Infertility, the universe's ultimate bitch-slap!

I'm a somewhat philosophical person. I also enjoy science, anthropology, and history. Never mind women's-lib or the new millennium, when it comes down to it, human's are made to, and meant to, reproduce, and that's really all there is. Nature does not care if you desire children, nature does not care if you can afford children, and nature doesn't care if you're too young or old for children. If you have the remote capability of having or siring a child, Nature will do everything in her power to ensure you do just that. She'll send women monthly reminders. For men, she sends a daily, (often in the morning) reminder that your goal that day, is to procreate.

Nature tells you to write that little note to your friends, telling them how cute "he" is. Nature tells "him" to ask her out. Nature tells construction workers to whistle at every woman of child-bearing age who walks by.

Sure, you can try to ignore her. Tell her to go to hell. But never forget this, Nature has one hell of a sense of humor. Never forget that she's infamous for her sneak-attacks. Nature can be an evil little Trickster!

More often than not, the day comes when Nature shows up, knocking at your door. You can choose not to answer, but she won't go away. She's like a bill-collector constantly calling you, all hours of the day and night, and especially holidays. Eventually, 85% of all humans open that door. Not only do they open it, but they welcome Nature into their homes. Some do it reluctantly mind you, but in the end, Nature usually wins.

There are some who still try to fight off Nature. Locking your door does not always ensure Nature will go away. She can creep through unlocked windows, maybe even your chimney! Don't forget those sneak-attacks that she's notorious for. Sometimes, she breaks the door down even...I mean, it's her job after all.

Of course knocking is just her nice way of letting you know she's there. More often than not, whether or not you open the door, she finds a way to come in for a visit, and there's not much you can do to successfully stop her.

Of course there are a lucky few who manage to elude her, but not all are by choice, in fact, I venture most are not by choice. Some open the door willingly only to find no one waiting for them on the porch. Some, keep the door unlocked, waiting for Nature's visit. Sometimes Nature never arrives, and for someone who's sitting in their living room 24 hours day, dressed, ready, with fresh cookies and a nice pot of tea steeping, Nature never arriving is the worst thing in the world. That person put everything on hold to sit there, ready, just waiting for a knock that will never come. And that's a very sad thing.

For most of us who are/were waiting for Nature, she just comes really late. Sometimes, she gets lost. SOMEONE NEEDS TO BUY HER A GPS!!!! When the time came for me to open the door to Nature...she was lost, driving around with a lousy Mapquest print-out probably, struggling to find her way to my house....for years...and years. I'm not a fan of anyone in my life being tardy. So I sat...and I waited....and waited....and waited.

We were dressed, we had the guest room all ready and waiting for Nature, but she didn't come when we were expecting her. Finally she called one day to tell us she was running really late, and that there was a less than 1% chance of her EVER coming to our house. Talk about a slap in the face. At least she called, but still....less than 1% is like....zero. But it's not absolute-zero. Less than 1% meant we had to keep the guest room ready, and we had to sit and wait for her in-case she decided to grace us with her presence.

The worst part of it was, the window of time that she could knock on our door was dwindling with each passing day. Even if she did come, since she was coming so late, the chance of her doing what needed to be done and it all turning out well was becoming very slim.

Each month, like clock work, she sent a reminder to me that she was not coming. One month, she forgot to send the reminder! So I really expected her at any moment, only to find she never intended to call on us that month. I guess her secretary 'forgot' to send me the "She's not coming" memo. About two weeks later, I finally got word she wasn't coming. Nature can be a tease...again, evil Trickster.

Finally I told her that we were not going to be home and to not bother even thinking of knocking on my door that month. We had plans....and we'd waited for two and a half years for her, and we simply couldn't sit around the house waiting that month. I guess her secretary forgot to give her that memo, because that's precisely when she granted us with a sneak-attack!

Yup...I accidentally/on purpose got pregnant. The oxymoron to end all oxymoron's. We kept the door unlocked just in case she decided to show up while we were home, and, well, she did.

The rest is history. She lied. What can I say.

Okay, enough of the cutesy minutia. That flowery description was for those of you who like my writing. For the rest, and for those who can't/don't think outside the box, here's how I really feel about infertility. It's a bunch of crap!

Like I said in the beginning, reproduction is the only reason we are here on this planet. Not just us, animals, plants, even viruses. Everything needs to reproduce. Not everything wants to though. I sure didn't. I did not want kids....ever. Kids...are...crap. I actually still feel this way. I can't stand kids, I detest children. Children are mean, self-absorbed, locust-like rapers of the natural world as we know it. Yup. I do feel this way. Despite this, I still had a burning desire to have one of these creatures of my own. And I don't care what you have to say in defense of these often smelly creatures. I don't like them. I still don't like them.

