Hi there, those of you who are ICLWers new to my blog! I'm a 35-year-old infertile, TTC #1 with two miscarriages and an inhospitable uterus. My focus lately is severe pelvic pain that's been around since a surgery 4 months ago. My husband and I are starting to think seriously about adoption.
Today was the big day. My appointment with Dr. Fourth Opinion, the man who has all my hopes and dreams riding on his shoulders. Poor guy.
He was really great. Spent a ton of time with me, really listened, had an excellent bedside manner, and seemed very competent. Also young. No offense to any young'uns around here, but this guy was probably born in the '80's and it makes me feel old to be at the age where my doctors are younger than I am.
He agreed with everything my previous doctors have said about the causes of this pain. I don't know if I'm really describing it accurately, but it has to do with pelvic floor muscle spasms. The spasms cause trigger points in my upper abdomen, giving me horrible burning pain below my ribs. The pain migrates around and is now worst in my lower pelvis, where the pain is both dull and burning. Burning is symptommatic of neuropathic pain, which I admit I don't entirely understand. Isn't all pain related to nerves firing?
Anyway, I asked Dr. Fourth Opinion The Big Question, namely what is his prognosis, particularly around a possible pregnancy. Am I foolish for considering pregnancy after all of my body's freak-outs? His answer terrified me. He said my prognosis was great, that he expects a full recovery, and a pregnancy would probably not make anything worse. Shit.
Just when I think I've got it all figured out, Dr. F.O. throws a curveball. Part of me really wants to be done with this chapter, as you all know. But on the two days a month that I'm feeling reasonably good, I think about pregnancy. I want it. I wasn't expecting the desire to grow a baby to switch off entirely, at least during my childbearing years, but when a physician tells me that it might be possible....I pretty much ovulate on the spot.
So, that's about it. Dealing with lots of mixed feelings. My big family-building decisions need to be put on hold for now until I really start getting better. I'll continue to research adoption as much as possible, also keeping in mind that the biological route is not out of the question. Grr. Back to in-betweenness where the main thing I have to do is wait. Wait and heal.
Dr. F.O. added a tricyclic antidepressant to my medication cocktail. He said his clinic likes to use tricylics and Cymbalta to treat the types of pain I'm having. I can stay on Prozac, which is very good because withdrawing from it would give me a 3-month hangover.
I will also be seeing a new physical therapist whom Dr. F.O. highly recommends. I was feeling wishy-washy about mine, anyway, so I'll look forward to seeing someone else. I mean, as much as you can look forward to the eleventieth medical appointment you've had since the beginning of the year.
I imagine some people reading this are like, "Just freakin adopt and be done with it." I'm even telling myself to just adopt. I KNOW. I know and also don't know from lack of experience how difficult the adoption process can be, but there is something very attractive about starting a different difficult process. One that doesn't involve my body. And yet, it is so expensive. Depressingly expensive. And difficult. I can't even begin to express all my thoughts about adoption vs TTC right here, right now.
Phew. This felt really good to write. Your comments about my last few posts have been so helpful. Some of you have said that choosing to adopt is not necessarily closing the door on a biological child, and I appreciate that reminder. Starting to research adoption is bringing me so much hope, so many daydreams about nurseries, and I'm so lucky to have your support along the way.
birds
Monday, July 23, 2012
Thursday, July 19, 2012
NURSERY, Newborns, and Annoyances
You can't talk about domestic adoption for long without someone bringing up The Photobook. This is what an adoption agency shows a birthmom when she's choosing an adoptive family, so it needs to be exceptional. I'm totally overwhelmed by it, but a friend in the know emailed me some great tips. Lots of happiness, love, and uniqueness need to be projected or you won't get chosen for many years. No pressure or anything. (Those weren't her exact words...I might be exaggerating.)
Somewhere along the way, amidst tips about showing how awesome you are as a couple, my friend mentioned that it wouldn't hurt to show a photo of the nursery if we have one. The NURSERY. OMG. The email was chock full of serious, helpful advice, and NURSERY is what I can't get out of my head. Must. Decorate. Nursery.
Of course, we haven't even decided for sure that we're doing adoption. We have NO idea what agency we'd use, or how to start a home study. But now is a good time to be thinking about nursery paint colors, right? Because I can decorate. I can paint a wall, hang a picture, and make a bed. Finding the right agency to connect me with my child is a whole other ballgame and slightly terrifying.
In the vein of avoiding huge decisions like choosing an agency, I took a first step in decorating the nursery. I dug a couple of huge teddy bears out of the closet and set them on a rocking chair with a cute baby-appropriate quilt. They're sitting where I can see them as I walk by and I've been noticing my feelings about them. They aren't freaking me out too much in a "wow, you're overconfident that you're going to have a baby" way, so they're staying there for now.
