Femara cycle 1

Today is a fuzzy socks, sweatshirt, and pony tail kind of day. Emotionally, I’m doing ok but I’ve felt a swirl of thoughts and confusion and felt the need to “bunker down” so to speak and have some quiet, introspective time. So I just sent Chad and the girls off to church while I stay cozy at home, smelling the new fall candle I lit this morning.

Pregnancy chances aren’t looking good this month. I am on day 14 of my cycle and my ovulation kits continue to record “low fertility.” I have been taking the kits since day 9. I experienced what I believed was ovulation pain on day 10, but the kit (that’s over 99% accurate) said I must have made that up. Or the pains I thought were ovulation pains were indeed some other pain? I go in for an ultrasound tomorrow to see what is going on and if I will ovulate or not.

This is a weird experience. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m fighting my body. It feels like we aren’t on the same page and I’m trying to force something it is no longer willing to do. I mean, they gave me a fertility drug and I’m not ovulating! How stubborn can my body be?!

As I experience this, it’s easy to really quickly become hopeless. I know that hopeless feeling is premature. We’ve only really BEGUN the assisted fertility process, but it feels like a struggle and it feels overwhelming. I’ve started to wrap my head and heart around the idea that the family that we have right now is the family that we will have. I can start to identify myself as a mother who gets to dedicate her time and energy to raising two spirited daughters. And those two girls need my time and energy.

The life I have right now is not a bad life. Not at all. It’s a beautiful life. And a lot of the time I don’t want for it to be different (with the exception of wishing Charlie were here). But then I think of never getting the opportunity to give birth again. Of never nursing my own baby again. Breathing in the intoxicating perfume of a newborn. Of having that third child in our home that I always fantasized I’d have, and I feel persuaded to pursue this fertility journey.

It’s a weird, lonely journey. I feel, for the first time in my life, that I can relate to women with fertility struggles. People close to me in my life know what we are going through, but it’s strange to carry this experience, silently and invisibly. Whereas people saw, held and knew Charlie and his loss is an overt, visible, concrete loss. It’s something I can speak to, if I chose, and it’s something people quietly acknowledge. But this…it’s just a loud silence. It’s a loud QUESTION MARK. It’s a huge unknown and feels like limbo. I can’t move forward emotionally, because I don’t know what moving forward emotionally looks like. Does it look like grieving this ambiguous loss and the dreams I had for the children I would raise? Does it mean refocusing my emotional energy on the children I have now, and not on the child I don’t get to have? Or does it mean continuing to hope and believe that we will get another child? It all just feels really messy.

The good news is, whatever happens (or doesn’t happen), I feel and believe, I am going to be ok. We are all going to be ok. We will live our life meaningfully and it will continue to be GOOD.



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