That's what amazes me. I don't like children, yet I wanted one. ONE. LOL. Not only did I want one but that's all I could think about. I guess it hit me when I was 30 years old or so. Yup, Nature came late, and then she didn't even do her job for five more years! The human need to reproduce is that strong, so strong it could take a person like myself and turn them into one of those people who understood what it was like to just take someone's child from their womb. Yeah, it's sick, but I understand why someone could crack and do that. Not that I ever would. :-)

I feel the need to say this in very large print to get my point across. Infertility is one of those things that unless you've experienced it yourself, you'll NEVER understand it. Ever!!!

You can try to imagine it, but you'll never understand. It's a small club, thankfully. The day you're told you'll never have children, for whatever reason, is the day you realize that you are a cosmic-failure. Survival of the fittest? Well that's not you. You are so unworthy, your genes can't even move forward. The buck must stop with you, because you're just a mammoth-loser. You may as well just kill yourself now to save the universe from having to kill you off itself. It's like getting a postcard from the Universe saying "You Suck!" Yup, you just got the world's biggest, clearest middle finger shoved in your face, you understand what I mean? Chances are you don't, since I only know very few people who've struggled with infertility.

I'll admit, I didn't understand it when my friend struggled with it 10 years ago. Sure, I felt bad for her, but there's nothing you can do! Kids are crap like I said earlier, and if you can't have them, so be it, move on with life.

After you're told that you will NEVER, ever, ever conceive a child, these are the things you do not want to hear from friends or family:

Some people aren't meant to have children

If it's meant to happen, it will

Oh well, you never wanted them all that much anyway, so why are you so upset now?

Go buy one

There's always adoption

Gee, (I get pregnant)/(I got her pregnant) just by saying the word pregnant, sure was simple for me!

We were told each of those lines, more than once, from ignorant people who just didn't understand. And thank God they didn't understand, because if they did, that would mean that they too were infertile, which would make this an epidemic. It's so easy to just blow it off as not a big deal. Let's face it, most people take for granted things that they never worked for. Most people take pregnancy for granted, and that's good! It should be that easy. It's meant to be that simple.

Yes, some people find reproduction to be a burden, some people find it a blessing, however you feel about it, the fact remains that it's fundamental to our being, and it's what we're meant to do. As a woman you are defined by your ability to have children. When you don't/can't, it makes you feel like less of a woman. As a man, you are supposed to sire children, I can only imagine that when you don't/can't, you too, feel like less of a man.

Walking around feeling like the world's biggest loser every day does wear on you. This breaks up marriages. Usually it's just one of you that's infertile, not both, so there's always guilt and blame. It's kind of like death, (in a sense, it's a death of your line after all) first you're in denial, then you're angry, then sad, then you grieve, but it's always with you. You see people all over with children and you wonder, are they worthy? You see a pregnant woman, and you hate her.

Unlike death, infertility isn't always permanent. You can get through it. For most infertile couples, money saves the day, and the family name. Money can pay for necessary fertility treatments and drugs, nearly none of which are covered by medical insurance. Money can pay for an adoption (You didn't think that was free did you?) or to purchase a baby even. Money. Yes, money. Obviously we lacked money. We couldn't afford in-vitro. We couldn't even afford the very expensive testing (over $2,500, none covered by insurance) to find out that we WERE infertile. Of course, we had no choice but to seek specialist's help, but naturally we couldn't afford their 'solutions' to our problem.

Most people can't. It's very, very expensive. Adoption is very expensive and good luck getting a newborn baby too. So not only are you too big a loser to reproduce, but you're too poor too as well. Let's add some insult to that injury shall we? One can't help but be negative about infertility when they are put in that position.

"You're too lame to pass your genes on, because you're a loser and you suck. You'll never pass your genes along. Now, if you give me $25,000, "maybe" your genes can be passed by tricking Nature....Nature is pretty kick-ass, unlike you, and it's expensive to trick her. Oh, you don't have $25,000 laying around? Well, screw you! The buck ends with you, as it should, because you are the world's most giant loser ever, and the buck ending with you is a good thing for humanity. Have a nice day."

Carry that on your shoulders day in and day out. Now, look upon the person "Who's fault it is" and try not to tear their head off! It takes a strong marriage to not end over something like this. How does one not walk around depressed all the time after this? How is one not filled with rage all the time? A lifetime's full of hopes and dreams shattered because you're inept, or the person you chose as your partner is inept, or even worse, you're both inept.

I met a person who had the worst of the worst in the infertility universe....they had...."Unexplained Infertility."

At least we had an explanation. My husband was, in fact....sterile. Now why remains a mystery. We had that, mixed with my poor health and advancing age, and then 18 months into our quest, ovarian cysts, all of which made it impossible for us to conceive. Our only chances were in-vitro with a good sperm of his, IF one could even be found, or artificial insemination with a sperm donor....which is what we decided to do, once we could afford it.

But there was that whole money thing, and our lack of the funds required for said inseminations. So, we had to try the old fashioned way. If you thought being infertile was stressful and depressing, try defying the odds and attempting to do the impossible...month after month, when logic screams at you to just stop because your attempts are futile.

