could always sense the unspoken postscript. That was almost her story too.
When Michelle and I started going to Maybe Baby (a GLBTQ family-building support group), we discovered how differently we viewed the journey. Michelle wanted children, but she could have happily lived childfree as well. She wanted to try for a set amount of time (six months or six tries), then get on with her life. She was stunned to discover that there are people who feel differently about such things. People who would deeply mourn their childlessness should they not be able to conceive or adopt. She was even more stunned to discover that one of those people was me.
Michelle’s TTC process was relatively quick. She got a little bit pregnant on her first try (a chemical pregnancy), then lastingly pregnant with Kyan on her fourth. Even though they were short in the grand scheme of our lives, those six months were hard. Michelle struggled with the uncertainty of the process, not knowing how our lives would change in the next year. I struggled with a deep longing for our children. I could feel their absence, and it already hurt.
Once Michelle was convincingly pregnant, all thoughts of TTC were put back into our mental hope chest, to be revisited when Kyan was two or three. At least that was true for Michelle. For me, knowing that the next round was my turn, it was hard to put it out of my mind entirely.
I had a feeling that my journey wouldn’t be as blissfully simple. For one thing, I have a family history of subfertility. (At least four generations back, there are signs of both primary and secondary infertility. Generations are spaced more than 30 years apart; first and second children are four, five, and seven years apart; and there’s a certain melancholy when it comes to reproduction.) For another, I had suddenly gained weight (more than 30 pounds in six months) and was far more hirsute than I wanted to be. I suspected something was wrong, and just a few weeks before Kyan was born, an endocrinologist confirmed that fear. My testosterone levels were out of control. My girly hormones were all atilt. She diagnosed me with PCOS and put me on Metformin (2000mg/day) and encouraged me to lose as much weight as I could.
It took me almost a year to take action with weight loss, but once I did, I threw myself into the project. I kept telling myself that in order to be ready for TTC, I had to be as physically fit and hormonally balanced as possible. By the time Kyan turned two, I was down 60 pounds, had great abs, and had picked up a raging case of baby fever.
And yet, it just wasn’t quite time. Michelle wasn’t all that excited about starting again and was even backpedaling on the two kids plan altogether. This sparked major relational discord and triggered a major depression for me. That was a horrible time. I had all the longing and angst that goes with trying to conceive, yet no idea if (or when) my actual TTC process would commence. It was torture.
But things slowly improved. We went to couples counseling. I found equilibrium and stability in the combination of drugs and therapy. Our lives evened out. Kyan continued to amaze us with her wonderfulness, yet we could finally agree that we’d rather she be a big sister than an only child. The time had come.
In January of 2007, I cycled for the first time. There was a wonderful and exciting newness to the process, and yet I was already scratched and dented. I feared for my own fertility due to my family history and my PCOS diagnosis. I was worried that Michelle would suddenly change her mind and pull the plug. I was worried that my own worry would sabotage my chances.
I only made it through three cycles before I had to take a long hiatus. While I knew that TTC would be stressful, I wasn’t prepared for how much each negative could hurt, how a coworker’s accidental pregnancy could send me into a tailspin, or how easily I could slip back into depression.
During the hiatus, something changed for me. I realized that I had put way too much pressure on myself. I realized that what I already had was pretty wonderful. I realized that when I returned to TTC, I would need an end point and I would also need to take lots of mini breaks.
When I returned to TTC, I had a different outlook. The next four negative cycles were all hard, but they weren’t as soul-crushing. I kept telling myself that I still had five tries left. Five seemed like plenty. I still had reason to hope.
Then, on my eighth try, nearly two years into the process, I saw a positive. The line was so faint that it was hardly reassuring, but it was still the first one I’d ever seen. My first beta was low. The second was still low, but it had doubled. My progesterone, however, was dismal. I wanted so badly to celebrate, but I just knew that something wasn’t right. I spent an angsty weekend taking countless HPTs and trying to convince my RE to put me on progesterone supplements. Then Monday’s beta came back surprisingly strong, and I let myself believe it would all be okay. Unfortunately, my first ultrasound showed an empty uterus. I don’t think I’ve ever cried as hard as I did on the table that day. Even though I had a bad feeling early on, there was no way to prepare myself for that loss.
