The End Of A Journey


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The desire to have a baby is one of tremendous force and great frustration. Once someone decides that they want a child, life becomes centered on that one idea. Have a baby.

That idea has taken my husband and I on an emotional, loving journey I could never have imagined. After 20 years together, I thought we had settled into our lives and would more or less ride the wave of maturity. Our decision to try for one more child quickly turned those thoughts upside down.

I could recount all of the painful moments, all of the disappointment, all of the fear. I’m not going to do that here because every single person (male or female) that has lived with infertility has their own list of heartbreaking moments. Comparing heartaches among us serves no purpose because there are simply too many to even consider. We all hurt in our own ways.

Our journey has not been all bad though. There are things that we have learned about ourselves as individuals and as a couple. Our genuine love for one another has been tested time and time again. If anything, we are now acutely aware of how much we are willing to sacrifice for each other. Over a year of constant compromise and excruciating emotional turmoil will do that to a marriage. It makes you examine the value of your relationship on every level. We learned that we really do want the other to be happy, at almost any cost.

As much as I don’t want to think about our pregnancy loss, I must admit that it was the turning point in this journey. The pain we shared reminded us both that we still genuinely care about each other. That when one of us is hurt we both feel the bruises. Those few days surrounding the miscarriage will never leave our memories and will always be a reminder of our shared dedication as well as our shared heartache.

We continued our journey fueled by that loss. Our resolve to keep trying only became stronger in knowing that I could still conceive, if not carry a child to term. We knew the odds were astronomical, but we kept going anyway. Having been almost successful was all that we needed to keep ourselves in the game.

The problem is that the game has to end. You have ask yourself if you are making the right decision at some point. Believing in miracles is a noble trait, but when does it become utterly pathetic to continue chasing rainbows and kissing bullfrogs? I think the answer to that is… when you realize that you have given every effort and there is simply nothing left to continue with.

I wish I could say that deciding to stop trying to conceive was black and white, easy and without second thought. Walking away from something that we have both been so passionate about has been extremely difficult.

There will still be pregnant women everywhere and beautiful babies born to undeserving women and men every day. The children’s boutiques will still be in the malls. Television shows will still glorify the natural ability to conceive. There will be baby showers and baby’s first steps. All those things are going to continue to happen all around us, and it will sting every time. Expecting to avoid all things baby related is unrealistic and self-centered. The world doesn’t stop simply because my ovaries and uterus did.

While our journey through infertility has been emotionally draining, it has also been enlightening. My husband and I have discovered who we are as a couple and what we are capable of handling. Those discoveries will guide us as we say goodbye to trying to conceive and move forward with achieving other goals.

I think we are both ready to experience more success and less consistent failure. The future does not include a new baby for us, but we know that there are other opportunities that we have put aside that we must consider. Letting go of an impossible dream will allow us to focus on things that we need to work on.

For those of you who have given up on trying to conceive (or are close to it): Do what your heart and mind tell you to. Living with infertility is a very difficult thing to do. Accepting infertility when you want nothing more than to have a child is one of the most painful life experiences you can have. Only you can decide if the time is right to move on or not. Take a break from it if you need to. Walk away if you need to. Or keep chasing your rainbow if you’re not ready to give up. You will know when you are completely ready to stop trying to conceive. Until then, do what you must to see it become a reality. Whatever you choose, be okay with it because you know it is what is best for you. Second guessing every decision can make you crazy. There are no guarantees in this, so everything is a gamble. Make the decisions regarding your fertility and make peace with them because hindsight is always 20/20 and there is no way to foretell the future outcome. Most of all…allow yourself to breathe, even if only for a moment. This is some truly hard stuff you are experiencing. Take care of yourself; heart, body, and mind.

Our efforts may not have ended in the results we had wanted, but we gave it all that we had within our abilities. I could sit and wish for things to have been different all day long. In the end, this is what we were given to work with. We did our best. We didn’t get our baby and we are deeply saddened by that. But, we are healing and we are hopeful for the things that lie ahead.

So ends this journey.


And Then The Crash


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Things in this cycle of trying to conceive have been beyond strange. This cycle being an exact replica of the cycle that we last conceived is enough to be downright eerie. I would look at my fertility tracking app each day and become even more disturbed by the deja vu. Things only go downhill from here.

In the middle of this cycle, one of our best friends became extremely ill and needed to be hospitalized. His wife has cerebral palsy and is in a wheelchair. They also have the most awesome two year old ever, Stinkerbell. (As read about in a recent post.) Needless to say, his illness required some assistance to manage his responsibilities.

