25 Things ~ 1-5

Way back when on Facebook, there was a tagging game where you list 25 things about yourself. I thought I would revisit this as so many things have changed since last. And then here, I also have a change to give some explanation and back-ground. I find if I put it out there, not only do people ‘get’ me better, but I just understand myself better, you know? So here we go (in no particular order):

1. I am adopted.

In 1984, a very brave, very young girl made one of the biggest sacrifices of her life. No one will ever know the great burden she carried during that time or how it affected her as she grew up, but I can say that I am grateful for whatever she did. I came at the perfect time to be given to a pretty good home where I was able to grow up and enjoy the little luxuries I would never have had if things had gone the other way. I think all things come at a price, though – for all involved. For me, I suffer from attachment issues and have a really hard time establishing relationships and building on them so that they last. Mostly because I have huge trust issues and most people don’t understand why I act the way I do.

For the last seven years I have been working on establishing a relationship with my biological mother’s family and slowly, but surely, I think we’re getting to a really great spot in our lives together. And in the last five years I’ve been doing the same with my biological father, albeit the journey with him has taken a bit more time. I feel truly blessed that along with the decision of giving me to a loving home, my bio mom also chose to stay findable so if and when I was ready, I could start building that bridge.

I have never felt anger or hurt for what my biological mom did. I never felt like she gave me up maliciously. It always made perfect sense in my mind that a 13 year old girl would do something like that instead of raising me. Children shouldn’t raise children. And she once said – “you were never meant to be mine completely. I knew you were meant to be with another family that would love you. I was just that vessel to bring you here.” And how grateful I am.

2. I have an attachment disorder.

It’s a proven fact that all adopted children will have some form of an attachment disorder. How it presents itself and to what severity is as individual as the person. When I got married, my husband would say that I had some sort of attachment issue because I was adopted. I constantly disagreed with him. It wasn’t until two years ago, however, that I finally admitted to it, and began trying to understand it, how it affected my relationships and what I could do to improve myself. I’m sure 95 percent of the people in my life don’t understand this important part of me at all. Even if they say they do. That’s fine, I don’t always understand it either. All I ask is for patience if I don’t seem to act like I should in certain relationship dynamics.

With my attachment, I have huge trust issues. It takes a long time for me to feel 100% comfortable with someone and to trust them in everything. The problem is, when I feel that trust, I attach to them 1000% and then the second I’m disappointed with something they do, or don’t feel like they care enough, the wall comes up again only sometimes it feels like it then takes twice as long for that trust to be rebuilt.  Because of this, I have lost friendships. That makes me very sad, but I’m sure in some cases it’s much to late to do anything about it, and it others that I’ve tried to rebuilt, because they don’t understand me, my efforts have gone seemingly unnoticed, or they’ve been minimized to ‘not enough’.

For example, I never make the first move in friendships or anything. I need to know that it’s safe for me first through the other person’s actions. Once I’m in, I’m in for the long haul and I think I’m a pretty decent friend who’ll be there at any time I’m needed. But I guess I need to be shown you’re worth it first. I know that sounds awful, and is probably why I don’t have a lot of friends in my life. Also, if I’ve taken a step to invite you to do something or talk, it may seem like the smallest thing to you, but for me it is stepping 100 feet out of my comfort zone. And if at anytime I feel like I’m not worth your time, that you’ve shrugged me off for whatever reason, I’ll stop.

3. I’m a mother.

This is the newest thing in my life. It was one of the hardest journeys I’ve had to go through, but also the most rewarding. It was actually a year ago this month (the 7th) that Ryan and I started our in vitro path. I live for my baby boy. Heavenly Father blessed this family with the greatest miracle I have ever witnessed in my life so far and my heart as never been fuller. Connor is almost 3 months now and he just amazes me at how he grows and what he learns to do every single day. I desperately hope we will be blessed with more children, but if that’s not God’s plan for us, I can confidently say I would never feel like anything is ever missing with just him.