In the weeks following the loss, I discovered that Michelle either couldn’t or wouldn’t be the support that I needed. I was mourning something very real to me. She believed that since the ultrasound had showed nothing, there was nothing to mourn. In a two-week span, I had lost my pregnancy and my support person.
And yet, I clung to the idea that if I was able to get pregnant once, I would be able to get pregnant again. That turned out to be true. The next time that I cycled, I saw another faint positive, another low beta, and a loss just a week later. That loss didn’t hurt in the same way, because I never let myself really hope. I worked hard to maintain a positive attitude, but I wasn’t surprised when it failed. That time, I expected very little support from Michelle, and wasn’t surprised at her indifference. Between the first and second loss, I reached out to blogosphere, and found an incredible group of women who understood why I needed to mourn and hope all at once.
I still clung to the idea that my body was just practicing for a real and lasting pregnancy. That also turned out to be true. The next time I cycled (after a two-month break), I saw another faint positive. I spent the first fifteen minutes crying huge gulping sobs, fearing another loss. But the beta number was great, and it doubled right on schedule. I was a nervous wreck for the first 10 weeks or so, but ultimately I had a smooth(ish) pregnancy and a wonderfully healthy boy.
You might remember that after Rilo was born, I had some health complications. Pre-eclampsia eight days after delivery. A kidney infection that stemmed from my second hospitalization. Dismally low milk supply. The ugliest complication of all, though, was my genuine worry/belief that I had brought all of these things upon myself by cheating the fertility gods. A few days into my postpartum health debacle, Michelle said “Well, I guess some people just weren’t built to be pregnant,” and I agreed with her. Despite my ultimate success, I still felt like a failure.
While the pre-eclampsia and kidney infection are so far behind me I can hardly remember them, the milk supply issue still brings me to tears (all chipper updates aside). I hoped and planned to be an exclusive breastfeeder, and was so looking forward it. I expected it would be hard at first, and even anticipated that it would take a long time for my milk to come in (given the induction and c-section). I never anticipated supply issues, and it is incredibly disappointing. I do celebrate what I am able to provide (50% on a bad day, 75% on a good one), but I struggle with ugly feelings of envy when I see someone’s post about their freezer stash or someone else’s celebration that they made it to a certain milestone “without one drop of formula.”
No, I haven’t let go of my baggage yet. I still think of myself as less-than because of my subfertility. I see my low milk supply as one more example of my less-than-ness. I still feel pangs of sadness when an uber-fertile announces their pregnancy. I still regret that my kids are spaced so far apart. I still feel the need to put an asterisk on my success.
But what if I did let go? What if I could redefine myself as someone who is blessed beyond blessed, no asterisk needed? What if I retain the memory of subfertility (since it was an incredibly formative time) but let go of the parts that no longer serve me? What if?
www.resolve.org/infertility101 or National Infertility Awareness Week (NIAW) at: www.resolve.org/takecharge.
Adoption Day
Michelle officially becomes Rilo’s Mommy today. Here’s a quick picture of Rilo with Michelle’s dad.
I’ll post something of substance soon. Really.
(Updated) Silly Case of Postpartum Brain–Good Thoughts Requested
Update: All went well. Nobody else had reserved for today, so it was fine. Much fun was had by all, although I am fried fried fried. It’s hard running field-day type games for six-year olds!
At 2 p.m. today, we’ll celebrate Kyan’s sixth birthday. At a really popular park. On one of the rare sunny days recently.
Last month, I reserved the gazebo for Sunday, April 17. I sent two emails to the parks department secretary, dutifully filled out a two-page rental application, paid the rental fee and deposit, and received a helpful laminated Reserved sign to post at the gazebo.
For Sunday, April 17… you know, today. Except today is Sunday, April 18. Postpartum brain strikes again.
If you have a moment to spare us a hopeful thought, please send us good “Nobody else actually reserved for the correct numerical date” thoughts. Because I am an idiot, but I don’t want my daughter to know that.
So silly, sooooo NOT life or death, but still. Argh. Wish us luck!
Back to Life, Back to Reality
I have a jumble of things in my head, which explains why this post will cover all sorts of randomy…
First and most important, Rilo.
