I Think I Finally Found a Doctor!

In my quest to find someone to help me by Googling terms such as “endometriosis doctor Philadelphia” etc. this one certain doctor (we’ll call him “Dr. B”) kept showing up in my search results. Initially I was wary of Dr. B because he’s not affiliated with a practice group, has privileges at a far away hospital that I’ve never heard of, and has his own website. He is on my insurance network though, so I took a risk and called for an appointment. The staff was super friendly, caring, and helpful, and he had available appointments as soon as 3 days from the date I called. Because of other obligations, my appointment isn’t for another 9 days. I filled out the more-than-comprehensive 16-page (16!) new patient background form and have all my previous medical records ready to take with me.

I couldn’t get over how Dr. B genuinely seems interested in knowing all about me and, specifically, what my concerns and symptoms are. He’s extremely well-studied and accredited in infertility (and, more importantly, endometriosis) and does regular GYN visits in addition to REI. He ALSO does in-house ultrasounds! I always had an in-house u/s done at all visits with my prior out-of-state OB/GYN (“Dr. S”) and was astounded at the way PA docs always want to send patients to the hospital for a routine u/s. Among other things, Dr. B’s website discusses how most GYN’s “feel” for endo by pelvic exams only and how that’s such b.s. since one can’t “feel” endo. I know for a fact that that is an absolute truth. The GYN I’ve seen twice since moving to PA (we’ll call him “Dr. M”) always simply performs a brief pelvic exam on me, then “clears” me because he didn’t “feel” anything. When I pressed Dr. M for an u/s at BOTH of my visits to him he blew me off each time. Unfortunately, Dr. M. was always and only concerned with referring me out to another doctor anyway. Needless to say, I am so freakin excited because–even though I haven’t met him yet–I really think Dr. B could be my guy. And I really need a guy.  If Dr. B turns out to be my guy, adios y vaya con Dios to Dr. M.

On the other side of things, I had my initial appointment with the therapist a week ago (Dee). Despite the drive (which went decently after all) and my generalized nervousness at the whole situation, it went extremely well. Dee was kind, compassionate, thorough, and a good listener. She used some kind of “relating” technique with me where she pretended to agree with my frustrations as though she’d experienced them herself (which I know isn’t true because she has kids). IDK if I appreciate that or whether I see it as an obvious psychological tool that she didn’t realize was quite so apparent. Regardless, I’m scheduled to see Dee again in 2 days. Technique aside, she was very helpful and it was such a humungous relief to discuss this issue with someone other than DH or any number of my friends who can’t relate because they are moms and have moms and it all just went so darn smoothly for them.

Things seem to be on a moving trajectory with this issue these days, which is a tremendous relief since they’ve essentially been stagnating for 3+ years. I really feel there is hope. I am coming closer to the point where I can believe God for healing and believe that He’s not mad at me all the time. I also believe that God uses medicine and doctors to heal, and perhaps he’s led me to Dr. B. I don’t want to compromise or walk the line or have the best of both worlds. I just want relief, healing, and a baby of my own. However God chooses to do that (if having a baby is His will. I really hope that it is) is okay by me.

Hopping Back on the Merry-Go-Round

Tomorrow I have an appointment with a therapist. Why, you ask? Because. Because I think I’m going totally crazy. Crazy with baby obsession. If I don’t get this out of me with someone objective, I feel it may eat me up inside even worse than it already has and is. Example: I walked past a rack of baby clothes at a store on Saturday and became teary eyed. And that’s not the first time that’s happened.

Today the younger sister of one of my dearest friends had her first baby. This is a girl who I’ve known since she was 2 years old. When I first learned last fall that she was pregnant I felt like a miserable failure and refused to offer a congratulations or well wish: here is someone 3 years younger than me, married for only 8 months, decided to have a baby, bought the same pre-baby book I own, and—BAM!—pregnant. When I saw the news on FB today that baby had arrived I felt even worse. Depressed. Jealous. Sad. Lost, After mulling it over some, I decided that I’d like people to be happy for me if it were my first baby and that I should extend the same well wishes to someone else, no matter how much it hurts.

Yesterday AF reared her ugly red head. She was 2 days late. Off an on during those 2 agonizing days  of waiting I foolishly allowed myself to hope for the best, and even pretended for a moment or two that I was pregnant. Oddly, I’d had literally no symptoms leading up to AF except for one day last week when I was being down and out with gut-wrenching cramps. I entertained the idea that perhaps, since AF was so late, maybe it worked this time and no AF was on the horizon.

So, when I woke up yesterday morning to shower and get ready for church you can imagine my utter dismay at the doubling-over, mind numbing, soul-crushing, extraordinary cramping that proceeded. Needless to day, the waterworks unleashed. DH came to console me as every emotion of failure, sadness, hopelessness, despair, guilt, and anger came pouring out. To top off the nightmare, a huge, HUGE blood clot came out of me while sitting on the commode, sending me into even further hysteria. And the pain! My God, the pain. I’m already running out of prescription painkillers, no matter how much I try to supplement them by relying on massive doses of ibuprofen instead. I literally spent the entire day yesterday in bed, crying and taking medications, pressing the heating pad into my aching uterus and ovary, praying and pleading with God to just allow me to get pregnant, examining myself spiritually to determine why God could be so mad at me, hopelessly angry over the fact that my health plan does not cover infertility treatment (that’s another post in itself).

Today the pain is relatively better: I can get out of bed and actually interact with the world, hide my sadness as I’ve become so accustomed to, and actually take myself to work. But inside….. inside it eats at me and torments me, and mocks me, and taunts me: You’re not good enough, you missed the mark, you’re not worthy, you can’t have a mother and you can’t be a mother, you can only watch as even the most wicked, Godless, messed up people you know procreate time and time again. This is my world.