4. I am an infertile.

You would think this wouldn’t mean anything now, would you? There’s a saying – ‘once an infertile, always an infertile’. Why is that, you ask? Having a baby doesn’t mean I’m fertile. It meant that I sacrificed a great deal of privacy, time and money to get what I have today. And if I want to do it again, I’ll still have to commit time, privacy and money.  It still means sometimes I have to work really hard to be genuinely happy for someone who gets to plan when, and never have to worry about that. It means I still occasionally get jealous of those people, even when I have a living, breathing miracle sleeping in the next room. Those feelings are never going to go away. I won’t get to choose how many children we’ll have or how big our family will be unless I’m willing to go tens to hundreds of thousands dollars in debt. I’ve had to face reality that my once dream of having five kids is not the reality. I’ve had to face the reality that the one I have may be all I get.

5. I pick at things.

Here’s a little bit lighter subject. And a little gross and embarrassing, I must admit. Labels, scabs, zits…if it can be picked and prodded, I’ll do it. I’ll even go as far as doing it to other people – namely, my husband. It’s pathetic, really. I’m beginning to think I need professional help to deal with this one. 🙂

He’s Here! Pt. 2

So we left off with a blissful sleep (kind of), hoping it would help the labour progress and then the doctor would check me again in the morning at about 7:30 before he went into the clinic for work. I remember checking the time everytime a contraction hit to see how long they were lasting. But as 7:30 approached I started getting depressed because the contractions seems to be easing up and were actually longer apart. I figured the drug didn’t work…again….and I would be forced to have a c-section.

Imagine my surprise when he came in and I was 6 centimeters! Wahoo! In six hours I had dilated six centimeters! Drugs work! I finally got to move into a delivery suite. I was so happy to think this was it. The nurse asked if I wanted an epidural and I immediately said yes. If the morphine helped me progress this far, imagine how much an epidural would help me! So I waddled my way into Labour Suite 4 with a new-found energy. I kept feeling that I really had to pee, though, so I went into the bathroom. Big mistake. As soon as I sat down I felt like I had to push. I was very open with my nurse and told her how I felt. She yelled at me to get back into bed and that I wasn’t allowed back in that bathroom. She checked me at I was 7 cm by then.

The anesthesiologist still hadn’t come in and the contractions were brutal. It was so hard not to push with every contraction that came. I alternated sipping Powerade and water after every contraction and intensely focused on my breathing. Ryan paced in and out of the room – I really could have cared less if he was there or not as no one was really much help for me as I went quite inward and focused on breathing more than anything. I wanted to stay as calm and peaceful as possible so really made no sounds at all.

Finally a little after 11 the anesthesiologist came in and got my epi in. It was hard as I felt like my contractions were coming a lot and he always waited until I was finished before proceeding with anything. I remember crossing my legs during the contractions to make sure I wouldn’t push. But when my epidural was in I remember a wave coming over me. The pushing sensation was dulled and I could get through things. I could manage the pain, but I found trying not to push to be the hardest thing out of everything.

I still really had to pee, though. We tried a bedpan….nothing. And labour wasn’t progressing either. I stayed at 7 cm for at least three hours. The nurse suggested a catheter and I agreed. My bladder was emptied and then within 5 minutes of that I was at 9 cm. By one o’clock I was 9.5 cm with just a little flap in the way. We tried a practise push to see how it would go. Apparently, it went well and the doctor was called in. When  he got in, the flap got moved out of the way and the pushing started. By 3 contractions baby’s head was out. But there was slight problem and the shoulders were stuck. Frantically, more nurses were called in to help, I was moved to a laying position instead of sitting and the OB on call was paged. There were two nurses on each leg and the doctor on my hips trying to get the baby out. They just kept telling me to push even when there was no contraction to help me. I remember crying that I couldn’t, but I kept doing it anyway. Two harrowing minutes later, my baby boy was whisked to the examining table with the NICU nurses checking him out. They had the manual breathing apparatus on him and everything was silent. Finally he started crying and I was so relieved. I watched, helplessly as they suctioned him and made sure everything was okay.