His wife is my bestie. We are a close group and we take care of each other in times of need. This time we were needed to stay with her and help with most everything. Everything from helping her out of the bed, to the shower, all of the driving, and pretty much every single detail of caring for a toddler. All of this piled on top of the stress of having our buddy in a very scary medical situation. And having funky pregnancy tests and symptoms.

I don’t want to sound like we minded helping out, because we didn’t. That’s what friends do. But, all of these things combined made for an incredibly difficult six days. Our routines were completely thrown off, we were all stressed, and we just wanted to be able to go back home (sleep in our own bed) and resume life as usual.

And then the crash happened.

I’m not talking about a literal crash. I am referring to an emotional crash. The kind that leaves you reeling and writhing in gut wrenching heartache. The kind where it seems as if you have entered a vacuum and the life is being pulled forcefully out you.

While having dinner with the gorgeous Stinkerbell, I started to feel icky. This was day 22 of my trying to conceive cycle. That is normally around six days before I expect to see my dreams of pregnancy flush down the toilet. Literally. After dinner, I had three very sharp pains in my left ovary. Painful enough to physically react by holding my side and bending over. Somewhere in my mind I was hopeful that maybe this was implantation pains as I was only eight days past ovulation.

We go back to our friends’ house and get Stinkerbell ready for bed. I head towards the restroom to take a pregnancy test (because I am obsessive) before settling in for the night. I drop the urine into the testing well and wait. And then I feel the feeling that my baby dreams are over for this cycle. Crap! I am bleeding. Still grasping at straws, I begin to convince myself that it might be (hopefully) implantation bleeding. I find that I am bleeding almost orange. Bright orange. What the hell?

I have never, ever, in my whole life ever started my period at 9:00 in the evening. For the most part, I am not even awake when this event occurs. I just normally wake to find that menstruation has begun. Imagine my confusion at having this happen on day 22 of a normal 28 day cycle, at 9:00 pm, and it is watery orange! (Start to worry excessively that something is seriously wrong with me.)

The next morning….almost nothing. Like…nothing nothing. So much nothing that I cannot wear a tampon. (Yay! Could still be implantation.)

Until a few hours later. The orange came back. (Ok, probably not implantation.) I spent the next several hours Googling every single thing I could think of to explain this craziness. (Maybe a cyst?) I had a lot to do to get my bestie and my Stinkerbell ready for the day. Time to focus on the things that need to get done.

Until a few hours later.

When my flow changed from orange to dark red/brown. (Sorry if it is TMI.) This time was unusually heavy. Painfully heavy. It was only then that I started to be convinced that there was no sticky baby.

I frigging hate my body.

More of The Two Week Wait


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Life usually goes crazy when you least need it to.

This two week wait has been insane. To start the madness we had a family/close friend crisis take center stage. Everything went downhill from there. Here is how everything starting getting wonky:

I started taking pregnancy tests seven days after ovulation. I know that is too early to expect a positive, but I needed to fuel my obsession to pee on a stick. After the pregnancy loss last year, I would rather know as early as possible if we do conceive again. I did not expect to see two pink lines that early, but I took the tests anyway to calm my anxious mind.

Of course there was no second line in the three minutes after taking the test. No big deal. It was too early to get a positive. Except that there was a super faint line on the test a few hours later. Ok. That was probably just an evaporation line.

Day eight, same story. Negative in the morning and a ghost line of pale pink a few hours later. Two evaporation lines? Sure, maybe. I have been told time and time again to not read the tests after the time limit on the box. Apparently, I am a glutton for punishment and I suffer from Oppositional Defiance Disorder because I insisted upon looking at those pregnancy tests several dozen times over the next several hours. (Days.)

I held my urine for hours and drank very little fluids because I was going to test again in the evening. (Did I mention the glutton part?) If you read enough online, you can always find a story that convinces you that maybe this will be your lucky month. There is always someone who has defied the odds and scientific beliefs.

Lo and behold, a second barely there pink line appeared several hours later on that test, too. It was getting almost ridiculous at that point. Never before have I had that many evaporation lines in a row. Believe me, I have inspected every test I have ever taken dozens of times just in case I see a positive magically appear. I have had maybe one evaporation line ever before this bizarre cycle.

