Throwing in the Towel

Do you ever feeling like throwing in the towel, waiving your white flag? That's what I feel like tonight. My back's against the wall. The only way forward seems to be to admit defeat. Admit that, at this stage in our lives, we can't get pregnant, naturally or with the help of modern medicine.

I HATE the thought of living child-free. It makes my stomach roll, makes my skin crawl, makes my heart break. But maybe that's just the way this cookie is going to crumble. I keep waiting for a break. Waiting for a direction. Waiting for something to confirm we are on the right path. And yet, no breaks, no direction, and no confirmation can be found. So maybe it's time to throw in the towel and admit defeat.

Infertility is beating us. Bad. We've spent all the money we had and then some. We have no insurance coverage. We have no income. We have waaaayyyy too much student loan debt to qualify for another loan, and even if we could, my husband wouldn't take it. We have no monetary donors. We have no means to pay for one more thing for infertility and it makes me sick.

I asked my doctor at yesterday's appointment about going back on Femara. It seems low risk-moderate reward for me. My ovaries aren't overstimulated like on clomid so there's little risk of cysts. It gives me a nice squishy lining and an early ovulation date. However, he doesn't recommend it. Why? Because we've been there and done that. His explanation was that we've already done two femara cycles that were textbook perfect with IUI and neither resulted in a pregnancy. Repeating Femara again if there was an improvement in sperm survivability might be worth it, but otherwise, we're just spinning our wheels. Let me get my towel ready.

I'm so tired. I feel like I've been pushing against a concrete wall for a solid 18 months (ever since the miscarriage). I've put my back into, feet sliding in the sand, and yet I haven't moved an inch. I am bruised, beaten, and broken. Infertility has chewed me up and spit me out. So is it time to wave my white flag?

Of course my immediate response is that I can't give up. If I did, I would regret it later. And I would; there's no doubt. But I can also see myself regretting how much I've given up, regretting the sacrifices to our quality of life I've made five years down the road if we're still stuck here. So maybe the best thing today is to say,"until tomorrow." Maybe in a different season of life things will look better. Maybe our bodies will be functioning more normally, maybe we will live in a state with insurance coverage for infertility, or maybe our finances will be more settled.

Maybe in the next season, we can retrieve out towel, put the white flag away and go to war against infertility. But right now, it seems futile. And I don't know if I can, nor do I want to stay in the trenches forever.

It's a Gray-View

About half of you get the pun intended title, and the other half… not so much. It's completely applicable to my follow-up appointment with my new RE yesterday, but it's also how you say my last name. Greavu=gray-view. Or at least, that's how we say it. I'm sure our fellow Romanians across the pond pronounce it slightly different.

Anyway, wit aside. Yesterday's appointment made me want to SCREAM! Don't get me wrong, I still love my doctor. He's the first doctor to come to an appointment super prepared with something to say other than, "do you have any questions?". However, if he said "you're in a gray area" one more time, I swear, I was going to lose it. Let's look at all the gray zone in our lives.

Testosterone- mine's a little high. It was 29 and 31.5 the two times it was tested. It could be a symptom of PCOS, or it could just be a slightly elevated level.

Endometriosis- I might have a mild case of endo, like stage 1 or 2. I have some of the symptoms such as pain and cramping throughout my cycle, not just during my period. But there is no visual evidence.

AMH- If you remember, my AMH has been tested twice, and it varied WILDLY, which it shouldn't. It was 5.7 in May of 2012 and 2.54 in November of 2012. It could be a botched test somewhere. It could be the difference in labs (seems extreme). Or it could be a sign that I'm going into PREMATURE OVARIAN FAILURE basically overnight. 2.54 is still a respectable number, but it's the rate of decrease that is super scary. If it drops again like before, we don't have time to save for IVF.

Tay-sachs- yep, you heard me read it. Sam and I ran a genetic screening through our current RE. It was a super awesome service that screened for the most prevalent things for our ethnicity. I'm "in the gray zone" when it comes to Tay-sachs. I might be a carrier, but they can't tell for sure. Thankfully, Sam is most definitely not.

Sperm Survivability- the sperm definitely have something going on. But what is it and how pertinent is it? Well that's not clear. The diminished survivability might be the reason for the failed IUI's, but it might be something else entirely.