The time, and money and thought involved with constantly charting and calculating ovulation dates month after month is exhausting....and why were we even doing that? Without sperm, one can't get pregnant. Month after month you spend half of the month trying to get pregnant and the other half thinking you are, when in fact, you aren't, and never will be. Each month when your period is approaching you wonder if your boobs are sore because you're pregnant, or are they sore because you're not?

You dream of seeing a positive pregnancy test. It's a dream that will likely never be realized. You stare at the multiple negative ones and wonder if you're reading them wrong. You also spend a fortune on those darn things, paying for disappointment.

God forbid you're even one day late. You run out to the drug store and get a pregnancy test, only to have it read negative over and over, month after month. People tell you to get a good, expensive one, so that's what you do. You hear about false-negatives and remain optimistic. (In the end, I found out I was pregnant on a $6 two pack of Kroger brand tests at Chris's insistence, since I'd given up on taking pregnancy tests.)

I told you earlier what you DON'T want to hear when you find out you're infertile. You're probably wondering what we want to hear. Well other than "You're pregnant"....nothing. "I understand" coming from someone who's been through it helps, "I"m so sorry to hear this" never hurts. A good, honest, "I just can't imagine" is benign enough.

There's nothing really to be said. Even the good stories people tell you don't really help. We got tons of the "Oh my mother's, neighbor's, son's, receptionist's, hairdresser was told they'd never conceive and now she has four kids...." tales don't actually help. At least, they didn't help me. I'm not that person's mother's, neighbor's, son's, receptionist's, hairdresser so this does not apply to me.

Logically I knew the stories were true. I also knew more often than not, infertility led to nothing but a life full of sorrow and loneliness.

When you want a baby, and can't have one, it dominates every thought and ever fiber of your being. Every time you hear that someone is pregnant, it doesn't matter who....a friend, a family member, a celebrity even, you suddenly hate that person. Why do they deserve a child and I don't? Why are they worthy to pass their genes while mine have to die off? Sure, you lie and tell them "Congratulations!" to their face but behind their back, you're filled with sadness and envy.

Then you see some baby with a parent walking down the street, and the parent is clearly a loser moron piece of trash. That piece of work was able to pass their genes, but I'm not? What's wrong with the universe when homeless crack heads can have and sire babies, but we can't? Those are the days you're full of rage, bitterness and utter hatred.

Then you have to go shopping for baby showers for friends and family, when all you want is for them not to have the baby. 'Because "I" can't have a baby, no one should' is the thinking. It's irrational and immature, but it is what it is. In the end are you happy for the friends and family who have the baby? Sure, but it's difficult to overcome the envy and sadness. Talk about feeling inadequate.

Now you may ask, how did Chris and I survive this? I have no idea. I can't speak for him. I can't tell you how he dealt with the prognosis. I can tell you he did lose hope, in the end. He accepted our fate, that it would be just us two, forever. Just us two isn't a bad thing mind you, but I didn't feel that way.

I can't really explain my feelings. I can try to put them into words, but all I can do is try to convey to you, that I always knew that I would have a baby. Maybe not 'his' baby (remember the sperm donor scenario?) but I knew we'd somehow have a baby. I knew it would not be adoption or foster care, it'd be a real, biological baby, and I hoped I'd not be Kate Plus 8! :-)

I just knew that in the end, there would be a baby. True, I'm way too cool NOT to pass my genes along...No, I'm not maternal, at all, we all know that...I'm all for that women's lib crap, women can be astronauts and not have babies if they don't want to, blah blah blah....I don't need a baby to feel complete....In fact, I don't need a baby, at all. I simply wanted one, I don't know why, I just know I wanted one. I wanted a boy too, just one. I always get what I want, in the end. I may not get it the way I intended, but I get what I want.

I wanted a house, I have a house. I wanted to go to Europe, I went to Europe. I wanted to get married, I got married. I wanted to go to college, I went to college....and lastly, I wanted a baby....I had a baby. My bucket list is complete, time to die now! LOL!

How many tears did I shed in the 2.5 years we struggled with infertility? Not one. How many days did I feel we should just give up? None. When did I realize it would just never happen? Not once. How often did I talk about this? Not very. People don't know what to say, and you don't like to mention it. It's a private, internal struggle and in the end, only you and your partner truly know what's going on.

To contradict myself, yes, I was shocked to discover I was pregnant. Mainly because we took that month off ;-) but even though I KNEW we'd have a baby, I was still in shock that we defied the odds, and overcame infertility. Not only did we overcome, but we bitch-slapped Nature in the face by doing it the old fashioned way, the "natural" way. It wasn't science or even luck, it was just what happened, it's what was supposed to happen.

Had I conceived the first time we tried in 2007, we'd not have William. If we could have afforded in-vitro, we'd not have William. Artificial insemination would not result in William either. I said it before, I'm thankful that it took us 2.5 years to conceive, had it been any other egg and any other sperm, we'd not have William. Even though I went 16 years of my life not wanting children, as weird as it sounds, I feel like I've been waiting for William my entire life, and this is the struggle Chris and I had to go through to get him...him and only him. It turns out, I didn't want a 'baby'....I wanted William, and like I said, I always get what I want.