Nothing was wrong, thank heavens, and he got to be with his daddy as I got stitched up. at 2:06 pm, May 25, my 9 lbs 1 oz and 21 3/4 inch miracle I had been waiting so patiently for arrived and my heart has never been more full with love. I feel truly blessed.

Love at First Sight

  There they are. The two most beautiful things I have ever seen in my life. Two beautifully growing embryo’s. This is where life starts. I feel fortunate that we get to see the beginning of life in a cellular stage – not very many other people are able to say that. These two ‘babies’ were transferred on September 9, 2011.  I think that day will be one of the clearest in my minds.  We had to be at the clinic at 7:30 for an ultrasound and exam to make sure I wasn’t suffering from OHSS and that the transfer could take place. Things were great and we were given the go ahead. Our transfer time was 1:00 pm. We went for breakfast at Cora’s and then went to Chinook Mall.

It sounds silly, but I had such a good feeling about things, I wanted to go to Build-a-Bear and make something for our little ones. We picked out a monkey, anxiously awaiting the moment we could tell them (if it worked) that this was one thing in their possession since the day of conceptions (practically). I might as well have been skipping around the mall that day I was so excited for the possibilities of what our future could bring.

We had finally wasted enough time and it was the moment of the transfer. My bladder was bursting as they had to have it full to see everything in an ultrasound. As I was lying in the same bed my eggs were taken from, the embryologist came in to let us know how the embryos were doing, give us the picture of the two they were transferring (usually the best of the bunch) and go over what would be happening. Before they transferred the embryos they showed them on a tv screen and then it was done.  We had one above-average four-celled embryo (left in picture) and one over-achieving 8-celled embryo (right in picture). I was in love.

In the course of 30 seconds I went from nothing to being PUPO (Pregnant Until Proven Otherwise). I was given directions for some more medication I would be taking until the pregnancy test, we sat in a chair for 15 minutes and we were done. Now we just had to wait for the longest two weeks of our lives.

About my Infertility

As I deal with my infertility I’m amazed about how little there is out there for others to understand the process, the feelings and what we truly go through. I have a feeling it has something to do with the face that it’s a taboo discussion topic that brings up a lot of emotion. I think we need to be more open and be more educated on this topic. One in six couples deal with infertility. I even read somewhere that people going through infertility go through the same stages of grief as those suffering from HIV/AIDS and Cancer. As well, couples going through infertility will do whatever it takes to find a ‘cure’ – only second to those suffering of Cancer. I found this letter here and wanted to share it with all of you. It doesn’t address everything, but it’s a start. This is a journey I’m taking right now, and I, like a few other women out there, need my story to be heard. Maybe one day no one will feel as alone as we do now dealing with this.

I know that you love me and want me to be happy, to be my “old self” again. But lately, I seems isolated, depressed and obsessed with the idea of having a baby.

You probably have difficulty understanding why getting pregnant has coloured virtually every aspect of my daily life. I hope that by the pain I am feeling, this letter also will tell you how you can help me.

SOME FACTS ABOUT INFERTILITY

It may surprise you to know that one out of six women who wants to have a baby cannot conceive. There are many possible reasons for this dismal statistic: blocked fallopian tubes, ovarian failure, hormonal imbalances, toxic exposure, husband’s low sperm count, to name just a few. Moreover, after a woman turns 35, it becomes difficult to have a baby primarily because many of the eggs she has left are defective.

All these barriers to pregnancy are physical or physiological, not psychological. Tubes don’t become blocked because a woman is “trying too hard” to get pregnant. Antibodies that kill sperm will not disappear if a woman simply relaxes. And a man cannot make his sperm swim faster by developing a more optimistic outlook.

WELL-MEANING ADVICE

When someone we care about has a problem, it is natural to try to help. If there’s nothing specific that we can do, we try to give helpful advice. Often, we draw on our personal experiences or on anecdotes involving other people we know. Perhaps you recall a friend who had trouble getting pregnant until she and her husband went to a tropical island. So you suggest that my husband and I take a vacation, too.

