S and I took the train together this morning to our old fertility clinic - two years to the month since Peanut was conceived. It was a blue-skied, fresh Spring day, and the morning light made everything seem lovely and full of promise. I felt butterflies in my belly as we walked the familiar block from the train to the clinic. We met with our wonderful doctor again, who has since had her own little one. She was so kind and supportive, and indulged us in our many stories about Peanut.
Everything about the meeting reassured us that the right time for us to move forward is NOW. I'm excited and eager to start the process!
Showing posts with label Fertility. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fertility. Show all posts
Monday, May 19, 2014
Monday, April 30, 2012
Professional Reassurance
I met with our primary doctor at the clinic this morning. And she, more than anything, was incredibly reassuring. I approached her with a long list of questions, and she answered them all with kindness and patience. She studied my chart and declared that there were no particular flags that would indicate why I had not yet gotten pregnant. "It's a numbers and odds game," she said. She assured me that if we were a couple with access to unlimited sperm, I wouldn't have even been tested for infertility until after a year of trying. She affirmed that we could, in fact, keep trying IUIs for a full year, if we had the financial capacity to do so. Since others have reported successful pregnancies with our donor, we don't yet need to consider finding another one. In fact, the only change she suggested was perhaps we could try doing two IUIs during a future cycle - one within 12 hours of using Ovidrel, and one within 36 hours. That might increase our chances.
For the moment, we only have one vial left at the clinic, so we won't be able to try this approach until the next cycle. But I left the clinic feeling much more optimistic than I did walking in.
For the moment, we only have one vial left at the clinic, so we won't be able to try this approach until the next cycle. But I left the clinic feeling much more optimistic than I did walking in.
Monday, March 26, 2012
25 Millimeters
I went to the clinic this morning for another ultrasound, and learned I have one nice large follicle in my right ovary, just about ready to release. The 100mg dose of Clomid worked! It's the largest follicle I've had out of all the cycles so far. That, in some way, made me feel better, more hopeful, than I did during Cycle 2. I also produced an abundance of "egg white" or "fertile" CM today, which again, made me feel optimistic. I think our timing is right this time around. My body feels more ready than ever to go through the process of ovulation, insemination, and conception.
I plan to focus my energy during the next few days on being grounded, holding onto hope, staying connected to S, and praying.
I plan to focus my energy during the next few days on being grounded, holding onto hope, staying connected to S, and praying.
Monday, March 12, 2012
On intimacy
The other day I was on the phone with a friend, talking about trying to get pregnant. And she mentioned to me that another friend of ours, who is currently in a heterosexual relationship, is also trying to get pregnant. "She was supposed to ovulate on the third of the month," she said, "so they made sure to have sex on the second."
The first thought that crossed my mind was, "sex?"
The process of TTC for me, at this point, has become so far removed from sex that I actually forgot that some people can get pregnant that way. By turning to their partner, getting close, and being intimate. In bed. And maybe even having fun and finding pleasure in the process.
TTC has rendered my relationship with intimacy and my body into something kind of uncomfortable and awkward. In general, TTC has actually meant not having sex. When S and I tried to get physical during the first IUI cycle, I kind of freaked out. My body had been examined and touched and poked so many times that it was hard to erase the medicalized feelings I was having about my body. Fertility drugs made me constantly feel run down and crampy and just constantly conscious of my hardworking reproductive system. And during the 2WW, a part of me was concerned that being physical might cause something to "disrupt" the process of implantation (which I knew, rationally, was not going to happen, but I couldn't help feeling it).
To hear that our friend was having the opportunity to try to get pregnant with a body that ovulates regularly, with access to fresh sperm that belongs to her partner, and in a way that involves closeness and connection and safety and privacy and fun made me feel... resentful. Bitter. Frustrated about the challenges being queer and dealing with infertility bring to our lives. Frustrated that others have it so "easy."
The first thought that crossed my mind was, "sex?"
The process of TTC for me, at this point, has become so far removed from sex that I actually forgot that some people can get pregnant that way. By turning to their partner, getting close, and being intimate. In bed. And maybe even having fun and finding pleasure in the process.