My thoughts on pregnancy...

09/03/2009

To quote Penn and Teller…pregnancy is bullsh*t! I mean, if everyone’s pregnancy was like mine, the human species would die out. I’m not a huge wimp either, I had a horrible pregnancy. Horrible...HORRIBLE!

Scientificaly speaking, if our only purpose as carbon bassed life forms is to reproduce, shouldn’t pregnancy be, oh I don’t know…good? Nice? Fun?

Sure, some people have wonderful pregnancies….if I ever meet one of those people I’ll let you know. There are many who’s are worse than mine….just no one I know. LOL…I mean this pregnancy was bullcrap from the get-go.

It all started over four years ago…when we decided to have a baby. We decided to wait 2 yrs to start trying, and then we….couldn’t get pregnant. The misery of infertility is for another blog, but let’s just say unless you personally experience it, you don’t understand it. You just don’t.

On Sep 3, 2009, after years of trying and several false alarms…to my disbelief, I discovered that I was pregnant. It was the most shocking and most wonderful moment of my life. I couldn’t believe it. I asked Chris if I were crazy, or were there two lines on the pee stick. He verified and I cried. We hugged. He said, “We did it!”

We were both in shock. I vowed to tell no one, no one until I saw the Dr. So I called my Dr and…..the phone to their office wasn’t working. So then I said, “Let’s tell our families, ONLY, no one else….” So we did…then I said, “I have to tell one friend at least…” Well one friend turned into all of them. I called all my friends and told them. They were MORE shocked than I was!

The main reasons I was shocked was….we were infertile. AND, I clearly ovulated late. We were NOT trying that month. We were out of town during my ‘fertile days’ and I said, “Let’s just skip August, we need a break anyway….” And walla! I got pregnant in August. In fact, I believe the date of conception to be my mother’s birthday (conception actually occurs one to two, sometimes more, days after, well, you know…)

It was a blissful week. I was on cloud nine. I felt like a real woman. We tried and tried and tried and finally, we were rewarded. My life couldn't have been better at that moment in time.

The next day I went to Wal-Mart, and I felt like a new person. I was carrying a baby. Our baby. A baby we worked so hard for. “It” was in there, just a cell….dividing and dividing. It didn’t have a heartbeat yet, but it was alive, and it was growing. It was a person, our person, a person we made together. It was, for lack of a better word, a miracle.

I’m cursed with stomach problems and have been for many years. Simply put…I don’t eat. I go days without eating. The week I discovered I was pregnant ( I was about 3 weeks pregnant) I suddenly had an appetite! I wanted, and ate, three meals a day! I’ve not done that since Junior High! I ate healthy too! Omlettes and kale (rich in folic acid) and drank lots of water.

I didn’t even want diet soda, which I vowed I’d not drink any of while pregnant. I took my prenatals, which I’d been on for 4 yrs anyway, and my folic acid and ate my kale and consumed my meals.

I napped, a lot. As someone with fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue I thought it impossible to be more tired than I already was. WRONG. I was exhausted. I slept all the time. In fact, that’s what clued me in that I may be pregnant…that and Brady who hates me suddenly loved me and sat on my lap all of the sudden. When he started cuddling up to me, I thought, perhaps I’m pregnant. So when I was 7 days late, I tested. J

I napped and ate and drank and nurtered my baby. I had the best intentions. Finally I got a hold of my Dr and had an appt to see her one week from the day I tested. She’d been through so much with me up to that point. I followed her when she left her practice. She’d been there with me through infertility and ovarian cysts that caused hemmorages, and now, the long awaited pregnancy.

I got all dressed up to see her that warm September day. I wore my navy skirt with white polka-dots and white shirt, with red pumps. I wore make-up, a rarity. She did an ultrasound and showed me….a little dot that was our long awaited child. She said it was set up high in the uterus, there was only one, and it looked great! She said I appeared to be five weeks, but I knew I wasn’t. She pointed out what was the beginnings of the cord. Afterwards, Chris and I went out for lobster bisque, as I was craving it! Everything was wonderful and my life at that point couldn’t be better….I had a wonderful 10 days…

A week after I saw my Dr, I went to the bathroom and found blood. Now I knew some bleeding was common around week five. However, this wasn’t ‘some’ blood. It was blood, bright red, and plenty of it. I yelled from the bathroom, “I’m bleeding…”

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“It means I’m having a miscarriage.”

There was too much blood for it to be anything else. The day prior, I had terrible back pains. Horrible back pains so bad I couldn’t walk. My menstrual cramps are in my back and that’s what they were. I knew that’s what they were, but I tried to deny it. I thought, well back pain is common in pregnancy….I knew deep down that back cramps were not common. That day, the cramping got worse, and then, the blood.

I remember telling him, “If I wasn’t pregnant, I’d be on painkillers for these cramps.”

Miscarriage. I called my Dr, of course it was after hours. A few minutes later, the Dr on call called me back. He said, “This is your first pregnancy. Yeah, you’re scared, I understand. Well, stay off your feet, wear a pad, and come see us at 9am tomorrow. If your pain worsens, go to the ER tonight.”

