I swear I just can't handle today. I hurt. I hurt bad. I'm crying every whip-stitch. It's just one of the bad days. I enjoyed a few hours of yesterday and maybe I will enjoy a few more tomorrow. I'm getting through today by dint of putting one foot in front of the other, and when I can't do that, I just breathe minute by minute. It makes for a long day. An exhausting day for sure.
I've been down this road of heartache so often I've worn out a path. Now I have another companion as I walk. Kelly and I are holding together and stumbling together. Though we have distance between us, I feel her here. I feel her hand in mine and her shoulder propping up my wearied head. I feel her in my arms as she grieves too.
It is hard to be physically away from Matt too. I didn't feel this as strong the other times. Even when I'm exhausted and want to be in bed, I curl into him on the couch. When I feel his arm drape across the length of my body I feel as though he is holding me together; keeping the sorrow from ripping my heart to pieces. I miss him when he's not here.
My sister, who has experienced the keen pain of loss, has been wonderful. She's allowed me to indulge my less than polite side. To complain about the things people say, when they feel they need to say something, to allow me to cry without making me feel pitied. She's offers gentle reassurance and realistic comments and advice. She has been amazing.
I want to hide, to climb under the covers and ignore life and the spinning of the earth, but life continues and obligations file in and pile up. Obligations that don't care that my heart is bruised and that I feel like I can't catch my breath. Life can be a cruel bitch when all you want to do is indulge your bitterness and sorrow.
I dread facing people and having to hear the "maybe it was meant to be speech" or the "you can always adopt" talk. I hate this because these are rational and practical comments but, heart break, is not rational, it is not practical, it is a wound, like any other. It requires time and rest. Words do not fix a broken bone, nor a broken heart. The kindest words are the fewest. "We love you and we are sorry this didn't work out. We'll pray for you"
Despite my rant, we really do appreciate the out pouring of support. When we read each touching and humorous comment the tears change from those of pain to those of love. It is great to know how we are not only surrounded but swaddled in people who love and care for us. We don't have adequate words of thanks for you. So I will just say this: We are blessed and humbled to be so loved by such amazing people. Thank you for the support throughout, not for just us but to Kelly and Ben as well.
And to Kelly and Ben: You are two of the most special people God has ever created. We knew that when we agreed to try but each day has been an affirmation of what a gift you are to the world. I will continue to treasure you friendship that has been woven firmly into my life, Kelly. If any thing, that friendship, will continue. I love you and yours.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Definition of Infertility: If getting pregnant has been a challenge for you and your partner, you're not alone. Ten to 15 percent of couples in the United States are infertile. Infertility is defined as not being able to get pregnant despite having frequent, unprotected sex for at least a year.
www.mayoclinic.com/health/infertility/DS00310
This is the story of 2 couples, 1 infertile and 1 fertile, and our journey of hope towards the greatest gift that can be bestowed upon any person: the gift of life. Though we are just beginning the process, our goal is simply to share our experiences and emotions along the way and our hope is that this story might bring comfort, courage, or simply answers to other people who have found themselves at what once was seemingly a dead end.
What makes us different than so many stories is, we are neither family nor strangers. Our friendship lately has been a long distance one. I always found it interesting that friendship are one of the few relationships that can survive distance. Boyfriends, girlfriends, married people, even family can fall victim to physical distance. We have not.
Friendship, like any relationship, is a give and take. Like the dipping and rising of waves you remain connected. Kelly and her entire family are giving us the greatest gift, even if it doesn't work, that gift will never be tarnished or less cherished.
This blog is not for the faint of heart. It will be raw and honest as this is a challenging process. We hope our sense of humor does not offend you; if it does we won't be hurt that you don't come back to visit, but we do hope that you take something away. Please be forgiving of our grammar and spelling as there will be times that our writing will be a release of intense emotion.
We hope you enjoy, find what you need, and come back for more!
*NOTE: This blog was started in January 2010 - the very, very beginning of our process. The first preliminary/counseling appointments are scheduled but have not happened yet. Kelly has yet to get medical clearance. The purpose of starting from this point is to detail the emotions and experiences of every little step. *
www.mayoclinic.com/health/infertility/DS00310
This is the story of 2 couples, 1 infertile and 1 fertile, and our journey of hope towards the greatest gift that can be bestowed upon any person: the gift of life. Though we are just beginning the process, our goal is simply to share our experiences and emotions along the way and our hope is that this story might bring comfort, courage, or simply answers to other people who have found themselves at what once was seemingly a dead end.