TTC has rendered my relationship with intimacy and my body into something kind of uncomfortable and awkward. In general, TTC has actually meant not having sex. When S and I tried to get physical during the first IUI cycle, I kind of freaked out. My body had been examined and touched and poked so many times that it was hard to erase the medicalized feelings I was having about my body. Fertility drugs made me constantly feel run down and crampy and just constantly conscious of my hardworking reproductive system. And during the 2WW, a part of me was concerned that being physical might cause something to "disrupt" the process of implantation (which I knew, rationally, was not going to happen, but I couldn't help feeling it).
To hear that our friend was having the opportunity to try to get pregnant with a body that ovulates regularly, with access to fresh sperm that belongs to her partner, and in a way that involves closeness and connection and safety and privacy and fun made me feel... resentful. Bitter. Frustrated about the challenges being queer and dealing with infertility bring to our lives. Frustrated that others have it so "easy."
Thursday, January 12, 2012
The night before
'Twas the night before insemination, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except for the uterus. And ovaries.
Yep, my reproductive organs are operating in full effect right now. My ovulation test tonight was positive. The Ovidrel worked. All evening long I've been churning and cramping as my ovaries prepare to release an egg to meet the sperm that will join it tomorrow morning. I am ready to get pregnant. I am ready to receive our child. I am waiting with open arms. And organs.
Yep, my reproductive organs are operating in full effect right now. My ovulation test tonight was positive. The Ovidrel worked. All evening long I've been churning and cramping as my ovaries prepare to release an egg to meet the sperm that will join it tomorrow morning. I am ready to get pregnant. I am ready to receive our child. I am waiting with open arms. And organs.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Ovidrel
It has been a long week of using ovulation tests twice a day, staring at the control line and the test line and trying to will the latter to be darker than the former. I've been feeling some cramping in my ovaries and yet, still, no positive. So as per the clinic's instructions, tonight we used an Ovidrel injection to help get the process of ovulation started.
Before that, I had a bit of a meltdown. I think it was inevitable that I would cry from stress at some point. While I've been feeling relatively calm and confident throughout this process, the monitoring and anticipation of the past week has been a lot of pressure. I've been feeling a huge responsibility to do things "right" so we don't miss my LH surge - hold the stick right, drink or not drink the right amount of liquid, interpret the results correctly. It has been a lot to manage.
My tears were triggered by a phone call from the pharmacy saying my insurance company wouldn't cover the medication. I freaked out and spent a chunk of my afternoon on hold trying to get through to the clinic to grant pre-authorization to the insurance company so they would cover it. When I arrived at the pharmacy after work, it turned out the systems had failed me: the insurance still hadn't gone through. I called S from the street, crying. Always one to manage crises well, S helped me calm down and came up with a plan. The end result? We paid for it out of pocket.
Once I got the prescription filled, there was the small issue of the fact that I had to give myself an injection. With a needle. I really, really don't like needles. And again, S totally came through by volunteering to administer it for me. He gives himself testosterone injections every two weeks, and he kind of has a fascination for needles. So he cleaned my thigh with alcohol and did the deed; I just turned my head away and tried to breathe.
In less than 30 seconds, it was over. And now we'll report to the clinic on Friday for the IUI.
Before that, I had a bit of a meltdown. I think it was inevitable that I would cry from stress at some point. While I've been feeling relatively calm and confident throughout this process, the monitoring and anticipation of the past week has been a lot of pressure. I've been feeling a huge responsibility to do things "right" so we don't miss my LH surge - hold the stick right, drink or not drink the right amount of liquid, interpret the results correctly. It has been a lot to manage.
My tears were triggered by a phone call from the pharmacy saying my insurance company wouldn't cover the medication. I freaked out and spent a chunk of my afternoon on hold trying to get through to the clinic to grant pre-authorization to the insurance company so they would cover it. When I arrived at the pharmacy after work, it turned out the systems had failed me: the insurance still hadn't gone through. I called S from the street, crying. Always one to manage crises well, S helped me calm down and came up with a plan. The end result? We paid for it out of pocket.
Once I got the prescription filled, there was the small issue of the fact that I had to give myself an injection. With a needle. I really, really don't like needles. And again, S totally came through by volunteering to administer it for me. He gives himself testosterone injections every two weeks, and he kind of has a fascination for needles. So he cleaned my thigh with alcohol and did the deed; I just turned my head away and tried to breathe.
In less than 30 seconds, it was over. And now we'll report to the clinic on Friday for the IUI.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Signs of Ovulation?
