What if I fall? What if I don’t?

July 1st.

I haven’t sat down to write since April 28th. We have had many big, life-changing decisions in the Glossner household since then.

The last critical morphology we had in February (??? who knows anymore? what is time?) wasn’t…stellar. To say that we were defeated & disappointed would be the biggest understatement of the century; although what is disappointment anymore, fellow infertiles, ya feel me? We basically don’t feel anything at all anymore…So, anyway, we sat down & had some tough conversations. We both came to the conclusion that we needed to make some major life changes. Mostly on my husband’s part. 3 months of a major lifestyle change, & both of us taking the conception supplement (female & male if you’re interested in purchasing yourself. Warning: your pee will be NEON. I’m really not kidding. Anywhoozle…

We knew that this was our last shot, a last-ditch effort – if you will – to try to conceive “naturally” & “on our own.” If we (he) could make this major life change, & made a difference in a second critical morphology repeated in May, then we had the answer. And my LORD aren’t answers what any of us is looking for on this horse shit covered path? It’s the not knowing that’s really, truly, endlessly maddening.

Alas, it they weren’t the results that we were hoping for or expecting. At all. And instead of going down the rabbit-hole like I usually do (I’m basically Alice), we booked a Telehealth appointment with our awesome fertility doctor. We both had questions written down, but within 1 minute of pleasantries & greetings he said: “Okay, so I think it’s time for IVF.” I blinked choked out a dry laughed & spat out: “Well, there goes my list of questions!”

Let me be perfectly clear: no one wants or thinks they’ll ever be at the base of the IVF mountain. Aside from all of the other BS mountain-bases we’ve found ourselves at the bottom of, staring at the impossibly high & almost unseen peaks (struggling to conceive, miscarriage, officially diagnosed infertility, etc., etc., etc.,), I can say with absolute certainty I didn’t ever see us here. In fact, I had actually uttered “We will NEVER do IVF. It is simply not the path or journey to parenthood for us” numerous times. More times than I can count. More times that I care to admit. Because, here we are. Life has played me for a fool, & I feel like the court jester in my own damn life more days than not. My therapist has worked very hard to reframe my thinking to minimizing finite statements like “I’ll never” from my life & vocabulary until they’re truly gone forever. The truth is, you don’t know what you’ll do unless & until you are standing at the bottom of that mountain squinty-eyed, necks craning, attempting to peer up, & then past, that peak to the rainbow in the sky.

A note: this is a particularly hard decision for as I’m adopted. I couldn’t be more proud, happy, blessed, to be adopted. I LOVE being adopted. I tell people about being adopted all the freakin’ time. I love my life, I love my parents, I don’t know what’s above & what I believe (or don’t believe) in, but I know I believe in soulmates. Because there’s little-to-no reason or explanation that someone born in India who wasn’t wanted & was given away (with love, eventually I guess) married a man she met in BFE Kentucky…but…adoption is expensive, y’all. And guess what? It doesn’t guarantee any type of ease. It is a totally different type of difficult. And I’m 1,000,000% not saying that this isn’t something that we’ll consider at some point. One day. Right now, Stephen & I both feel like “We might as well exhaust all of our biological options” before embarking on that incredibly choppy & ever-nauseating journey.

So, we wait.

Again.

For my period.

To start this very, very, very expensive, anxiety-filled chapter of our long & winding “journey to parenthood” book. We are tired of being parents-in-waiting. We’re ready to just be parents.

In an effort to distract ourselves & calm us down (???) we’ve decided on adding 4 paws to our family. Morbidly, if this doesn’t work we’ll have another furry, little, love-muffin to help sop up our tears.

~ As always, thanks so much for reading. Much love, & hope for a return of the light.

I’m sitting on a citadel
Contemplating life
Making a point to waste my time
I’m walking on clouds of white

What if I fall?
What if I don’t?
What if I never make it home?
What if I bleed?
What if I break?
And I find that I can’t take
The city below the Citadel
Holding my own hand?

Anna Nalick “Citadel.”

Father’s Day

Father’s Day is a complicated day for me. It used to be a day where my family would be together and my dad would pick what he wanted for dinner; we would sit around and talk and laugh. It was a simple holiday, one that probably doesn’t get the same attention as Thanksgiving or Christmas; one that comes and goes with little fanfare. That old cliché, “You don’t know what you have until it’s gone” couldn’t be more true. I lost my father in 2017, as my wife may have mentioned in previous posts. So now, Father’s Day is a day of sadness, a day to reminisce, and to wonder about the years we did have together. 

Fast forward to 2019 and, again, as you all know, my wife and I find out we were expecting. We were so excited that the thing we have been trying to get for so long is finally happening. Then, it didn’t. I don’t think I need to go into detail of what all happened next. So now Father’s Day 2019 arrives, and man was it a doozy. I didn’t have my father here to celebrate and celebrate with and the year I was supposed to become a father, didn’t happen.