Laughably, in only one short week from today my fertility chances again increase to medium, then high, as the next ovulation window approaches! And back to it I will go! It will be another round of chart analyzing, CM analyzing, OPK tests, and timing BD to hop back on this merry-go-round of hope/disappointment, hope/disappointment, hope/disappointment that anymore consumes my life.

Jealousy and Inferiority

February 10, 2015

Yesterday a 30 year old woman came into the office with her few-month-old baby. Pretty girl, adorable baby. Baby within the confines of marriage. Good parents, being raised right, all the right stuff, ad nauseaum.  Yet I felt insanely jealous. And inferior. Who was she to have a baby? Why does she deserve to enjoy a baby, but I can’t? Why was her pregnancy just soooo easy and effortlessly conceived (of course, I assume these things)? I see other women every-freakin-where with their babies and I’m JEALOUS! I feel they don’t deserve to have it so easy, to have become impregnated seemingly by drinking a glass of water. That they Cant possibly truly appreciate their babies because the whole thing just came so naturally to them. I know these feelings are wrong and impure, are hurting no one but myself, and that I should squash them instead of presumably feeding them by doing something like typing them into this blog. Yet, I feel them nonetheless and this is supposed to be my “outlet.”

I’m having a hard time dealing with my jealousy issues. It makes me feel like a really, really bad, horrendous, despicable person. And I know the jealousy comes from a combination of inferiority, of feeling “less” than a whole woman, from anger at what I sometimes feel is the unjust hand life has dealt me, and the ceaseless ticking of my biological clock. 33 is fast approaching: 8 more weeks.

I know I must somehow deal with these emotions. Online forums can only do so much, and sometimes they even end up making me feel worse and not better. Maybe I should go talk to someone: ya know, a head shrink. I may as well use my insurance for something.

I’m now, after tonight’s BD, about to enter into another Two Week Wait (so revered in TTC land that it deserves to be capitalized). Two whole torturous weeks of waiting to find out if AF is coming or if I get a BFP. This week I began using the OPK and got a smiley face (positive!) on one day. Unfortunetely, that smiley face is apparently no guarantee that I’ll actually ovulate. I have some fears concerning that which I’ll share later. Alas, lunch break is over, meaning this blog post is over for the moment, too.

Babies, Babies, Babies: Obsession

February 5, 2015

TTC. OPK. BBT. PT. AF. DH. BD. CM. EWCM. LH. 2WW : these initialisms have become my life lately. Trying To Conceive. Ovulation Predictor Kit. Basal Body Temperature. Pregnancy Test. Aunt Flo. Dear Husband. Baby Dancing. Cervical Mucus. Egg White Cervical Mucus. Luteinizing Hormone. Two-Week Wait. The list goes on and on and on. My life simply seems to revolve around these things lately.

This morning I awoke when my alarm beeped at 6:00 a.m. to take my daily BBT. Here’s how it goes: In a semi-conscious doze I roll over, as habit, fumbl for my thermometer, turn it on, stick it in my mouth, and “temp.” After the device records my temp I turn it off, place it back on the bedside table, and promptly fall back asleep.

When I finally manage to roll out of bed at 6:45 I groggily make my way to the bathroom where I assemble the day’s OPK test strip. After assembling the test I haphazardly attempt to pee in a very small disposable bathroom cup, placing the test strip into said cup, then wait three interminable minutes for my results. No LH surge detected. I then input the day’s BBT and OPK results in to my Period Calendar app on my phone (checking to be sure I included last night’s BD into the app) before I’m able to begin my day as a “normal” human.

I never imagined that I’d join the throes of women who are attempting to get pregnant and (somewhat) obsessing over it. Alas, here I am. And obsession indeed it can be. Some women take this to such a level that message boards and forums rule their lives. Every initialism is memorized. Every minute body signal analyzed to the enth degree. Boxes of PTs used each month. Sadly, I can understand the obsession. Which is why I must resist the temptation to do the same and become “one of them.” In a way I am “one of them,” but I try valiantly to keep it in check. Balance is such a wonderful, key thing, and I have too much time on my hands (and interminable time to think in my head) that I simply have to keep myself in check. I subscribe to one TTC forum. I own one book (The Impatient Woman’s Guide to Getting Pregnant”–awesome book). I keep the PTs down to one a month. The TWW can seem interminable, followed by the inevitable blow (here’s hoping for next time though–already!) when AF eventually rears her ugly red head.

I never thought much about having children during my formative years. Honestly, I don’t think I even gave much of a crap either way. I was never one of those little girls who dreamt of having babies and did everything possible to ensure it happened as soon as possible. Instead, I simply didn’t have a “vision” of my future and what I wanted out of it. In fact, for many years I did everything in my power to not get pregnant. Funny now looking back at that time and how easy it was to not get pregnant and how difficult it sometimes seems to get a BFP. Life is funny like that. Some might say life is cruel like that. But I disagree with that assessment. I will keep all bitterness out of this. I always figured that if I were to have kids that God would just give them to me; and if I wasn’t supposed to then,–hey–that would be that. But then the Biological Clock started ticking. I guess I was around 28 or 29 then. And it’s been steadily ticking onward and closer ever since. Now, here I am 32 years old, 1 ovary, 4 surgeries later desperately attempting to feel like I can grasp some control over something that I essentially have no control over.

That’s the whole thing about this TTC: control. There is none, at least on my part. All I can do is to do my part and rely on God to do the rest. Which is super hard for me cause I’m one of these people who enjoys being in control. And here I am faced with an area where any amount of control I may think I have goes completely out the window. Getting a BFP is only in God’s control.