Posts Tagged ‘ Coping Mechanism ’

Reblog (Kinda): Will It Always Be

I wrote this earlier on for my newer blog, but I thought it also fit here, too. After-all this is where I started the TTC journey. I can’t say if it’s hormones, or just years of pain, but I seem to be unable to be 100% happy for anyone else. And it makes it difficult for them to be happy for me.

I still dread facebook, family phonecalls, people’s news. It really doesn’t seem to matter that I’m pretty much almost 9 months pregnant. I burst into tears at a friend’s untactful announcement – do people still need to be tactful around me now that I’ve succeeded in conceiving? I am no longer TTC, I’ve STC or MTC, with help, but I still feel like I’m TTC. I deleted the family member who got pregnant and announced it on facebook (even though I didn’t consider her important enough to tell other than by facebook), I still offer half-hearted congratulations to other family members when they get to have their second already.

One of my best-friends was due a few weeks after me (it took a while for me to come to terms with that, too, because it was so, so close to me and I think I figure after this long I wanted to be special, unique and alone), but now due to medical issues, she’s going to have to be induced a week before my EDD. There’s still a chance I can “beat” her, but that’s where my problem is: it isn’t a freaking race! Don’t get me wrong, I’m worried for her, but also pleased that she and baby seem to be okay. There are increased risks now for both of them, but the doctors are all aware.

I still have the nagging thought though: she’s going to beat me. She along with everyone else I know, is going to beat me. And I’m so close to ending three years of pain, but I really will get there last.

Except none of that really matters does it?

It doesn’t matter that she’s going to “beat” me, that I’m last, that other people get their first, second, third so easily without any of the pain I endured for three years. All that matters is that we all have healthy babies, and that we stay healthy, too.

This was the other blog I posted:

I’ve said before that I think I’ll always consider myself fertility challenged and that until I reach the elusive Other Side, I could end up right back in the Trenches with all those others TTC.

I’d like to think that, all being well with Elvis, if I ever wanted a second I’d never liken that inevitable heartache with the 3 years I suffered and what those still TTC their first go through. They’re sure to be similar, both wanting something far outside of your reach, but they’re also world’s apart.

With a little over 2 weeks until my EDD it’s still all so uncertain. I could still lose everything and have my desperate run for life be shot down at the final hurdle. I honestly thought things would get better, that I’d stop feeling like this when I got pregnant because I was/am lucky enough to have conceived with assistance. Naively I knew that I’d never stop feeling infertile but I hoped it’d feel better.

It doesn’t feel better.

Despite feeling a 37 week Elvis kicking me I still feel like crap when someone else gets pregnant, when someone else is lucky enough to skip over all the pain and heartache I went through. I don’t hate them, not like I used to, but I still can’t deal with them.

Will it always be like this? Or will Elvis heal it all? How can I stop all of this coming between me, my family and my friends?

And it does matter. To a small enough part of me, it does matter that I’m last. That this world is so unfair that it keeps reminding me of how unfair it is.

Desperately, I want to stop feeling like this, to stop resenting or hating, to stop comparing, to stop feeling like I’m still TTC. Deep down I’m still so petrified of ending up back where I started. I couldn’t keep on with the trying journey before I got accepted for IUI, and I won’t survive not finishing this successfully. Maybe it really is as simple as when I hold him, I’ll stop. Maybe that really is the only way to stop all of the pain and negativity that built up over 3 years.

~ Persephone M

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Still Going

With all my slacking on this blog, I’ve realised that there’s been nothing really on here about my attempts to conceive for over a week and that my TTC posts are pretty infrequent. But also possibly the most frequent element of this site.

Back in June I had an appointment with the Fertility Doctor to discuss my laparoscopy I had back in March and then what we would move forwards with. I’m of the right age to have IVF for free, or I can pay for IUI.

We decided and were waiting for hospital appointments. I might be going a bit silent on the TTC front for a while to “cover up” for when I have treatment (we decided on IUI). This is because people in the Real World that I consider friends and family read this blog and I couldn’t have them knowing everything as it was happening.

I’ll probably look through my back catalogue of TTC poems I wrote last year and post them along with other random posts.

Please stick with me during this journey. I might avoid discussing it for a bit, but I will blog and post after the event. I just can’t have my friends know what day I’m going for the insemination and them wondering alongside me during the amped up 2 week wait until I can take that test. I’d love for you to all be able to make the journey with me, but it’s going to have to be something that’s delayed for all you bloggers.

Needless to say, I’m still trying and failing every month, but hopefully science can help me pass.