What makes us different than so many stories is, we are neither family nor strangers. Our friendship lately has been a long distance one. I always found it interesting that friendship are one of the few relationships that can survive distance. Boyfriends, girlfriends, married people, even family can fall victim to physical distance. We have not.
Friendship, like any relationship, is a give and take. Like the dipping and rising of waves you remain connected. Kelly and her entire family are giving us the greatest gift, even if it doesn't work, that gift will never be tarnished or less cherished.
This blog is not for the faint of heart. It will be raw and honest as this is a challenging process. We hope our sense of humor does not offend you; if it does we won't be hurt that you don't come back to visit, but we do hope that you take something away. Please be forgiving of our grammar and spelling as there will be times that our writing will be a release of intense emotion.
We hope you enjoy, find what you need, and come back for more!
*NOTE: This blog was started in January 2010 - the very, very beginning of our process. The first preliminary/counseling appointments are scheduled but have not happened yet. Kelly has yet to get medical clearance. The purpose of starting from this point is to detail the emotions and experiences of every little step. *
Genetic Material Mama's Story
The Boring Stuff:
My name is Katy, and I am half of the genetic material. (Or the "intended parent" if you want to get brushed up on your legal/medical jargon.) I am a 29 year old Michigander. I've been married for about 7 years to a great man named Matt.
Meeting My Future Baby Mama (is that supposed to be hyphenated?):
I met Kelly when I was hired on as a stylist in a mid-level salon. Soon after we became friends. She understood my sense of humor and wasn't put off my sometimes-lack-of-tact, and she wasn't afraid to tell me when I was saying something, um, unpalatable. I enjoyed the company of her and her husband and later her two amazing children.
As I watched Kelly progress through her first pregnancy it was as if I was watching what I would be like because we were so similar in a lot of ways. She took care of herself and had a supportive husband as well (shout out to the Baby Daddy here). Though if I remember correctly, she complained a lot less than I would have. I was not present for either births but Kelly remarked that they were mostly uneventful.
The Struggle:
By the time of the birth of her second child, a girl, my husband and I were aware of our struggle to conceive. Each month was a fresh slap in the face. I always felt it was ironic that there was blood involved because the wound in my heart felt that deep. Of course, everyone around us announced the expectancy of their own baby and it hurt terribly every time. Then the guilt followed for not being fully happy for them.
In June (I am uncertain of the year exactly, 2005 or 2006?), a few days before I was going to call the specialist, I had a late period which was not unusual for me but I took a test and it was positive. It was in the morning after I showered and in my towel I sank to the floor. I was stunned. The lines were bright and tears poured from my eyes. I heard my husband stir for his own morning routine and quickly pulled myself together. I hid the test. I wanted to tell him in some special way - not while in the back of his mind he was thinking he had to poop. I got ready in record time and left the house with my hair still wet and pee stick in hand. I could hardly stand it. I felt as though I was going to burst! Later I did burst but in a decidedly different way.
Maybe 3 weeks later I took another test. I'm not certain why. I think I wanted to see those lines pulsing at me like a neon sign again. This time there was only one line. The Control Line they call it. I called the doctor immediately and they drew blood and did a urine test, both were negative. They had told me not only was it negative, but I was never pregnant. It was a false positive. "But the stick said positive!" I shouted and thrust it at her. I had brought it with me. It was proof damn it! The stick lied. My mind whirled. How could it lie? It's job is truth. It's chemicals for Christ sake! It's science. It's fact. It is or it isn't. Not a lie. But science is apparently a fickle bitch when relied upon. I left the office in tears and dry heaved while holding onto my car.
My husband and I spent the next few days crying every whip-stitch. We had not done the wait-until-the-first-trimester-is-over-to-tell-everyone thing. Everyone close to us knew our story and struggle. We were too excited to hold back. I felt guilty for that. I felt that that lying stick had made me a liar too. I was utterly embarrassed and felt like a real fool.
Welcome To Infertility. Here is Your Complimentary Bag of New Shit to Deal With (oh, and tissues):
We went through the whole variety of tests, the most interesting being the Post Coital test. There really is nothing like scheduled sex to really heighten the romance. Then, you get to walk into the doctors office right after feeling like you have FORNICATOR written on your forehead. I was surprised at this point that they didn't ask, "So how was it". *TMI Alert* So they get us settled in the room and I, uh, assume the position and they check how many of his soldiers made it across the terrain, which is to say, next to none. In this procedure they were to check my cervical fluid, which apparently is supposed to be the consistency of egg whites. The nurse laughs and says, "well, I can already tell you this is not going to work for you. It's like rubber cement." Usually they analyze it, but that was just redundant after this.
