Monday, April 11, 2011

A couple of things have happened in the last week that have brought up *all* of the old infertility feelings.

The ones that have been there, but have been bearable.

The ones that will never really go away, but that weren’t seriously affecting my daily activities.

And now… they’re back.  In all of their full glory.

Along with missing the foster girls we had.

I know it won’t be this bad forever, but it’s bad right now.

Infertility seriously sucks.



Friday, March 11, 2011

My cycles have always been regular.  At least, as long as I’m not on birth control, but that’s another story.  The whole time we were trying to get pregnant, my cycles were 24 days.  Every once in a while I might make it to 25, but not often.  After we gave up trying, I went back on birth control for a little while, but decided to stop because I didn’t like the unpredictability of not knowing when my period was going to come.  Since I stopped taking the birth control – a little less than a year ago – my cycles have been getting longer and longer.  I just finished a 31 day cycle – completely unheard of for me.

And I hate it.  I hate that I get to the point where I’m actually contemplating buying a pregnancy test, “just to make sure” I’m not pregnant.  I hate getting sucked into all of the emotions that go along with that.  And I hate that I have no idea what’s going on with my body.

I can’t figure out why my cycles are all of a sudden so irregular.  I’m not experiencing any large amount of stress, and it has been almost a year since I stopped taking birth control.  I can’t figure out any other reason for the change.  My fear is that I’m heading toward premature ovarian failure, or something.  My FSH *was* 14.4 two three years ago.  What if….?  But I know that I’m not likely experiencing premature ovarian failure either.

Does anyone have any wisdom or advice?



Sunday, February 27, 2011

March marks five years of trying to have a baby.  I never thought we would make it to this point.  I’m sure *no one* ever thinks they’ll make it to this point.  No one starts out trying to get pregnant thinking, “I’m sure this will take at least five years….”

But here we are.  Five years.  My husband and I haven’t even been married for six and a half years yet, and five years of that time has been spent trying to have a baby.

Uselessly trying to have a baby.

That also means it has been more than two years since we gave up trying to get pregnant, and more than two years since we moved on to adoption.

And here we are.  Still waiting.

I could have a four year old by now.

But thinking about that doesn’t help any.

Five years.


An Infertile’s wish list…

Thursday, February 10, 2011

(Stolen and modified from a friend’s Face.book page; originally about the loss of a loved one.)

1. I wish I wasn’t infertile. I wish I had a baby.

2. If I cry and get emotional when you talk about the loss of my dream of having a baby, I wish you knew that it isn’t because you have hurt me. My infertility is the cause of my tears. You have acknowledged my loss and you allowed me to share my grief. I thank you for both.

3. Being an “infertile” is not contagious, so I wish you wouldn’t shy away from me. I need you now more then ever!

4. I need diversions, so I DO want to hear about you, but I also want you to hear about me. I might be sad and I might cry, but I wish you would let me talk about my desire to have a baby, the overwhelming topic of my daily life.

5. Just because I don’t want to hear about your baby doesn’t mean I’m not happy for you, it just means that it hurts too much right now.

6. I know that you think of me and pray for me often; I also know that seeing my pain hurts you too. I wish you would let me know these things through a phone call, text, card, a note or a real big hug.

7. I wish you wouldn’t expect my grief to be over in two, four or six years.  I wish you could understand that my grief will never be over. I will suffer the loss of my dream until the day I die.

8. I am working very hard, so very hard, on my recovery but I wish you could understand that I will never fully recover. I will always miss what could have been, and I will always grieve that it never was.

9. I wish you wouldn’t expect me to “not think about it” or “be happy”. Neither will happen for a long time, so don’t frustrate yourself.

10. I wish you understood how my life has shattered. I know it is miserable for you to be around me when I’m feeling miserable. Please be patient with me as I am with you.

11. When I say “I’m doing okay,” I wish you could understand that I don’t “feel” okay and that I struggle daily.

12. I wish you knew that all of the grief reactions I’m having are very normal. Depression, anger, hopelessness, fatigue and overwhelming sadness are all to be expected. So, please excuse me when I’m quiet and withdrawn or irritable or cranky.

13. I wish you understood that grief changes people. When I lost my dream, a big part of me died with it. I am not the same person I was before infertility and I will never be that person again.

14. I wish very much that you could understand………understand my loss and my grief, my silence and my tears, my void and my pain. But, I pray daily that you will never understand.


Foster Care Class

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

I just registered my husband and myself for the foster care class we need to take.  Yay!  Another (baby) step forward.  The class starts in the beginning of February.  Other than that, there hasn’t been too much going on, besides working on the 78-question autobiography questionnaire.  78 questions is a lot of questions!

Earlier this week a pregnant woman I know through work found out the sex of her baby.  I was there for the announcement.  One of those things I’m never going to experience myself.  And I’ve had a couple of situations when I’ve had to be sympathetic toward pregnant women who have missed appointments because of pregnancy-related things.  I keep saying, “Don’t worry about it, I understand.”  And I keep thinking, “I don’t *really* understand, I only wish I did.”  I guess I’ve just been feeling a little sad this week.  I know it’s to be expected, but that doesn’t really make it any easier.


Feeling overwhelmed

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

So… I found out today that my husband didn’t get yet
another job that he interviewed for. *sigh* I really wish something
would work out for him! He needs it for his self-esteem, and we
need it to be able to pay rent and mortgage every month. Have I
mentioned that I hate money? We have a million and one questions to
answer for our fost-adopt application autobiography, and I have to
sign us up for the foster care class. But I still don’t want to
take any kids until my husband has a job. Please, God? I want to be
the primary caregiver, even if I’m working; I don’t want my husband
to have to do it. We just made it through the fifth Christmas that
we could have had a child. I never thought we would have to wait
this long. Why? I’m just so tired of all of this. I just want a


Here we go again

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Our first home appointment with the foster/adoption agency is two weeks from today.  I can’t believe we’re getting ready to start this whole process all over again.  It will be way more intensive this time because a) we’re going through an agency instead of just through the county, and b) last time we were just licensed for foster care and this time it will include the adoption homestudy too.

It feels good to be moving forward, but it’s a little scary too.  Once we make it through this process it will be back to the daily hope and disappointment.  Checking my phone every three minutes to see if we’ve gotten a call.  Having NO idea when that call will come, or what it will bring.

The two placements we had before (each for about three months) were so different.  The first one – two sisters, ages two and five – was my first real chance at being a mom.  Those girls had so much energy and could be so draining, but I loved every minute of it.  Well, *almost* every minute.  All of the hugs and smiles, silliness and laughter, and even the tantrums and tears.  I loved being a mom.  We knew when we accepted the placement that we were only a stepping stone between two placements – a previous foster placement that didn’t work out, and a permanent placement with extended family – but that didn’t make it any easier to let them go.

Our second placement was a six year old girl.  We did respite for her about a month before she was placed with us, and at that time it looked like it might be heading toward being a potential adoptive placement.  Her mom pulled it together though, and by the time she was actually placed with us things were leaning heavily toward reunification.  She was much quieter than the other two, but once she felt comfortable enough somewhere to laugh, she had the greatest giggle.  It makes me smile to think about it.  She is back with her mom now, and they’re doing great.  But of course I still miss her.

It’s going to be so nice to get back into all of this!