~ Persephone M

Outside

I feel very separate from everything else in the world. I always have done and most of the time, I ignore it, but sometimes it gets to me.

For ease, I’m an only child who moved cities at the ages of 8 and 14. At school I was the quiet one, at home I was the misunderstood or non-understood one, and I’m not sure it ever really changed. With my own family I feel like the outsider, the one with nothing in common, the one with nothing to say.

At work, I’m the one on the periphery, the one who’s not fully there. In both I just make up the numbers, walking a different path to all the others, filling to role of odd one out, fish out of water, so unique, it’s just all too different.

Meanwhile, I’m trapped on a roundabout and I can’t get into the right lane to exit, trapped just going round and round. And no one notices. I consider disappearing, not even into a fantasy world where I forget my daily oddness, my daily social inabilities and become consumed with an imaginary person’s life. It comes as no surprise to me that characters of my own creation are misunderstood, crave being alone to not be hurt, or fight to be surrounded for the fear of being alone. It’s also of no surprise when I sit here and consider the futures I create for them they in the end they end up happy. One, named Nicola, is the put upon one in her family, the first born who had to be the adult, never got to be the girl. She ends up finding herself a new family who accept her for who she is.

Another, Mel, hides her past, her name even from everyone, she works a job she hates and hides her social life from her family for fear of their reaction, their inability to understand. I haven’t finalised her future yet, but she finds the perfect person that accepts her, after she runs away and disappears.

I can’t seem to even disappear into their lives, these people I know best. I’m not sure I can even formulate coherent blogs. All I want is sleep.

Coming Clean

I had an email from a friend today about general stuff and they mentioned that they hoped I was okay, they’d seen some stuff on facebook. Taking it to mean the whole hospital stay, I found myself having to explain by email, to a guy, about my fertility issues.

I think there have only been two other males that I had to tell – both at work. One I mumbled something about “Because I want to know why I can’t have children” which isn’t fully accurate, the word can’t should perhaps include at the moment. He did actually say the sin of: You can have mine, I smiled and continued working because he didn’t mean it like that. He had no idea what to say and, unless he’s ever spoken to someone with medical problems in that area, he’s not going to know how silly it was of him to say what he did.

I’m quite an odd person and truly wanted to email my friend: I had surgery to determine if my girlie bits/baby making bits are okay.

I didn’t because I wasn’t sure how that would sound in an email. I’ve said those words out loud to certain people but have always made a little laugh or changed subject afterwards. It’s kind of enough that people know there’s a problem (or we have concerns) and I don’t neccesarily need to talk about it with everyone. I don’t need to go into detail with everyone that every single pregnancy announcement I hear hurts. Most of my female friends would possibly assume that, but would my male friends? Especially as the friend in question is quite a few years younger than me so really should never have experienced anyone having infertility around him.

I have to say, though, that it does feel really good Coming Clean. It was how I described it in the email and it’s true. It’s like I was hiding this terrible secret, that there was something so shameful about me that I had to hide it from everyone. Is that how other people dealing (or not dealing) with infertility feel? Is it because it’s about womanly bits? Is it because most people know what’s associated with cancers, with diabetes, with eczema, but not many know what comes with infertility?

But it shouldn’t be something that people feel wrong, bad or ashamed to talk about. Despite all that I try to do to within my lifestyle to increase my fertility (diet, drinking, etc), I have not done anything to be infertile. Some people have to make up the smaller percentage that take the 3, the 4, the 5 or the more years to conceive. Just because the majority of people fall into the first three years, somebody has to take longer. So if I did nothing wrong, why keep it a secret, why feel ashamed?

Because, quite simply, it’s failing. My body, somehow, is failing me. Or my husband’s is failing his, but it doesn’t really matter: Our bodies are failing us. And aren’t most people geared to keeping their failures a secret? To being ashamed because they failed? Except infertility isn’t a test where revision can help you pass. Sure, there are things that I can do to help me succeed, but I think I’m pretty much doing them.

And unless people start discussing it without being ashamed of their dirty little secret, other people will never know about it. If most people conceive within two years of trying and however many of them never question their ability to conceive before that point, what would they know about infertility?

So, that morning I was rudely awoken in the hospital after my laparoscopy (because I hadn’t been to the toilet, when I had), I decided to stop hiding, to stop keeping secrets and being ashamed. If it makes people feel awkward when they ask me “Where were you last week?” “Having surgery to see if my baby making bits are okay”, then I’m sorry, but I’m not hiding my dreadful secret from everyone anymore.

My body’s still failing, but it’s not a secret anymore.