So basically NOTHING is definitive other than this: We're still not pregnant. Oh my FREAKING gosh! I sure am thankful that my insurance has covered all of this blood work because I would want a refund!!! In 9 months of treatment, we've learned next to nothing of value. There is no definitive answer as to why we can't get pregnant. I can't even begin to describe the frustration. I love my doctor, but I have to admit: it feels like we're all blindfolded and throwing darts at a moving target.

It's starting to look a little cloudy with all of that gray in the forecast. However, there was one ray of sunshine in the whole mess. I asked my doctor about finances… what is the "magic" number we need to reach for IVF? $16,000-$18,000. Nope, that's not the ray of sunshine. The bright spot in the whole conversation was this: he doesn't recommend buying into a refund plan. A refund plan offers the patient piece of mind that even if IVF #1 fails, IVF #2 of FET #1 is already paid for. Plus, if the patient completes the program and does not take home a baby, there is a refund of a percentage of the money. It sounds like an awesome deal, until you think about paying DOUBLE the cost if IVF #1 is successful. But the bigger issue for us is the delay. The delay to reach an even greater amount of money. Why does he not recommend a refund program? He believes that with my youth (I love when people tell me I'm young), current AMH level, antral follicle count, and response to medication that I could reasonably expect to get enough embryos in one round of IVF to create our entire family. Pretty sweet, right? Now of course there is the AWFUL possibility that the missing piece in all of this is that my egg quality is sub-par. But once again, I'm in the "gray zone" here. And there is no way to know until after IVF. Some piece of mind, huh?

On a completely relevant side-note: Another item to be thankful for- living in the 21st century. If you aren't up-to-date on Downton Abbey, skip ahead, but for everybody else… Aren't you THANKFUL that you're medical care isn't left up to some pig-headed doctor and your DAD?!?!? Ughhhh! And I'm even more thankful that if I'm going to be infertile, I live at a time and in a country where something can be done about it. Poor Matthew!

Matthew: I wonder now whether the injury might have affected my ughh…. I suppose I mean my fertility. If it may have limited my chances of fathering a child. 

Pig-headed doctor: Is everything working? 

Matthew: Well, yes.

As if the key to a pregnancy is simply one moving part… If only it were so simple.

And on that note, I'm off to drum-up some more bright spots of sunshine because there is entirely to much GRAY in the Greavu household.

A Sense of Urgency

Yesterday, well actually, really early yesterday morning my friend Erika wrote an incredibly thought provoking post. If you haven't read it, head on over and check it out. It really got me thinking about the differences in how I feel and how I'm dealing with our infertility now verses, say, a year ago. A lot has changed for me, but I think the biggest thing is the sense of urgency.

A year ago, we were in the midst of our very first clomid cycle. I had so much hope. I hadn't started reading other infertility blogs. If I had, maybe I would have seen that clomid isn't the "fix all" that it seemed to be. We had just completed the required third period before starting again after the miscarriage. We had just gotten the results back from the first semen analysis and received the "all looks normal" verdict. Everything was looking up for the first time since the miscarriage. And I was so ready.

Don't get me wrong, I'm SUPER ready now. But the last year has shown me that just because you want something doesn't always mean that you'll get that something. Every single time I took a home pregnancy test and saw only one pink line, or every time those first drops of blood showed up, I would lose it. I felt like my heart would rip out of my chest. I felt like I couldn't possibly get through the day. Every single cycle I would calculate just how old I would be for the next due date. Every month that we didn't get pregnant was another month lost, another month bringing me closer to the end, another reason that my family wouldn't look like I had planned. I saw 26 blow by, 27 has now quietly slipped by as well. My due date this cycle would be October 22, 2013… the day after my birthday. I will be 28 years old at the youngest before I am a mother. If you had told me that a year ago, I would have simply told you that was unacceptable. That we needed to do something about it. That we simply can't wait any longer.

Fast forward to now, and well, I've learned a lot. I would be ECSTATIC to get pregnant this month. But I would be equally ecstatic to get pregnant next month. I've come to terms with the fact that I will not carry and give birth to five children. We will never be able to afford IVF enough times to bring my "perfect family" home to me. So I've watched that dream sail on by. Now, I will count myself so very, richly blessed if I ever give birth to one child. I've seen too many people lose to infertility, heard how infertility ruined their lives, seen infertility ruin marriages. We would be some of the lucky ones if we beat infertility at all.  And knowing that I'm not going to be spacing children out every 18-30 months, knowing that I don't have to fit 5 in before I'm 35, well it's taken a sense of the urgency away.