*****
My new baby niece is so precious. We were over at my brother-in-law's house for a total of 5 hours visiting on Sunday, and I held the baby for approximately 4 of those hours. I generously let the mom hold her some, and even let my husband hold her for a tiny bit. I was hoping that my husband's holding her would speed up his manological clock. It's about time he felt some urgency, right?
After I'd gotten my fill of 2-week-old baby adorableness (NOT—give me more babies to hold, STAT), we returned home to news that our neighbors had adopted a newborn baby girl. It was a surprise to us, although not entirely unexpected; we'd speculated for years that they were fellow infertiles.
On Monday night, we inflicted ourselves on the new parents to see the baby and share infertility war stories. Baby was gorgeous and they filled us in on their adoption journey. WOW. I do not know how they persevered because they really went through hell trying to adopt, and that was after several years of infertility.
We've been neighbors with these people for 4 years, had them over for beers numerous times, and didn't realize they going through infertility (beyond our private speculations). It makes me sad. Someone really needs to come up with an infertile handshake that we'd use to identify one another.
So, yeah. Two newborns in 2 days and I've got baby fever BAD.
*****
I am totally seeking validation in my decision to stop TTC. People (not you guys) keep reacting as if I'm making a rash decision based on inadequate data. I get what they're saying to a point, but People, have you not been around the past 4.5 months when I had severe pain every single day? Have you not heard about the five different pain medications I'm taking because none are effective enough on their own? Have you not seen my body morph from fairly athletic to soft and rounded? Have you somehow missed seeing me shuffle around painfully?
I'm irritated because this morning, my PT refused to offer an opinion about my prognosis in terms of pregnancy. She said we wouldn't know anything until I got better from this, just wait and see how it goes, ask your physician, blah blah blah.
Ok, totally not helpful. You are the person probably most intimately aware about my condition, so give me an opinion! Yes or no! Don't tell me I'm a crazy person for thinking that biological kids are out of the question at this point.
Obviously, I'm struggling with being in limbo. I want decisions to be made, action to be taken, and a baby to land in our laps. I'm sick of this waiting crap.
Update (I wrote the PT stuff yesterday): my sister reminded me that my PT doesn't know (or has forgotten) about all the TTC hardships we've experienced, which partly explains her not understanding why we'd stop now. She seems to see my case as being based around my last hysteroscopy, which is only part of the picture.
Most of my stress can probably be attributed to dread about my upcoming doctor's appointment with Dr. Fourth Opinion. If you count the urgent care doctor who tried to troubleshoot with me, this next appointment is the fifth doctor's opinion, but who's counting. Anyway, totally dreading this next appointment. Dreading the unknown; will he give me new information about my condition or just reiterate everything I've already heard, making this a waste of a $40 copay and my morning? Will he agree to take on the pain management aspect of my case? And, most importantly, what does he think carrying a child in my irritable abdomen would do to me?
Maybe I'm most afraid of not getting any answers. I hate limbo. Appointment is Monday.
****
And now, a baby birdie photo. These are house finches who grew up on my front porch. They're huge and I expect most of them to fledge (leave the nest) today. I am not kidding, our yard is an aviary. This year, on our 0.5-acre lot, we've had visible nests of house finches, bluebirds, cardinals, wrens, and mockingbirds. So cool.
Somewhere along the way, amidst tips about showing how awesome you are as a couple, my friend mentioned that it wouldn't hurt to show a photo of the nursery if we have one. The NURSERY. OMG. The email was chock full of serious, helpful advice, and NURSERY is what I can't get out of my head. Must. Decorate. Nursery.
Of course, we haven't even decided for sure that we're doing adoption. We have NO idea what agency we'd use, or how to start a home study. But now is a good time to be thinking about nursery paint colors, right? Because I can decorate. I can paint a wall, hang a picture, and make a bed. Finding the right agency to connect me with my child is a whole other ballgame and slightly terrifying.
In the vein of avoiding huge decisions like choosing an agency, I took a first step in decorating the nursery. I dug a couple of huge teddy bears out of the closet and set them on a rocking chair with a cute baby-appropriate quilt. They're sitting where I can see them as I walk by and I've been noticing my feelings about them. They aren't freaking me out too much in a "wow, you're overconfident that you're going to have a baby" way, so they're staying there for now.
 |
| Will we be part of a nursery? |
*****
My new baby niece is so precious. We were over at my brother-in-law's house for a total of 5 hours visiting on Sunday, and I held the baby for approximately 4 of those hours. I generously let the mom hold her some, and even let my husband hold her for a tiny bit. I was hoping that my husband's holding her would speed up his manological clock. It's about time he felt some urgency, right?
After I'd gotten my fill of 2-week-old baby adorableness (NOT—give me more babies to hold, STAT), we returned home to news that our neighbors had adopted a newborn baby girl. It was a surprise to us, although not entirely unexpected; we'd speculated for years that they were fellow infertiles.
On Monday night, we inflicted ourselves on the new parents to see the baby and share infertility war stories. Baby was gorgeous and they filled us in on their adoption journey. WOW. I do not know how they persevered because they really went through hell trying to adopt, and that was after several years of infertility.
