IUI

We started trying to have a baby in October 2003. By July 2004, my doctor was concerned and sent us for testing at a reproductive endocrinologist (RE). The appointment was on our wedding anniversary.

"You will never have a child naturally."

"There is a 99.99999% chance that you will never conceive a child on your own."

Happy anniversary! Needless to say, the celebratory dinner later that night was less than enthusiastic.

The RE recommended IVF with ICSI as the only option. Typical IVF, when they put the egg and the sperm in the dish together and leave it up to chance, wouldn't work. Instead, they would take the egg from me, actually insert J's sperm into it, and then put everything back in me and hope for the best. All this cost enough to pay for the doctor to buy a new car. Insurance was covering squat. But they would cover my depression medication.

J waffled on whether or not he wanted to do it. He wanted children; he just didn't want a litter of children.

Then there was the problem of affording the IVF. Of course they had financing programs, but was that the way we wanted to bring in another life? Under a pile of bills? It was a mess. So when we started undergoing all the testing, we knew we had to tell our families. His parents were supportive; my mother sucked (typical) and my dad was MIA (also, typical at the time but now, thankfully, things are very much different).

At 23, I was basically told I had three choices: spend a load of money, adopt, or live child-free.

J, after an unsuccessful surgery on his part, wanted to choose child-free. I wanted nothing more than to be a mommy to a child - any child. But I couldn’t force him to give me his sperm and $20,000.

For four years, I watched painfully as the people around me got pregnant and had babies. I avoided family functions at times because it was just too, too painful. I wanted a baby.

I tried to convince myself that I didn’t want one. It didn’t work.

In November 2007, I had surgery for endometriosis, a horrible, painful, bullshit disease that makes your uterine lining grow outside your uterus. Fun stuff.

In January 2008, we moved to Knoxville, Tennessee to spread our wings. My job had a need for my special gifts: organization and a killer sense of humor. You couldn't do my job without one.

In May, I found out I was pregnant. We didn’t tell anyone because we were terrified. A week later, we miscarried.

The good that came of it was that J decided he wanted a baby. So my new doctor recommended a new RE. She thought that maybe we could get pregnant with Intrauterine Insemination (IUI), which was a fraction of the cost of the IVF with ICSI. Incredibly, we had enough money in savings to do it the next cycle.

The first month, even on Clomid, my ovaries did not produce enough viable eggs to do the insemination. She recommended that we wait until the following month to try when I had enough eggs to really give it a go. “But have sex,” she said.

The next month was November 2008. We did the cycle, the shots in December, and the insemination in a very cold room two weeks before Christmas. Three days before Christmas, we found out the cycle failed.

I couldn’t do anything but cry.

The doctor recommended having surgery to clear the endometriosis again. I'd only been at the Knoxville location for a year and didn't want to take the time off. So we put it on the back burner: I started working out, teaching belly dancing. J started running.

In late March, I had the worst stomach flu ever. It was awful. I puked all the time - I couldn’t even brush my teeth.

A friend asked if I was pregnant. I scoffed at her: “Are you crazy? Do you have any idea what you're suggesting?” On April 4, 2009, I took the first of twenty pregnancy tests. All of them were positive. I cried. And cried. And cried.

I called my doctor and demanded progesterone supplements and an immediate ultrasound - both of which I got. My Monster was in a perfect position in her little sack in my womb. I just needed to keep her there. My husband immediately put the kibosh on the belly dancing for fear I would shake the little pea loose. Sex was put on hold for the same reason.

I was S.I.C.K. The whole freakin' nine months. But I was carrying a baby.

The first time I felt the baby move, I cried. It was like a fluttering across my whole stomach. And then it got stronger and stronger.

I had two baby showers - one in Alabama and one in Knoxville. I had great family and friends. I bought the stroller/car seat and the crib. Most everything else was bought for us.

I was expecting a whopper of a baby girl.

October came and J's grandfather died. I couldn't travel to the funeral for a man who had been like a interim father to me which hurt. I tried to talk my doctor into it but since I was swelling and having contractions, she said no. I still miss Grandpa every day. I wish so badly that he was able to meet the Monster because he would have LOVED her.

In December, things got more and more intense. I went into labor December 7, around 11:30 but contractions wasn't strong or close together - just enough to keep me up that night.

J drove me to the doctor's office the next day because we were pretty sure they were going to keep me. Nope. They sent me to the hospital who promptly sent me home. I know I sounded like a crazy person when I called the doctor's office in terrible pain. They scheduled me for an induction the next morning.

That night, I went back to the hospital; they admitted me and gave me some blessed medication that allowed me to relax and sleep. I sent J home to sleep in the bed before all the action started. He would come back at 5:30 the next morning because they were starting the Pitocin at 6AM.

At 2:30, I woke up and called the nurse. When she walked in, I apologized because, in my sleep, I had peed all over the bed.

My water had broken. I was having back labor. It was BAD.

I didn't get the epidural until 5AM. I think I proposed to that man. I know I paid a fortune for it, even with insurance. Worth every penny.

J showed up on time, I told him what had happened and his eyes got really big. His family arrived from Alabama around 7.

At about 9, I remember telling J that I needed to push. He said, "You are not doing any of that until the doctor gets here and they say it is okay." So I sent him to find the nurse.