I asked my wife if I could write this post for Father’s Day because I think there are many other “should-be-fathers” out there that may be having a hard time today and I want them to know that it’s okay. It’s okay to show it, talk about it, let it be known that today just kinda sucks. I can only speak to my own experiences but there is such outside, societal pressure to “be strong” that it feels wrong to actually feel, or at least show that I’m feeling. I’ll be honest, expressing emotions is not something I excel at, my wife will be the first to tell you that, but I do feel and just because I look fine or even say that I’m fine doesn’t mean I am fine. 

What I experienced through our loss does not even come close to what my wife experienced. I can’t even begin to explain how heartbreaking it was to see her go through that and the emotional toll it took on her. I did my best to be strong, to be the rock, to not show emotions because that is what a good partner is supposed to do and as the husband that was my role. Some days though, I wasn’t strong, I wasn’t a rock, and I was very emotional; but I felt I couldn’t be honest about how I was feeling. With myself or anyone else. That what I was experiencing didn’t matter, that I just needed to pull it together because I was “the man” and that’s what I was supposed to do. It has taken me a long time, and thanks to a ton of effort from my wife, to be honest about emotions and how I’m feeling. I still have a ways to go, but now I am more honest with myself about how and what I am feeling and I just feel better; like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. 

Obviously, I am not as skilled a writer as my wife, and I thank you for bearing with me as I attempt to put my thoughts in words and then onto paper. I just wanted to take some time to acknowledge that this day doesn’t mean the same thing to everyone. To all the “should-be-fathers” out there who have experienced a loss in any way, I’m so sorry that happened to you. It’s okay to ignore societal pressures and let those walls come down every once in a while. It’s okay to be open and honest about what you are feeling and experiencing. To all the fathers out there, I wish you the happiest of Father’s Days.

Dreaming with a Broken Heart

Oof, I know it’s been awhile, y’all. I’m sorry for that, but also not that sorry? I know that (to the right people) I never have to apologize. (Sidenote: if you are finding yourself in the constant need to apologize or explain yourself to “your“people, thems NOT your people, friendo. Cut ’em loose, & watch yourself blossom & grow in their absence.) I think a monthly post is really all I can handle at this point. Maybe that’ll change. But emotions through infertility, especially infertility after loss, are complicated & complex. Add in a dash of the deluge “Mother’s Day is coming up” media marketing bs & a sprinkle of “Cool, Mother’s Day happens to be THE day we found out that our baby would never BE…” & I’m just simply tapped out. All the way out.

So, Mother’s Day is coming up. And it’s May 9th this year. And another big day, holiday, moment, anniversary will come & go with me not pregnant (including my 31st birthday). I don’t know why I’m surprised at this point; that “possibility” glimmers ever more dully with each passing day/holiday/moment/anniversary. This is, undeniably difficult, & I am going to pull a Luke Danes & have my own “Dark Day” that day. My apologies. Argh. JK. Not apologizing…if you’re offended that day: yous not my people. Deuces. (Why are we so conditioned to apologize to other people for our feelings & grief? That’s dumb. Let’s stop that.) I don’t like to think about the days that followed May 9th, 2019. I stayed in bed & cried a lot. I couldn’t do much else. I held onto my husband, literally & emotionally, HARD. He’s my person, & that was the right & healing thing. But shoo, I was broken, y’all. Shattered into a million little pieces. And I had to walk around like that & be a productive member of society & do my stupid job like it mattered. It didn’t. Nothing did. I had to walk around like I was pregnant, knowing I wasn’t, until May 21st when multiple blood tests confirmed what I already knew deep inside of me. It was…torture. Horrifying. A living nightmare. I went to sleep with a broken heart. I woke up with a broken heart. I walked around & “lived” with a broken heart. Having to relive all of this complex & complicated feelings & emotions ON Mother’s Day just feels & seems unnecessarily cruel. Because it is. One day, I’ll talk about the actual dream I had that morning that told me I was no longer pregnant. I don’t have the energy for that now or here, but it’s valid & needs to be shared. But, when you’re dreaming with a broken heart, waking up really is the hardest part. Because you have to sit up & walk away from the cushy dreamworld & land & pretend like you’re not dying from the inside out. You just want to go back to that place inside your head & in the clouds. It’s so much nicer than reality. Which is, unmistakably, a living hell.

When last month didn’t work – again – even though we’d taken a break from fertility treatments…of course I had hoped that maybe, just maybe, we were part of that lucky group to have “just relaxed,” or “stopped trying” & then *bam* BABY! Ah, nope. Silly, Alex. No such luck, of course.