We've been neighbors with these people for 4 years, had them over for beers numerous times, and didn't realize they going through infertility (beyond our private speculations). It makes me sad. Someone really needs to come up with an infertile handshake that we'd use to identify one another.
So, yeah. Two newborns in 2 days and I've got baby fever BAD.
*****
I am totally seeking validation in my decision to stop TTC. People (not you guys) keep reacting as if I'm making a rash decision based on inadequate data. I get what they're saying to a point, but People, have you not been around the past 4.5 months when I had severe pain every single day? Have you not heard about the five different pain medications I'm taking because none are effective enough on their own? Have you not seen my body morph from fairly athletic to soft and rounded? Have you somehow missed seeing me shuffle around painfully?
I'm irritated because this morning, my PT refused to offer an opinion about my prognosis in terms of pregnancy. She said we wouldn't know anything until I got better from this, just wait and see how it goes, ask your physician, blah blah blah.
Ok, totally not helpful. You are the person probably most intimately aware about my condition, so give me an opinion! Yes or no! Don't tell me I'm a crazy person for thinking that biological kids are out of the question at this point.
Obviously, I'm struggling with being in limbo. I want decisions to be made, action to be taken, and a baby to land in our laps. I'm sick of this waiting crap.
Update (I wrote the PT stuff yesterday): my sister reminded me that my PT doesn't know (or has forgotten) about all the TTC hardships we've experienced, which partly explains her not understanding why we'd stop now. She seems to see my case as being based around my last hysteroscopy, which is only part of the picture.
Most of my stress can probably be attributed to dread about my upcoming doctor's appointment with Dr. Fourth Opinion. If you count the urgent care doctor who tried to troubleshoot with me, this next appointment is the fifth doctor's opinion, but who's counting. Anyway, totally dreading this next appointment. Dreading the unknown; will he give me new information about my condition or just reiterate everything I've already heard, making this a waste of a $40 copay and my morning? Will he agree to take on the pain management aspect of my case? And, most importantly, what does he think carrying a child in my irritable abdomen would do to me?
Maybe I'm most afraid of not getting any answers. I hate limbo. Appointment is Monday.
****
And now, a baby birdie photo. These are house finches who grew up on my front porch. They're huge and I expect most of them to fledge (leave the nest) today. I am not kidding, our yard is an aviary. This year, on our 0.5-acre lot, we've had visible nests of house finches, bluebirds, cardinals, wrens, and mockingbirds. So cool.
 |
| They tend to sit with their beaks open when it's really hot. |
Monday, July 9, 2012
Where I'm Supposed to Be
"You are exactly where you're supposed to be."
My Dove chocolate wrapper just told me that. Whoa. After announcing to you guys, some family and friends, and myself that I'm done with trying, I appreciated the reassurance from Dove. :)
So, yeah. Last week was a little crazy. I can't remember what tipped me from "maybe I'll try again" to "no way in hell," and it felt weird putting it all out there. But it also felt like a great release. I've found that all kinds of good stuff happens when you open up. Like finding people to talk about adoption with. After telling my sister, she met an adoptive parent this week who is super pumped about adoption and would love to talk with me about it. Yay!
The person who was probably most surprised about my decision is my husband. Maybe before this week, I hadn't communicated clearly enough that this was coming. That the pain has made me realize I'm really not cut out to grow a child. He's reluctant to accept defeat and wants a doctor's opinion about adding a gestation to my pelvic woes. He also thinks I'm just saying this because I'm miserable right now, and I'll change my mind once my body calms down. It's possible but I doubt it. I'm pretty close with my body, and it's told me in no uncertain terms that it doesn't want a uterine occupant.
Like I said before, it's not all about the 4 months of hellish abdominal pain, either. I kinda wanted to stop trying after my second miscarriage last fall. I don't want to ever go through that hell again. I'm not convinced that my uterus is any more inhabitable than it was when it kicked that baby out. Also, although one miscarriage doesn't increase your odds of another, two miscarriages start making you more likely than the average woman to miscarry. Avoiding pregnancy started sounding very appealing at last fall.
I had some bad moments last week after my announcement, though. Moments where I doubted that we'd ever have a child, that we'd never agree on an agency/birthmother/child. But I think we'll get there.
In general, I feel happier than I've felt in a long time. I keep thinking my body will reward me for the happy hormones I'm allowing it to produce, all the "I'M RELAXED SO YOU'D BETTER RELAX, DAMN IT" vibes coming its way. But the pain is still bad. I played hooky from PT for a while because I felt like it was making the pain worse, but I've started back up again. I'm going into it a little tougher than before, more Jillian Michaels than Rodney Yee (yoga guru). I'm due to call my pain doctor again this week and can't wait to interact with the oh-so-helpful triage nurse again. Fun times.
I feel like I've taken back my body and it feels amazing.