I appreciate your advice, but I cannot use it because of the physical nature of my problem. Not only can’t I use your advice, the
sound of it upsets me greatly. Indeed, I’m probably inundated with this sort of advice at every turn. Imagine how frustrating it must be for me to hear about other couples who “magically” become pregnant during a vacation simply by making love. To me, who is undergoing infertility treatment, making love and conceiving a child have very little to do with one another, now. You can’t imagine how hard I’ve been trying to have this baby and how crushed I feel every month I learn that I’ve failed again. Your well-meaning advice is an attempt to transform an extremely complicated predicament into a simplistic little problem. By simplifying my
problem in this manner, you’ve diminished the validity of my emotions, making me feel psychologically undervalued. Naturally, I will feel angry and upset with you under these circumstances.

The truth is: There’s practically nothing concrete you can do to help me. The best help you can provide is to be understanding
and supportive. It’s easier to be supportive if you can appreciate how being unable to have a baby can be such a devastating blow.

WHY NOT HAVING A BABY IS SO UPSETTING

Women are reared with the expectation that they will have a baby someday. They’ve thought about themselves in a motherhood role ever since they played with dolls. A woman may not even consider herself part of the adult world unless she is a parent. When I think I cannot have a baby, I feel like “defective merchandise.” Not having a baby is literally a matter of life and death. In the Bible, Rachel was barren. She said to Jacob “Give me children or I die …” (Genesis 30:1). Commenting on this, some sages said, “One who is childless is considered dead.” So powerful are the feelings connected with barrenness that the person feels dead or wants to die.

Worse, I am not even certain that I will ever have a baby. One of the cruellest things you can do to a person is give them hope and then not come through. Modern medicine has created this double-edged sword. It offers hope where there previously was none — but at the price of slim odds.

WHAT MODERN MEDICINE HAS TO OFFER THE INFERTILE WOMAN.

In the past decade, reproductive medicine has made major breakthroughs that enable women, who in the past were unable to have children, to now conceive. The use of drugs such as Pergonal can increase the number and size of eggs that a woman produces thereby increasing her chances of fertilization. In vitro fertilization (IVF) techniques extract a woman’s eggs and mix them with sperm in a “test tube” and allow them to fertilize in a laboratory. The embryo can then be transferred back to the woman’s uterus. There are many other options, as well.

Despite the hope these technologies offer, they are a hard row to hoe. Some high-tech procedures are offered only at a few places, which may force me to travel great distances. Even if the treatment is available locally, the patient must endure repeated doctor’s visits, take daily injections, shuffle work and social schedules to accommodate various procedures, and lay out considerable sums of money — money that may or may not be reimbursed by insurance. All of this is preceded by a battery of diagnostic tests that can be both embarrassing and extremely painful.

Infertility is a highly personal medical condition, one that I may feel uncomfortable discussing with my employer. So, I am faced with coming up with excuses whenever my treatment interferes with my job. Meanwhile, I am devoting considerable time and energy to managing a mountain of claims forms and other paperwork required by insurers.

After every medical attempt at making me pregnant, I must play a waiting game that is peppered with spurts of optimism and pessimism. It is an emotional roller coaster. I don’t know if my swollen breasts are a sign of pregnancy or a side effect of the fertility drugs. If I see a spot of blood on my underwear, I don’t know if an embryo is trying to implant or my period is about to begin. If I am not pregnant after an IVF procedure, I may feel as though my baby died. How can a person grieve for a life that existed only in her mind?

While trying to cope with this emotional turmoil, I get invited to a baby shower or Christening, learn that a friend or colleague is pregnant, or I read about a one-day-old infant found abandoned in a Dumpster. Can you try to imagine my envy, my rage over the inequities in life? Given that infertility permeates practically every facet of my existence, is it any wonder why I am obsessed with my quest?

Every month, I wonder whether this will finally be my month. If is isn’t, I wonder if I can she muster the energy to try again. Will I be able to afford another procedure? How much longer will  my husband continue to be supportive? Will I be forced to give up my
dream?