Day nine of my cycle… again with the pink shadow appearing. This time it did not take as long as the others, but it was definitely there. Maybe it was there. I can no longer trust myself to read a pregnancy test as I fear I will always see something that isn’t really there.

Another test after work, of course. I wait to take the test until I feel like my bladder might actually explode from the pressure. Stark white. Until an hour later. This time I decided to call in back up. Hubby is called upon to inspect the stick.

Hubby never sees pink shadows. Poor man, his eyesight has gotten so bad over the last few years he has taken to reading large print books. I didn’t expect him to see the imaginary second pink line as much as I needed to hear that I was officially losing my mind.

I see something in there.

What? You see it, too? Seriously?

“Maybe I just want to see it, but I think I see it.”

This exchange only fueled the fire. By this point I have run out of tests. Bless him, my hubby suggested that we go buy more. At 9:30 in the evening, we traipsed down the rural road to buy tests before the store closed at 10:00. Since he had never supported me indulging in frantic test taking, I took this as a good sign. He felt positive about the possibility that we had actually gotten pregnant again.

One more the next morning for good measure. This time we have a different brand and feel like there is no way that two brands will produce identical results. Like all the others, blank at first with a faint line appearing later. This time I called on my best friend to either tell me I was completely nuts or that there was in fact a light line visible in the right light.

She saw it, too.

At this point I have taken 6 pregnancy tests and all six have had what I have to assume is evaporation lines. Well, I should assume they were evaporation lines. Like every other woman obsessed with trying to conceive, I tried telling myself that, but deep down I held onto hope.

The rest of the week to follow soon. It only gets crazier from here.

The Two Week Torture


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Today marks what looks like six days past ovulation. Having charted my basal body temperatures and using OPK’s (ovulation predictor kits), I am fairly confident of my ovulation date. I am not even halfway through the two week wait and I am already starting to give up hope that this month will end in pregnancy.

The types of symptoms I have been having are nothing remarkable. I have been cramping since ovulation, but I doubt that is because I am pregnant. More likely it is because I am having some hormonal imbalance. That is what I am telling myself anyway.

The problem with trying not to get my hopes up is that this month’s BBT chart looks exactly like the chart from the month we conceived, and ultimately miscarried. So much so that it is freaky.

Not only did I ovulate on the same day of the month as before, but the date fell on the same day of the week; Sunday. That to me just seems like an incredibly strange coincidence.

Then you have to look at the actual temperatures. Day for day they are spooky similar. Every day in this cycle is within 5/100th of a degree from the other cycle. That wouldn’t be so odd if I were consistent in my results from month to month. Usually my temps are all over the place. No other chart even closely resembles this month, except the month we conceived. And it is EXACTLY the same as this month.

See? It is hard not to get my hopes up with data like that.

I Love Her, But…



My best friend has a two year old daughter that I love to pieces. I call her Stinkerbell. Her parents hate that name. But, I don’t care. It is my term of affection and the unique nickname that belongs only to me for only her. Because I am the cool “aunt” who loves her little Stinkerbell.

I have been there since before Stinkerbell was even conceived. When other people discouraged them from having a baby, I was a cheerleader. See, Stinkerbell’s mom has cerebral palsy and is in a wheelchair. While there were people telling them to wait (Mom was 32 at the time), I was there telling them to do what they wanted to. I wanted a Stinkerbell to love almost as much as they did.

Having such a close friendship, that is more like family, has given me the opportunity to spend so much more time with her than most other people. I felt her kick in her mother’s womb, I changed her diapers, and I have kissed her boo-boo’s. She is my niece in every way except that we share no genetic ties. Not that it matters to any of us.

Stinkerbell is the reason why we revisited having another baby at our advanced ages. I have known for quite some time that my heart ached to have another child. Approaching my husband about trying to have a baby 15 years after his vasectomy seemed cruel and pointless. Somehow, seeing this wonderful child almost every day made me cross that bridge of uncertainty.

This last year has been so damned hard. Month after month of failure has worn me down to point of exhaustion. An early miscarriage, lack of medical assistance, emotional fatigue, and a general feeling of hopelessness has whittled me down to a stub. My husband is on the brink of a complete forfeit as well. We are just so tired and nothing seems to be positive anymore. We are old, we are uninsured, and we are fighting astronomical odds just for a minute possibility that we might be able to experience that joy for ourselves once more. We are so close to throwing in the towel and admitting defeat.