It is day 11 of my cycle and I used an ovulation test twice today. Both tests came out negative. But I'm pretty sure I'm almost there; I had some very possible signs of possibly soon ovulation today. I started out the day with a burst of energy and felt on top of the world until lunchtime. Immediately following lunch, I had a raging headache and drastic mood shift. It was like a light switch; all of a sudden, I was feeling the most grumpy, irritable, and overwhelmed I had in weeks. Sitting at work, all I could think about was wanting to be home and under the covers. I finally got home and was snippy with S all evening. I kept having to remind myself that I was likely feeling so bad because of the hormonal shift, not because there was anything bad or stressful happening in my life. But it was incredibly hard to keep that in perspective when I was feeling pressure in my chest, tension in my head, and anxiety about whether or not I was peeing on the ovulation test stick correctly. I hope a positive test will soon help to put this day in perspective.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Dueling Fiddles
I started out Cycle Day 10 with a visit to the clinic during morning monitoring hours. Because it was again a Thursday morning, I had the luck of having the same doctor as last week meet with me to conduct an ultrasound. She first took a look at my uterus, which she reported looked "very good," and then my right and left ovaries. She took a moment to examine the various developing follicles in each ovary, commenting that she wouldn't use a higher dose of Clomid with me because it was clear it had been very effective. My right ovary had a follicle that had "taken the lead" at the size of 14mm, one at 12mm, and several at 10mm and smaller. My left ovary had a follicle at 13mm, and the rest were 10mm and smaller. She instructed me to begin using ovulation predictor tests for the next four days, and if I got a positive, to come in the next day with S for our IUI. She said if I didn't get a positive by Monday, that I should come in and she'd let me know what to do next. I left the clinic grinning with excitement. Our IUI will happen soon.
And all day long, I felt my follicles growing. I felt cramping on the left, then cramping on the right, then cramping at the same time. I felt the activity more strongly than I ever have before, and all day long. Left, right, left, right. I grinned as my ovaries battled like dueling fiddles. I heard the music in my mind. I grinned as I tried to assess which ovary will eventually win out - which one will eventually produce the egg that will become our baby?
And all day long, I felt my follicles growing. I felt cramping on the left, then cramping on the right, then cramping at the same time. I felt the activity more strongly than I ever have before, and all day long. Left, right, left, right. I grinned as my ovaries battled like dueling fiddles. I heard the music in my mind. I grinned as I tried to assess which ovary will eventually win out - which one will eventually produce the egg that will become our baby?
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Cycle Day 3
I went to the clinic for "morning monitoring" today. I wasn't quite sure what to expect; all I anticipated was I would be given a prescription for Clomid to help induce ovulation. When I arrived, I was instructed to go to billing first to get "clearance" from my insurance company to begin with the cycle of insemination. A nurse then drew some blood, and I was ushered into a small examination room and instructed to undress from the waist down and wait for the doctor.
I struggled with this. I was worried about sitting on the examination table while bleeding. I worried about making a mess. I have a lot of shame about that stuff. I also hadn't been able to shave my legs that morning since there had been no hot water in our apartment at 6am (I heated water on the stove and took a bucket bath), and I had shame about that, too. And my toenail polish was a mess. I worried about being judged, about being perceived as "unclean."
I gave myself a pep talk ("this is a reproductive health clinic, hello, they see hairy legs and bleeding vaginas all the time" and "obviously you're going to get some blood on the examination table, that's why there's a big padded disposable cloth there" and "there is NO WAY to control the bleeding, it's not your fault if I make a mess, you won't have done anything wrong.")
The doctor visited promptly and conducted a quick vaginal ultrasound to make sure it was okay for me to start Clomid. She showed me each ovary on the screen and said, "those dark, round spots are early eggs." She told me I looked good, that I was ready to start a cycle. I smiled with anticipation.
The beautiful thing about this process so far is each visit where I am poked and prodded helps me become more comfortable with my body. The fact that every doctor I've worked with at the clinic has been exceedingly kind, patient and gentle has been a blessing. I walked out of the clinic with a prescription in my hand, and was told to return next Thursday, 1/5 (cycle day 10) for another ultrasound. I didn't feel ashamed. I felt proud.
I struggled with this. I was worried about sitting on the examination table while bleeding. I worried about making a mess. I have a lot of shame about that stuff. I also hadn't been able to shave my legs that morning since there had been no hot water in our apartment at 6am (I heated water on the stove and took a bucket bath), and I had shame about that, too. And my toenail polish was a mess. I worried about being judged, about being perceived as "unclean."
