13 March, 2016

The Appointment

I thought February 19, 2015 would be the best day ever. I anxiously awaited lunch to arrive so I could leave work and get ready for the big appointment. W and I drove in one car on the way there. I'm sure we chatted, but we were both anticipating the moment we would hear a heartbeat.
The paperwork took all of five minutes to fill out. I tried to look nonchalant. I couldn't look like a newby to all of this... after what seemed like an eternity, we were called back. (It was legit a long time. I have the good/bad habit of arriving extremely early to appointments, work, school, church, etc.)
We were escorted into a room with a gorgeous view of a local landmark that means a lot to me. It felt very peaceful waiting in that room, waiting for a doctor to provide proof of our future.
When the doctor arrived, she got on W's nerves.
"So was this planned?"
He was busy getting after her silently.
'Why would that matter? It wouldn't change anything for us.'
I calmly answered every question, trying not to let my gaze go to her handheld ultrasound.
After an agonizing five minutes, she let me hop into the table and she pulled out the machine.
We tried transvaginal. She pulled in another doctor to try. Nothing. I was turning numb.
She sent us quickly to the hospital for lab work. I didn't know what to think. I just thought it was a mistake. This couldn't happen to me. How could this happen to me? It was surreal.
Saturday night was full of anticipation and waiting. We had gone in for round two of lab work that afternoon and were waiting the specified amount of time before we called the doctor on duty.
After a few calls back and forth (someone managed to put my second sample under my maiden name. It was a mess.) they had news.
"Your first numbers were high. Really high. As of this afternoon, they are really starting to go down. You'll probably start miscarrying in a week."

First Time Being Pregnant

My first pregnancy was wonderful. Or at least it was pretty standard. I loved the month that I shared the pregnancy secret with W. We talked about our future and I started eyeing the room that would become the nursery. At five weeks, I started getting morning sick. I only threw up one time, but I kept plastic bags in the console of my car just in case...
At work, I could not eat with the rest of my coworkers as easily because the sight and smell of some foods made me lose my appetite. Chicken was something that I completely lost my appetite for during this time.
W and I told my sister and father at around this time. They were both so excited for us. I did not want to tell anyone else, but those two are my other two best friends. They are supportive and could keep a secret. I did not plan on telling most other people until we knew the sex of the baby. (I am tall so I thought it would not be too difficult to hide.)
I made my first OB appointment for three weeks in the future. I researched OBs in the area for a week before settling on a midwife group located 20 minutes away. They were definitely not the closest, but they deliver at the hospital where I was born and I saw great review about them.
I hid the pregnancy rather well. I even had a sleepover with a couple sisters and a cousin. Even though I had to step around them at night to visit the bathroom and immediately start snacking when I woke up so nausea's ugly head would not show, I kept it hidden.
The entire time I was pregnant the first time, it was unbelievable. I used my second pregnancy test at six weeks simply because I could not believe it. Was my lifelong dream, one of the only things I ever wanted, unfolding? I knew I would not believe it until I saw the little undistinguishable shape inside my body. Then I could start to believe.
After I miscarried, W asked me if I secretly knew I wasn't carrying the baby. If I had a sense that it wasn't quite right. I never knew that it would not work out. I was just too elated to believe that finally I would have a baby to love. I would never be one of those moms that sits my kid in front of an iPad or the television day after day so that I could have no interruptions while I pinned pins and uploaded Instagram pics. I would buy books and read to my child every day. I knew I would get frustrated and fed up occasionally, but I would cherish every moment of being pregnant and of having a child to love and care for.

Let's Start Trying!

We finally started trying summer of '14. I was excited and anxious and knew that in a few short months, we would start making plans and begin putting together a nursery. Month after month after month passed. I was depressed after every month came and went and my cycle progressed like clockwork. I got more and more anxious, but found distracting tasks to take up time such as the spur of the moment decision to apply for grad school. Applications were due in less than a month and I had to take the GRE two weeks after deciding to apply. I made it into grad school and happily started buying books for the next semester Christmas came and went.
W and I moved. My oldest brother built a gorgeous home and offered to rent us their old home at a discount.
And then came Martin Luther King Day. My period was late. Not too late, just a day or two. I was antsy and could not concentrate on my reading. W picked up on my mood and we picked up a pregnancy test at the store. ("But we can't just get a pregnancy test. Think of other things we can buy...")
Once home, I took the test and got that glorious word. A word that is special yet fleeting for me.

Beginnings of Marriage

I was married fairly young, at age 21. W was 26. I thought we were on the same page about babies when we got married (namely have some and quick!) and then we started talking. He was never anti-children by any means, but he had some things he needed to work through concerning his own childhood-or lack thereof-before starting his own family. W claims that we had the "kid conversations" before we were married. I must have put it out of my mind. And so I waited. Admittedly not very patiently.


As a five-year-old, I told the following story:
"There were once some fairy princesses living in a beautiful land. They were all happy and had a good life. Then suddenly, they all became sick! The fairy doctor rushed to their sides and declared: you are all going to die or you are all going to have babies."
The story ended with babies, obviously.
I have always been obsessed with babies and pregnancy. As a young girl, I fantasized about being pregnant. I daydreamed about pregnancy all the time. I thought it would be so sweet if I became pregnant and then had a baby as a young elementary-aged child.
I even recall asking my mother how big the baby was in my stomach. (Obviously a long time before I knew how such things worked.) I thought you started with a bunch of babies and they all grew slowly until you were married and then you became pregnant. Magic!
I always knew I wanted to have children and I always knew I wanted a lot. Dozens. Enough to fill every nook and cranny of my house.
I never imagined there might be heartbreak to go along with the process.


Greetings, blogworld.
While I am not new to the blog-o-sphere, I am new to sharing my story. Our story. The story husband (W) and I have kept basically under wraps. The story of trying to conceive.
Who are we? We are an average couple living in suburbia America. I teach to support his addiction of being a full-time masters student. We have been married for almost five years without any children to show for it.
Buckle in for recaps concerning our almost two years of actively trying (even though from day one after wedding, I not-so-secretly hoped for a slip up that would cause pregnancy), three miscarriages, our venture into the land of fertility clinics, artificial insemination, and a surprise diagnosis of cancer in the middle.