It's also nice to have a goal again. I'm happiest when I have something to work toward, and there's much work to be done on the adoption front. We know that if we chose to adopt, we'd do domestic, but we don't know a lot beyond that. I went to a couple of adoption seminars last year so I'm hip to the lingo, but know we wouldn't use either of those agencies.
Hope you guys had a nice weekend!
My Dove chocolate wrapper just told me that. Whoa. After announcing to you guys, some family and friends, and myself that I'm done with trying, I appreciated the reassurance from Dove. :)
So, yeah. Last week was a little crazy. I can't remember what tipped me from "maybe I'll try again" to "no way in hell," and it felt weird putting it all out there. But it also felt like a great release. I've found that all kinds of good stuff happens when you open up. Like finding people to talk about adoption with. After telling my sister, she met an adoptive parent this week who is super pumped about adoption and would love to talk with me about it. Yay!
The person who was probably most surprised about my decision is my husband. Maybe before this week, I hadn't communicated clearly enough that this was coming. That the pain has made me realize I'm really not cut out to grow a child. He's reluctant to accept defeat and wants a doctor's opinion about adding a gestation to my pelvic woes. He also thinks I'm just saying this because I'm miserable right now, and I'll change my mind once my body calms down. It's possible but I doubt it. I'm pretty close with my body, and it's told me in no uncertain terms that it doesn't want a uterine occupant.
Like I said before, it's not all about the 4 months of hellish abdominal pain, either. I kinda wanted to stop trying after my second miscarriage last fall. I don't want to ever go through that hell again. I'm not convinced that my uterus is any more inhabitable than it was when it kicked that baby out. Also, although one miscarriage doesn't increase your odds of another, two miscarriages start making you more likely than the average woman to miscarry. Avoiding pregnancy started sounding very appealing at last fall.
I had some bad moments last week after my announcement, though. Moments where I doubted that we'd ever have a child, that we'd never agree on an agency/birthmother/child. But I think we'll get there.
In general, I feel happier than I've felt in a long time. I keep thinking my body will reward me for the happy hormones I'm allowing it to produce, all the "I'M RELAXED SO YOU'D BETTER RELAX, DAMN IT" vibes coming its way. But the pain is still bad. I played hooky from PT for a while because I felt like it was making the pain worse, but I've started back up again. I'm going into it a little tougher than before, more Jillian Michaels than Rodney Yee (yoga guru). I'm due to call my pain doctor again this week and can't wait to interact with the oh-so-helpful triage nurse again. Fun times.
I feel like I've taken back my body and it feels amazing.
It's also nice to have a goal again. I'm happiest when I have something to work toward, and there's much work to be done on the adoption front. We know that if we chose to adopt, we'd do domestic, but we don't know a lot beyond that. I went to a couple of adoption seminars last year so I'm hip to the lingo, but know we wouldn't use either of those agencies.
Hope you guys had a nice weekend!
Monday, July 2, 2012
Endings and Beginnings
I've started and deleted this post three or four times because I'm not sure how to say this, but I think I've reached the end of the road with trying to conceive.
Instead of feeling bereaved, I feel light. My husband and I are talking about adoption and I'm excited to see what it holds for us.
Oddly enough, I'm not grieving. I think it's because I've already grieved this loss for a very long time. Most recently, miscarriage #2 felt like our last chance slipping away. After that, my heart really wasn't in TTC, but I thought I'd try for at least one more pregnancy. If I miscarried again, that would be it.
Then the chronic pain started and changed everything. I kept thinking the pain would be gone tomorrow, or after my period ended, or at least by the time of my 3D sonogram. But 4 months later, I don't feel much closer to getting better.
Several month ago, sometime around miscarriage #2, a post by a childfree blogger (forgive me for forgetting whom) resonated with me. She said that at one point, she would have given her right arm for a baby. I found myself nodding my head because that was me. Up until around the time of my second miscarriage, I would have given my right arm for a child. And like that blogger, I wouldn't anymore.
I never imagined myself saying this, but in some ways, the pain has been a gift. It's reminded me to value my health, to cherish my ability to do yoga and take walks. Not knowing when I will get better is terrifying, but once I do, I'll do everything in my power to stay that way.
I never would have predicted that this is what the end of this phase looks like. I always thought it would involve several IUIs, a couple of IVFs, or more miscarriages. But my pain, the little minx, brought an entirely different way to find the end.
I reserve the right to change my mind about all of this, but I'm pretty sure this is it. I can see my husband and me being happy together in a number of situations, and I really see how lucky we are to have each other.
I feel like a different person lately—one who doesn't scowl at pregnant women. Yesterday, we went to the hospital to see my new niece and I was fine. I can't wait to see her again, actually. Who am I? Last year at this time when the niece's older brother was born, I wanted nothing to do with him. I would ask my therapist how to avoid holding him.
I'm sure we have a tough road ahead of us, but I refuse to make it any tougher on my body. I feel empowered knowing that my body will not be my RE's experiment anymore. No more drugs, surgeries, or miscarriages. No more months of mourning my period's arrival. I will be healthy for my child(ren).
