derRANGEd

My blood test results came back. Warning, I'm annoyed and intend to let off some steam.


Supposedly, all my hormone/glucose/etc levels are "within range." What the hell does that mean?!? When I asked this same question to the very chipper nurse assistant on the phone - silence. So, I had her fax me a copy of my exact levels (as if I know anything about medicine and could interpret them). BUT AH! I'll google this s#*t!
Looking at my levels and the "ranges" which were supposedly normal, I guess you could say that I am "within range" or "all over the range," or close to "derRANGEd." Just depends who is looking.

I wish I was a "glass full" type of gal. I'm not. It just seems everytime my glass is "half full" I spill the damn thing down my shirt and end up looking like an idiot. But I'm really trying to be positive. I'm really trying to remain calm. Zen, even. Hence, the acupuncture. But, as I played pin cushion in the acupuncurist's office today listening to the sound of waves crashing in the background, all I really wanted to do was call that annoyingly chipper nurse assistant back and scream "HAVE YOU READ MY F-ING CHART?! Do my symptoms LOOK like my s*(t is "within range?" Do I sound like I'm "within range?!?"


Lucky for her, I left my damn cell phone in the car.

Wishing on butterflies

My desire to one day become a mother is due in large part to learning from the greatest two who ever walked the earth.

My own mother is amazing.   She is funny, hard-working, and selfless when it comes to her children.  I have seen her sacrifice her own wants and desires so that Laura and I could have ours.  I have witnessed the endless passion and energy she puts into her work.  And I have watched her make tough choices in the face of others' selfish criticism.  Most of my best qualities are a loving imitation of my mother.  And most of my mother's best qualities are a loving imitation of her mother.

Today is the three year anniversary of my Mamaw's passing.  The memory of her laughter and spirit can instantly bring a smile to my face.  She was so good.  Good to her core.  The kind of good we all want to be but find it impossible to actually accomplish.  But, by far, the most inspiring and vivid memory I carry of my grandmother is of her fierce loyalty to those she loved.  It was almost comical.  We used to joke that she could justify and excuse any imperfection or wrongdoing by a loved one ~ and I mean any!   But this, in my estimation, is her lasting legacy.  A legacy that my mother honors and keeps alive through her actions.  A legacy I also hope to honor throughout my life.

My mamaw loved butterflies.   She was rarely seen without a beautiful butterfly image reflected in her clothing or jewelry.   I'm sorry to say that I never really asked her why.  But, I suspect she associated the butterfly with beauty and transformation.  The ability to change and transform gracefully throughout life.

I keep a silk butterfly in my car to remind me of this great lady.  My mom, sister, and I miss her terribly.   But we three share a unique bond as we were all loved by and inspired by her.  And, oh, how I wish that she was still here to talk to.  Her loving advice would be invaluable during this process of healing and acceptance.
Even though I can't see or hear her, I do know her spirit is still here with my mother, sister, and I:  Still cheering us on and wishing sweetly that all of our dreams come true.

I hope that one day I can pass the lessons I have learned from these two inspiring women on to my own children.  Until that day comes, I will keep wishing on butterflies...

Just lighten up...

Tom and I visited a new specialist on Tuesday.  For the first time, I sucked it up and went straight to the top -  We consulted with a fertility specialist / reproductive endocrinologist. 

After reviewing my numerous medical records, he was shocked that none of my other physicians had bothered to actually run hormone levels on my blood.  Seriously!?!  Isn't that the first thing they should have done? 

Aside from that bombshell, I am happy to report that I had a very positive experience with this particular specialist.  For the first time, I felt like he was actually listening to me and understood my need to seek the truth of my condition - rather than just treat the symptoms.

I am still awaiting the results from the tests they ran on my blood, and I have a few other tests scheduled, but Dr. X suspects I have polycystic ovarian syndrome.  Turns out it is the leading cause of infertility amongst women, yet no other doctor has ever mentioned it to me.  Ugh.  Typical.