He’s a wonderful little boy. He’ll be 12 weeks this Thursday, which is stunning to me. Since he’s our second child, you would think that I would be used to the rapid rate with which kids mature, but no. He’s also a largish boy (13 pounds plus as of last Friday and already wearing some 6-month size outfits), which makes him seem even older.
As of late, he’s become quite the snuggler, curling himself into a ball on/around my shoulder. Every shirt I own has little slug-trails of drool on the right shoulder, and I wear them with pride.
Rilo also has a set of lungs on him. When he yells, it’s audible from outside the house, no small feat given our triple-paned windows. He isn’t colicky, given that his total crying/yelling time during the day only adds up to about 60 minutes, but it can be stressful for the person in charge of Rilo wrangling. My mom babysat last Friday and almost couldn’t handle it, saying that he cried whenever she put him down. Michelle had a similar experience yesterday. I must say that I haven’t had that happen yet… I wonder if it’s because I tend to wear him in the Bjorn or Moby, he doesn’t have time to get cranky, or if I’ve just been lucky.
Other things of note… his smiles, while slow to arrive, are in full bloom now. While he likes to smile at us, the only surefire smile-getter is the mirror over his changing table. He’s a chatterbox, with lots of word-sounding sounds. Whenever he smiles at us, he says, “Heh” first, which is darling. We hear that he chuckled at Michelle’s boss last week, but haven’t seen it for ourselves quite yet.
I’ll conclude the Rilo report with a picture, because I haven’t posted any since his birth. (I’m slapping myself on the hand for that infraction as I type.)
Now for the breastfeeding report. My supply has improved greatly, and is likely as good as it’s going to get. I spent the first six weeks in intensive supply-building mode and have now hit a comfortable cruising altitude. I won’t ever be at 100%, but I’m proud that all the hard work (pumping, using an SNS, taking medication, etc.) increased my supply from one tablespoon per feeding/pumping to 3-5 oz per feeding/pumping session. I’m able to feed him when we’re together, I pump about 7 oz. (over two pumping sessions) during the workday, and we supplement with formula as needed. He has a great latch and transitions wonderfully from breast to bottle to breast.
Being back at work is… okay. The actual work part is fine, and I’m not swamped just yet. My boss cleaned up my office (I had never fully moved in after an office re-org) and brought me flowers. My coworkers made a little welcome back banner for my door. I’ve heard “We missed you so much!” from nearly everyone, and that’s really nice. What makes it hard, aside from missing my boy, is feeling guilty about how much freedom and leisure the workday affords me. I’ve regained the use of both arms, can accomplish a task without interruption, and can drink hot beverages to my heart’s content. I also feel guilty about how little I enjoy pumping. I pump for at least 20 minutes at a go, and it feels crappy making myself unavailable to my coworkers for close to an hour a day.
A note about time… it feels like there are not enough hours in the day to be a good worker AND a good mom to both kids AND a good partner to Michelle. I already work a compressed schedule (9:30 – 5) to accommodate Kyan’s school drop-off. I could (should?) stay later to make up for my new pumping time, but that would put me home even later. Given that Kyan goes to bed at 7:30, I only see her for two hours tops on weeknights. During those two hours, I need to help with dinner and cleanup, feed and care for the baby and Kyan get ready for bed. Thankfully (for now), Rilo has a different sleep schedule than Kyan (he goes to sleep for the night at 10, wakes up to eat at 7, then goes back to sleep until 9), which means I get some solid one-on-one time with him in the evenings, and get at least an hour of one-on-one time with Kyan in the mornings. Where does Michelle time fit in? Good question, although we’ve both found ourselves staying up waaaay too late in order to spend time together. It may not be the highest quality of quality time (since much of it is spent folding laundry or cleaning together), but I’m glad that it’s still somewhere on our radar.
Enough of this rambling, but… one more thing. I am so glad that I made the most of my time at home with the baby. It was truly a babycation, and I will always treasure our slow and quiet early days together. I’m so glad I didn’t stress myself out with trying to be the perfect housewife during that time. I wanted it to be all about Rilo, and mostly succeeded in that quest. I loves him so, and I’m pretty sure he knows it.
Project Kjetil 