I gave myself a pep talk ("this is a reproductive health clinic, hello, they see hairy legs and bleeding vaginas all the time" and "obviously you're going to get some blood on the examination table, that's why there's a big padded disposable cloth there" and "there is NO WAY to control the bleeding, it's not your fault if I make a mess, you won't have done anything wrong.")
The doctor visited promptly and conducted a quick vaginal ultrasound to make sure it was okay for me to start Clomid. She showed me each ovary on the screen and said, "those dark, round spots are early eggs." She told me I looked good, that I was ready to start a cycle. I smiled with anticipation.
The beautiful thing about this process so far is each visit where I am poked and prodded helps me become more comfortable with my body. The fact that every doctor I've worked with at the clinic has been exceedingly kind, patient and gentle has been a blessing. I walked out of the clinic with a prescription in my hand, and was told to return next Thursday, 1/5 (cycle day 10) for another ultrasound. I didn't feel ashamed. I felt proud.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Progesterone, Part II
I finally finished my 10-day course of progesterone last night... thank goodness. It was a roller coaster ride. In short, I was a M-O-O-D-Y moodson for the past week. Feeling really grumpy, overwhelmed by everything going on in my day-to-day life (like waking up for work, cooking, cleaning and grocery shopping), hating the city and how hard it is to navigate, frustrated and irritable overall. I just didn't feel like myself. It was NOT fun, and makes me nervous about how the Clomid is going to affect me.
Luckily, S was an incredibly patient partner. He helped remind me that hormones are super powerful, and that I might be feeling overwhelemed because of them. He supported me daily, listened to my complaints, and hugged me. I was so grateful to him for his understanding, and for not becoming overwhelmed himself, even though his mom is visiting for the holidays and he's got a lot on his own plate.
Now it's a waiting game again. Everything I've read indicates it could be anywhere from 2-14 days before I get my period. Once I do, I'll head back to the clinic for my first round of Clomid. One day down.
Luckily, S was an incredibly patient partner. He helped remind me that hormones are super powerful, and that I might be feeling overwhelemed because of them. He supported me daily, listened to my complaints, and hugged me. I was so grateful to him for his understanding, and for not becoming overwhelmed himself, even though his mom is visiting for the holidays and he's got a lot on his own plate.
Now it's a waiting game again. Everything I've read indicates it could be anywhere from 2-14 days before I get my period. Once I do, I'll head back to the clinic for my first round of Clomid. One day down.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Caffeine Free
I finally did it! I woke up one Saturday morning and said, "I'm going cold turkey." No more coffee, no more caffeinated earl grey.
It has now been three weeks, and I'm going strong on decaf earl grey every morning. Soon to step down to herbal. The only side effect has been more yawns around the 3pm hour. Nothing too unmanageable. Let the fertility boost begin!
It has now been three weeks, and I'm going strong on decaf earl grey every morning. Soon to step down to herbal. The only side effect has been more yawns around the 3pm hour. Nothing too unmanageable. Let the fertility boost begin!
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Progesterone
It has officially been 39 days since my last period, so the doctor instructed me to report to the clinic to begin a round of progesterone (which should ultimately result in me having a period). I'll be taking a 10mg pill per day for 10 days. And from what I've read, it could take up to two weeks following the last pill for me to start my period. If it ends up taking the long route, that puts our first possible IUI in early to mid January. Which is a few weeks later than I had originally anticipated. But right now, I'm ok with that. S's mom comes to town for three weeks starting tomorrow, and the idea of going through the first insemination during her visit is less than desirable. I want us to have the emotional space to share in the experience in as relaxed, connected, and positive way as possible, and that will require us to be present with one another.
I'm still committed to trust the process. I trust that the timeline we're on is right for us.
I'm still committed to trust the process. I trust that the timeline we're on is right for us.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Consultation #2
S and I were back at the clinic today for a follow up conversation with our primary doctor. She reviewed my test results and reported she wanted to discuss a infertility diagnosis. While my hormone levels looked okay, with a long history of anovulation and significant facial hair growth, she was diagnosing me with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome, or PCOS.