Instead of feeling bereaved, I feel light. My husband and I are talking about adoption and I'm excited to see what it holds for us.
Oddly enough, I'm not grieving. I think it's because I've already grieved this loss for a very long time. Most recently, miscarriage #2 felt like our last chance slipping away. After that, my heart really wasn't in TTC, but I thought I'd try for at least one more pregnancy. If I miscarried again, that would be it.
Then the chronic pain started and changed everything. I kept thinking the pain would be gone tomorrow, or after my period ended, or at least by the time of my 3D sonogram. But 4 months later, I don't feel much closer to getting better.
Several month ago, sometime around miscarriage #2, a post by a childfree blogger (forgive me for forgetting whom) resonated with me. She said that at one point, she would have given her right arm for a baby. I found myself nodding my head because that was me. Up until around the time of my second miscarriage, I would have given my right arm for a child. And like that blogger, I wouldn't anymore.
I never imagined myself saying this, but in some ways, the pain has been a gift. It's reminded me to value my health, to cherish my ability to do yoga and take walks. Not knowing when I will get better is terrifying, but once I do, I'll do everything in my power to stay that way.
I never would have predicted that this is what the end of this phase looks like. I always thought it would involve several IUIs, a couple of IVFs, or more miscarriages. But my pain, the little minx, brought an entirely different way to find the end.
I reserve the right to change my mind about all of this, but I'm pretty sure this is it. I can see my husband and me being happy together in a number of situations, and I really see how lucky we are to have each other.
I feel like a different person lately—one who doesn't scowl at pregnant women. Yesterday, we went to the hospital to see my new niece and I was fine. I can't wait to see her again, actually. Who am I? Last year at this time when the niece's older brother was born, I wanted nothing to do with him. I would ask my therapist how to avoid holding him.
I'm sure we have a tough road ahead of us, but I refuse to make it any tougher on my body. I feel empowered knowing that my body will not be my RE's experiment anymore. No more drugs, surgeries, or miscarriages. No more months of mourning my period's arrival. I will be healthy for my child(ren).
Thursday, June 28, 2012
The Art of Achieving the Call Back
I spent the past several days waiting for my pain doctor to call me back. I left a message every business day for 4 days and somehow (<cough> bad nurse) they kept getting ignored . Yesterday I finally received a call back from my doctor—hallelujah—and I wanted to share with you some tactics that did and didn't work. Not surprisingly, the pain clinic operates similarly to the RE's—wish I'd figured that out earlier.
When you need your doctor to call you:
1. Staring at your phone does not make it ring. I've practiced this technique long enough to know with certainty that it doesn't work. Some people learned this in high school, but apparently I was not one of them.
2. Thinking about the phone sometimes makes it ring. True story: one day when I was driving home from work, I wondered when my RE would call and she called that very minute. WEIRD. The trick to making this work is thinking constantly about when they'll call; your obsessing and their calling back are bound to coincide eventually.
3. If your cell does not get reception in your house, you're screwed. My husband and I are about 10 years behind in cell phone technology. We use prepaid plans and I don't have a smartphone, and our phones are primarily for emergencies. I felt all superior about this in a hippie, "I'm so present and in the moment that I don't need technology" kind of way until all this pain shit hit the fan. It turns out that giving out three phone numbers can confuse health care professionals and result in your missing their calls. Before you miss their calls, you will wander around your house trying to find the place with the most bars, leaving your phone in that place, and racing to it when it rings.
4. Call early in the day. Messages stop being retrieved at 3 pm and even earlier on Fridays in my clinics. Learned this one the hard way when I left a message at 3:02 on a Thursday. Turned out my doc didn't work on Fridays, so it was a long wait for a return call.
5. When all else fails, page the doctor on call. But don't expect to get connected on the first try. You might have many setbacks before you speak to a doctor, including the hospital operator hanging up on you, the doctor not answering the page, or the wrong doctor being paged (I don't need to speak to an ophthamologist now—probably one of the few specialists I have no questions for). Paging the doctor on call is your ace in the hole. Don't overuse it.
After 4 business days of leaving messages and staring at the phone, plus a weekend of pain and sulking because I knew I wouldn't get a call then, my doctor finally called back and adjusted my meds. It took paging the resident on call and asking him if there was anything else I could be doing to get a call back. I'm so done with the pain clinic.
Update: the triage nurse left me a nasty voicemail this morning. Sounds like she was reamed out by the doctor so she called to "apologize," which consisted of her telling me that I must have done something wrong when I left the messages and/or lied about how many times I've called. She checks her messages frequently and always follows up that day. Riiiiight.
When you need your doctor to call you:
1. Staring at your phone does not make it ring. I've practiced this technique long enough to know with certainty that it doesn't work. Some people learned this in high school, but apparently I was not one of them.