Last month/cycle was incredibly devastating for a myriad of reasons, none of which I will share or bore you with. Ultimately, it led to us deciding to not do anything this cycle. Meaning, no meds for me. And let me tell you something: I feel more myself, more ALEX than I have in 34 months. You read that right: THIRTY. FREAKIN‘. FOUR. I know many go through this infertility – loss – infertility sandwich for much longer with much more tragedy & pain; but, if this journey has taught me anything, it’s that all of our pain & loss is valid & is not to be compared. Not only do I feel like myself, I feel…happy. Not just okay. But HAPPY. I feel like I can breathe & that I’ve found peace within me, myself, & I.

I have to hold onto this feeling, y’all. With all that I’ve got.

I am more than my infertility.

I am more than my loss.

I am more than what my body cannot do.

Why?

Because my body actually has done quite a lot for me.

She’s been resilient & strong as hell through years of emotional & physical pain.

So, eff this internal narrative & monologue that my body cannot, & that I am less than.

I’m not.

I am powerful.

I am strong.

I am broken.

I am recovered.

I am resilient.

I am ALEX.

Small but mighty, size matters not.

When you’re dreaming with a broken heart / The waking up is the hardest part.

John Mayer “Dreaming With a Broken Heart.”

Going our own way.

Recently, especially with being home more & naturally ruminating more due to the pandemic, I’ve been made aggressively aware of something. The idea & the feeling of being left out, left behind, & lonely within our own lives.

I realize that this is not singularly unique to us, especially due to Covid-19 sweeping the literal world. And honestly that fact has actually been pretty comforting in & of itself. To not feel alone in the paths we’re walking, even though the circumstances may not be exactly the same, has given me a great deal of comfort, weirdly enough. I think the past year has really allowed us to think about ways in which we, as humans, as similar & connected rather than focusing on how we’re different, other, or disconnected.

What I do find to be very difficult is seeing people right, left, up, down, & all around get pregnant, share their “we didn’t socially distance” or “we didn’t stay 6 feet apart” announcements on a onesie &/or overlaying a letterboard. Sure, I rolled my eyes (because: tacky), but I also secretly wanted the pitiable laugh & love at the (somewhat) tasteless post. Because we damn well deserve any & all kinds of joy, too. Even if pitiable.

This is all expected. Every season & holiday comes & goes with pictures splashed across my phone screen. Pictures that I myself have personally dreamt of, saved on Pinterest, & “add to cart-ed” in hopes of our own sweet (if not equally eye-roll/pitiable laugher inducing) announcement. Yeah, they still sting like a mother effer, but they’re expected, nonetheless.

What hasn’t been quite so expected is the realization that our bubble, my husband & me, is just…us. And our dog. But, for the sake of this argument, she doesn’t really count. (Don’t tell her I said that!!) So many people around us have “bubbled” with other families, as they should, for the ease of socialization for their child(ren). And them, too, probably. And I get it. I really do. NO ONE is doing any of this (including pregnancy announcements that curl me up around a bottle of red wine on the couch in the fetal position) to personally hurt, attack, or alienate us.

So…

Why does it feel like that? So personal. So directed. So intentional.

I think I have the answer.

And I don’t think that the non-infertiles or the ones blessed with a child/ren are going to like it. No one enjoys facing the reality of their words & actions (or lack thereof) causing hurt. Whether it be intentionally or not. However, I’m not really in the business of placating someone else’s feelings in this shit path & on this crap journey. So, here goes:

We are raised & live within a pretty damn thoughtless society, if you ask me. It’s one of two things, in my mind. Either complete self-absorption of your life & your goings on, that we are not stopping to think about how our words, actions, behaviors (or lack thereof which, guess the eff what? are JUST AS if not MORE hurtful & damaging…) affect others. Probably due to the everyday minutia of a busy-parent lifestyle. Or, it’s just the simple fact that we’ve been raised to be totally self-involved & 0.00% empathetic. Either option isn’t great.

So, if you’re one of the lucky non-infertiles, or someone who is blessed with the everyday, busy-parent minutia lifestyle…maybe just stop before you complain publicly or privately about your kids (read the room), or accidentally exclude family & friends who are infertile or facing season after season, holiday after holiday, month after month, week after week, day after excruciating day, freakin’ childless. It’s all we want. Let me be perfectly clear: you’re allowed to complain. You’re allowed to surround yourself with people who make parenting & your lifestyle as parents easier & more enjoyable. Just don’t forget about the rest of us, okay? The infertiles, the childless, the sad, the alone, the despaired, the…barely-able-to-keep-goings. Think about & include us every once in awhile. Even when it’s not “convenient.”

Thsnks.

