I hear your heart beating everywhere

When we're apart I can close my eyes and hear you there

I hear your heart beating everywhere

Everywhere I go

People say that I must be in love
The way I forget what we're speaking of
The way I stand there smiling straight ahead
And walk away without hearing a word they said

~ Jackson Browne ~

Horses galloping on the plains.

A train engine.

Kind of life a muffled French siren.

An underwater video from the Discovery Channel.

No, this isn't some obscure puzzle. I'm trying to put into words the sound that is constantly and consistently in my ears and on my mind: the beat of my son's heart. 

Infertile to Impregnated

I was looking through my blog this week and realized that the post I made about our first IVF consultation with the fertility clinic was on May 22, 2017. I would say it seems serendipitous that exactly one year later I would give birth to Jackson.

I remember walking into the clinic that day and wondering how if and how our lives would change after our consultation that day.

My Return and A Diagnosis: Post-Partum Depression & Anxiety

I've returned to this blog because I have a new story to tell.  

On May 22nd, I received something that changed my life forever, the birth of my son. 37 days later, I received something else that changed me forever: a diagnosis of postpartum depression and anxiety.

I post a lot of pictures of Jackson. Maybe too many. A lot of shots of smiling or sleeping or cuddling or playing. All the things you would expect to see from a first-time mom. Truth be told though, there was a lot going on that was unseen, things I had never expected in a thousand years - Overwhelming depression, and anxiety so deep that I surely thought it was solidified inside my bones.

Now, I’m certainly no stranger to the world of anxiety. And not ashamed of it, either; I’ve been quite open about my struggles. I blogged about it, posted encouraging memes, shared my story with fellow sufferers.

But PPD/PPA has been a different beast. Though I have come a long way since my diagnosis, I had never felt so ashamed of anything in my life. To admit it to myself in the beginning crushed my spirit. I railed against it for so long, thinking that I had no right to feel this way, not after everything I had gone through to get pregnant, stay pregnant, and give birth to Jackson.

Like my infertility journey, my journey to motherhood did not go the way I had planned. I suppose I had always believed that getting pregnant was the end of the struggle.

I was wrong.

I was terrified while I was pregnant. It just seemed like one thing after the other went wrong. I had an anterior placenta so I could hardly feel him move for the longest time.
I had extra scans and blood tests because of IVF, and an early one revealed that Jackson had pyelactsis, dilated kidneys, which led to MORE scans and tests and several visits to a perinatologist. Other medical issues popped up after his birth, but we are making our way through them.

We found out early that he was transverse breech, and despite going to a chiropractor and an acupuncturist, he would not flip. I remember the day my obstetrician apologized to me, knowing how important it was, but told me that I would not be able to have a natural birth, that Jackson could not be safely maneuvered, and it was medically necessary to deliver by C-section.

I struggled with breastfeeding, the one thing I told the nurses in the Mother Baby Unit I would not concede. My body had been useless in all other regards, but no one would take that from me. But it was months of struggle and stress and anxiety, though I am very, very proud to state that at nearly sixteen months old, Jackson has never had a bottle, nor a drop of formula. I finally see my body as something amazing.

One by one, each experience broke me down a little more. I fought like hell for 3.5 years to become a mother, and I finally was – but I was so depressed and so anxious, when all I hoped to feel was joy.

Though I should have anticipated it. it broke my heart to get the diagnosis of PPD/PPA. I felt like a failure as a mother.

Some days, I still do.

I grieve over the times I struggled. I worry that my husband and my child will resent me for the way I was in the beginning. My grief is compounded over the fact that, more likely than not, we will have no more children. I feel like I screwed up the only opportunity I had.

Therapy, medication, and time have helped heal the wound, but I have a way to go. Every day is different. I still cry, but I smile a lot more, too.

Jackson is the light of my life, and I can say with absolute certainty that he has been worth every procedure, shot, scan, and tear.

If you are suffering from feelings of inadequacy, failure, or are having trouble bonding with your baby, please know you are not alone. 

It is not your fault.

There is help. 

Please reach out.

https://www.postpartum.net/get-help/help-for-moms/

From Stims to Transfer

Guys. I’m trying really hard to keep my mind busy. Can you tell by the cover picture? Why not design a movie poster themed picture?

(Please no jokes on the poor quality – Steve is the tech savvy one in the relationship) But it kept me occupied for a good half hour.

Back to the subject at hand. O-M-G. Those two little circular blobs inside that heart (and currently inside my uterus) are our two ‘Little Test Tubes’. Can you believe it? I still can’t. These past three years have been such a wild journey and I can’t believe we have made it this far.

It was a whirlwind week, but I thought I would take a look back and give you an honest take on what the past week was really like for Steve and me.