2. Thinking about the phone sometimes makes it ring. True story: one day when I was driving home from work, I wondered when my RE would call and she called that very minute. WEIRD. The trick to making this work is thinking constantly about when they'll call; your obsessing and their calling back are bound to coincide eventually.
3. If your cell does not get reception in your house, you're screwed. My husband and I are about 10 years behind in cell phone technology. We use prepaid plans and I don't have a smartphone, and our phones are primarily for emergencies. I felt all superior about this in a hippie, "I'm so present and in the moment that I don't need technology" kind of way until all this pain shit hit the fan. It turns out that giving out three phone numbers can confuse health care professionals and result in your missing their calls. Before you miss their calls, you will wander around your house trying to find the place with the most bars, leaving your phone in that place, and racing to it when it rings.
4. Call early in the day. Messages stop being retrieved at 3 pm and even earlier on Fridays in my clinics. Learned this one the hard way when I left a message at 3:02 on a Thursday. Turned out my doc didn't work on Fridays, so it was a long wait for a return call.
5. When all else fails, page the doctor on call. But don't expect to get connected on the first try. You might have many setbacks before you speak to a doctor, including the hospital operator hanging up on you, the doctor not answering the page, or the wrong doctor being paged (I don't need to speak to an ophthamologist now—probably one of the few specialists I have no questions for). Paging the doctor on call is your ace in the hole. Don't overuse it.
After 4 business days of leaving messages and staring at the phone, plus a weekend of pain and sulking because I knew I wouldn't get a call then, my doctor finally called back and adjusted my meds. It took paging the resident on call and asking him if there was anything else I could be doing to get a call back. I'm so done with the pain clinic.
Update: the triage nurse left me a nasty voicemail this morning. Sounds like she was reamed out by the doctor so she called to "apologize," which consisted of her telling me that I must have done something wrong when I left the messages and/or lied about how many times I've called. She checks her messages frequently and always follows up that day. Riiiiight.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Dear Body: We Need to Talk
Hey girl. I know you're having some rough times. Let's talk about what's going on.
You're upset, understandably, from repeated assaults by surgery and endo. I am partly to blame, but we need to come to an understanding about how to work things out.
I've taken pretty decent care of you over the years. I'm sorry about the binge drinking in college—that wasn't cool. But I cleaned up my act pretty nicely and turned into a half marathoner and triathlete, and I appreciate your allowing me to do these. We worked well together and I think I should get some credit for pursuing such healthy hobbies.
Tendinitis helped me realize that I needed to take care of you a little differently than before, with a little less impact, and I switched to yoga. You thanked me and we had a nice routine going on for a while there.
Let's talk about food. I was a vegetarian for 13 years, and going back to meat hasn't changed my overall outlook on food. I believe in breakfast, lunch, dinner, and two snacks, and I think you'd agree we have a good thing going. No issues there, right? Lots of fruits and veggies?
Good. That brings me to my key complaint. You're probably thinking it's going to be infertility. Good guess, but something else is bothering me even more than that. So let's set infertility aside for the moment and talk about pain.
I'm certain that some of my choices have led us to this impasse. First, I let endo have its way for a while because I didn't believe in the Pill. Mistake. I realize now that I should have stayed on the Pill up to the month we wanted to get pregnant, but I didn't know that then. I'm sorry.
I tried to fix the endo situation by having the laparoscopy last year. My intentions were pure, but I'm pretty sure you hated the surgery even more than you hated the endo. I had no idea you'd react that way to laparoscopic surgery. I've never heard of someone taking 3 months to recover, so I'm not sure how I would have anticipated that.
Then I got greedy. I tried again to get pregnant. And I didn't just try, I used letrozole. It worked, and we were pregnant again. And then we weren't. Not to be flip, but...you sure showed me. You showed me that it was a sign of hubris to try for a biological child again after I knew a uterine septum was present. Maybe that was the cause of the miscarriage or maybe it wasn't, but I feel dumb for not getting more opinions about the septum. Dumb and completely, totally heartbroken.
Your downfall was really in full swing by that point. A few months after having the contents of my uterus sucked out again, we brought out the hardware again. I had my doctor trim back my septum and some scar tissue and remove a polyp. And you hated it.
I don't think you've ever felt the same after that surgery in December. I'm thankful to blogging in that it provides a record of just how badly I was doing in January and February. I made a lot of excuses for why I didn't feel great, letrozole this and post-op recovery that, but in retrospect you were sending me signals, loud and clear.
I'm sorry for going back in for surgery in March. I'm sorry for agreeing to the uterine balloon. I don't know why I wasn't getting your signals. On second thought, I do know. I said I wouldn't drag infertility into this discussion, but I'm going to for a second. I'm really, really angry at you for not giving me a child. I know it's not my due, I don't deserve a baby more than anyone else, and infertility is just one of those unlucky conditions. But I did all these interventions, each surgery and procedure, for the chance of having a child. I can see now how much I was risking in terms of your health, but I couldn't give up. I still kinda hate you for not following through on what we're born to do—reproduce.