And then there is Stinkerbell. The most adorable two year old who loves my family just as much as she loves her own. She gives sloppy, wet, absolutely wonderful kisses. She grabs my hand tightly when she knows we are going for a walk. Her Uncle MooMoo (we have no idea why she calls him that) plays alligator puppet with her better than anyone. She is a joy, an absolute joy. A gift in our lives that we are so grateful to have.

But sometimes…

I look at her and my heart breaks. My heart breaks for my husband who looks at her and then lovingly looks at me, his eyes masking sadness. I watch him (at 47) climbing the slicky slide and riding down just to make her happy. I watch him easily change her stinky butt. I watch her light up when she sees me at my desk through the window when they get to our office every morning. I watch her grow and learn and love.

And all I can think is, “Why can’t I have a miracle, too?”


Not As Planned


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It was another early morning in the land of infertility. Meeting our sperm donor for the last “donation” of this cycle. When I took my BBT (basal body temperature) this morning, it looked as though I may have ovulated. Of course, I don’t trust my body and decide that one more insemination is in order just to be sure.

I groggily drive to our agreed upon location, wishing to still be in bed sleeping as it is my day off. The sun isn’t even actually out yet. That doesn’t matter though. We want a baby and if we have to get up with the chickens, we will. I can sleep when I get back home. Right now I have to get my cranky butt down the road to meet “George” for the final sperm sample of the month.

One thing most people in the real world know about me is that I am very punctual. Actually, I am perpetually early. The idea of being late (with the exception of being late for my menstrual cycle) is beyond frustrating. Many things in this world are beyond my control, but my ability to be on time is something I can usually control. Maybe that is why someone else’s tardiness makes me crazy.

I waited 10 minutes before I started to panic. “George” had not shown up yet. My gut started to hurt. Maybe he changed his mind. The anxiety started to take over. All I could think was, “Please don’t do this to us.”

I started with a nice text asking if he was on his way. Maybe he ran into some unlikely traffic at the crack of dawn. Maybe. The five minutes I waited for a response seemed like enough time for him to have made it to our location if it was merely traffic. I must have looked at my phone screen a hundred times in those five minutes. Nothing.

The next step was to call him. You have to understand how uncomfortable I am with calling “George” to fully comprehend the level of anxiety I am experiencing at this point. I cannot explain why, all I can say is that communicating through text and email is less direct and therefore less weird. Calling him was a sign of desperation and fear that I did not want to have to do. I needed an answer though so I could know whether to stay and wait or go home and cry. Of course it went to voicemail.

I got in my vehicle and started towards home, deflated and frustrated. I drove a full 25 minutes ranting, sobbing, and cursing infertility and the universe. I was stuck somewhere between being mad as a wet hen and absolutely crushed with disappointment. “What if this was the time that we would have actually gotten pregnant?”

I had let the hubby sleep in this morning and went for the pick up alone. I entered our room to find him in peaceful slumber. So of course I woke him up to tell him just how mad I was with “George” and the whole process of artificial inseminations. He listened attentively and consoled me I as started to unravel at the seams.

Then I got a text message.

Apparently “George” had to work very late the night before and had overslept. He was very sorry. He was willing to meet later in the day if we wanted. Whatever he could do to help.

At this point I was just emotionally drained. The obstacles for meeting later were just too hard to maneuver. Regretfully, I had to decline. This cycle has ended with only two inseminations. Let’s hope my timing is good and my body signals are accurate.

Let the two week wait insanity begin.

Day Two: An Insemination Story


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It is another early morning. We are scheduled to meet our sperm donor at 6:45 a.m. for our second round of artificial insemination. For the record, I am still not a morning person. That goes double for Saturday mornings, when I should be enjoying sleeping in after waking early all week for work.

This morning I woke up to the 6 a.m. temping alarm. That is when I take my basal body temperature and normally go back to sleep. Obviously, that is not an option today, but it’s ok. I will get up with the chickens if it means that I might conceive.

Today’s temperature took a nosedive. I am on day 13 of my cycle. That is a very good sign that I am incredibly close to ovulating. I will follow up on the ovulation dip by taking another ovulation predictor after we get back home. Right now I have to focus on getting to our meeting place on time.

Wouldn’t you know that we got stuck behind a train as we are driving there? I have driven this particular route thousands of times and have not once seen a train coming through. Not once. I had almost forgotten that there were even tracks there. Until today. Fortunately, it isn’t a very long train and we were not delayed too long.

We arrive at our destination with a few minutes to spare. Just enough time to unwrap the Instead cup, set up a sterile collection cup for the sperm donor and to coat my cervix in Preseed.