That need to hurry everything up has also gone away as I've realized that having the sense of urgency doesn't actually help anything. It just makes me crazy. The feeling that if we don't get pregnant THIS MONTH all my dreams are ruined just made me feel awful about myself, about my life, about my failures. Removing the sense of urgency doesn't make me want a child any less, it just removes the pressure.

I didn't work to lose the sense of pressure, it has just happened with time. And in no way am I claiming perfection in this life of less pressure. My husband would say I have a long was to go. He asked me if we could take a month off from everything. Now would be the most opportune time to give in as we are barely  doing anything… it's practically nothing. I conceded and said we'd go a month without using OPK's. If we have sex, it will be because we want to, not because of a smiley face. But I told him I can't let go of the BBT charts. It's silly because that is probably the most useless  part of the whole thing. But I can't stand the idea of needing the information and not having it. What if some lightbulb goes off in my doctor's head and he asks for my chart? What if I have to tell him I didn't temp last month, so I have no idea if, or when, I ovulated? I would kick myself over and over for not taking 60 seconds each morning to temp.

See what I mean? The pressure is still there. I still worry about getting it all right so that we have the best odds each month. But the tea kettle's not whistling, the water is at a nice simmer. The pressure is way down and that is all because the sense of urgency has slowly diminished. I'm sure that if we ever make it to IVF, or if we have some other reason to feel that our odds are significantly better, the pressure will be sky high once again. I fully recognize that I can live in the less pressure life, in part, because we aren't cycling. But in the mean time, while we figure our crap out, while we work on our finances, while we choose our next steps, I've got to find a way to just live. And feeling like the world will fall from it's axis if I don't get pregnant this month is just more than I can handle.

You Just Get Me

I don't know about you, but sometimes I feel like nobody understands me. Nobody. And I guess that is probably true. No one is exactly like me. No one else thinks like me, has had my life circumstances, is living my current life. So maybe hoping or thinking that people should just "get me" is bad logic, maybe it's hoping for a miracle. But hey, I'm looking for miracles in lots of places already.

I think I carried the teenage idea that "no one understands me" with me into my adult life. I probably should have grown out of it, but I didn't. And infertility hasn't made that any easier for me. Lately, I have really felt that the fertiles of the world "just don't get it".

Some comments from the non-infertile community:

• Just stay positive
• I like your more hopeful blog posts
• Don't let it consume your life
• You sound depressed

Now, let me first of all say that I fully realize that all of these people meant well. No one was trying to hurt me. In fact, they were all trying to show that they care, that they are for me, that they are worried about me, etc. But here's the thing:

• I can't always be positive. I'm working on it, but I'll consider myself successful when I'm positive 51% of the time. For me, that's winning.
• My blog is my outlet. It's therapeutic for me at this time of my life. I'm dealing with some BIG ideas. I'm thinking, and rationalizing through morality and faith, but also dealing with anger and frustration at God. Sometimes my thoughts aren't hopeful, sometimes they're ugly, but it's helpful to put them out there anyway.
• Too late. 
• I am. No really, I am depressed. And you would be too. Maybe not everyday, maybe you would handle it with more grace like my blogger friend, Caroline, or with more optimism like my fellow blogger, Kara, or maybe you would be more like Erika, who laughs through infertility with wit and humor. Some days, I'm each of those things. Some days, I think I'm walking this road with all the grace I can muster (after all, I wasn't born on a Tuesday). Some days, I'm full of optimism, completely confident that somehow, someway I'll be a momma. And some days, my sarcastic self shines radiantly through. But on a lot of days, infertility is beating me down. 

All I can say to those who are not infertile is this: You don't understand. This is by far the hardest thing I've ever had to deal with. And let's be honest, if you know me in real life, you know that I've dealt with my fair share of crappy hands and bumps in the road. My cousin-in-law who recently passed away after her courageous battle with breast cancer was a fellow infertile. And she once told me this, "Your walk takes me back to THE most difficult time in my life. Not stage IV cancer, but infertility." Now, not for one millisecond am I saying that infertility is harder than cancer. But that was her experience. Another blogger, Aubrey, recently posted this from a RESOLVE brochure:

Several studies have shown that women with infertility have similar levels of distress as women with cancer, HIV+, or heart disease. Infertility can have an impact on every aspect of your life, including your relationship with your partner, your sex life, your relationship with your families and friends, your job, your financial status, and even your relationship with God.