Lovely. I detached myself from the pregnancy at that point, because, it was over. The good news was, I could get pregant, which meant, I could get pregnant again. I mean, I was 35, so time was short, but we’d just try again. It’s over and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

The next morning we went to the Dr. My Dr was there. She seemed solemn. She did an ultrasound to search for the heartbeat. I was six weeks at that point, and the heartbeat would be visible.

I laid on the table, the tech did the ultrasound….no heartbeat. A perfectlty round ‘sack’ was visible. It was much larger than the week prior. The sack, yolk sack, was there, but no heartbeat. I told the tech that I think they had my due date wrong. I think I ovulated late that month. She said, “Okay. Come back in seven days and we’ll search for the heartbeat then.”

The reason for the blood? Unknown. The bleeding remained the same for the next week. Honestly…I don’t remember hardly anything from that week. We went back to see the Dr a week later. The tech started the ultrasound and the first thing we heard….was a hearteat. It was alive. It was alive! Then, we saw the flutter on the screen. The heart was beating. It was still with me.

Next to it was a huge pool of black….blood. She said my utuerus was full of blood. I cried. Not at the blood, but at the heartbeat. Hearing it and seeing it. 150 beats per minute. A strong and healthy heartbeat. The heartbeat of my future son, well, actually…of my son.

We believe that life begins at conception. We’d almost lost him, but he was still hanging on. My theory that I ovulated late was correct. Sometime in that seven days, his heart began to visibly beat…to audibly beat. My due date was adjusted from May 7, 2010 to May 13, 2010. I was six weeks pregnant and I felt great, aside from fatigue. We left the Dr’s office, confident that everything would be okay, despite the bleeding, which lasted for three more weeks.

A day or two later, I had a sandwich and immeditly after, I felt like crap. I was nausiated. Wonderful. Now I knew I’d NOT have morning sickness. Mom had it, and I’d heard stories of her terrible morning sickness my whole life. Marlene had it, Charlene had it, but I wasn’t going to have it. I generally don’t puke. I can count on two hands how many times I’ve yacked in my life. I didn’t yack from age 13-25, not once. I hate puking more than anyone on Earth. I mean, I seriously hate it. I know no one likes it, but I loath it. I fear it. I don’t enjoy…at all.

But starting week six, I was sick to my stomach…and hungry…at the same time. I was so hungry I’d wake up in the middle of the night from the hunger pains. I’d be eating at 3am. An hour later, I was starving again. And what’s with having to pee every ten minutes so early on? I laid on the couch, sick to my stomach, but still hungry. I thought, ‘okay’…if I just have nausea and no vomitting, then I’m okay, everything will be okay.

Week seven. My clothes were getting tight. I joked to Chris that I was starting to show! No doubt it was all the food I was eating. Then it dawned on me, I’d not had a bowel movement in….21 days! I was so backed up. We had a light breakfast and I knew I could not fit one more morsel into my body. I called my Dr and the Dr on call said to take a stool softener. I was a moron so I did as I was told. Of course that didn’t do a thing. Then he said to take an enema. Oh goody. That too, did nothing.

Then, as I sat on the couch, that feeling hit me…that…Ugh…I’m gonna yack….feeling. I HATE THAT FEELING! I told Chris, “Oh no! Oh no!” He yelled “What? WHAT?!” I said, “I’m gonna puke!” He said, “Oh…well go puke then.” LOL, he was relieved it wasn’t something worse. But to me, almost nothing is worse than vomitting. Let me be clear, I HATE IT! So I go to the toilet and he stands there….and we wait and wait and wait….because it’s coming, I assure you. The buildup for me takes forever, it’s torture! And then KABOOM! Gross! Nasty! Tears, crying, choking, all that good stuff!

I sat on the couch and had a popcicle…then KABOOM, yaked up the popcicle. Not good. I was so backed up, I couldn’t ingest another thing…so we made our first trip to the ER…for severe constipation. Nice huh? This is when I got ‘radiated’ baby, because they had to X-ray me to look for a blockage. The moron ER Dr found what looked like a potential blockage and informed the nurse to give me….the mother of all enemas. Yes! At that point I was so happy to have the demons expelled, I didn’t care that a gallon of water, blended with soap, yes, soap…was being rammed up there…so they rammed it up there and……..nothing happened. I was seriously backed up.

They brought in a portable toilet, which was gross and like, ‘a’ square of toilet paper. Are you joking? I made Chris steal a whole roll from the men’s room. So 30 minutes later all the water came out…and um…nothing else. So they rammed more water up there and then talk of a hose and possible finger ensued, which made me pray that more than just water came out in round two. I actually felt something…move…and wallah! The demons were expelled.

We got home around midnight and Chris had to get up at 6am to go to work the next day, needless to say he wasn’t in the greatest of moods. I never wanted that to happen again, so I started to take stool softeners religously. Yet, days would go by with ‘nada’…so my Dr recommended Miralax, like four times a day, that’s about $100 worth of miralax a week!