This routine is becoming less weird for me. It is strange how quickly humans adapt to their environment. I still find it amazing that my husband and I manage to do all this stuff with a straight face. Let’s be honest. Artificial inseminations and sperm donations in a semi-public bathroom isn’t something most people will ever experience. Yet, it has become our version of normal.

After the sperm donor is done, I advise him that the next day should be our last day to meet. Based on my ovulation kits and my very obvious ovulation temperature dip, there should not be any reason to meet more than once. In addition, I will gladly take a day to sleep in. This early morning stuff is for the birds.

This time I decided to use a syringe to inject the semen and Preseed mixture to avoid spillage. I quickly insert an Instead Softcup and head towards home. I am determined to go back to sleep for a little while. We also think it will be a good idea to lie down with the cup still in to maximize our chances of conceiving.

I wake up from my nap and head straight for the bathroom. There is another ovulation test just calling my name. (This is how I have become addicted to peeing on a stick. Seriously.) Low and behold, it is positive again. I have to be getting close to the end of my hormone surge. A few more tests should make everything more clear.

I go about my day, doing the mundane things that need to be done. Cleaning, yard work, etc…cup still in place. I wish I could tell you I forgot it was there but that is impossible. I may not be able to feel the cup internally but I am acutely aware that it is there and hopefully helping us conceive.

Evening comes and time for another ovulation test. The results will give me an idea of where I am on this cycle. My body has tricked me before, I am taking no chance at missing my window this time. If the test is still positive I will be concerned that I might have an anovalotory cycle or that I will ovulate late in my cycle. (If it is negative I will worry, too. I always find something to worry about.)

This test comes out as close to exactly the same colored lines as I have ever seen. I am not even sure how to process this test. I start to over analyze the possibilities. Maybe it is a tad lighter. Maybe it is exactly the same. It is definitely not darker than the control line, but it is lighter than this morning’s test. (I saved all of the tests this time, for easy comparison.) I decide it is the beginning of my downward shifting hormones.

I guess that means I just have to test again tomorrow, after the last insemination. Day three will be coming soon.

Hey Honey, Let’s Get Inseminated


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It is Day 1 of artificial inseminations (again). The alarm went off and I rolled over and announced to my husband that it was time to go get inseminated. Considering it was still dark outside, he took this announcement pretty well. (Did I mention that my husband is not a morning person? Trust me, he isn’t.) We gather our necessary items; insemination kit, keys, wallet, purse. And caffeine. (An absolute necessity today as we were up too late last night.)

We have been up since 5:30 a.m. because we are going to meet “George” at 6:45 to start our first day of inseminations. Thinking that sperm is more potent first thing in the morning and that our agreed location would surely be unoccupied, we decided that unholy time of day would be best. (Have I mentioned that I am not a morning person either?) This also allowed us to sneak out of the house undetected, as we do not want our teenagers to know that we are trying to conceive again. After the loss last year, we decided to tell them only if we do achieve pregnancy.

We arrived early enough to set up the collection cup in his area and to get my area prepared. (I brought two of everything with me just in case something stupid happened.) I had packed collection cups, syringes, Preseed, Instead cups, antibacterial gel, etc. in my little black bag. In an effort to make light of the situation I decided to call it my “bag of props.” Now, I am walking around with two purse type items, which lead to this conversation;

Hubby: “Why not just put all that stuff in your purse? You have plenty of room. It has to be easier than carrying two purses.”

Me: “Um…because I have no intention of putting anything that might have sperm on it in my purse. I really like this purse. I don’t want to walk around with some guy’s sperm in my favorite purse.”

Hubby: “Yeah, that makes sense.”

He is such a conversationalist.


We met “George” at our location promptly at 6:45 as arranged earlier in the week. He went his way and I went mine as my husband waited for me very close by, on the off chance that “George” was some psychopathic murderer or something. (Which he isn’t, thankfully.)

Once “George” finished his business, he left his sample and gracefully left us to do the rest. There were less than 10 words exchanged through the whole thing. His parting words? “Good luck.” Somehow, I found that communication amusing, endearing, and promising at the same time. It was just a nice gesture that stuck with me.

I promptly rushed to fill the syringe first with a little Preseed, then the sample, followed with just a bit more Preseed for good measure. Without being too graphic, inserting a full Instead cup is not nearly as easy as it was during the empty practice run at home. There was minor spillage, which I will obsess over if we don’t get pregnant this time. But, the second attempt went much smoother. A quick “O” and it was time to go.

