This morning I am drinking regular coffee. Caffeinated, inorganic, chemical-cream laden, hotel lobby coffee. It has become sort of a routine: spend half of my month diligently abstaining from the substances I tested weak to in acupuncture (avoiding coffee being undoubtedly the cruelest admonishment), so my pure, unadulterated body could better create a pure, unadulterated embryo. But when no such embryo is generated, I indulge in my singular cup of tepid, Best Western coffee. Some consolation.
Acupuncture has been recommended to me several times over the last year. It is this perfect thing that bridges Western and Eastern medicine, not as exotic as tribal dancing and not as sterile as popping fertility drugs. My mom is an RN; my brother is almost finished with school to become and RN and I have watched more Scrubs episodes than I care to admit. I am a former asthmatic who was Albuterol-puffed back to life. I will demand epidurals. I will kiss every ilegibly scrawled prescription for antidepressants that comes my way. Ultimately, it was the palpable fear and panic behind the eyes of my well-meaning friends who stammered, “well, there’s always acupuncture??” that got me through the door. So let the poking and prodding (both literal and metaphysical) begin.
After a comprehensive two-hour session of applied kinesiology and allergy elimination, I was given The News. I have stong ovaries (yay!) but there are certain substances that diminish the success of their functioning: Gluten, which means I stab all the lifeless potatoes on my breakfast plate and sulk as my husband bites into his luxuriously doughy bagel. Soy. (It contains estrogen {?} and incidentally, it is in everything. Oh, and get this. There is gluten in soy sauce. I might as well be sipping absynthe). Chocolate. (I mean, c’mon.) And my beloved Coffee. And those are just the bold-print items. Of course there are all the obvious ones like sushi, alcohol, cold cuts and unpasteurized cheeses that women who are TTC (trying to conceive) should steer clear of.
At this stage in the game, people are interested in my vital stats: I am 34 years and 5 months old; my husband and I have been TTC for over a year; we have one miscarriage (M/C) under our belts; we are continually asking What’s Next. I have used ovulation prediction kits (OPKs) and have charted my cycles for many, many months. I can tell you my most recent Day After Ovulation (DAO) as easily as I can recall when I last brushed my teeth. I know more about Cervical Mucus (CM) than I ever cared to and am frankly peeved that I can speak the vernacular to this cryptic language. It means I am IN it. I am not--nor can I ever again be-- a flitty girl who giggles the admission “it’s so funny! My husband and I weren’t even trying and POOF! We’re preggers!” Because my husband and I are trying. Deliberately, tirelessly trying, Except that we are tired.
I started one of my more recent cycles on New Years Eve. My plan was to get home from work that morning and take a pregnancy test in the support of my mutually hopeful hubby. I believed I was pregnant. But I spotted on the plane. I had to play the role of Plastic Stewardess and say goodbye to all the cute holiday families with their even cuter cherub babies in tow while taking deep breaths to stave off the crocodile tears. I sobbed and hiccupped and beat my steering wheel the entire drive home and when I walked through the door,my tear streamed face was the only indicator my husband needed to infer that there would be no need to test that month. I sent an overly dramatic but legitimately raw text message to my nearest and dearest containing the words they probably read through squinting hopeful eyes each month, the BEEP of the incoming text triggering a Pavlovian stomach quiver: We are not pregnant.
My Mom talked to my 93 year old Oma later that day and told her that it was not shaping up to be a Happy New Year for the Paddock household. My Oma: Mother of 6, Oma to 14 and Great-Oma to 18, in her sweet, German accent reduces her age-old wisdom to one simple phrase: Tell them to have fun and relax. Weeelllll....No can do, Oma. But I am trying. I will get there. I AM getting there. And today, along with your earnest guidance, my coffee is helping me clamber along.
I love you Monica! And as heart wrenching as this blog is I thank you for being so real and so open. Making yourself vulnerable to other is very brave. I hope that God's plan for your life will all make sense soon enough.
ReplyDeleteThanks Stace. That means a lot. And thanks for our conversation in the back galley the other morning. Thanks for the reminder that a family can truly be found in "just" a husband and wife. (and maybe a few dogs...) ;)
DeleteLove it!! Keep writing!!
ReplyDeleteBA-ZING ! My sista is wicked cool and smaht. (said with a Boston accent). Keep keepin' it realz. LOVE YOU BOTH.