~ As always, thanks so much for reading. Much love, & hope for a return of the light.

If I could / Maybe I’d give you my world / How can I / When you won’t take it from me / You can go your own way / Go your own way / You can call it / Another lonely day / You can go your own way / Go your own way

Fleetwood Mac “Go Your Own Way.”

Lifting myself up off the floor.

“I’ve always been someone who shied away from something that I thought I would fail at because I didn’t want the humiliation of failing at something I tried at so I think that’s what this is and omg I’m just now realizing that.”

The above comes from a text conversation that I had with one of my very closest & dearest friends. (As a side note on this lovely human: there has never been one thing that I have shared with or divulged to her that has been met with anything but kindness, love, & a genuine, all-encompassing fountain of support. Fullstop. I’m obsessed with her. We all need someone like her in our lives. If you don’t have a friend like this, go find them.)

Anyway, when our conversation started, it had absolutely nothing to do with infertility or our journey to parenthood; but that is what it ended up morphing into. We had this conversation on 2/26 & I have typed out my very scattered thoughts in the notes app on my phone, jotted down ideas in my journal last Friday, & thought long & hard (twss) about this topic. For weeks. Almost a month. I haven’t been able to organize those same, scattered thoughts into a post for that long. It’s a difficult task to tackle. The idea of not being able to do “the one thing” our bodies (as women) “are supposed to do” is directly linked to failure. And that, in turn, is internalized. Therefore we as women are the sole failures in the equation. Not anyone else. Not even our partners (even though in roughly half of couples who struggle to conceive, the male can be a significant contributing factor).

So, where did that come from? This internalized, intrinsic, inherent desire to point the finger directly back towards us? Did we, as women, do that to ourselves? Or is this yet another thing we can attribute to society totally effing up for us, & effing us up? You know, like pitting women against each other in order to tear each other down so we’re not as…what’s the word? Oh, that’s right: THREATENING to the wee menfolk. Stop that. Like, seriously. Straighten each other’s crowns, capes, etc. & cheer them the heck on.

But, I digress…

…or, do I?

Is this all not a part of a larger ideal that everything, literally everything, in life tends to rest upon the woman’s shoulders? It’s freaking exhausting, & I’m over it. I hate to say it like this, but yeah. I AM very lucky to be married to someone who gets it & shoulders it all, & takes responsibility right alongside me.

Actually, you know what? No. I’m not lucky. My husband is an amazing human. We met, fell in love, & then we both mutually decided to stick around & eventually build a life together based on each other’s personalities & values. I don’t shoulder all the burden or responsibility of life all of the time, & neither does he. As I think is important in any partnership, romantic or otherwise, there absolutely has always been a constant give & take. Has it always been 50/50? Of course not. Will it always be 50/50? OF. COURSE. NOT. It ebbs & flows with whatever’s going on in our lives. Whether that’s personally, in our marriage, professionally, etc. And it will continue to be that way for the rest of our lives. I know this. He knows this. We’re content. Nay: we’re happy.

So, why has it been so hard for me to look at this (infertility & our difficulty in creating the family that we so desperately desire) as a two-person ordeal? Everything else in our lives & relationship rests upon both of our shoulders. Why, then, doesn’t this? Automatically? I’ve done a lot of work (personally & in therapy) to unpack this issue. It’s basically a (forced) daily reminder, both internally & from my husband, that it’s not all me. It’s not all on me. I’m not alone. And, more freakin’ importantly,:

I

AM

NOT

A

FAILURE.

And neither, my dear badass infertiles/infertility warriors, are you.

I love you. I’m here for you. Forever.

~ As always, thanks so much for reading. Much love, & hope for a return of the light.

I dare you to move

I dare you to move

I dare you to lift

Yourself up off the floor.

Switchfoot “Dare You to Move.”

“…no. not like that.”

Hi, all. I know that it’s been awhile, but I made a promise to myself that I wasn’t going to write/update on a personal level during the TWW (two week wait). And then, to be quite honest, I just really haven’t felt like writing.

Over the last few weeks (nay: months/years) people have, in their discomfort with loss & infertility, offered a bevy of unsolicited advice to me & my husband. While their & its intention may be well-meaning, it’s actually triggering, damaging, wrong, unwarranted, & downright inexcusable. There are multitudes of personal accounts (by way of social media & op eds) about offering platitudes (also super shitty, don’t do that either) to those who have lost anyone or are on this terribly winding road of struggling to conceive. So, I’m not going to talk about that. So many far more well-known & relevant people have discussed this than me. Including celebrities. It’s overwhelming. Google it. It’s out there. In summation of this topic: toxic positivity SUCKS.

Moving on.

