Rough day

One day. One day of feeling good about something and the next day I’m back in the hole. I fucking hate infertility.

Yesterday was such a good day. I quit my job, I was feeling confident about the change. Still am. I got lots of encouraging messages from you ladies supporting me on this positive step, I felt great. I woke up feeling lighter and hopeful for the future.

I even made plans to see a friend, R, whom I haven’t seen since before my last miscarriage. I haven’t seen her for that long because she is not the kind of person I can speak to about our losses and infertility. She is the person who once told me to “pretend the babies weren’t real. Pretend like they never happened.” You get where I’m coming from.

But today, in light of recent change, I thought I could actually get together with R and not discuss TTC but just catch up like old times, talk about the new job. I mentioned this morning to the Husband that that I was seeing her tonight as I know he caught up with her man a few weeks ago. He called me later this afternoon to tell me that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to see her tonight. When I asked him why and he explained he has a hunch, based on his conversation with her other half, that they might be expecting and that she might drop the baby bomb on me.

Interesting. OK well there is only one way to find out. Me being me I cut to the chase. I am not going to allow myself to be blindsided in a one-on-one this evening so I texted her that I needed to know before I saw her if that was the case. It didn’t come out quite as I planned and I may have sounded a little mental but I got the message across that I couldn’t handle being put on the spot right now.

People seem to be making a habit of putting me on the spot with this kind of news, as if it’s easier that way, face to face. No no no! Give it to me in a text, an email, a letter. Some format so I don’t have to see your face or hear your voice and so I don’t have to run away with tears in my eyes or so you don’t hear my sobs in the background. Some way so I never have to see you again. Give me impersonal. It’s the only way.

Well turns out the Husband was right. I know you know that feeling. The drop of the stomach muscles,the nausea, the throat constricting, the welling up of eyes, the lack of concentration, the complete feeling that life is passing you by.

She confirmed it to me by text thankfully. This is the same friend who confided in me her fear that she might never get pregnant because of her erratic periods. They have been trying for two months. Two bloody months.

I learned after a very confusing text exchange that actually my husband has known since his chat with her man. That he has been keeping it from me thinking this would be adding insult to injury after learning of my SIL’s pregnancy and the AMH bomb. That he was trying to protect me from additional pain. They told him so he could tell me when he thought I was ready. Nice thought. Except he didn’t. Except I wasn’t ready. Except I found out from her. Except it backfired in his face. In my face.

What makes this so hard is that we had explicitly agreed with the Husband that under no circumstances will he ever keep this kind of news from me. Not ever. I need to know immediately what he knows. I will not be kept in the dark. It’s not fair. Everyone tip-toeing around me, like they could blow me over with a single breath. Everyone in the know but me. No. I would rather hear it from him yes, but he should have told me straight away. He promised me.

And now I am crushed. I am hurt. I am furious. He explains that it was all for my protection but screw that. This is not protecting me. This is ostracising me even more than I ostracise myself. He has finally admitted that he needed a reprieve. A reprieve from me. From my tears. From my meltdowns. Instead, if he had told me when we learned of the other shit news, I probably would have laughed like a crazy person and been satisfied that at least the bad new happened in threes. And then I would have gotten over it. Because at the end of the day I don’t care really about R and her pregnancy. I can avoid her.

Yes it does bother me that everyone I seem to know in real life on this godforsaken planet is knocked up, to the point where I at least there isn’t anyone else to add to the list. Yes it does feel like they’ve all been invited to this perfect pregnancy party and I am the only one not invited. But I’ll just add R to the shelf of other retired knocked up friends.

What I do care about is being betrayed by the only person who is going through this terrible journey with me. Maybe I’m being too hard on him, maybe his emotions are allowed to screw shit up now and then. Mine certainly do. But come on. I was doing so well.

I hate that this has put a rift between us. I hate that we are in this position. I hate that we hide things from each other to prevent further pain. I hate that we are in pain.

I hate how infertility shakes you to your very core. How it pulls the rug out from under you when you least expect it. Unrelenting. Unforgiving. I hate feeling like this. Recklessness. I am so sick of it. I was doing so well. So much for that.

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New chapter

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Well I’ve done it. Today I quit my job.

The sweet pea thief has thrown me over the edge. What sealed the deal was finding her 20w scan in the work scanner the other week. It was almost as if it was sitting there waiting for the only infertile in the office to stumble upon it. The visceral response in me caused my body to shake and heave. That was supposed to be my scan, not hers. Suddenly that empathy, compassion and awareness she promised she’d have has flown directly out the window. Fair enough, these are exciting times for her. She cannot even fathom the effect this has on me.