~ Persephone M

For You – Poem

For the memories shared,
For the times that you cared,
For the moments you ignore,
For the actions I abhore,
For the time that is lost,
For the vast emotional cost,
For the death in your eyes,
For all of the silly little lies,
For the titles I gave you,
For the privilege of the few,
For you throwing it in my face,
For giving up in the first place,
For the choices you’ve made,
For all the love to finally fade,
For the milestones you miss,
For the final goodbye kiss,
For all of the years,
For all of the tears,
For all of the pain,
For all of the rain,
For the distance you now run,
For the person you’ve become.

© Persephone M 12th March 2012

This came to me earlier on today and started off as something very different. Sometimes things just come to an end, after years of life together and all you could be left with are memories.

A bit different for the usual posts on Monday Memories!

~ Persephone M

I Love Science

I’m not too sure when I fell in love with it, possibly somewhere in year 9 (age 13/14). At least I can remember my project book that I made all about the female reproductive system and it seems that since then, I had a fascination.

Some people consider the biological sciences to be the easier ones or far less interesting than the likes of chemistry or physics. I find it odd when people don’t love biology. But not all of that stupid plant rubbish. Even animal biology is only okay when it’s in a comparative way to humans (oh, the second year uni topic about chicken eggs and diving mammals!). I’m not sure why I never studied simple plain human physiology rather than the sister subject Biomedical Science. It would only really have meant a different third year at uni and I could have lost all of those pesky biochemistry modules.

Unfortunately, I was still convinced that I enjoyed biochemistry and even chemistry. But, no, my love of science is purely for the human physiology.

Why?

As I said, it was in year 9 when I did a project on the human female reproductive system and for some reason it all stuck with me. It’s why I now find it odd when I read others’ blogs with regards to trying to conceive, or when doctors explain everything to me in the simplest of terms. I simply think: how can someone not know their cycle?

After a few months of trying and getting nowhere, I didn’t jump online to learn how to time things, how to recognise the signs or learn about my body in greater detail. I was lucky to already know that information and simply had to pull it out of my mind. I think it’s why I get so frustrated and sink when day one comes back around. There is literally no more that I can do.

At the first appointment with the doctor, where he went over the procedures I can have to see if there’s anything wrong, his explanations of my body where met with nods from me, as I thought “I know this”. My husband, on the other hand, found it amazing and learnt what I’d been trying to tell him for months.

Even so, despite me understanding the hormones and recognising the dips and peaks, the withdrawal and the elation, I had never ever monitored my daily temperature. The thing I love about the female reproductive system is that, you can feel science happening. When you have that completely weepy, crash day, well that’s where your hormone levels have vanished with a click of the fingers and you’re almost in withdrawal from it. It’s the same with respiration or the circulatory system, you can feel the science. You can become your own test subject.

Just run a mile and your heart’s beating faster? That’s science.

Just recorded a drop in your basal temperature? That’s science.

This month, I started recording my morning temperatures. I haven’t been super regular about it, so I know I can’t depend on the results. As with any science experiment, the results need reproducing and then analysing. So when my temperature dropped the other day, near to the end of my cycle, I knew that I was going to have a period. Less than 24 hours later and my hypothesis was correct.

Did I breakdown? Did I feel like a failure?

No, I was prepared for it. When I recorded the drop, I knew there was a chance that it wasn’t reliable. I’d been awake on and off, my husband had already got up with a stomach bug (which I still seem to have avoided!), so there were enough variables that the reading wasn’t taken in the same circumstances as the others. However, I didn’t pin all my hopes on those few variables, on that slim chance. And with no other signs of either possibility, I remained calm.

If the next month provides good data then I can start depending on science, not hope to give me answers. It won’t affect my ability to conceive (I’ve always known where day 14 is), but it might help my ability to cope.

The only small problem is, I’ve always used science to explain my complete and utter breakdown once a month – of course I can’t control these tears, dear, it’s the hormones! Science says that my hormones have dropped (otherwise why the temperature drop?) and yet there is no breakdown. Perhaps it was never the hormones. Maybe, all along, it was my dependence on hope and putting my faith into it. Maybe, all along, it was my not knowing. Normally, I would not know it was day one until it hit me in the face. This time I was prepared.

And who can argue with science?

~ Persephone M

How It Is – Poem

Status Quo
Same old, Same old
Sinking feeling’s hard
Separating mind and heart
Solitude once more
Suns rise. Suns set.
Settling once again
Cycling around
Set your clock
See the obvious
Of milk and cream
Oh! The intolerances.
There’s a new moon.
See it bright,
See it harsh,
See it cold.

© Persephone M February 2012