So I got the balloon and then received your response to it. Yeah. Got it. And I'm still getting it. You're sick and fucking tired of it all. We're in this position because of choices I made, because I had some dream that I was willing to risk everything for.
I get that I went too far, but we need to reach a level of understanding. I can't give you more of the things you need in my current condition. I can't exercise, cook for myself, or sleep well. My cortisol levels must be through the roof when the pain is flaring. I can give you some of the healthy things you need if you back off.
How about I promise to really consider your needs when I make decisions about a possible baby in the future? I can't promise that I won't try again. I'm sorry. But you've reminded me how critically important it is to keep you working and functional, and above all, healthy. I won't forget it.
So please consider backing down. Message received; I made some poor decisions. I was doing my best with the information I had at the time, but I could have paid more attention to your needs. Now that the damage is done, literally, we need to find a way to coexist and hopefully get along. Truce?
Love,
D
You're upset, understandably, from repeated assaults by surgery and endo. I am partly to blame, but we need to come to an understanding about how to work things out.
I've taken pretty decent care of you over the years. I'm sorry about the binge drinking in college—that wasn't cool. But I cleaned up my act pretty nicely and turned into a half marathoner and triathlete, and I appreciate your allowing me to do these. We worked well together and I think I should get some credit for pursuing such healthy hobbies.
Tendinitis helped me realize that I needed to take care of you a little differently than before, with a little less impact, and I switched to yoga. You thanked me and we had a nice routine going on for a while there.
Let's talk about food. I was a vegetarian for 13 years, and going back to meat hasn't changed my overall outlook on food. I believe in breakfast, lunch, dinner, and two snacks, and I think you'd agree we have a good thing going. No issues there, right? Lots of fruits and veggies?
Good. That brings me to my key complaint. You're probably thinking it's going to be infertility. Good guess, but something else is bothering me even more than that. So let's set infertility aside for the moment and talk about pain.
I'm certain that some of my choices have led us to this impasse. First, I let endo have its way for a while because I didn't believe in the Pill. Mistake. I realize now that I should have stayed on the Pill up to the month we wanted to get pregnant, but I didn't know that then. I'm sorry.
I tried to fix the endo situation by having the laparoscopy last year. My intentions were pure, but I'm pretty sure you hated the surgery even more than you hated the endo. I had no idea you'd react that way to laparoscopic surgery. I've never heard of someone taking 3 months to recover, so I'm not sure how I would have anticipated that.
Then I got greedy. I tried again to get pregnant. And I didn't just try, I used letrozole. It worked, and we were pregnant again. And then we weren't. Not to be flip, but...you sure showed me. You showed me that it was a sign of hubris to try for a biological child again after I knew a uterine septum was present. Maybe that was the cause of the miscarriage or maybe it wasn't, but I feel dumb for not getting more opinions about the septum. Dumb and completely, totally heartbroken.
Your downfall was really in full swing by that point. A few months after having the contents of my uterus sucked out again, we brought out the hardware again. I had my doctor trim back my septum and some scar tissue and remove a polyp. And you hated it.
I don't think you've ever felt the same after that surgery in December. I'm thankful to blogging in that it provides a record of just how badly I was doing in January and February. I made a lot of excuses for why I didn't feel great, letrozole this and post-op recovery that, but in retrospect you were sending me signals, loud and clear.
I'm sorry for going back in for surgery in March. I'm sorry for agreeing to the uterine balloon. I don't know why I wasn't getting your signals. On second thought, I do know. I said I wouldn't drag infertility into this discussion, but I'm going to for a second. I'm really, really angry at you for not giving me a child. I know it's not my due, I don't deserve a baby more than anyone else, and infertility is just one of those unlucky conditions. But I did all these interventions, each surgery and procedure, for the chance of having a child. I can see now how much I was risking in terms of your health, but I couldn't give up. I still kinda hate you for not following through on what we're born to do—reproduce.
So I got the balloon and then received your response to it. Yeah. Got it. And I'm still getting it. You're sick and fucking tired of it all. We're in this position because of choices I made, because I had some dream that I was willing to risk everything for.
I get that I went too far, but we need to reach a level of understanding. I can't give you more of the things you need in my current condition. I can't exercise, cook for myself, or sleep well. My cortisol levels must be through the roof when the pain is flaring. I can give you some of the healthy things you need if you back off.
How about I promise to really consider your needs when I make decisions about a possible baby in the future? I can't promise that I won't try again. I'm sorry. But you've reminded me how critically important it is to keep you working and functional, and above all, healthy. I won't forget it.
So please consider backing down. Message received; I made some poor decisions. I was doing my best with the information I had at the time, but I could have paid more attention to your needs. Now that the damage is done, literally, we need to find a way to coexist and hopefully get along. Truce?