I was simultaneously relieved and concerned. It was nice to finally - FINALLY - have a name for my experience after all these years of irregular menstrual cycles and confusing visits to gynecologists and feeling so anxious that something was wrong with my body and I might not be able to conceive a child. No wonder I wasn't able to chart my basal body temperature! I had PCOS! I wasn't a failure!
Immediately after our visit I went to the Internet and read all about the condition. It was also a relief to know that my insurance would likely cover my services at the clinic with this diagnosis.
And at the same time - I was being diagnosed with infertility??
The doctor confirmed that between my young age, my healthy test results, and the assistance of fertility meds, she thought our chances of conception were good. We should be able to start TTC as soon as I got my next period. I decided to put the "I" word aside for the time being.
I was simultaneously relieved and concerned. It was nice to finally - FINALLY - have a name for my experience after all these years of irregular menstrual cycles and confusing visits to gynecologists and feeling so anxious that something was wrong with my body and I might not be able to conceive a child. No wonder I wasn't able to chart my basal body temperature! I had PCOS! I wasn't a failure!
Immediately after our visit I went to the Internet and read all about the condition. It was also a relief to know that my insurance would likely cover my services at the clinic with this diagnosis.
And at the same time - I was being diagnosed with infertility??
The doctor confirmed that between my young age, my healthy test results, and the assistance of fertility meds, she thought our chances of conception were good. We should be able to start TTC as soon as I got my next period. I decided to put the "I" word aside for the time being.
Friday, November 11, 2011
The HSG
This morning I went to the clinic for a diagnostic test called a hysterosalpingogram (HSG). This procedure involves putting a dye into my uterus and fallopian tubes so we can be sure my tubes are clear (a good thing to do before investing money in sperm/IUI). I was told I might experience some discomfort, and in preparation, was asked to start a short course of antibiotics the day prior, and take pain relievers 30 minutes before the procedure.
The visit started with me submitting a urine sample for a pregnancy test, and then changing into a hospital gown and little yellow foam slippers in what was literally a small closet near the the building's fire stairwell (this being Manhattan, after all).
"Okay, baby, this is for you," I whispered out loud.
The doctor came to the closet and briefed me about what to expect, asked me to sign some paperwork, and sent his assistant in to accompany me to the procedure. She brought me to the exam table and asked me to lay back and put my feet up in padded stirrups - which happened to be up above my head, way in the air on either side of the table. She and the doctor strapped my feet in, covered me with a sheet, and moved the imaging machines close to my body. The doctor inserted a speculum, cleaned the area with antiseptic, and put a catheter into my body.
What I was expecting was discomfort. What I felt was pain. Excruciating pain. Within seconds, I was so uncomfortable and upset that no amount of yogic breathing, counting, mantras, or distracting myself could stop me from crying out and writhing around on the table. I swore. I apologized. I groaned.
"If you're in that much pain, your tubes must be blocked," said the doctor, while directing me to place my pelvis back down on the exam table. "I mean, I can't see either one. They must be blocked."
He stepped away and asked his assistant for a different catheter. My mind raced as I tried to process the pain, the information, and whether or not I would be able to get through it. I tried to breathe. I almost threw in the towel and begged him to stop.
He went in again. "Oookay. There it is - one side... than the other... yep, I see them. Your tubes are open. There must have been a bump or something, but using a special manuver I was able to get through" he said.
And then it was over. I was back in the closet with a customer satisfaction survey and a sanitary pad, clutching myself and willing the tears in my eyes not to pour down my face. All I could think was, "I want to be in my home, in my bed, right now." Starting to cry now would only delay the process.
I dashed to the B train and huddled in a corner seat by the window. I felt like everyone could tell by the way I was sitting that I had something going on between my legs. I was nauseated. Headachey. Wishing, wishing, wishing I was home.
An hour later I was there. Home. On the couch, cuddled up with the cats and watching episode after episode of Seinfeld on DVD. I laid there until S came home at 6pm, not getting up except to get glasses of water and go to the bathroom. I was crampy, achy, and incredibly emotionally fragile. I cried on the phone with S, I cried when he came home, I cried when going to bed. A deep sadness came over my entire body. It not at all the experience I had been expecting.
The visit started with me submitting a urine sample for a pregnancy test, and then changing into a hospital gown and little yellow foam slippers in what was literally a small closet near the the building's fire stairwell (this being Manhattan, after all).
"Okay, baby, this is for you," I whispered out loud.