She said it was, indeed, time to push.

I pushed for 45 minutes and heard the cry: she was out. My Monster was out. J grabbed my head, kissed me and yelled "You did it!"

That is one of my most favorite memories.

7 lbs, 9 oz 19.5 inches long

Perfect in every single way.

My baby was born. After all my struggles, all my sorrows, my baby was born. I have a baby girl.

She's almost two now - so rotten that you can just smell her. She's prissy and sassy and all the things that little girls should be.

She's a Mommy's girl. I love her - I am so thankful for her; so thankful that I am her Mommy, so thankful that I have my daughter and my J.

i woke up mid-dream a couple mornings ago. i was having a conversation with a friend who was upset that she got her period and wasn’t pregnant that month. that part is a little hazy, and i definitely don’t recall anything before then. i was in a really deep sleep.

but somehow as i was being pulled out of my slumber by the alarm, i heard myself say loud and clear, "But you can try again next month."

and she can. who knows if she is even trying for a second child - that’s not really the part that gave me pause. certainly in real life i would have been more sympathetic and offered some encouragement! in my dream, though, i spoke only the patent truth – she could try...every month if she wanted to. and not just her! no, so many others are spending money and time, taking this or putting something on or in or pulling that out to avoid what so many of us long for - just a chance.

my husband and i have been married for almost three years, trying for more than four to conceive. my husband and i have had three chances at pregnancy.

three.

i am not counting IUI, as i knew my very constitution negates the process. if eggs were able to get where they needed to be, we would have been successful by then. they were not chances - i did not wait two weeks in hope and excitement until it was time to pee on a stick. i submitted to my reality because that’s the way this game is played: okay, Mr. RE, here ya go, take your best shot. Clomid? sure, you know what? I'LL TAKE DOUBLE. nice try.

three. chances.

but i have so much hope besides. i read recently about the early months being the hardest. those early months were when we thought it really could work! this is the month! but it never did, and it never was.

i think those early disappointments are akin to a failed assisted cycle every month. you were not only mourning another lost month, wondering how many more you would suffer, but you were so confused with feelings of hope - maybe next month - and fear - it might not work next month, either. your body didn't work and you didn't know why. you felt betrayed by something, but not entirely sure what - possibly everything you had ever thought was certain. this murky, scary place leads to an unknown sorrow, the depths of which almost no one understands. thank god above for those who do.

but you know what? i am ever grateful for the chances T and i have created for ourselves. that’s how it works, you know, on this side of the great divide. we make our chances happen, so they are even more precious in the end.

to gain perspective, i was driving through the portion of my city that i would never want to live in yesterday, looking around. as always, i was feeling lucky for my life and my health. i wound up, as per usual, worrying for those inside the too-small houses on dirty streets. i wondered if any of them were sick, needed medicine or care. wondered about the girl who goes to work her minimum wage/no benefits job every day and tries, with her husband, every month. will she ever get her chance? or will she live forever with the post script "she could never have children, you know" following her name?

maybe if she just had a chance?

so it is my goal to start being more positive about my chances. some still remain, and even if they don’t produce the results i so long for, i will remember those who went without and i will choose to be grateful.

When I started blogging, it was about infertility. My first blog was a place for me to vent and to commiserate with others going through the same hell.

If you have never gone though infertility, there is just no way to understand. Sympathize, yes, but truly understand? No.

It took over every part of my life. I was depressed, frustrated, ANGRY, and heart-sick. I was literally making myself ill, and the only relief I got was through connecting with others who understood what I was going through.

My husband was on hemodialysis for renal failure until about a year ago when he got his (second) kidney transplant. This left him with a sperm count of about zilch, and while we were doing fairly well financially at that time, (I miss those days! Damn economy!!) there was no way we could afford IVF. We tried Clomid and then intrauterine insemination with donor sperm, but nothing worked. We tried to adopt a three-year-old boy with kidney cancer, but when my family found out he was bi-racial, they ruined that route for us as well.

By some miracle, we were connected with an infertility clinic that offered to do an IVF cycle for us at 60% off due to my husband's kidney issues. We barely eeked out four embryos. Three were implanted, and we became pregnant with triplets. One died. We had twins. They were premature. One has special needs. Four months later, we found out we were pregnant on our own (what the f*ck!?) and we had Nolan.

When I got pregnant with the triplets, I briefly changed my blog name to "Crowded Uterus Syndrome." But then we lost our triplet. And I changed it back. And I will never change it again.

Why?

Because what I have is more like Empty Uterus Syndrome.  It is something I will always have. No matter how many kids I do or do not have. Whether I give birth or adopt.

What is Empty Uterus Syndrome?

It is infertility and how it changes the way you look at the world. It changes your faith. It changes how you parent. It changes how you LIVE. It becomes you, and it never, ever goes away.

Empty Uterus Syndrome is lying in bed all night, crying when you should be sleeping, because you're afraid that your parents are going to die someday.

And your husband is going to die someday.

And you have no brothers or sisters or cousins.

And you know that unless you have children you will be utterly and completely alone in the world one day when you are old and sick and scared and need someone more than you ever have in your life.

It is a sickness.

And it will always be in me.

It is who I am. And I'm not ashamed of that.