IVF Cycle: Week 1

It’s been seven days since we began our “official” IVF treatment. I’ve been sitting here trying to come up with some kind of funny, witty, poignant opening, but honestly, I can’t think of anything.

I. Am. Exhausted.

You know, you can read all the books and follow all the blogs and ask everyone who has come before you what to expect, but I’ve come to realize fertility treatment is one of those things where you just don’t know until you’re experiencing it.

Don’t get me wrong – I am still thrilled and excited to the very core that we are finally doing this and the knowledge that I will soon be PREGNANT (God and science willing) carries me through. I just didn’t think it would be this tough. I thought my excitement would make it all so easy. But IVF is hardcore. You put your body through a LOT in a pretty short span of time.

My attitude for the past week has pretty much been, “I’ll do what I have to do and I will not complain.” What cause do I have to complain, knowing what a gift we have been given to try and become parents?

But sometimes – I want to complain. Again, not because I’m ungrateful or unhappy, just because some parts of this journey suck. Point blank, it sucks out loud.  

I’m tired. My stomach is bruised and battered and sore from multiple daily shots. I have permanent sticky spots on my arm from the bandages after bloodwork every other day. I feel vulnerable every morning that I have to go to an ultrasound and let someone jam a probe into me.

And you know what? It’s okay to feel this way. It’s human. I’m human. I think you would have to be a robot or some kind of sociopath to not feel something going through this.

Because no matter how I feel right now, there’s something inside me that makes it all worthwhile: Hope.

Hope that in about nine months, Steve and I will be holding our firstborn child. Hope that our dreams are coming true. Hope that I can look into Little Test Tube’s eyes and smile and say, yes, you were worth it all. And I would do it all over again for you. 

Until then, I’ll do what I have to do.

That’s my advice to you, my fellow Infertility Warriors – do what you have to do. But let yourself feel whatever you have to feel. None of your feelings are wrong. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.

Anyway, that’s my emotional spiel. On to the technical side of things:

What I’ve been Doing This Week:

 The first week of IVF treatment focuses on one thing: Stimulating the ovaries to get as many follicles (eggs) as possible.

I’m on an ‘antagonist’ protocol. What this means is I inject two drugs per day – gonatropins (Gonal-F) and menotropins (Menopur). They “antagonize” the ovaries into overproduction of follicles. The more follicles you have, the more that can be removed and fertilized and hopefully make it into healthy embryos.

And they WORK.

Know how I know this? The ultrasounds and bloodwork? Well, yes. But I can also tell due to the fact that I have bloated like a week old corpse (THERE’s my sense of humor! I knew it wasn’t gone for good)

Seriously. I can no longer fit into my pants. I had to wear dresses to work all week and buy new underwear that wasn’t cutting off my circulation. That’s because my ovaries have bloated into the size of a bunch of grapes and there’s really only so much room in there. Oof. I already LOOK pregnant. It’s not terribly painful, but I’ve had some decent cramping, too. I’d equate it with a really bad gas pain.

I’m super fatigued, too. I feel like an old lady because I’ve been out cold by 10:30PM since we began.

But I had an ear to ear grin this morning when I looked up at the ultrasound screen and saw those twelve little follicles. Okay, maybe I was also crying - but in my defense I'm really hormonal and as I said to the tech, "they're such CUTE little balloons!"

There's the hope. 

What Happens Next?

I had an ultrasound this morning and I have twelve maturing follicles and I am hopeful that we will get a few more than that.

I continued the Gonal-F and Menopur and added a third drug, Cetrotide, which prevents the ovaries from releasing any eggs. We don’t want them going anywhere before we’re ready for them.

The doctor believes we are close to “triggering” – a fancy way of saying I’ll give myself a shot that will prepare the ovaries to release the eggs. Once that happens, we will go to Grand Rapids for the egg retrieval.

I will be going back for another ultrasound and bloodwork first thing in the morning and we will see where it stands then. 

Wildberry Pie

I’ve finally had a weekend free all to myself. Sleep in, shop, and veg out in front of the TV.  So what did I decide to do? Bake. And cook. And Can. The kitchen currently smells like a combination of cucumbers and pickling spice, roast pork, and the remnants of buttery crust and fresh fruit.

I baked this Wildberry Pie on Friday for dessert. We had my in-laws over to grill burgers, and I was (as always) in charge of dessert.

F*****e is the other F Word.

I heard a priest use the F word his weekend.

No, not that one – get your head out of the gutter.

The OTHER F word.

“Fertile.”

Let’s back up a bit. Steve and I attended a wedding this weekend. A friend of his from high school got married, and he was a groomsman. I was looking forward to indulging in some new makeup for the occasion (oh hey Sephora), eating more than my fair share of cake, and attempting to avoid the free wine (I caved. Half a glass.). Plus, this is the month before IVF so it would be a good opportunity for Steve and I to enjoy each other’s company.