The doctor came to the closet and briefed me about what to expect, asked me to sign some paperwork, and sent his assistant in to accompany me to the procedure. She brought me to the exam table and asked me to lay back and put my feet up in padded stirrups - which happened to be up above my head, way in the air on either side of the table. She and the doctor strapped my feet in, covered me with a sheet, and moved the imaging machines close to my body. The doctor inserted a speculum, cleaned the area with antiseptic, and put a catheter into my body.
What I was expecting was discomfort. What I felt was pain. Excruciating pain. Within seconds, I was so uncomfortable and upset that no amount of yogic breathing, counting, mantras, or distracting myself could stop me from crying out and writhing around on the table. I swore. I apologized. I groaned.
"If you're in that much pain, your tubes must be blocked," said the doctor, while directing me to place my pelvis back down on the exam table. "I mean, I can't see either one. They must be blocked."
He stepped away and asked his assistant for a different catheter. My mind raced as I tried to process the pain, the information, and whether or not I would be able to get through it. I tried to breathe. I almost threw in the towel and begged him to stop.
He went in again. "Oookay. There it is - one side... than the other... yep, I see them. Your tubes are open. There must have been a bump or something, but using a special manuver I was able to get through" he said.
And then it was over. I was back in the closet with a customer satisfaction survey and a sanitary pad, clutching myself and willing the tears in my eyes not to pour down my face. All I could think was, "I want to be in my home, in my bed, right now." Starting to cry now would only delay the process.
I dashed to the B train and huddled in a corner seat by the window. I felt like everyone could tell by the way I was sitting that I had something going on between my legs. I was nauseated. Headachey. Wishing, wishing, wishing I was home.
An hour later I was there. Home. On the couch, cuddled up with the cats and watching episode after episode of Seinfeld on DVD. I laid there until S came home at 6pm, not getting up except to get glasses of water and go to the bathroom. I was crampy, achy, and incredibly emotionally fragile. I cried on the phone with S, I cried when he came home, I cried when going to bed. A deep sadness came over my entire body. It not at all the experience I had been expecting.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Initial Consultation
This morning S and I had a 45 minute appointment with our potential doctor at the fertility clinic. She sat down with us for a short interview and asked us information about each of our medical histories and our relationship history. While we spoke, I glanced up at the certificates on her office wall. I was pleasantly surprised to see that she had graduated from our own alma mater, the place we met and fell in love. I knew instantly it was a sign. I felt a surge of confidence that we are on our path, in the right place at the right time.
Once the doctor figured out I was on the third day of my very irregular menstrual cycle, she jumped to action. She set up a general treatment plan for us (start the first IUI with donor sperm during my next cycle) and decided to do a transvaginal ultrasound before sending me off for a series of blood tests. Again, the timing was perfect - these tests need to be done on the second/third day of the cycle, and we just happened to have our initial consultation on that very day. I was grinning inside, once again feeling confident in the signs. Not knowing the length of my menstrual cycles has been a constant struggle throughout my life, so for the timing to be so ideal at this particular moment felt particularly significant.
S and I left the clinic feeling hopeful and excited. I was so relieved that after all these years of waiting, we are finally ready to move forward.
Once the doctor figured out I was on the third day of my very irregular menstrual cycle, she jumped to action. She set up a general treatment plan for us (start the first IUI with donor sperm during my next cycle) and decided to do a transvaginal ultrasound before sending me off for a series of blood tests. Again, the timing was perfect - these tests need to be done on the second/third day of the cycle, and we just happened to have our initial consultation on that very day. I was grinning inside, once again feeling confident in the signs. Not knowing the length of my menstrual cycles has been a constant struggle throughout my life, so for the timing to be so ideal at this particular moment felt particularly significant.
S and I left the clinic feeling hopeful and excited. I was so relieved that after all these years of waiting, we are finally ready to move forward.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
The De-Caffeination Project
Well, alas, the time has come for me to begin one of the more challenging parts of the TTC process: eliminating caffeine from my diet. I knew I would need/want to stop drinking coffee once I am pregnant, but some research shows that reducing caffeine intake during the pre-conception period can actually help boost fertility. At this point, I am committed to doing what I can to prepare my body for insemination. If it means erring on the side of de-caffeination, I am ready to do it.
Almost.