So when you speak with me, try to empathize with the burdens on my mind and on my heart. I know you care about me, and I may need to talk with you about her ordeal. But I know that there is nothing you can say or do to make me pregnant. And I fear that you will offer a suggestion that will trigger even more despair.

WHAT CAN YOU DO FOR ME?

You can give me support, and don’t criticize me for any steps I may be taking — such as not attending a nephew’s birthday — to protect myself from emotional trauma. You can say something like this:

I care about you. After reading this letter, I have a better idea about how hard this must be for you. I wish I could help. I’m here to listen to you and cry with you, if you feel like crying. I’m here to cheer you on when you feel as though there is no hope. You can talk to me. I care.

The most important thing to remember is that I am distraught and very worried. Listen to what I have to say, but do not judge. Do
not belittle my feelings. Don’t try to pretend that everything will be OK. Don’t sell me on fatalism with statements like, “What will be will be.” If that were truly the case, what’s the point of using medical technology to try to accomplish what nature cannot?

Your willingness to listen can be of great help. Infertile women feel cut off from other people. Your ability to listen and support me will help me handle the stress I’m experiencing. My infertility is one of the most difficult situations I will ever have to deal with.

PROBLEM SITUATIONS

Just as an ordinary room can be an obstacle course to a blind person, so can the everyday world be full of hazards for an infertile woman — hazards which do not exist for women with children.

I go to her sister-in-law’s house for Christmas. My cousin is breast-feeding. The men are watching the football game while the women
talk about the problems with their kids. I  feel left out, to say the least.

Christmas is an example of the many holidays that are particularly difficult for me. They mark the passage of time. I remember what came to mind last Christmas — that the next year, I would have a new son or daughter to show off to my family.

Each holiday presents its own unique burden to the infertile woman. Valentine’s day reminds her of her romance, love, marriage — and the family she may never be able to create. Mother’s Day and Father’s Day? Their difficulties are obvious.

Mundane activities like a walk down the street or going to the shopping mall are packed with land mines. Seeing women pushing baby carriages and strollers strikes a raw nerve. While watching TV, I am bombarded by commercials for diapers, baby food, and early pregnancy tests.

At a party, someone asks how long she’s been married and whether she has any kids. She feels like running out of the room, but she can’t. If she talks about being infertile, she’s likely to get well-intentioned advice — just the thing she doesn’t need: “Just relax. Don’t worry. It will happen soon,” or “You’re lucky. I’ve had it with my kids. I wish I had your freedom.” These are the kinds of comments that make her want to crawl under the
nearest sofa and die.

Escape into work and career can be impossible. Watching her dream shatter on a monthly basis, she can have difficulty investing energy in advancing her career. All around, her co-workers are getting pregnant. Going to a baby shower is painful — but so is distancing herself from social occasions celebrated by her colleagues.

THE BOTTOM LINE

Because I am infertile, life is extremely stressful for me. I’m doing my best to cope. Please be understanding. Sometimes I will be depressed. Sometimes I will be angry. Sometimes I will be physically and emotionally exhausted. I’m not going to be “the
same old Jen” I used to be. I won’t want to do many of the things I used to do.

I have no idea when, or if, my problem will be solved. I’m engaged in an emotionally and financially taxing venture with a low probability of success. Overall, only about 11 percent of those people using special fertility treatments succeed in having a baby. The odds are even lower for women over 40. The longer I persevere, however, the greater my chances of pregnancy become.

Maybe someday I will be successful. Maybe someday I will give up and turn to adoption, or come to terms with living a childless life. At present, though, I have no idea what will happen. It’s all I can do to keep going from one day to the next. I do not know why this is my lot. Nobody does. All I know is the horrible anguish that I live with every day.

Please care about me. Please be sensitive to my situation. Give me your support, I need it and want it.

I also just want to mention that this does not just affect the woman in a relationship. Infertility is a couple’s battle, and, although more silent, men go through this, too. So please take time to to care about the entire family going through this ordeal, because it is a couple’s fight.