So with that in mind, I started thinking about how I don't have a clue what it is like to be diagnosed with cancer. I have no idea what kinds of thoughts go through one's mind. No idea what that does to one's relationship with a spouse, parents, friends, etc. And I don't think I have the capacity to truly understand. I haven't lived it. So although I would LOVE for all of those not involved in the infertility community to really "get me", to understand what it is that Sam and I are going though, I guess it's just not possible. And maybe it's asking too much of my friends and family to expect them to understand anymore than they already do.

Which is why I am so, so, so thankful for the opportunities to meet with other women and men struggling with infertility in real life. Yesterday, I had that opportunity. I met with a woman who is approaching her first IVF procedure. She is a remarkable woman with her eyes firmly placed on the Lord as she embarks on this journey. She is trusting fully in His sovereignty as she makes these BIG decisions for her family. We aren't at exactly the same place in our lives nor in our treatments, but it was so refreshing to sit and talk with someone who "just gets me". To hear back from another person some of the exact same things that I have wrestled with. To know that it has affected her life, her marriage, her housecleaning, her modesty, her dreams… It was so nice to take a break from trying to explain myself to everyone and just feel understood. What a gift.

So to my family and friends who aren't fully vested in infertility: I'm sorry that I've held you to such high standards. Thank you for not telling me to "shut up already". Thank you for trying to understand. And thank you for giving a darn whether we sink or swim. To my fellow infertiles: Find someone to do life with that really, truly gets you. Find many someones. Join a support group. Do whatever it takes to find a person who you can be 100% you with. Raw. Emotional. Depressed. Drugged. Worried. Hormonal. Scared. Angry. Whatever it is that infertility is dishing out at you, we all need someone to lend an ear and a shoulder. And it helps to be the ear and the shoulder for someone else too.

Elephant Skin

I need thicker skin. I'd have to equate my skin to tissue paper these days, or maybe butterfly wings. And I need thicker skin. I'll be real honest: I HATE job hunting. Like hate it with a passion. I'm so much more likely to stay in a crappy job that I'm unhappy at than to leave in search of better things because I HATE the entire process.

I hate having to boil my life, personality, experience, skills, and qualifications down to one page. I hate looking at and remembering all of the places I've been and all of the time I've spent at jobs that didn't "get me anywhere". I hate "putting myself out there". I hate indifference. I hate rejection. I hate job hunting.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I think my generation was given a giant dose of "you can do it" and that has been a major disservice to us. While it's great to believe in yourself and have self confidence, it's not nice to believe the world is one way only to discover the ugly truth years later. My childhood majorly set me up for failure.

Take high school. I honestly cannot remember one thing that I applied for that I didn't get in high school. No really. I was not the most involved, not by a long shot. I was not the smartest. I didn't have the best grades. I was so far from most popular, I wasn't even in that category. And yet, I won my high school's top senior superlative. Granted it was voted by teachers and administrators and not my fellow peers, but still. I won. Miss North Hall was an award given to a senior boy and a senior girl who "most represent what it means to be a Trojan". That's about as undescriptive an award as I've ever heard, but basically it went to a well-rounded guy and gal that the teachers valued. I threw my name in the hat at the last minute on the recommendation of a teacher. "Hey, it will look good on a college application," she said. It's a totally lame reason because by May, when the award is announced, everyone pretty much already knows where they are going, and applications have been in forever, but I applied anyway on a whim. And I won. So weird.

I also managed to graduate high in my class, without even trying. Don't get me wrong, I worked really hard in high school. It's my nature to do all of my homework just in case the teacher takes it up. I made one B in high school my first semester. If I hadn't, I might have been more competitive in the race to the top. But after the B, I figured I was out. So many people make straight A's, the B kind of sunk me. Plus, by my junior year I was so over high school, I didn't care about more AP courses, I was ready to move on. During my senior year I took more courses at the local college than I did at my high school. My last semester I returned to campus each day to fulfill my duties as yearbook editor. Yep, that was my only high school class. I wasn't paying a bit of attention to who was going to be giving the valedictorian speech come graduation. I knew it wasn't me, so my thoughts were "just hand me my diploma, and get me out of here". Wham! In the midst of all of the squabbling and fussing for the top five coveted spots in the GPA rankings, I was suddenly 3rd.