ReplyDeleteBro!!!! You crack me up!! Love da hell outta youz. (Said in a new yawk accent) :)
Delete我太爱你，伟大的职位，回头率！
Deleteahhhhh ha ha ha ha! Just saw this for the first time. :)
DeleteI am here with my daughter in Sarasota FL for spring break. She is 16, sweet and smart, and experiencing all the triumphs and anxieties that come with being a teenager. We talk about things I'm glad to hear and sometimes things maybe I wish I didn't but am glad she's entrusting to me. My son Curtis talks to me and sad/ Don also; mostly about science or politics, but sometimes he lets slip his wish of finding a hot girl who happens to be smart and funny too. I'll miss him like crazy when he goes off to college this fall. This idealic family life almost lets me forget that there was a time when I thought we'd never have a family at all.
ReplyDelete(Above I meant to type dad not sad - anyhow continued)
ReplyDeleteIt feels like the first part of a woman's life is consumed by trying not to get pregnant, and the second is consumed by trying to get pregnant. I used to think, When will I be able to just let it be?!
I met Don when I was still in law school in PA and he was an agent in DC. We were born 16 years and a continent apart, but somehow we found each other on a beach in Mexico. We dated and then lived together about six years before we married. By then we were ready to have children. But time is it's own master and children come in their own time.
ReplyDeleteWe went to a fertility specialist shortly after we got married. I'm not even sure now why. Maybe it's because I got my period infrequently, or maybe it's just a nagging feeling I had. I remember on our third visit for tests the doctor said - I really don't see a reason to keep going - because you're pregnant! I was exuberant. All my fears for nothing. We were going to have a baby, to be parents, to be a family. And then a few days later I had my first miscarriage.
ReplyDeleteThe second time was harder. I got pregnant again several months later, maybe a year at most. I took several pee tests to make sure - the line was there. It was time for my first sonogram. The dark sac appeared, but there was no light inside - no occupant or blinking beat - only darkness. I had a minor procedure to clean things out. The doctor assured us we could try again before I went under. But Don could see the question in my eyes and I could see it in his; I could also see the love and tenderness though.
ReplyDeleteThe third time almost broke my spirit. I got pregnant fairly quickly again. My body had learned this part pretty well by now. I had a sonogram and the heartbeat was there. We were so happy. It was Christmas time and I decided to make my own painted ornaments. Something we'd look back to years later. I couldn't help myself. I bought a pair of baby booties and hung them in the tree. We held each other looking at them hanging from the branches. A couple of weeks later I got cramps and bled. I cried so hard; it seemed so unfair. I had to have a procedure again. My hands were so cold they had trouble finding my veins for the IV. But Don was there by my side; and I came to accept that may be enough. It was a lot. We had each other.
ReplyDeleteI must have had a gift for getting pregnant, cause I got pregnant again. I was close to eight weeks pregnant when I got the feeling that I had to tell my dad. We didn't speak that often cause he was in Romania and phonecalls were expensive. Yet we were very close in spirit. It seemed risky given my micarriages, but I couldn't get the thought out of my head. I told my dad his only child would be bringing him a grandchild - and the miles closed in around us like an enbrace. Three weeks later my dad suffered a blood clot which traveled to his brain and he died. Later that year baby Curtis was born. 9 lbs 4 (ouch) and precious in every way.
ReplyDeleteI have a picture of Curtis in his baby swing when he was just a few months old. A strange shadow appears superimposed upon it; the outline of a tall figure with large feet (I wear a size 10, a feature I inherited from my dad). Curtis is smiling peacefully and it makes me smile.
When Curtis was 6 months old I had to go on a week-long trip for work. I had just gone back to work a few months before and it was hard to leave him. I was so frazzled I forgot to take my pills, like that would even matter. I'd just start them when I got back. My period didn't come though. I took a pregnancy test, just for fun. When I told Don I was pregnant again he thought I was joking. But it was true and felt like a true miracle. The baby girl we always wanted was here - with a heart strong and true. Little Jenny came when she wanted to be born. And we were overjoyed with our blessings.
ReplyDeleteMonica so now you know my story. I've never told it like that but tought you'd understand; as I understand yours.
ReplyDeleteYour Oma is wise. But I'd add to it - pray and never stop believing. XO
Nicole, Once again I thank you for sharing your beautiful story. You highlighted a few things I will most likely write about in a future entry. I am so glad you kept trying...Curtis is my bud. He and Jenny are such beautiful souls. I have learned how unique ALL our stories are. I loved hearing yours. XO
ReplyDelete