Please, for the love of ALL things: “don’t ever, for any reason, do anything, to anyone, for any reason, no matter what, no matter where, or who, or who you are with, or where you are going, or where you’ve been, ever, for any reason whatsoever…Sometimes I’ll start a sentence, & I don’t even know where it’s going. I just hope I find it along the way. Like an improv conversation. An improversation.”

Oops. “The Office” quotes took over my brain. Again. Wait…that doesn’t happen to everyone????????? Anyway…

In all seriousness…do NOT offer anyone any freaking unsolicited advice unless they ask for it. Okay? Seriously. Just do me this measly, little solid & don’t. freaking. do. it. It’s actually the thing worst ever. On behalf of everyone walking this absolutely impossibly shitty path. Me & the rest of the infertiles will be eternally grateful. 🙂

What can you say?

“I’m so sorry.”

“This sucks.”

“This is so unbelievably unfair.”

“I’m here for you.”

“I support you.”

“How can I support you?”

“I love you.”

“You’re not alone.”

If you have not walked this path, you cannot offer advice. You just can’t. And, really, you just shouldn’t even try to. You cannot tell someone to keep going, don’t give up, keep the faith & hope alive, & walk their own path, & then, in the same breath, tell them the way in which they heal, & deal, & move forward, onward, ahread, & through is wrong. Because, to be frank, nothing is wrong if it makes us feel better & helps us to keep pushing forward. And onward. And ahead. And through.

“Do you…but not like that.”

May I suggest (respectfully, kindly, politely) that you maybe just zip it? 🙂

Thsnks.

Hope for the hopeless.

2019 Family Photos / The Ashland Estate in Lexington, Ky (pc: Emily Blankenship)

*sigh* here we go again.

This week, especially, I am forced to face the malleability of the human spirit. We hope & hope & hope almost against all conceivable odds. It’s mind-boggling how we just keep going. I chose to include the above picture from our family photos taken in 2019 because of the little orb that you see on my husband.

To go back a bit…why do we get family pictures even though we don’t have kids? I can’t remember where I read this, but I came across something after my husband & I got married in 2016. They kept up with getting portraits of the two of them (they may or may not have had a dog, I can’t remember) because they wanted a physical representation of that love to show their kids. “You are here because we first loved each other. Our union, our relationship, our love, our loyalty, our active choosing each other each & every day, no matter what, through good & through bad, through sickness & in health, ’til death do us part…you are a direct result of that.” I think it’s important for our future children to see the love that was planted, bloomed, & grew & kept growing. I fell in love with that. I latched onto it. And I will continue that until we have an earthly babe to add to our photos.

Back to the orb. Stephen & I didn’t even notice it when we got these pictures back. But, so many family members & friends commented on it. These were the first pictures we got taken after losing our first little G Baby in May of 2019. These were taken that fall. So many of our loved ones saw these images & really thought that was our little babe deciding “Yeah, no. I’m still here. I’m still with you.” So, we held onto that. We held, & do hold, onto many little signs & nuggets. To get us through. Don’t we all? However crazy they may seem to us in the moment, or to others. We hold onto hope. Each & every day. No matter what. Through good. Through bad. Through sickness & in health. ‘Til death do us all part.

As we approach a second round of IUI (intrauterine insemination), I’m taking a pause to reminisce on the resiliency. I’m constantly & consistently floored by our ability to hold onto hope for dear life to get us through & to the next step. And to keep going. Forward. Onward. Ahead. Now, “our” doesn’t just apply to my husband & me; but to all of us. Infertility warriors. Pregnancy/infant loss warriors. Child loss warriors. Parental loss warriors. Spouse/partner loss warriors. Friend loss warriors. HUMANS in general. Life is hard. Humaning is hard. My God are we strong, or what? And resilient. And broken. And wonderful.

Wherever you are on & in this journey, please remember & know however you choose to cope, to deal, to press on, is the right choice for you. Period. End of story. In the meantime, we will all continue to have hope for the hopeless. For one another. We’ve got each other & each others’ backs. Forever & ever amen. And when you find yourself shaking your heads in disbelief at your own ability to have hope for the hopeless (you), know that you are not alone. You are never alone.

~ As always, thanks so much for reading. Much love, & hope for a return of the light.

“Running against the wind / Playing the cards you get / Something is bound to give / There’s hope for the hopeless.”

A Fine Frenzy “Hope for the Hopeless.”

Oh, breathe, just breathe.

This week has been tough, to say the least. Though, to be honest, what week isn’t tough when you’re suffering through infertility? Especially infertility following loss?