I say all of this to simply paint a picture: high school was so easy for me. Things were just handed to me. I joined most clubs, took on most projects, and applied for most things based on someone's recommendation. I wasn't out there trying to be the best. I had friends who were in the hunt to be the top. They had to ace the exam, win the award, join the club. They wanted big things like med school. I wasn't sure how I really even felt about college (I mean, I'm going to be a stay at home mom, remember?). Being editor, leader, chairman, etc just fell into my lap all of the time. I never asked for it. I guess I was "one of those girls." Ughhh. People probably hated me.

But literally, the only thing that I ever failed at in high school was volleyball. And believe me, this was no great shock to my self esteem. I knew from an early age that sports were not my thing. I met some great older girls just before starting high school who had me believing that my height was such an advantage that I'd be awesome at volleyball despite my inadequate coordination. Silly them. I still sucked regardless of my height. I played for two years on the junior varsity team while my friends played for varsity. I got sick of that and quit after my sophomore year. See what adversity gets me?

So now, here I am, an adult. Past history tells me that people will be lining up to offer me jobs. Seriously, if adult life went like my first 18 years of life, I would be employed and yet I would get calls from people who "need me" to come work for them. Obviously, the real world of adulthood has been a major wake-up call to me. I won't say that I entered the real world after graduating form college with a chip on my shoulder or a "trust fund kid" mentality about the world, but I did think that despite the terrible job market, things would be fairly easy for me. Life always had been before.

And of course it's not. People aren't out there searching high and low for a job for me. My phone's not ringing off the hook with all the offers competing for my time and attention. No, in the real world, I'm a little fish in a big pond. I'm with LOTS of people who need jobs. And the people who get the jobs are the ones who put themselves out there the most, and let's be honest, make the most noise. I'm not a noise maker. I want people to want me purely based on me. So when they in fact, don't want me, aren't interested, or don't call back, it hurts. I need thicker skin.

Stuck in the Mud

I'm stuck. Can't move forward. Can't move back. Just plain stuck. Call the tow-truck.

I HATE feeling like I'm stuck. One of my biggest pet peeves in the world is a lack of efficiency. I like to have a plan and for every second to be the most efficient use of time possible to see said plan come to fruition. The plan is to get pregnant, and I'm doing NOTHING to achieve the plan. I'm stuck.

It's CD 38, yep, 38. And no, I still haven't ovulated. I don't even care, I just want out of this freaking cycle. I fully realize it's a bust. Even if I somehow did ovulate, my lining must look like raisins right about now. I'm not interested in wondering if somehow, someway this might be the month. I'll literally throw a party when I see red. I mean seriously, when was the last time your chart looked like this?

December 2012 BBT chart

Pretty special, right? 

We haven't made any decisions yet about the husband's possible varicocelectomy either. I have a feeling that by the time we get the necessary information from Sam's ridiculous insurance company, the decision will be made for us… April will be the earliest possible month. Boo. And that's if we can even currently afford it. Blughhhh. I did get some additional info from the Urologist to help us make our decision. Here is what he had to say:

1. What are our odds of getting pregnant naturally with the sperm's reduced survivability (assuming no issues with Amanda)? 50%
2. What would our odds of conception be after the surgery? 65-80%
3. How certain are we that the surgery will correct the problem? 99%
4. What are the risks for the surgery? infection, bleeding
5. Are there any risks in NOT doing the surgery? continued damage, lowering testosterone
6. Is the low testosterone in and of itself reason enough for the surgery? yes
7. Is there any risk of losing a testicle due to surgery? (sorry, Sam required it) less than 0.02%
8. How many of these surgeries have you performed? about 4000
9. What are the chances that the varicocele has already damaged the testicles? 95%
10. Would our chances with IVF be diminished in anyway if we DID NOT have the surgery? maybe
11. Is there a greater chance of miscarriage due to damaged DNA? need an SCSA to confirm
12. Would the surgery improve our chances of IVF success? yes

I bet you can guess what my thoughts on all of this are… why would anyone spend $15,000 on IVF before you have done EVERYTHING to give you the BEST possible chance of success? So, we're waiting to hear what the out of pocket expenses would be. And then, if we decide to do it and we have the money, we have to schedule a time. April is probably the best time anyway. The recovery is supposedly a little worse than I originally thought. Sam isn't at a desk position. He's moving people's limbs for them, and occasionally fully assisting people to stand, walk, etc. I don't think lifting/supporting 300 lb people qualifies for "light work". 