If this is the problem, I will likely have to take several medications to prompt my body to do what it already should:  i.e. ovulate.  When I asked what steps I could personally take to help the cause, Dr. X's response in a nutshell was LIGHTEN UP:

(1)  Weight.  My weight has fluctuated wildly ever since I remember, depending on my mood and stress level.  It is not clear whether my condition causes weight gain or is exaggerated with such, but physicians agree shedding pounds assists them in treatment.  I lost a shit-ton of weight last year by running, but gained most (if not all) back due to stress and a preference for sitting on my ass and feeling sorry for myself.  We will have that NO MORE.  Anne Marie, if you are reading this blog, I am totally ready to start training for the mini.  Sorry I have been MIA lately, but I promise you I am totally committed.  It is the perfect thing to MAKE me exercise and help Dr. X treat my condition.  Even though I kinda want to hate you for it, you may just be my guardian angel.

(2) Stress.  Dr. X says I have to lighten up emotionally as well.  Stress is BAD BAD BAD for my condition and I inherited my Mamaw's habit of worrying.  One way I'm attempting to de-stress is this blog.  I was at first hesitant to share such a personal journey in cyber-space, but I have found it to be extremely cathartic.  It's amazing how many women have emailed and messaged me to express their appreciation for my honesty.   A couple weeks ago I would have sworn that I was the only one, but now I know that is not true.  I have received so many messages expressing support and empathy for what I am going through.  It is truly as it a weight has been lifted.  A secret that I have carried for years now has been exposed, and I thank God that I made the decision to do so.  I must thank my beautiful sister for inspiring me to be more willing and trusting of others.  She teaches me daily to appreciate beauty in all its forms.  Also, I thank God for my life partner and great love, Tom.  He has continuously encouraged me to embrace the highs and lows in life.  When I decided that I wanted to write this blog, I asked him if he would be ok with me exposing our personal life to the masses.  As usual, he was amazingly supportive and immediately jumped on board.  I couldn't ask for a better support system.

So, in closing, I plan on lightening up.  In  every way possible.  And hopefully Dr. X will get the support he needs on my end to fix me.  Either way, I have a feeling I will grow immensely.

Stay tuned for tales of my experience with acupuncture...

It's just not Fair!

Maybe it's just hormones.

Maybe it's bitterness.

Or maybe both.  But while working the Shelby County Booth at the Kentucky State Fair, I couldn't help but ask myself the following question:  Why are there so many women running around with a seemingly endless number of children?  Seriously, we are talking a small soccer team here.  And, Lord please forgive me, many seemed to have given up bathing completely.  I couldn't help but think, it's just not fair.

Has anyone seen a Priest?

Tom swears my head was making 360 degree turns and I was spitting green pea soup everywhere, I highly doubt it.  But I will admit it, I was pretty bad. 

I was in such a rage, and I can't even tell you why.  My cycle had gotten extremely screwed up again, almost as bad as immediately before my D&C in early 2009.  (Men may want to check-out from here)  On the day of the green pea soup episode I had been bleeding for almost 5 weeks straight.  Yes, you are reading correctly.  I had been on my menstrual period for almost 5 weeks straight. I was likely teetering on anemia, completely exhausted, and my hormones were more whacked out than that of an entire 8th grade gym class.

And this is how it happens historically.  I try and do it on my own until I just can't take it anymore, and then I break.  Once the break happens I begrudgingly go back to see another specialist and get more tests, which to date has led absolutely nowhere.  Which is, coincidentally, what leads to the break in the first place.  It's like I'm on some screwed up Farris wheel and can't get off.  Such has been my pattern for the past several years.

The specialist who treated me from early 2009 until early 2010 did several tests and procedures including a
D&C and hystocopy.  At the end of it all his conclusion was this:  that I don't ovulate.  Well no s*&t
Sherlock!  His solution:  Birth Control Pills.  You have to be f*&king kidding me! 

I'm 30 years old.   Not 'old' in a societal sense, but aapproaching my golden years in the world of conception and fertility.  I've never been successful in getting pregnant.  I've had chronic issues with my cycle for at least 10 years, probably longer.  And I want to have children someday.  So, I didn't want his F-ing bandaid Birth Control Pills.  I wanted someone to fix me.  I wanted someone to tell me how to fix myself.  So, I took another break. 