My husband & I didn’t get the news we wanted to when I took my HPT (home pregnancy test) after the TWW (two week wait). That’s two weeks post IUI (intrauterine insemination). Ok, I’m lying. It wasn’t one HPT that I took…I think it was more like 6?…& guys I. saw. a. line. On all of them. So did my husband & he is legit colorblind. That’s not just a funny thing that I say for a laugh or as a punchline; he is literally diagnosed colorblind…I waited until I was 12/13 days past my Ovidrel (or trigger) shot to test. This shot is self-administered (or in my case neighbor-administered – she’s a nurse so y’all can chill – & I was red-wine-drunk because ya girl was nervous asf) at home about 48 hours before the insemination is to take place. Its job is to signal the eggs to release; aka ovulation. Turns out, 12/13 days post-shot is just a wee-bit too soon. My frantic Googling on the interwebs last week informed me to expect that the shot could potentially remain in my system anywhere from 10 – 14 days. Which is problematic in that it can give you a false positive. Which, of course, it did. Over, & over, & over again. We can’t all be Ginnifer Goodwin. Meaning, we can’t all be the exception rather than the rule. I’m the rule. Period. End of story.

I can’t quite articulate the rollercoaster of emotions of seeing a positive pregnancy test after a loss. It’s…indescribably painful & triggering. And then to watch it totally disappear? The extreme disappointment or total & mindeff of going from the highest-highs of hope & joy to the lowest-lows of confusion & depression. My head hurts. All the time. As does my heart.

I came home from work on Tuesday & wallowed. My period had started, & there was officially & unequivocally 0.00% hope left for this cycle. I sunk into my couch & sobbed long & hard. I felt downright sorry for myself hours, & hours, & hours on end. I scared myself with how desperate with despair I felt, to be honest. All I saw & felt was darkness. Like that moment right before you pass out. Do you know the moment that I’m talking about. Everything gets really quiet & eerie while also simultaneously loud & piercing? And then everything just goes soft-white, then grey around the edges before it fades to black? Completely black. Like an old T.V. set shutting off & sizzling with exhaustion. Except this time, I was totally conscious & aware for the soft-white, grey sizzle into pure blackness. It was deeply upsetting & lasted for longer than I can truly pinpoint. Which is actually pretty frightening. Eventually, I crawled out of the blackness. I always do. I don’t really remember how I did it this time, though. I have great friends, & a wonderful husband, a dog, & support. Lots & lots of love & support. I know that. I’m lucky. I know that, too. But I don’t know wby I scratched & clawed out of the blackness this time in particular. I guess only because you have to, right? What’s the alternative? Well, it’s not good & I’ll leave it at that. All I know I was done done trying & had made that very clear to everyone including my amazing husband. And then I just slowly woke up from it all. Whatever unraveled or unhinged inside of me to allow me to spiral so fast & so deep got “clicked” back into place; & I started to come up for air again.

It’ll be okay. We’ll keep going. We always do. We always have & always will. You have about a 10% – 20% chance of success (pregnancy) after 1 IUI. Your chance of success goes up to approximately 30% with 3 rounds. It can get up to about 80% with 6 rounds. IF IUI is going to work for any given couple, it will happen with 3 or 4 rounds. Most of the time…*sigh*

That’s the insane thing about this journey. I am not an overtly positive or optimistic person who looks at things “on the bright side,” or “trusts in the process,” or believes that “everything happens for a reason” (because it doesn’t & that phrase is shit & should just die, already, okay?). I have always been very angsty, moody, an “in my feels 24/7” type of person. (The aughts were the perfect time for me to be an adolescent.) I’ve carried that angsty-ness well into my adulthood. So much so that it just a full-fledged part of my personality now. (Chicken or the egg, amirite?) But…

…with all that being said…I still believe. And hold onto hope with everything I’ve got. And…breathe. Because I have to. Well, I don’t have to. But I choose to.

I may be small (4’10”) but I’m mighty & strong & will continue to fight infertility-after-loss like the stupid, evil, cruel bitch that she is. Even though it’s not even remotely fair. And breathe, just breathe.

~ As always, thanks so much for reading. Much love, & hope for a return of the light.

‘Cause you can’t jump the track, we’re like cars on a cable / And life’s like an hourglass glued to the table / No one can find the rewind button, girl / So cradle your head in your hands / And breathe, just breathe / Oh, breathe, just breathe

Anna Nalick “Breathe (2 AM)”

My stupid mouth…

I would like to take a moment to address why I started this blog. It was obviously partly to navigate & work through our our trauma & struggle with trying to conceive. But, ultimately I wanted to create a safe space on the internet for people just like my husband Stephen & me. I can’t how many, well-meaning, people said “I’m sorry…but, it’ll happen [insert arbitrary timeline that worked for them].” And that is GREAT that it worked that way for them. However, what this did for me, & maybe Stephen I’m not sure, is forced me to scour the internet for miracle stories. Slowly, those milestones slipped by:

“It’ll happen the next cycle, sometimes our bodies just have to figure it out how to get pregnant. Now that it knows, it won’t reject the next pregnancy.”