As far as I go, not only am I stuck in this crappy cycle, but I'm not moving forward with anything else either. I have a follow-up appointment with my RE in two weeks. I'm of course looking forward to the appointment with some kind of sick need for answers, and yet, fully confident that we won't get any. Everything has been normal or inconclusive so far, I doubt anything will change now. We'll probably discuss laparoscopy again and the pros and cons of an exploratory surgery that may be fruitless.

I'm job hunting. Nothing has turned up yet. I'm not terribly surprised, but I am a little bummed. I mean seriously, who wouldn't want me? I'm fabulous! As I'm still job hunting, that leads to another way in which I'm stuck. You might notice that I've added a little something to my sidebar… a total for our IVF/adoption fund. I fully intend for it to be a permanent fixture as I figure we will be saving and raising money for one of the two for the next decade. But you'll notice that it's not changing. The money that is in there now was from our savings and a generous donation from my mom. The rest is supposed to be from my job. No job = no saving = no progress. Stuck.

We are literally doing NOTHING to see our dreams come true and I'm sick of it. I know that there are people out there who have been trying to conceive for twice as long as me and even much longer. And I'm sure that at some point, everyone who was at this for long periods of time was "doing nothing" at some point. But I hate doing nothing. I just need for something to change. I need to schedule something. I need to feel like something is being accomplished. I don't want to be stuck anymore. 

The Results are In

You may remember from a month ago or so, when I said we were marching into unknown territory… man land. Well, we had our follow-up consultation with the Urologist and found out some rather interesting news. Sam has two varicoceles, both of which have probably been there since puberty. While this is not an uncommon thing for men, it can potentially cause infertility. All of Sam's tests came back to reveal, that while his numbers are high, the sperm aren't as healthy as they could be. Basically the doctor said that there survivability is diminished due to the varicoceles. This explains why we started off each IUI with such high numbers but only a small fraction survived the wash.

Good to know I guess, the question now is, what do we do about it? There is an outpatient surgery that can correct the problem. After a period of time, the issue with Sam's sperm should resolve. If there was nothing wrong with me, then after said period of time, if the surgery worked, we would have roughly a 23% chance of conceiving naturally each month. Here's the kicker… we have no idea if something is also wrong with me. If there is, then we are probably right back where we were before this interesting news… IVF. I'm thinking that there probably is something wrong with me, particularly as it's CD 31 and I still haven't ovulated. So our options stand like this:

1. Have the surgery. Wait, and pray, and hope that it works, and that the new sperm, with higher survivability, can get the job done.
2. IVF. We can skip the surgery and move straight onto IVF as we had planned. 

We haven't made a decision what to do yet, and obviously, Sam is the ultimate decision maker on this one, but I thought I'd at least put my thoughts, as they currently stand, out there. We haven't done a lot of research on this, and I of course, had about a bazillion questions as soon as we left. I wasn't expecting the tests to have found anything… I went in unprepared. So these are simply my thoughts as of now.

With the surgery, there are a couple of BIG plusses. Mostly in the financial category. We have absolutely no infertility coverage. None. Zero. Zip. I had minimal coverage for testing at first, but they were very quick to slap an "unexplained" diagnosis on me, which ended the coverage. (I personally think unexplained means just what is sounds like, not a diagnosis, therefore coverage should continue, but well, I think a lot of things and it's not going to change anything.) But the doctor thinks the test will "most likely" be covered under insurance. Plus, clearly, if it works, and we managed to get pregnant on our own, then there would be a HUGE savings in not needing IVF. Additional positives with the surgery are that we can possibly conceive naturally. Obviously, everyone intends to conceive between the bed sheets not the paper ones. It had been a while since I honestly thought that was an option for us. And lastly, it is a "one and done" procedure. It doesn't have to performed again with each new attempt at a child.

