The Talk

I have been going back and forth whether to write about this or not. I decided that I needed to b/c writing is my outlet. Our first natural cycle was a bust. No surprise and I was surprisingly ok with it. CD1 came, bad cramps and all. Fine, I can handle that. What I can’t handle is hubby deciding we nee to talk about future TTC and treatments on CD1. That I can’t handle. At all.

We talk, I cry, and now I am lost. He wants to take more time off meds. I get it. I get where he is coming from. This has been the year from hell and since I started meds, things have gotten worse. Here’s some back story: I started meds in July. My mom got sick, pneumonia. Bad for her b/c she is a severe asthmatic with COPD. Well, she almost died. Yep, she coded and they brought her back. She made it through but never got better. The next few months she was in the hospital more than out and almost died a total of 4 times. Yes, I said FOUR. I almost lost my mother FOUR times. It was pretty devastating. Going through that on Clomid is a special kind of hell. Now she is recovering in a rehap facility b/c she is to sick to go home, but can’t stay in the hospital. It kills her. It kills me.

Hubby’s mom was DX’d with breast cancer. We thought things were going to be bad, and they were, but she has defied some odds. Now, though, she can’t live alone as I have alluded to in previous posts. Hubby is really struggling with the fact that he is going to have to put her in a home. I dunno how to help with that.

During all of this, my job decides that I need a major pay cut (read several thousand a year). Working for a non-profit is not fun when your livelihood is based on grants. This has put a HUGE financial strain on us. So much so, this led to our chat on CD1. What a craptastic day. What a craptastic talk. He wants to take several months off from meds so maybe we can enjoy life again. What he really means is maybe I can enjoy life. I do enjoy life, I find joy in things, I am not depressed, which is surprising considering the above. However, he wants me to be like I was before all of this happened. Before we got pg the first time. I can’t. I don’t know how to go back to that person. She is gone, replaced by a harder, more cynical me.

I feel like my TTC is a ticking time bomb. Not b/c of my age or anything, but b/c of the endo. The longer we go w/o a BFP the more chance I take on it ruining me. It’s horrible. I can literally hear my TTC timeline ticking down. I already said that my RE suspects my endo may be coming back. If that is the case, I dunno what we will do. IVF is not an option for us. Financially, we will never be able to afford it. I have one tube and one working ovary, if endo is coming back, I do not hold much hope for us. I am torn. I am torn b/w trying naturally for however long until hubby is satisfied that we are back to whatever, or just going on BCP to suppress it. I dunno. My head and heart hurts trying to figure it out.

Hubby wants us to keep trying naturally, he has all the confidence that things will be fine. I don’t have that. I never had it. I never will. I have come to terms with that. I don’t know how to deal with the things he said. How do I not become IF? I have a disease, hell two diseases and tubal factor IF. What am I supposed to do?! Pretend these things do not impact my DAILY LIFE??!! I take meds everyday to keep things semi under control. Every day I am reminded what I am dealing with. My female parts hurt everyday, Every. God. Forsaken. Day. So what is a girl supposed to do?! He had no answers for that, of course not b/c he doesn’t get it. He readily admits that. I love him for that. However, he wants a lot of things I am not sure I can give. I don’t know how to give. I guess when I get a sharp pain in my lady parts, I will just smile and hide it like I always do. He does not know what I go through on a daily basis. The constant pain, the sheer terror of continual failure, the isolation.

Life sucks. IF sucks monkey balls. Becoming a bitter shrew seems like a natural progression. I’m just sayin’. No one could really blame me, could they? Could anyone walk a mile in my shoes then expect me to be a happy go lucky individual? Could they deal with working with pregnant women and infants Every. Single. Day. Could they compartmentalize the constant triggers? Could they deflect the “do you have kids questions” ¬†every day? Could they smile and encourage a pregnant mom to be excited about this baby? Could they? Not w/o hiding themselves. Not w/o having some scars from it. Not w/o burying their heart so it doesn’t break every time and baby is placed in their arms. These are things hubby doesn’t know b/c how do I tell him?