I decided to buy myself a last canister of coffee beans to mark the occasion. I plan to step down slowly. I have, after all, been a daily coffee drinker for nearly eight years. Once I finish my canister (by mid-February), I'll move onto black tea for two weeks, then green tea for another two, then finally herbal by my 30th birthday. By the time we begin TTC, my body should be in good shape.
Almost.
I decided to buy myself a last canister of coffee beans to mark the occasion. I plan to step down slowly. I have, after all, been a daily coffee drinker for nearly eight years. Once I finish my canister (by mid-February), I'll move onto black tea for two weeks, then green tea for another two, then finally herbal by my 30th birthday. By the time we begin TTC, my body should be in good shape.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Reconciling the Chart
With the beginning of 2010 came a moment of realization for me: this could be the Year I Get Pregnant.
I've been mostly feeling butterflies of excitement for the first week of the new year. I love fresh starts and new beginnings, and I have many beautiful things to look forward to in 2010. But for the past few days, I've been feeling resentful and mildly anxious. To be blunt - I've been frustrated about the pregnancy challenges that come along with being queer.
With the guidance of some helpful books I began charting my fertility in November 2009, and for the past few months have been diligently taking my temperature every morning before I roll out of bed. I figured I was getting a head-start on the process since I have a somewhat irregular cycle and want to better understand my body's fertility signs. Yet I haven't been able to quite pinpoint the day on which I was ovulating during the past three cycles. My chart is all over the place.
I picked up my go-to-guide and began reading the charting steps again. I found I have been making a few critical mistakes:
Of course there are many people who want to get pregnant, queer and not, who face challenges with bringing children into their lives. There are people who don't have the privilege of planning pregnancy, people managing infertility, people who don't have the resources to engage in an alternative insemination process. My life is filled with many blessings for which, on most days, I feel immensely grateful.
But these factors do not erase the fact that for now, at this moment, I am resentful. It doesn't help that last year I was working in an setting with heterosexual pregnant women, many of whom had unplanned pregnancies. Or that S continues to work in a women's health clinic and bring home the stories of the clients whose sweet little babies he holds in his arms. I look enviously at the pictures of straight friends on Facebook who are moving along in their family-building journeys. When looking at the world through my "victim" lens, pregnancy seems to come easy to many straight people.
I know I'll get back to a better emotional place soon enough. If there's one thing I've learned from my fertility chart, it's that my emotions are definitely affected by my hormonal changes. My irritation should only last so long. I'll be back to the "optimistic" part of my cycle in T minus 2 days.
I've been mostly feeling butterflies of excitement for the first week of the new year. I love fresh starts and new beginnings, and I have many beautiful things to look forward to in 2010. But for the past few days, I've been feeling resentful and mildly anxious. To be blunt - I've been frustrated about the pregnancy challenges that come along with being queer.
With the guidance of some helpful books I began charting my fertility in November 2009, and for the past few months have been diligently taking my temperature every morning before I roll out of bed. I figured I was getting a head-start on the process since I have a somewhat irregular cycle and want to better understand my body's fertility signs. Yet I haven't been able to quite pinpoint the day on which I was ovulating during the past three cycles. My chart is all over the place.
I picked up my go-to-guide and began reading the charting steps again. I found I have been making a few critical mistakes:
- Not taking my temperature at exactly the same time every morning
- Not charting CM changes. At all. (I'll admit, I've been a little squeamish about this one)
- Not being detailed enough about documenting "life" factors that may affect my BBT
Of course there are many people who want to get pregnant, queer and not, who face challenges with bringing children into their lives. There are people who don't have the privilege of planning pregnancy, people managing infertility, people who don't have the resources to engage in an alternative insemination process. My life is filled with many blessings for which, on most days, I feel immensely grateful.
But these factors do not erase the fact that for now, at this moment, I am resentful. It doesn't help that last year I was working in an setting with heterosexual pregnant women, many of whom had unplanned pregnancies. Or that S continues to work in a women's health clinic and bring home the stories of the clients whose sweet little babies he holds in his arms. I look enviously at the pictures of straight friends on Facebook who are moving along in their family-building journeys. When looking at the world through my "victim" lens, pregnancy seems to come easy to many straight people.
I know I'll get back to a better emotional place soon enough. If there's one thing I've learned from my fertility chart, it's that my emotions are definitely affected by my hormonal changes. My irritation should only last so long. I'll be back to the "optimistic" part of my cycle in T minus 2 days.
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