Until pea soup, that is.  The pea soup episode convinced me that no matter how heartbreaking and hard this process is, I have to follow it through.  I have to find the fix.  I owe it to myself as well as those who love and support me. 

Plus, I just don't have the figure to pull off a straight-jacket.

Good Kentucky bred stock...

I was fourteen, almost fifteen.  You know, that magical time when the baby fat has melted away, your boobs have come in, and the curves are in all the right places.  I spent a portion of my summer out of town staying with friends and, surprise surprise, met a boy.  It was the kind of mysterious, innocent, summer romance we all dream of.  Actually, it was much less of a romance and much more of a flirtation, but whatever.  He was a local football star;  I was tall and slender, but unarguably 'volumptuous' when compared to other 15 year old girls.  Upon meeting me for the first time, his father commented, "Yes son, that sure is prime Kentucky breeding stock." 

Overtly sexist and a bit inappropriate, yes.  Ok, maybe alot inappropriate.  It's probably not the sort of phrasing men outside Kentucky (or the south) would use to describe their admiration for a particular young woman.  You are more likely to hear this phrase used by a trainer describing his prize filly. But nonetheless, I will admit that I was flattered by this observation.   To this day I do not remember the names of the boy nor his father, but I clearly remember that moment. 

Why?  I suppose one reason is that this is my first recollection of being regarded as an actual "woman" as opposed to merely a girl.  But, I think it goes much deeper than that. I think it goes back to Adam and Eve, ripened fruit, and society's overall judgment as to the basic duty of "us women."  Even at 15, I knew that "fertile" was good.  I, like most others, interpreted his comment as validation of health, sensuality, and overall femininity.      

Fast forward fifteen years.  What's his name's father would be soooooooo embarrassed.  Turns out that his assessment of my fertility turned out to be, well, plain wrong.

For the past ten years I have been struggling silently with a chronic hormone imbalance and consequently, infertility.  My coping mechanisms have changed through the years.  First denial, then indifference and detachment, and more recently depression have resulted.  I have been poked, prodded, and tested too many times to count.  Even surgery has failed to provide a solution or answer thus far.  Let's just suffice it to say that I am exhausted.

So, why start a blog about all the personal and messy complications inherent with a topic such as infertility?  First, let me address the things I don't want to get out of writing this blog:  (1)  Sympathy.  My struggles are not your fault, please don't apologize.  It's just annoying and a little bit patronizing.  (2)  Forgiveness.  No, my whacked out hormones have not been responsible for every harsh word I've uttered or mistake I've made in life.  If you are still pissed about that time I told you off or ignored you in the hall, don't make the mistake of chalking it up to some hormonal imbalance.  As a rule I apologize for my hormone-fueled freakouts/screwups up front, so if you haven't received such an apology, well...

On to the things I would like to accomplish with this blog:  (1)  Healing.  This is still a daily struggle for me.  There are extensive physical and emotional ramifications dealing with infertility.  I have such wonderful, supportive, well-meaning, but utterly clueless friends.  And I mean clueless in the most loving way possible.  The fact is that almost none can relate to what I've gone through.  In fact, most of them get knocked up at the drop of a hat.  So, sometimes venting to them just doesn't cut it.  Hopefully this blog provides a platform for me to bitch, complain, and ultimately let go.  (2)  Awareness.  Infertility is the elephant in the room.  Most of us who struggle with it do so alone.  I have felt those feelings of shame, anger, and resentment toward myself and others.  I have wanted to hit somebody at the receipt of yet another baby shower invite.  Although I'm nowhere near perfect, I have learned some lessons along the way.  And I'm still learning, hoping, and coping with what the future may, or may not hold.  I just believe it's time for us to talk about it.  If my talking about it makes it easier on someone else out there, well that is just peachy with me.

So stay tuned.  There is much to share, and hopefully even more to look forward to.