Around week 8, I took my expensive miralax, sat on the couch and………out of no where…….YACK! Out of no where, yack! Just…yack! Ran to the bathroom! Cried, tears…choked…texted Chris, not sure why…like he could do anything from work. Little did I know that my worst fear…morning sickness….was becoming a reality. Even littler did I know that in fact, I never had morning sickness…no, why would I, someone who hates to be sick more than anyone on the planet, get run of the mill morning sickness? No, the Yack-Gods just HAD to curse me with the mother of all morning sickness…hyperemesis…(the difference? Morning sickness…sucks! Hyperemesis is evil…we’re talking like dropping 20 lbs in a month evil!)

Okay the whole hyperemsis is a blog for another day, as I’ll be blogging for an eternity if I include it all here so I’ll just summerize…Let’s just say I did not eat, I did not drink, I did not SWALLOW spit from weeks 10 thru weeks 22. I mean, I did all that but it’d only stay down between ten seconds and ten minutes…tops. The weird thing was, NO nausea at all…just vomitting. NO warning, vomitting. I’m not sure which I’d prefer actually. I like advanced warnings on most things, as I like to prepare…but advanced warning for something unpleasent? Maybe a sneak attack is better in those situations?

Okay so my pukes were stealthed, they were sudden, and they were violent. Shock and Awe had nothing on my innards. I almost peed myself from yacking so much, so hard. Bile is a curse and it's gross and it was...everywhere.

I never made it to the toilet…no, no…my 1100 sq foot house was too large for me to run that far with literally NO notice of any kind. Nope, the kitchen sink became the puke-reservoir. So, the sink always had to be clean and free of any debris, so I could muck it all up many times a day. Of course our dishwasher just HAD to break when all of this was happening, so where to put dirty dishes? On the stove top of course! Of course I wasn’t eating or drinking so it was only Chris’s dirty dishes on the stove. ;-)

Almost any scent would make me puke. A fart...a belch...the smell of eggs...the smell of...air...to even look at food would make me barf. I'd vomit, on average, 8-10 times per day, I called them puking-sessions. Each 'session' I'd actually yack 10-20 times, that's 10-20 pukes, per puking-session...that means I puked, on average, 100 times per day...for three months. Fun!

With all the…expulsion…came further exhaustion brought on by chronic dehydration and malnutrition, oh and of course, horrific constipation. Lovely! Coulnd’t eat, couldn’t drink, couldn’t swallow spit, pretty obvious I couldn’t take a pre-natal, a stool softenor or miralax. I was the walking dead…well I could hardly walk. Just to move from the couch to the sink to expell took every ounce of strength I had. The baby was the last thing I was thinking of at that moment, not dying and not passing out were my top priorities.

It got so bad my Dr gave me a choice…hospitalization, probably with a feeding tube…or a Picc line. What the hell was a picc line?

At that point I was so sick, I just didn't care, I’d do anything she suggested. My Dr also suffered from hyperemesis so she knew exactly what I was going through. The picc line would be surgically inserted into my upper arm and then a thin catheter would go into my veins, providing IV fluids for me to do ‘at home’ as well as anti-nausea medication called Reglan, administered through a pump. I would receive 12 hrs a day of IV and the Reglan pump would be continuous.

I’d been taking Reglan in pill form since week 7, but could no longer hold it down. I didn’t know at the time I was already feeling the effects of the Reglan, side effects which would make my pregnancy…even worse. (Topic for yet another blog, but depression and anxiety are side effects of Reglan, and boy, those are worse than any kind of morning sickness)

The procedure, hurt. They did numb my arm to insert the tube but the cut was so deep, it hurt. Then I needed another x-ray to ensure the catheter was not in my heart. This kid was going to be The Hulk with all these darned x-rays!

I was very sore for a few days after. Showering was nearly impossible with it. Not to mention I was so weak, I could only shower on Chris's day's off, which um..wasn't that often. He had to help me or I'd faint. I almost did faint one day. He had to catch me and carry me to the bed until I came around.

I had to carry the Reglan pump around my shoulder in a purse-type-thing. I was weaker than I’ve ever been in my life. I didn’t even have the energy to do the IV bags everyday, but Chris was at work and I was all alone here, so I had to do it…or die I guess. Changing my Reglan in my pump was another hassle that occurred every 24 hours. I also had to weigh myself and pee on a stick to check my Keytones and then call a nurse daily with my findings each morning. I was so weak, words don’t describe. It was a combo of the depression and the malnourishment. I literally couldn’t move. Just to roll over in bed took five minutes and every ounce of energy I had.

I stopped using the computer, stopped emailing, stopped talking on the phone, in fact, I stopped talking at all, because talking made me sick. To open my mouth for any reason, made me throw up. I had to stop brushing my teeth, as doing so made me very sick. I just swigged some mouthwash instead. Clearly the Reglan wasn’t working but I didn’t know that it was giving me depression and unbearable anxiety either. I was too sick to even notice if you can wrap your brain around that. I guess Chris could see me deteriorating but I hardly complained about it. I was too sick to do so, and like I said, to open my mouth made me vomit.

