Body of mine

A common problem you'll discover among the infertile crowd (and I'm most specifically talking about the infertile individual of the couple) is this feeling as though their body has failed.  It's a theme I've noticed over and over whilst reading about the emotional effects of infertility and in talking to a great many infertile women and men.  An infert will express disappointment in their body, going so far as to feel their body is less than, useless, and/or betraying them.

I never felt this so acutely as I saw others did.  I was aware that my body ovulated improperly.  I realized that my body was incapable of getting pregnant on it's own accord. I was frustrated that I couldn't find a quick, easy fix. I just never out and out blamed my body. I felt spared in that, lucky nearly, that I could remain somewhat rational about it - afterall, we take our small victories were we can get them when it comes to the losing game of being infertile and one of mine was that I didn't hate my body.

Still, when I discovered yoga I began to respect my body again.  Yoga starts with this lovely mindset that you don't focus on what you cannot do. Instead, the focus is purely in what you're capable of.  You can hold a pose for 2 seconds? WONDERFUL! LOOK AT WHAT YOUR STRONG AND LOVELY BODY IS DOING!!  And slowly, in celebrating each little thing I was capable of, I started being capable of more and more in the land of yoga.  Before long I was not only accepting of my body but very proud of it.  I felt powerful and incredibly feminine again - two things that infertility had definitely taken away from me.

I stopped being able to do yoga like I was used to by late March.  Infertility treatments really take a toll on my body by adding weight, increasing fatigue, and decreasing stamina.  Hyperemesis knocked me out of the game completely and by the time I found a way to cope with it, I had lost a lot of energy and muscle. Pregnancy led me to feeling overly fatigued and incredibly activity intolerant.  Still, I managed a few yoga sessions here and there.  Getting back into the mindset was nice - the refocus on beauty and capability.  I was reminded of how wonderful my body is.

And, I was very proud of the fact that, though my body couldn't get pregnant easily, it seemed to be doing a bang up job of staying pregnant this time around. I gave accolades to this little body of mine for that, incredibly thankful especially knowing that there are too many infertile women that cannot say the same. I felt I owed it to my body on the behalf of so many people and things to specifically celebrate it for that victory.

Yesterday it was discovered that my cervix is much too short and already funneling, an indicator of pre-term birth.  A decent measurement for a cervix at my stage of the game (27 weeks) would be at least 3 cm, 2.5 cm on the low end, with good being 4cm.  Mine is an unfortunate 1.97 cm. I was ushered into a room to discuss this with the OB, swabbed for a test called fFN (it's a test based on it's negative predictive value.  Mine was negative meaning it is 99% likely that I will NOT go into labor during the next 7-14 days), and then sent to the perinatologist for further evaluation.  He confirmed the findings and after a short stay in L&D, I was shot up with steroids and sent home on strict bedrest.

I had a hard time last night with being down on myself in a way I hadn't been in a while and mad at my body in a way I'd never been before.  It's a bit difficult for me knowing my body isn't doing the bang up job I had been celebrating. It's very difficult for me to be undeniably reminded of the fact that I cannot do well what comes easily and naturally to the majority of women.  I admit it's a loss of some identity, a loss of that feminine quality I had come to embrace.  I'm not normal and there's just no way around that.

Today I'm going to try to focus on my victories:
   -we discovered my short cervix in time to do something about it
   -as far as anyone knows, this babe is staying put for at least a couple of weeks
   -she's growing strong and well

and I'm going to try to convince myself that this set back and reminder needn't rob me of my beauty, my womanhood, or my femininity.  I am still powerful and lovely. We'll see how I do with that.
 

When I felt invisible: part one

THE NOT SO GOOD

I began my journey of self discovery in March 2014. I had spent the entire year before that feeling incapable, forgotten, and, frankly, invisible.   I had absolutely no idea who I was or what I wanted out of life anymore.   I was confused, desperately sad, and I had given up hope that God would or could actually help me.

Honestly, I was shocked that my prayers fell heavily in the silence of an empty room. Wasn't I favored by God? Isn't that what people had told me and what I had believed for so long?  Where, then, was this favor now?  I had prayed in every which way I knew: hours-long conversational prayer; tearful, pleading prayer; angry, exasperated prayer.   I begged for a baby, I begged for an answer, I begged to not feel that deep, painful, I-can't-breathe knot that had grown too large in the pit of my stomach.  Oh, the silence of the Lord is an unpleasant thing. 

