18 Months TTC…and It Hasn't Killed Me...
The 20th of this month (December) will mark a year and a half since Michael and I started trying to conceive. In that amount of time, we have gone from "Let nature take its course" to "How many rounds of Clomid am I allowed to take?" The latest news: my NP called Friday to let me know my progesterone level actually DROPPED this last month to a 6.4. That's not supposed to happen when you're on Clomid. But it did happen and now we have to face another "next step". That step will be to start a more moderate dose of the fertility drug called Femara (yes, the one I recently blogged about that makes me a little apprehensive). As for a silver lining, though, they are going to finally test my androgen levels to see if they are playing a villainous role. They could very well be the culprit. They could also be ruled out. Either way, we'll have yet another much-desired answer.
I began using writing as an outlet for my frustration through this blog starting back in January as I timidly crossed the threshold of fertility testing. Since then, my stress levels have greatly tapered and I continue to seek refuge through writing (plus an occasional yoga class). That's not to say there aren't days where these 18 months haven't felt like an eternity, especially since I actually started to pay attention to the number of women who have since had a baby or are now pregnant. It's at least 15 women whom I personally know, and three of those were added to the list in the last week. I have to admit it's difficult to watch others grow babies in their bellies as my womb refuses to accept deliveries from my fallopian tubes. Yet it doesn't diminish my hopes for our future parenthood. I won't lie: news of a friend's pregnancy or new little bundle affects me the way a slap to the face would. It's painful, but it's not experienced for long and the initial sting soon dissipates. Then I put on my big girl panties and get over myself. Just like my friends have been our cheerleaders during our struggle, I will be their cheerleader during their time of sheer exhilaration.
This road has been a winding, and often confusing, one, but there are a few things I have learned along the way.
So, despite the setbacks and moments wondering if Michael and I will ever conceive, I'm still alive…and kickin', for that matter. I remember thinking at one time that the worst news I could ever receive would be that I was not able to get pregnant or carry a child. As much as I would be traumatized by such a blow, I am confident to say that I no longer feel that way. It would be much more painful to be told I was not allowed near children or not qualified to adopt a child should getting pregnant not be in the cards. The ultimate goal is to become a parent. Ever since I my diagnosis of endometriosis at the age of 20, I foresaw a future of fertility issues. Maybe our situation is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe it's a test of our determination toward a very meaningful goal. Maybe it's merely a test of our patience. Until I have a baby that I'm allowed to take home as my own, I will keep dreaming about and praying for one.