Again, a topic for another blog, but let’s just say the hyperemesis, plus medicine induced depression and anxiety were horrible! It was the single worst three months of my life. Since I was unable to move, think, talk…sleep…eat…drink…I couldn’t enjoy my pregnancy. I couldn’t enjoy anything. In fact, everything I did enjoy, was gone. I got pleasure from nothing, not even my dogs. Poor Chris, you can imagine. He had to do 100% of the cooking, for himself, cleaning, errand running, taking me to the Dr’s every week, dog-care, etc.

I think I’m most resentful that I couldn’t enjoy my pregnancy. Even in December when we found out it was a boy, which we desperately wanted, I was inially very happy but still too sick to enjoy the moment for long. I screamed “You did it honey!” to Chris when she said it's a boy, and I smiled for the first time in months. I even cried, happy tears….five minutes later, I was back in my funk.

On Christmas day, 2009, the depression and anxiety, along with the nausea and vomitting…just vanished. Poof, gone. My life was hell from Oct 7, 2009 to Christmas day. I still wasn’t showing, so I didn’t look pregnant, in fact, I’d lost 25 pounds. Chris and I went shopping and bought stuff for our baby boy. It was the first bout of happiness I’d felt since I saw his heartbeat at week six.

I was nearly six months pregnant, but didn’t look pregnant. I finally felt good, and wanted to go out in the dead of winter to show off the belly, but I had none. Even if I did, in the winter, under a heavy coat, who would see it? And that’s another thing, what’s with the cold? All pregnant women are HOT while pregnant, not me! Nope…I was freezing since the day I found out I was pregnant. Of course I was pregnant during fall, winter and spring AND it was the coldest we’ve had since we lived here. I spent months wearing a T-shirt beneath a sweatshirt, beneath a fleece, beaneath a coat when out and two blankets while in. It was TORTURE!

Aside from freezing and still having no appetite, I felt great for two weeks! My fibromyalgia symptoms were fading, I was having BM’s finally, I was able to eat about one small meal a day, I was drinking water, but still losing weight. Two weeks later, I looked down and looked the same. I swear, the next day, boom…belly! I’ll never forget. We were in Texarkana, when we arrived, I was thin, when we left the next morning, I had a belly…a visible belly! I was finally showing, at 24 weeks.

I was happy to be showing but then…the pain began. Yup…pain. All freakin’ over pain. My shoulders were killing me, my back was killing me, my groin was KILLING ME! I mean, hello, groin pain? I had no idea that would happen and I certainly didn’t think if it did it would happen that soon. I was still losing weight, yet I had horrific groin pain. I finally began cravings, but they were for only sweets…donuts to be exact. I had no appetite but I could stomach a donut.

At the same time, my pre-term labor officially began, but I didn’t know it. I was standing in a kitchen in Austin, TX when I got my first Braxton-Hicks contraction. Sadly, it never stopped. It was a constant, strong, non-painful but very obvious contraction…that never stopped until the day I delivered, two months later.

Twenty Five Weeks Pregnant...January 2010

As soon as we got back from Texas I called my Dr to tell her about the non-stop BH contractions and she sent me to labor and delivery. Of course there was a blizzard that day, so the four mile drive took us over an hour. It was my first of five trips to L&D in the next two months. I was hooked up to monitors to verify the contractions. They also did the first of five fetal fibronectin tests on me. They are JUST like a papsmear. They scrape your cervix (OUCH when you're pregnant!) and test the sample. If it comes back positive, you WILL go into labor in the next few days. If it comes out negative, you more than likely won’t deliver in the next two weeks, however, you still may. (http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/fetal-fibronectin/MY00128)

I was sent home and told to drink water and just rest as much as possible. The contractions grew in intensity every day, as did the groin pain! It was so bad that I literally walked like a hunch back most days. I could no longer even lay on the couch on my left side, for some reason my left rib cage hurt so badly, it felt like someone broke my ribs with a hammer. I couldn’t sleep on my back from the pain, so I was stuck on my right side.

Then came the heartburn. I was carrying high so my stomach was squashed so I could only eat, literally, ‘a’ bite of food per day. My entire body was sore, but it was nice to have a cute round belly and even though it was cold out still, I tried to show it off as often as I could. I waddled, yes, at six months pregnant, from the groin pain. So I couldn’t show off too much.

I had five painful weeks of overall goodness. Yes I contracted 24 hours a day and I was in horrible pain all of the time, but I was happy for the most part, and looking forward to meeting…William Christopher Storm, as he was known at that time. We were thrilled we were having a William Christopher and not a Sienna Elizabeth. We both wanted a boy so badly. I still prefered gender-neurtal colors for the most part, we chose green for most stuff, but we were ecstatic to be having a boy! And I was ecstatic to finally have the dishwasher repaired after seven months!