IVF still has some positives too, though. That there is no wait would be the biggest. The doctor said that it could be six months to a year after the surgery before the sperm are olympic swimmers again (he didn't actually say it like that). IVF also gives MUCH higher rates of conception per cycle.

The simple, ready available answer to me seems to be this: Contact insurance and see if the surgery is covered. Then find out what the surgery costs because we would be responsible for 20%, which could still be a nice chunk of change. If it is currently feasible, perform the surgery. We don't have the money to move on to IVF immediately, so in the mean time, the husband's swimmers can be getting in race day performance. I'm guessing that we could be ready for IVF in about 9 months, so that would give us possibly 3 months of trying with timed intercourse. If it doesn't work, then IVF is still an option.

Here's the problem with my plan. Sam just started his FINAL clinical!!! Today. Now this is CRAZY exciting because it means that he is almost done with PT school, but it also means that getting time off may be difficult or next to impossible. If we had found out in December, he could have had the surgery during his month off, but we found out Friday. The clinical is 12 weeks. If he can't get any time off, The first time the surgery could be performed would be the first week of April. That's three months in which the sperm could have been growing with new, cleaner, brighter, spiffier living conditions. I feel like if we have to wait to perform the surgery, it will delay IVF, and I'm not sure that I'm okay with that. As I've said before, patience is not my virtue.

So there it is. As I've said, we need to do some more research and ask more questions of the doctor. We didn't even get into risks or any of that. But for now, those are my thoughts. Things might be a little clearer after my follow-up consultation with me RE. If there are new findings with me that lead us to believe healthier sperm still won't get it done, then the answer becomes clearer.

What would you do?

God is Good

I'm starting to hate that phrase. Hang with me for a moment before you chastise me. Lately, I've heard a lot of the "God is good" being passed around. But here's the thing, it only follows the announcement of good news. It goes like this:

So and so got a new job. God is good.

So and so got engaged last weekend. God is good.

So and so is pregnant again. God is good.

So and so is pregnant after X number of years, or X number of procedures. GOD IS SO GOOD.

Don't get me wrong, I think it is important to praise God. And as an infertile, believe me, if I'm ever pregnant again, we just might hire a full choir to sing praises all day long. But here is the kicker for me: Wasn't God good before the new job, the engagement, the marriage, the pregnancy, and the baby? Isn't He, by definition, good? If a defining characteristic of God is that He is good, then doesn't that mean He is good all the time?

I think the thing that stings the most is that this statement somehow comes across like this: "God is good to her, but not to me." If God's goodness is a qualifier, if He is only good after the positive pregnancy test, or the second trimester, or the birth, then He is good to certain people and not good to others. Believe me, some days this is exactly how I feel. I feel like others must deserve His goodness more because I'm getting lapped by fertiles, because infertiles are finding success and I'm spinning my wheels. All too often I feel like He has chosen others to be "good" to, yet I've gotten the cold shoulder. But this is how I feel. This is not what my faith tells me.

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever.

Psalm 107:1

The Lord is good to all; he has compassion on all he has made.

Psalm 145:9

Please hear me: When fellow infertility survivors get pregnant, when they achieve the "this is happening" status, when they reach the happy place where fear looses the seesaw war to excitement, when they bring home their miracle, I am so happy for them. I'm not going to sit here and lie and say that I've never been jealous. I think we have all - fertile, infertile - looked at what another woman has and thought "I want that, when will it be my turn?". I felt that looonnnggg before I found out I was infertile. I want a baby, plain and simple. Therefore, I am jealous of anyone who has what I want. But when I see the arduous journey that a fellow infertile has traveled, when I hear the harrowing tales of how she achieved her BFP, I celebrate with her. Somewhere along the line in this infertility mess, we cross over and join "Team Infertile"; it becomes "us" versus "everyone else". So yea, I'm pumped when one of us reaches the other side. It gives us hope to see one of us succeed in spite of crazy odds. In no way do I mean that we should not celebrate or give thanks.

But I think "God is good" might not be the right response to the news. God is good, but not because of the pregnancy. God is good. Period. End of story. When I was growing up, I attended a church at which each Sunday's sermon ended with this: The preacher stated, "God is good," and the parishioners responded "all the time". The preacher would then say, "All the time," and the people would follow with, "God is good". It used to kind of drive me crazy. It became rote. It no longer had any belief or passion in it after five years, at least for me. But now, I'm thinking maybe there was something there.