Having spent the better part of 2 years getting dragged and bruised by life, I was now on auto-pilot.  I found nothing truly enjoyable. I sobbed multiple times every single day, hiding myself away in bathrooms and closets so that no one would know.  I gained 15 pounds.  I wandered around my house all day, from room to room, in between binge watching television and sleeping far too often. Lonely and alone, isolating myself, I was convinced no one would really even notice if I disappeared. 

But then, quite suddenly, I couldn't do it for a second longer. I couldn't be sad, be invisible, be empty, for one more moment.  I don't know how to describe it except that I felt such an urgency to live, to truly live, that I couldn't sit still.  I shed off everything about myself.  Or, more to the point, it was as though my 'self' was a shattered mess of glass on the floor and I was in charge of going through and picking out the pieces I wanted to keep - putting myself back together in an entirely new shape. 

Without a doubt I made decisions that hurt quite a few people and behaved in ways that are deserving of no ones forgiveness (although they've all given it to me).  I stopped hanging out with most of the people I relied on before, going so far as to avoid my family and to tell K that I didn't want to be a wife anymore.   It was too much to be needed by anyone, especially if what they needed was for me to behave like the woman they knew - the woman I was trying to escape. I felt I was fighting for my life and, somehow, everyone that knew me before became the embodiment of what I was fighting against.

They say that the Lord refines us as though gold placed in fire. I always assumed the process was passive and mild...that He just slowly made me a better person day by day while I merrily went about my life.  I learned quickly that the description of going through fire is, indeed, an apt one.  I spent painfully long days and nights confronted with my own lacking, my own impurities, my own broken and dark heart.

I learned what it is to cry out in the deep of the night asking the empty space of a God you aren't sure of if He is even there, to be huddled in the corner of a bathroom at work cradling yourself through a panic attack, and to sit across from your husband on the couch of a marriage counselor.

Those were very unpleasant times and, to my sorrow, I dragged K through them with me.   

The day I learned about loss

In honor of pregnancy and infant loss awareness month I am sharing the story of why this month holds a special place in my heart. I haven't ever told this entire story to anyone and only wrote it because K said it was probably a good idea.  The story was written after months of constant grief...a cycle of hope and crushing disappointment when it became clear that I wasn't going to get pregnant again any time soon. I contemplated changing some aspects of the story around but decided against it because I need to honor the sadness of the woman that wrote these words.

Without further adieu...

On my 26^th birthday I got the best present I could have ever asked for – a positive pregnancy test.  We’d only been trying since July but I had been aching for a baby of my own since we said “I do” almost four years earlier.   I was so excited that I took multiple pictures of that beautiful, positive test and texted those to K in a rush of heart pounding excitement.  No elaborate reveals from this eager lady!

Then, days later, time slowed down as I sat in the bathroom at work while my mind processed that the blood I was seeing and the pain I was feeling probably led to nothing good. 

The proper nurse that I am, I calmly took an assessment.  “T”, I addressed myself, “are you going to be okay or are you going to freak out?" But before I had a chance to answer, time sped back up and the decision was made for me.  I dropped to my knees, crying, and spent just half a second begging the Lord – not my baby, please, please, Lord…not MY baby.  But I’m a smart women and I knew it was too late. 

The begging gave way to some semblance of rational thought as I realized my next dilemma.  You see, I'd chosen a bathroom that opened directly to a patient hall and near the main nurses’ station.  Obstacles of human interaction with patients and coworkers stood in my way between this terrible place that the bathroom had become and my goal of solace that was my managers office.  I thought through all of this and wondered if I could make it without drawing attention to myself.  I dried my eyes, slapped my cheeks, and decided to just keep my head down, making a beeline for my target.  And, folks, I did it.  I walked out of the bathroom, acted normal, and made it to her office door – my heart breaking all the while.  And then that motherfucking door was locked.  No one was there.  My plan had failed and I didn't have another one.  Stay calm, my mind chanted, stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. 

My feet carried me to the nurse’s station just a few steps away.  I was speechless, my body was numb, and my baby was bleeding out of me.  I don’t know if I spoke or even if I made a noise – everything was disconnected from everything else; all systems felt like they were working separately and it was enough just to exist, but something got the attention of our nursing secretary and so came that dreaded question.  “What’s wrong,” she asked.  “I think I just had a miscarriage,” I managed to reply and then everything failed, I covered my face, the sadness burned into me, and I cried again.