“You’ll be pregnant with 6 months of the loss, just you wait.”

“You’ll get pregnant by your due date. I did! You’ll see.”

“There’s no way it will take you as long this time. You figured your body out, & naturally. It’ll happen.”

“Just relax.”

“Don’t try.”

“Just get drunk.”

The last three were often used in conjunction with one another. Again, these were all very well-intentioned & not meant to hurt me. But they did have me looking online for similar stories to give me even the tiniest sliver of hope to clutch onto. To focus on something other than the deep pit of despair & depression that ensnared me every. single. month. You know around the time when you get really moody, sad, angry, & suddenly become best friends with a heating pad, chocolate, or – if you’re like me – extra, extra, EXTRA salty tasty treats…

Anyway, all this is to say that I have been solely, obsessively pouring my energy into telling our experience in a totally unfiltered & uninhibited way. Because if I can help just one person with the honesty of my story, then I will feel better about all of this. I won’t say it will give it (the struggle + the loss + more months of struggle) a purpose, because I whole-heartedly do not believe the platitude that: “everything happens for a reason;” but I do believe that it will give my life going forward (no matter what our path to parenthood actually ends up being) drive, direction, & motivation.

With that tunnel-vision, I fully discounted the feelings of other people involved in our story. People who love us unconditionally, who have been behind us from the very onset of this hellish journey – figuratively & literally – & people who have been in our corner physically & metaphorically supporting & holding us up through this trying time, people who have been sources of information, aid, constant & above-average help & care. Though my intentions were never to hurt anyone, it is important to recognize when we’ve made mistakes (because, hi, we’re human & that will & does happen from time-to-time) & hurt our people. Mistakes are a natural part of life & if the hurt is unintentional, that’s great. But it doesn’t take away from the fact that the hurt did happen & it does exist. Whatever your intentions were or are, that doesn’t invalidate the other person’s, or peoples’, reaction or relation to the unintentional hurt your very human mistake caused. Acknowledge it. Make space for it. Apologize for it. Learn from it. Move forward through it. Grow.

I may not be grateful for every step of our twisty-curvy, topsy-turvy journey to parenthood; but I am forever & for always appreciative of, grateful & thankful for, & undoubtedly indebted to our people. Thank you for loving & supporting us unconditionally; always. Thank you for being there from the literal, absolute beginning of all of this. And for staying with us through it all. Thank you for your guidance, aid, above & beyond medical & mental/emotional care.

All my love, respect, gratitude, & sincerest of apologies.

Face your mistakes & apologize. Be humble & kind. Move forward & through it to know, be, & do better.

“My stupid mouth / Has got me in trouble/ I said too much again.”

John Mayer “My Stupid Mouth.”

“auld lang syne” ~ “let’s drink to days gone by”

According to an article entitled What Does “Auld Lang Syne” Really Mean? by Brandon Specktor, (updated December 09, 2020 in Reader’s Digest) “auld lang syne” means: “old long since.” In layman’s, or current, terms we’d understand it to mean “days gone by.” It has, basically, turned from a 18th century poem to a New Year’s drinking-song tradition to ring in a new year. So, now, we know “auld lang syne” to be “let’s drink to days gone by!” I, quite literally, haven’t read a more perfectly descriptive phrase to properly say sayonora to on the fire garbage can that is 2020. (Thanks to John C. Mulaney for this *chef’s kiss* metaphor.)

Let’s be real for a second…2020 wasn’t what a single one of us expected it to be. And, to be honest, I have never really loved, or even liked, New Year’s Eve. It’s a lot of pressure, & one year my engagement was totally ruined by my then best friend. (She put me in the supposed-to-secret Facebook message thread about the “after engagement party.” There were tears. On all sides. It was baaaaaaad, y’all. Very cringe. Much ick.) At best, I have tolerated this day.

But something I will say for this year, at least for Stephen & me, is that it is a new beginning. A fresh start. A clean slate. A path that’s been cleared in which to clean & clearly forward, onward, & ahead. For us, the biggest transition on our road & journey to parenthood will be the fact that we had our very first infertility appointment the last week of this horrid, shit, on-fire-garbage-can year.

I’m really not sure what I was expecting to hear during that appointment, to be honest. That maybe my anxiety had really taken over my body & there was nothing wrong with either my husband or me. That it was all in my head (which, now that I think about it, honestly would not have not felt good to hear in the slightest…). That we just needed to keep trying, up our dosage, we’d have a 2021 baby easy peasy lemon squeezey. L. O. L. Alex. Everything about the process & journey of infertility, marked by loss, followed by more unexplained infertility has been unequivocally difficult, difficult, lemon difficult. Through no fault of anyone. That’s the frustrating part about unexplained infertility. Everyone is on your side & in your corner, but it’s called “unexplained” for a reason. There’s no logical reason why this didn’t happen easily the first time & why it’s not happening again post-loss. And the answer is never right in front of you or clear-cut. Oftentimes, unexplained actually means that you won’t ever get an answer. But you might get a baby or two, & that’s pretty okay consolation prize if you ask me.