God is good, all the time. All the time, God is good.

May I always remember that He is good despite bad eggs, bad sperm, broken tubes, wonky hormones, thin uterine linings, failed cycles, and miscarriages. May I continue to praise Him even when His goodness appears to be shining on everyone but me. And may I always remember that there is nothing I can do to deserve His mercies. 

Goodbye 2012

And 2012 is going... going... gone. I'm tempted to say good riddance, but that seems kind of blasphemous, or at least unthankful. And truly I am thankful for this year; I'm just in a pity-party kind of mood. I remember a similar post in 2011 in which I was sad to see 2010 end, it had been a FABULOUS year. I don't feel quite the same way about 2012. Good things happened for sure; I'm just ready for 2013. Ready to put the bad, the sad, the frustrating, the depressing from this year behind me. Having so many fellow bloggers gives some humbling perspective to the idea that "next year is our year" as many of them are in their third, fourth, fifth, etc. year of actively trying to conceive. So I won't say that 2013 will be the year of success, but I have to cling to hope, cling to the idea that 2013 might be the year, and if it is, well, I'm glad it's here.

But like I said, 2012 wasn't all bad. Firstly, I outed myself as infertile. It was a crazy, stressful, overwhelming decision, but I haven't regretted it for one moment. I've found so much support in the blogging world. The camaraderie, the sister-like aspects of blogging about my journey and reading about others' experiences is truly therapeutic. I'm in a much better place than I would have been if I was dealing with this alone. And the support I have received in real life - the friends, the family members, the random strangers - has been unbelievable. It is so comforting to know that people care, really, truly care. This time last year, I was blogging secretly about my experience, about surviving the miscarriage, about starting clomid, and I felt so unbelievably alone. Amazing what can change in a year, when really, nothing has changed at all.

Secondly, we celebrated our second anniversary. Sam and I decided long before we ever said our vows that we would make a point of celebrating our anniversary each year. No matter what. We promised that we wouldn't let kids or jobs or money prevent us from marking each achievement. Well, luckily, jobs haven't been an issue, we've celebrated cheaply, and wouldn't you know, kids still aren't a problem. Our second anniversary wasn't as glamorous as our first, but I'm still happy that, thus far, we've kept our commitment. Let's hope something cheeeaaaap makes itself available for anniversary number three!

Thirdly, in keeping with the marriage aspect, my marriage is in a better place this year than last. Don't get me wrong, we've been great all along, but infertility can really put a strain on things. Sam and I dealt with the miscarriage very differently and it was hard for me to watch him move on so quickly. Initially, we were in very different places on how to move ahead with the infertility diagnosis. It created a lot of tension. I'm happy to say, that we are on the same page now. Maybe not on the same paragraph, but hey, progress is progress. You've got to celebrate the little things. We have a (for now) plan. I won't say that either of us are 100% in love with the plan (who loves a plan that includes IVF?), but we've reached a compromise, and that is a beautiful thing.

Fourth item of fabulousness, we moved! Praise the Lord, Augusta is behind me. Lots of Sam's PT classmates love Augusta (I think there is something in the water), but it wasn't for us. Between the job, the school, the heat, and the cockroaches, we had our fill. We are so happy to be back. We are THRILLED to be close enough to our church, Athens Church, to get involved again. This has been an amazing season for us spiritually both individually and as a couple. We simply can't wait to permanently move to the Athens area.

And lastly, I started treatment. I won't go so far as to say that I'm thankful to need treatment. No, if the good Lord wants to heal me tonight that is fine by me. But, I'm thankful that we've started. If we are going to need to go alllllllll the way to IVF, then I am glad the ball is rolling. I'm glad we didn't wait. I'm glad we didn't "give it more time". I'm pleased that despite the immense amounts of frustration and the fury over our situation, that we've checked boxes off the list. There are less "unknowns" now. We have more answers, not all of the answers, but more than we had at this time last year.

So, in conclusion 2012 was rough, but most importantly we survived. We survived with our marriage and our faith still intact, and let me tell you, some days, that feels like a pretty huge achievement. 2012 certainly left some scars, but nothing that we can't move beyond. Maybe one day, we will be thankful for those scars; stories to tell and all of that. Welcome 2013. Be gentle with me. And puh-lease be "my year".