Love,
D
Friday, June 22, 2012
ICLW, Fourth Opinions, and Flowers
Hi ICLWers! Welcome to my blog and thanks for visiting. I'm 35, 3 years into TTC, 2 early miscarriages, and currently recovering from a uterine surgery. Apparently I suck at recovering because I've been in nonstop pain for the past 3 months.
Because I like showing off my flowers, here's a pic of one of my hydrangeas.
My work trip sucked the life out of me yesterday. Woke up at 3 a.m. to catch my flight, and came home at 3 p.m. and crashed. Slept for 11 hours and it felt like heaven. But I still don't feel right.
Predictably, my pain is horrible today. I knew that walking around airports was bound to do me in, with all the stress walking is apparently putting on my stupid recovering pelvic floor muscles. Feeling so hopeless about ever recovering. What the hell am I doing wrong? I do my PT religiously, I take the pain meds, I rest like crazy...
I need to call the new clinic where I'll seek a fourth opinion, but I am loathe to make any more doctor's appointments. Loathe. I do not want to start off in a new medical system, go through all of their screening interviews, paperwork, and office visits, just to end up in the same place. I'm convinced the new clinic won't be able to help.
At the same time, I know I desperately need a main provider who will coordinate my care. Everyone (ie, my RE and I) thought my pain doc would be my core doc during this, but she's obviously not up to the role. I think she's competent enough—not pelvic-specialized but still capable—but she does not seem to want to monitor me as much as I need. She keeps setting my follow-ups every 6 weeks, when I know (and apparently am not communicating) that I need to see someone at least every 3 or 4 weeks. I'm not sure what's going on, if I'm supposed to keep calling her to follow up sooner, or if she genuinely doesn't understand how badly I'm doing. Major communication gap.
Update: That was easy. Called the fourth opinion clinic and they already have me set up for an appointment. They've mailed me the notification. Ok, people. Would have been nice to know by phone, but whatever. The appt is 7/23, which is sooner than I expected to get in.
*****
When my parents were visiting last week, my mom said that my great aunt had a premonition about when we'd have a baby <cue eye roll>. She had a feeling we'd have a baby in August, and since this August is definitely out, it could be next August. I told my mom that I don't buy into premonitions, hunches, or intuits about our future baby, and remember how my mom had had a feeling that we'd have a baby by Christmas? That is, Christmas 2010? And that I'd had a strong feeling I was pregnant about 569 times since we started trying, and I was wrong 567 of those times? Stupid hunches. They've gotten me nowhere.
*****
To end, here are some more flowers. Thanks for stopping by, and I'm looking forward to reading more of your blogs!
Because I like showing off my flowers, here's a pic of one of my hydrangeas.
 |
| Lace cap hydrangea (I think) |
My work trip sucked the life out of me yesterday. Woke up at 3 a.m. to catch my flight, and came home at 3 p.m. and crashed. Slept for 11 hours and it felt like heaven. But I still don't feel right.
Predictably, my pain is horrible today. I knew that walking around airports was bound to do me in, with all the stress walking is apparently putting on my stupid recovering pelvic floor muscles. Feeling so hopeless about ever recovering. What the hell am I doing wrong? I do my PT religiously, I take the pain meds, I rest like crazy...
I need to call the new clinic where I'll seek a fourth opinion, but I am loathe to make any more doctor's appointments. Loathe. I do not want to start off in a new medical system, go through all of their screening interviews, paperwork, and office visits, just to end up in the same place. I'm convinced the new clinic won't be able to help.
At the same time, I know I desperately need a main provider who will coordinate my care. Everyone (ie, my RE and I) thought my pain doc would be my core doc during this, but she's obviously not up to the role. I think she's competent enough—not pelvic-specialized but still capable—but she does not seem to want to monitor me as much as I need. She keeps setting my follow-ups every 6 weeks, when I know (and apparently am not communicating) that I need to see someone at least every 3 or 4 weeks. I'm not sure what's going on, if I'm supposed to keep calling her to follow up sooner, or if she genuinely doesn't understand how badly I'm doing. Major communication gap.
Update: That was easy. Called the fourth opinion clinic and they already have me set up for an appointment. They've mailed me the notification. Ok, people. Would have been nice to know by phone, but whatever. The appt is 7/23, which is sooner than I expected to get in.
*****
When my parents were visiting last week, my mom said that my great aunt had a premonition about when we'd have a baby <cue eye roll>. She had a feeling we'd have a baby in August, and since this August is definitely out, it could be next August. I told my mom that I don't buy into premonitions, hunches, or intuits about our future baby, and remember how my mom had had a feeling that we'd have a baby by Christmas? That is, Christmas 2010? And that I'd had a strong feeling I was pregnant about 569 times since we started trying, and I was wrong 567 of those times? Stupid hunches. They've gotten me nowhere.
*****
To end, here are some more flowers. Thanks for stopping by, and I'm looking forward to reading more of your blogs!
 |
| Gardenia |
 |
| Hydrangea (the more standard kind) |
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