What it all boils down to is actually some very simple, uncomplicated, not terrible, or even devastating annoying shit. “Normal issues” (I hesitate to use both of those words for obvious reasons) from both my husband & me that, combined, is making it unnecessarily difficult to conceive 100% naturally again. I’m a Taurus, & in line with that, I went a tad bit rogue (as in probably not something my fertility doc would’ve necessarily recommended before our first appointment…) & went ahead & took some leftover Letrozole at 5 mg. I’m glad I did, because I had a jump start for this cycle & was able to get scheduled for an ultrasound to determine follicle growth & size on Saturday, January 2nd. This means not only did we not lose or waste a month waiting for our consult appointment, but we’re right on track. And that feels good after all this time! What all of this means is…I could potential have my insemination (yes this means that we’re doing intrauterine insemination, or IUI) as early as Monday…W. H. O. A. Talk about whiplash…

This is my 3rd cycle medicated, with Letrozole. I was on Clomid for 3 months, after I had an HSG (hysterosalpingogram – X-ray to look at the fallopian tubes for blockages & the uterine cavity for any outstanding abnormalities preventing conception) done over the summer (after we hit that magic year mark of trying to conceive post loss) & that didn’t garner the exact results we wanted. The HSG was a bit uncomfortable. Having a ballon inflate inside of you can be pretty painful – maybe I almost passed out…IDK!? But the doctor who did the procedure, nurse, & radiologist could not have been more kind, reassuring, & positive during & about the about the results (which I got pretty much right away as the radiologist read them in front of me). In fact, she said “Good for you! This is good news!” A lovely, little serotonin boost! Basically, it looked great, so for all intents & purposes, another 6 months of trying after the HSG really had the potential to elicit positive (pun intended) results. The doctor even told me he had seen many patients have this HSG done, & then get pregnant within 6 months! So, just keep trying & doing what we’re doing! Yay!

So, I was on Clomid for July, August, & September. Clomid can be known for thinning the uterine lining & I really have this feeling that 10 years of birth control altered my insides a bit more than we had initially thought. (I won’t get graphic here.) I do want to point out that Clomid is the only FDA approved drug specifically for infertility. So, it’s pretty much always prescribed first. And it really does work for a lot of people! Which is great! It just didn’t for me. Which is not so great. Letrozole was first prescribed to me at 2.5 mg in October, & then we upped my dosage to 5mg for the next two cycles. The cycles I have done with Letrozole did do what they were supposed to do for my body. Which is truly wonderful news! My body responded & is responding, so that “issue” on my end has been isolated.

As soon as my fertility doctor had pored over my 100+ page medical records (honestly thank GOD for detailed medical records!), he made the decision for IUI pretty instantaneously. He assured us that he is 100% confident that this will work for us, & rather quickly. The ultrasound we will have on Saturday, January 2nd will determine when I take/do the Ovidrel shot (at home ovulation stimulator: aka it’s a needle I have to shoot in my belly. And by “me” I very do much mean Stephen), & then subsequently when the insemination will take place. This is all moving very quickly, & it’s super *romantic* but…after 27 months of trying, wishing, waiting, & praying…we don’t really have any flying, or grounded, effs left to give.

Honestly, I was really upset about all of this for a solid 12 hrs. after we left the doctor (because of Covid, Stephen & our Goldendoodle Maisie stayed in the car & FaceTimed me from the parking lot – it’s fine, I’m fine, everything’s fine). Our doc’s plan seemed to solidify the constant fear & anxiety running through my head that my body is broken. read: that I am broken. But Stephen, being the sweet, loving, & logical husband that he is, reminded me that the doctor did, in fact, ask if the plan he outlined for us sounded good to us. We did, after all, seek fertility help. So, why not accelerate the whole “getting a baby” process at this point? Again: TWENTY. SEVEN. MONTHS, ya’ll. To say we’re DONE done would be the understatement of the decade. Please send us any good thoughts, vibes, prayers that you can spare for the coming days, weeks, months…whatever it might be.

So. Forward. Onward. Ahead. Auld lang syne. Old long since. Let us ALL drink to days gone by!

~ Thanks for reading. Much love, & hope for a return of the light.

Best wishes. Warmest regards.

Schitt’s Creek

↑↑↑ all of us to 2020…probably.