We drove home and quietly tiptoed back into the house to avoid detection. Whew! We made it. No one knows we were even awake let alone gone. I had a plausible excuse planned just in case, but fortunately I did not have to use it.

We then prepared for work and went about our day. I took an ovulation test at noon…..and it was positive. The first time I have ever seen the second line darker than the control line. Amazing!

I managed to keep the cup in for about 10 hours. I am hoping that my prudence pays off in a few weeks. I don’t need anything else to obsess over should we not get a positive pregnancy test this cycle.

Another ovulation test at 8:00 p.m. read negative, but I am trying not to focus on that. Hormones are very tricky, especially at 40 years old, so I continue to think the positive from this morning is promising. Even though it is only day 12 of my cycle, I am not overly worried. With all of the supplements and vitamins I have been taking, I have to expect a few changes in my cycle and not allow myself to become too concerned.

So far, so good. Now we get to start all over again tomorrow morning. (I’m really glad the fertility window is short. I am not a morning person at all.)

Day 2 coming soon.

Wait, There Is More To Tell


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In my last post I revealed that I have been working diligently to get my hormones in balance in hopes of possibly taking another run at artificial insemination. That is just part of the story.

When my husband and I thought our journey was over, we were so frustrated. After months of discussion we decided that we might want to give another go at finding a sperm donor. We weren’t terribly confident that we would, but we were hopeful. It isn’t exactly easy to find a stranger willing to donate in our conservative community.

We just sort of moved forward with the notion that if we were lucky enough to find a donor that my body would be more ready to accept a pregnancy. I started taking a myriad of hormone balancing supplements before tackling the daunting task of finding a donor.

Then the strangest thing happened.

As we were beginning to explore our options for finding a donor, I opened my email and found quite a surprise. Months earlier, when we were running ads for a sperm donor, I had gotten an email from a young man in our area. At the time we were beginning to burn out on the whole artificial insemination thing.

We had exchanged only a few emails back and forth before we lost contact. Actually, he never responded to my last email and I more or less dropped him from the (very small) list of potential donors. I just assumed he was not serious about his offer. That happened a lot online. Once they find out that they aren’t going to be having sex, the number of willing participants quickly dwindles. Sadly, most responses are from men just wanting a quick sexual encounter even though the ad clearly states that there will be no sex involved and that their donation will be in a sterile cup.

Anyway, imagine my surprise when I open my email and see another message from him, four months after the last message. As corny as this may sound, I viewed that as a cosmic sign to at least consider him as a potential DNA contributor. I mean if he was still interested four months later without any communication from me there must have been a reason. So, I replied to his email.

This young man had composed a very articulate email explaining his lengthy interval between messages. His interest in helping us conceive seemed genuine and serious. So, we made arrangements to meet in a public area to discuss our situation and to get to know one another.

After meeting with him, we concluded that he would be an ideal donor. He was young, healthy, educated, and we felt comfortable moving forward with him. We worked out the details and started making plans for the next cycle.

So, here we are. We are back in the game. Hopefully, this ends in a healthy pregnancy in the very near future. Keep your fingers crossed.

Old Wounds Leave Deep Scars


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Today would have been my father’s 60th birthday. If he had not committed suicide almost nine years ago.

It is not the grief of his death that plagues me as much as the grief of his time living that haunts me today.

My father abused me in ways that I do not need to go into in this blog. I do not want sympathy for his actions towards me. What he did was beyond cruel and yet I survived.

He was the coward who ran from his misdeeds by pulling the trigger. He selfishly ended his guilt forever and I get to stay here and deal with the trauma. Thanks, Dad. I could always count on you to think of yourself first.

So, today I don’t want to think about him as I deal with some harsh realities of infertility. I want the day to go smoothly and I want the wounds of years gone by to be less painful. I don’t want to see the emotional scars that even the best psychiatrists could not erase if they tried. I just want today to not suck.

Within minutes of midnight, things started going horribly, horribly wrong. Every single thing I have experienced today has been negative. From the mundane to the life changing, not one single thing has gone as planned.

Since having a good day is out of the question, I might as well give this day the proper acknowledgement. The universe is obviously not listening to my desire to have a good day. So, I’m going to write what I really want to say right now. (Sorry if it offends. It isn’t written for you, it is for me.)

Happy Birthday, Asshole. Thanks for screwing me up.

I feel better now.


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