Friday, February 15, 2013

infertility underachiever? cycle 3, day 1


What is there to say[1]? Not much apparently. The 10 days of birth control agony have come to an uneventful close and my early morning wake up calls, general bitchiness and intermittent nausea/monstrous hunger have subsided. I got my period as expected (I really feel like I should get a present or some sort of decadent cookie[2] for bleeding twice in 15 days but whatever). 

So. Here we are. Round three. Third time’s the time for a second miscarriage and complete emotional meltdown charm! Fertility hat trick. Fallopian triple threat – (singing, dancing and conceiving, ahem). Etc.

But if there isn’t much to say, why do I always have so much to say do I feel like an infertility underachiever? I’m not charting, I’m not taking my temperature, I’m not finding a cycle buddy (can we go for bike rides? I’m so confused), I’m not going to an acupuncturist/yoga-ist/spiritual-ist of any kind. I’m not even carefully evaluating my *cringe* cervical mucus. (And, honestly, if I’m not doing that, can I really be trusted with a child?).

That I haven’t spent this week elbows deep in interweb infertility obsession is probably a good sign for my next trial because umm, hello, full time employment you are really getting in the way of my blog habit healthy. But because I’m a glutton for punishment, I can’t help but question whether there isn’t more I should be doing.  I guess as I approach the one year mark <head spinning>, there’s a kind of creeping panic curiosity about what else is out there and what else might help me both get – and for the love of god – stay pregnant. It’s not that I necessarily have deep thoughts on the matter – and even if I did, there’s a mountain of inertia that might make any movement on these thoughts prohibitive. But, in the middle of a tense court hearing moments of daydream, some not-so-deep thoughts are bouncing around in my thick head: should I be eating differently? Should I be exercising differently? Should I be getting teeny tiny needles stuck in my ears? Should I chill-the-fuck[3]-out-already-and-not-venture-down-this-slippery-slope-of-crazy?



[1] I thought about ending the post right here. But then I realized you’d have to go back to “working” or “caring for your children” or “watching The Bachelor” and because my intention is nothing if not to enable your procrastination, I proceed.

[2] Not like C reads this – he’s too overwhelmed by my superior humor – but if he did he might correct me. So let me set the record straight: he did get me a luxurious box of very fancy had-to-order-them-in-the-mail-from-new-york! sea salt caramels which are probably even “artisanal” and “made from the fresh milk of organically-raised-free-range-phD-educated-remarkably-happy-cows.” But that, my friends, was for Valentine’s Day.

[3] In the words of the inimitable Julie over at A Little Pregnant, here’s what I have to say about swearing: you try having your uterus filled with glow-in-the-dark dye and then we’ll discuss what kind of language seems appropriate. No, seriously, you should try it.

2 comments:

  1. Any advice I give cannot really be trusted seeing as I am now a year and a half in and no baby in sight but I will say that, although I can't guarantee it will bring a baby, letting go of all of the 'doing something about it' stuff has really truly helped my mental health. I don't mean actual medical stuff, but as long as you are mostly being kinda healthy and taking your prenatals I say kick back and just live. That is my current plan.

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    1. Ha. It seems like a good plan to me - and I might even try it one of these days (when I get around to quitting this ceaseless panic). In the meantime, all the prenatal vitamins are creating unbreakable daggers for finger nails. Is that just me?

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