Twenty-nine weeks pregnant, 2/26/10

When I was 29 weeks pregnant, I was having pain. My Dr did another fetal fibronectin test and discovered that I was 1.5 centimeters dilated. That’s when everything went from good to crap. I was put on ‘modified’ bedrest. I was told to lay down as much as possible. If I had to go out, use a wheelchair or motorized cart. ( I did so...twice and both times it was so embarrassing) Sit and watch tv…those were her orders. I made several more trips to labor and delivery over the next few weeks. I received steroid shots to boost William’s lungs. Even at 29 weeks, she could tell from ultrasounds and just feeling him, that he was large…exceptionally large for his gestation.

A phone-call later and Mom was on a plane, moving up to Ohio to help take care of me and the house and the dogs and the husband. Chris had to get a transfer to a store closer to home so he wasn’t over an hour away in case of an emergancy. This all occurred three days before my shower. My shower still transpired, but I had to sit and be waited on the entire time. My friends were FANTASTIC! Even the ones who coulnd’t make it sent the most wonderful stuff and good wishes. Chris rushed like a mad man to finish the nursery for me, and I really couldn’t help him at that point.

The day of my shower (March 6, 2010) 30 weeks pregnant

31 weeks pregnant...

31 weeks pregnant...

Mom and I, 32 weeks pregnant...

32 weeks pregnant...

The nursery was going to be gray with black furniture but then we went to Ikea and one of the rooms was chartreuse, and I fell in love with it! Chris painted William a lovely chartreuse nursery, with black furniture compliments of Mom and Dad.

Elizabeth and Marlene hosted my shower on March 6, 2010

Our friends were fabulous! Not sure what we’d done without them. We got a fantastic pack-n-play from Margaret, highchair from Elizabeth, stroller and carseat from Liz, big-boy carseat from Nikki, bouncy seat from Charlene, swing from Mom, Harley Rocker from Joe and Jeanne, homemade afghan from Patty, clothes-clothes and more clothes from Cheryl (the godparents) and mom's friends, plus a shower from Marlene and Elizabeth, baby monitor from Lizzy, diapers from Misty, and for my future class of 2032 alumist…Bama gear from Katie. Chris’s cousin and Aunt’s gave us gift cards (which went for toys!) and clothes. Chris's sisters and parents pitched in for some pajamas and some blankets. Kortney knitted William a cute little lamb, and she and Wenbi got me bottles too. My old pal Heather got me a hooter-hider and breastfeeding books, and Chrissy gave me great advice and more clothes! This kid had more clothes than any other baby in history I think.

Cousin Patty handmade this afghan for William

Kortney made this sweet lamb for William...it sat in the NICU with him....

Let us eat cake!

Our friends and my family gave us so much wonderful stuff for William, there was literally nothing left for Chris and I to purchase for him. Bed rest sucked. I was in too much pain to lay on my right for too long, my acid reflux was so bad I couldn’t lay for too long. It was hard to drink water and lay down at the same time. Chris got me some movie channels for the boredome. The Dr said I could go out from time to time as long as I limited my walking and standing.

March 20, 2010, 32 weeks pregnant

ONE week before I gave birth...March 20, 2010

One week before he was born, I balooned. Up to that point most people thought I was only five months pregnant or so. Then, boom! My gut exploded! I was suddenly very uncomfortable. My ribs and groin were excruciating by that point. I still hadn’t gained any weight from my pre-pregnancy weight. All I could think about were donuts, which is why I never had any. On Wednesday I went to see my Dr, as I did every week. She did my final fetal fibronectin test and checked me, I was back down to 1 centimeter.

She told me she just wanted me to get to 33 weeks…from there, life expectancy was so much better. The next day, Thursday, I made it to 33 weeks…the next day, Friday, my water broke.

And that’s the tale of my horrific pregnancy, from beginning to end. Nearly every problem one could have, I had...except for diabetes, stretch marks and hemorrhoids (which I already had). I still feel cheated that I hated most of my pregnancy. There aren't as many pictures as I'd like because I was just too sick to pose. I meant to document the entire thing with a scrapbook, never happened. I didn't even scan in most of my ultrasound pictures...I was too sick and weak to do so.

Why did getting pregnant have to prove so difficult? Why was staying pregnant so difficult? Why was it all so horrible? Yes, woe-is-me...but everyone who witnessed the seven months of hell knows it was just that...hell. I will more than likely never have another child, and who could blame me? I hate that. I hate that I feel as if I have no choice in the matter. With my age and health as is...and what I went through, it'd be unfair to William for me to go through that again and possibly be as sick, or worse. I can't imagine ever going through that again. Bed rest, another preemie possibly. The only good things about pregnancy, aside from the baby, was the lack of headaches I got and most of my fibromyalgia symptoms finally fading.

The labor story is a whole other blog! LOL! Even that went horribly, not the delivery, just the labor part. I mean, clearly, in the end, I got a healthy baby out of it…(NICU is yet another blog)….but man…if everyone’s pregnancy was like mine…the human race would cease to exist.