Baby Dust

For some reason I've just been browsing some infertility message boards on www.ezboard.com, and I think I'm suffering from saccharine overload. Between talk of "baby dancing", "baby dust" and "little angels" I think I might be sick. Please please please tell me I'm not the only infertile person that cannot bear these Disneyesque G-rated euphemisms. All of this complaining that I have been doing must make me seem like I'm the most negative person in the world, but after years of only being exposed to that sort of mindset I can't take it anymore.

And so it begins...

My first post...how nerve-wracking. I have so much to say, but I'm worried that will then mean I have nothing left to say in future posts. I'm new to this blogging thing, so pardon me for any blogworld faux pas that I may make.

I came upon this medium in what I think is a rather strange way. Since this whole baby making thing started a hundred years ago I have joined numerous mailing lists and chat rooms in the hope of gaining a different perspective on infertility, or perhaps finding a better way to deal with it all. I consequently unjoined these lists and abandoned the chat rooms, because I hate all the cheesy, sanctimonious shit that so many of the infertile which grace those rooms spout. Apparently I'm to be thankful for having PCOS because it has made me a stronger person (has it?) so I should quit feeling miserable about the whole situation and just get happy darnit! To that I say a big ol' fuck it! If people want to love life and the bounty which PCOS brings, I say more power to you, but please, please PLEASE do not assume that I do, or ever will feel the same way. I curse this disease/syndrome/malfunction/unfortunate malady everytime I have to pluck a stray hair from my chin, obsess about not eating any sugar on weekdays, worry that my body hair is so plentiful that I could easily join some circus freakshow if ever in need of quick cash, or my personal favourite...getting a cold wand stuck in my cooter at 8.30am 3 days a week for two weeks to determine if my body is doing what it's naturally supposed to do anyway! If these women enjoy that, they're bloody masochists. I figure the average blogger is not that type of person. The demographic I'm thinking of is in tune with what is current, and hence a bit more open-minded and educated...I'm sure it's a massive generalisation but it's what works for me.

So yes...I have issue with people like that. My other bugbear (I needed an opportunity to use that word) are those in the infertility world that assume I want their prayers or that I want to hear them go on about how God is getting them through this ever-so difficult time. Once again, good for you, more power to you sister. However, *newsflash* not everyone is Christian and horror of all horrors--not everyone is religious. I am not an atheist or even agnostic. I believe spirituality is a very personal thing, and as I choose to keep my beliefs to myself, I expect others not to force theirs on me. I got kicked off an infertility list once for insisting that the topic of religion be avoided. There are plenty of religion-based infertility mailing lists, so I saw no need for this to take place on a specifically secular (or so I thought) list. My mom already prays for my ovaries to hurry up and start churning out eggs...I can't have a large portion of the online infertility community doing the same or the ovaries will go into overdrive.

Speaking of my mom, the woman only takes about two minutes into her transatlantic telephone conversation to spontaneously spurt, "So...how are your ovaries?" or "How's the infertility thing going?". I'm usually a smartass about it and say something like, "Well, if you hold on a minute I can hold the phone up to my stomach and you can ask them." or "It's going infertiliterrific.". She's usually not very impressed and says, "No, but seriously..." Ah, I guess it's good that she's expressing concern.

I've rambled this much without actually mentioning what my infertility experience has been thus far. As mentioned in my bio I'm 26 years old and I have been married for 3 years. I was diagnosed with PCOS at 19, after 5 years of sporadic periods and occasional extreme agony which I now know must have been cyst-related. I never told my mom about my lack of periods, because I didn't really want to go to the doctor and I knew she would force me to go. I told myself that I only had 2 or 3 periods a year due to my involvement in athletics year round...this despite the fact that all my friends also involved in sports had their periods as normal. I didn't exhibit any other signs of PCOS until around the time of my diagnosis, and around that time I gained about 30 pounds and it all went horribly wrong. All of a sudden I had to worry about the other symptoms of PCOS--excess hair growth, acne, weight gain, and as it turns out...infertility. It's a gift though, remember?

I shouldn't be surprised that I have infertility issues. When I was a teenager I babysat to make money prior to getting a "real" part time job at the age of 16. Due to many hours spent with screaming, inconsolable babies, devil spawn toddlers and assorted other pains in my ass, I used to say all the time that I never wanted kids. Why would anyone want kids?? Imagine the hilarity which ensued when it turned out that a short 8-10 years later this wish was seen to be a feasible reality. Don't get me wrong, I'm not the soppy sort which cries at the sight of a cute baby. I start to feel the onset of dry heaves when Anne Geddes photographs are mentioned, let alone viewed. I find most kids annoying creatures and don't choose to be around them if I don't have to be. Of course I'm living under the eternal misapprehension that my children will indeed be different. Ha! Perhaps these views are exactly why my ovaries essentially give me the finger each month.

The husband (who shall henceforth be called The Dude in homage to one of our favourite films, The Big Lebowski) is a supportive sort, always telling me that it is not me with the problem, but us. He says it all the time, but I never believe it. I'm the one with the dodgy parts, as we're consistently reminded each time I go to the doctor to get poked, prodded and defiled. The Dude has stood resolutely beside me for about 6 months of Clomid and 1 complete IUI + 1 incomplete IUI. Clomid didn't do much for me in a side effects sense aside from making me feel as if I was constantly subjected to the flames of hellfire during all points of the day. I guess that's because I was only on 25mg (that's half a friggin pill here people), so fancy that...it didn't work! I view that as 6 months of my life utterly wasted and littered with constant false hope. Now we've moved on to IUIs and I'd like to say that has no side effects but I'd be lying. I'm not a raging bitch as I thought I would be. Instead I'm a weeping mess of a woman that cries, well, at everything. During the injection-affected period I cry more than not. I had to stay home from work twice because I just could not stop crying uncontrollably. Unfortunately for me I work full time and am working on my MA part time, so I don't have time for a daily breakdown.

Shit...it's 2.35am and I must get to bed. I hope I've left myself with enough to say...