Really though, I’ve been meaning to quit for over 18 months. I haven’t been happy there for a long long time. Unfortunately I’ve never been able to act on those feelings as I’ve spent much of that time pregnant or recovering from pregnancy loss. I was hurting. I wasn’t ready to further my career, to take on more responsibility, to manage expectations, to direct others. I didn’t want to miss out on how amazing my job would be to return to after maternity leave. All that flexible working, it was too good to be true. All that focus on the what-ifs that might impede a job change while actively TTC. That was back when I was confident we would have a sweet pea. I’m coming to terms with the fact that this may never happen for us the way we envisaged, or even at all. Of course we are still hoping that Plan A prevails, but now our plans B, C, D and E are in the picture too.

Regardless of what plan we go with, I’ve decided to not let our struggles with infertility ruin all aspects of my life and that includes my career. After all, one of the reasons we delayed TTC was to further our careers (hindsight is a fucking hideous cow), why ruin all that I’ve worked for now. I can do this.

So the sweet pea thief was the catalyst for change. Enough is enough. The pain of seeing her everyday has not waned as I hoped. She’s wearing maternity clothes now. It’s getting worse. That might be an indication of my lack of strength or endurance or positive mental attitude but it’s the truth. I can’t do it. I don’t want to.

But I have gotten over the trauma and initial panic of the sweet pea thief’s news and my desperation to immediately flee to the first job offer than landed my way. I was convinced that there would only be one offer, but there were several. And good ones. A snowball of self confidence developed to assist each interview after the other. Oh yeah, I am good at my job. I am an asset. I do do good work.

I’ve impressed myself that despite the emotional strain I’ve been enduring I’ve been able to pull myself together and sell my abilities. I was too scared in the last 18 months to open myself up to the vulnerability of searching for work and selling myself. When you have no confidence in your abilities in life, in creating life, it comes across. But this time it felt like a life or death situation. Get out or suffer the consequences. And I came to the table.

And this morning, after being greeted by a BFN staring back at me I decided. It’s now or never. And so I quit.

I’ve made a wise decision for my career. A decision I feel good about. I put myself first. I’ve shopped around, I’ve entertained all options, I’ve done my research. I found the right place. I’m taking on a lot more responsibility, making more money.

I may feel a bit like a fraud. I do worry about my ability to perform, about letting them down. About the time needed for doctors appointments and the emotional ups and downs of IF and RPL. But I can work on that. My long lost friend Confidence, she hasn’t forgotten about me. She’s going to help me to take off the impossibly heavy backpack of loss and anxiety and yearning a few hours a day to do this.

I am looking forward to the change of environment, of personalities, of approaches. I’ve made a move in the right direction and I’m going to give this a really good go. I am hoping that this positive step will have a ripple effect in my life generally. Let’s find out.

Immunology schmimmunology

We’ve been to see our reproductive immunologist to fully discuss our test results. From an immunological perspective it turns out there are a few more issues than we initially thought.

Here are the bullet points for his diagnosis :

• Raised NK cells in general blood stream
• Raised NK cells in the womb lining
• Leukocyte Antibody Detection panel too low

Here’s what he’s suggesting as treatment :

• 25mg Prednisolone daily from CD7 to subdue the NK cells
• 40 mg Clexane daily from CD7 to encourage the right environment for implantation
• Lymphocyte immunisation therapy LIT (an injection of the Hubs white blood cells under my skin) for my womb to produce antibodies to protect the embryo from rejection and stimulate growth of the placenta. 2x injections 3 weeks apart starting on 21 October, with top up shots every six moths afterwards
• Intralipid infusion (a soy & egg yolk based drip that’s intravenously injected into my bloodstream) once a month, to subdue the NK cells and to stimulate the immune system to remove danger signals that can lead to pregnancy loss

Any of you out there doing this? I’m feeling slightly daunted. Feels like a lot of weird shit is about to be thrust into my body. Except for the LIT. I weirdly find the concept of injecting his blood into mine kind of sweet. Like we are bound by some invisible commonality. Sharing blood is as fundamental as it gets right? And baby makes three? We’ll see…

We didn’t even tell the RI about the AMH situation. I don’t think I could’ve handled much more on that particular afternoon. But also the Hubs is so dismissive of it. I’m trying to put my AMH out of my head for a little while as I wrap my head around the rest. But it’s the dark shadow in the corner that doesn’t go away. For now it can stay there until I’m ready to deal.

We do what we gotta do. Bring on the moonface, the belly bruises, the allergic reactions, the hours spent in a doctors office on an intravenous drip. I’ll do all this like an automaton and then face that bitch AMH. We know how many thousands of other ladies are doing this and so much more everyday if it means the get to have their sweet pea at long last.

Bring it. I’m ready.