We continued on to IUI's (Inter Uterine Insemination) and then to IVF (In Vitro Fertilization) and then to FET (Frozen Embryo Transfer). The IUI's weren't so bad but the IVF and FET's were fraught with emotion and failure. Between the injections and other medications it was impossible not to have the experience run our life. Every thing was timed. We had to plan our days around our injections or pills. I had to leave work early or receive injections in the car. We had to find out what the policy was on bringing needles into a concert. My husband gave me almost all the injections. I knew it was hard for him to inflict pain on me each time. I could see it in his eyes. The injections left bruises and left me sore at the injection site. It wasn't pure hell but it was extremely difficult.
My name is Katy, and I am half of the genetic material. (Or the "intended parent" if you want to get brushed up on your legal/medical jargon.) I am a 29 year old Michigander. I've been married for about 7 years to a great man named Matt.
Meeting My Future Baby Mama (is that supposed to be hyphenated?):
I met Kelly when I was hired on as a stylist in a mid-level salon. Soon after we became friends. She understood my sense of humor and wasn't put off my sometimes-lack-of-tact, and she wasn't afraid to tell me when I was saying something, um, unpalatable. I enjoyed the company of her and her husband and later her two amazing children.
As I watched Kelly progress through her first pregnancy it was as if I was watching what I would be like because we were so similar in a lot of ways. She took care of herself and had a supportive husband as well (shout out to the Baby Daddy here). Though if I remember correctly, she complained a lot less than I would have. I was not present for either births but Kelly remarked that they were mostly uneventful.
The Struggle:
By the time of the birth of her second child, a girl, my husband and I were aware of our struggle to conceive. Each month was a fresh slap in the face. I always felt it was ironic that there was blood involved because the wound in my heart felt that deep. Of course, everyone around us announced the expectancy of their own baby and it hurt terribly every time. Then the guilt followed for not being fully happy for them.
In June (I am uncertain of the year exactly, 2005 or 2006?), a few days before I was going to call the specialist, I had a late period which was not unusual for me but I took a test and it was positive. It was in the morning after I showered and in my towel I sank to the floor. I was stunned. The lines were bright and tears poured from my eyes. I heard my husband stir for his own morning routine and quickly pulled myself together. I hid the test. I wanted to tell him in some special way - not while in the back of his mind he was thinking he had to poop. I got ready in record time and left the house with my hair still wet and pee stick in hand. I could hardly stand it. I felt as though I was going to burst! Later I did burst but in a decidedly different way.
Maybe 3 weeks later I took another test. I'm not certain why. I think I wanted to see those lines pulsing at me like a neon sign again. This time there was only one line. The Control Line they call it. I called the doctor immediately and they drew blood and did a urine test, both were negative. They had told me not only was it negative, but I was never pregnant. It was a false positive. "But the stick said positive!" I shouted and thrust it at her. I had brought it with me. It was proof damn it! The stick lied. My mind whirled. How could it lie? It's job is truth. It's chemicals for Christ sake! It's science. It's fact. It is or it isn't. Not a lie. But science is apparently a fickle bitch when relied upon. I left the office in tears and dry heaved while holding onto my car.
My husband and I spent the next few days crying every whip-stitch. We had not done the wait-until-the-first-trimester-is-over-to-tell-everyone thing. Everyone close to us knew our story and struggle. We were too excited to hold back. I felt guilty for that. I felt that that lying stick had made me a liar too. I was utterly embarrassed and felt like a real fool.
Welcome To Infertility. Here is Your Complimentary Bag of New Shit to Deal With (oh, and tissues):
We went through the whole variety of tests, the most interesting being the Post Coital test. There really is nothing like scheduled sex to really heighten the romance. Then, you get to walk into the doctors office right after feeling like you have FORNICATOR written on your forehead. I was surprised at this point that they didn't ask, "So how was it". *TMI Alert* So they get us settled in the room and I, uh, assume the position and they check how many of his soldiers made it across the terrain, which is to say, next to none. In this procedure they were to check my cervical fluid, which apparently is supposed to be the consistency of egg whites. The nurse laughs and says, "well, I can already tell you this is not going to work for you. It's like rubber cement." Usually they analyze it, but that was just redundant after this.
We continued on to IUI's (Inter Uterine Insemination) and then to IVF (In Vitro Fertilization) and then to FET (Frozen Embryo Transfer). The IUI's weren't so bad but the IVF and FET's were fraught with emotion and failure. Between the injections and other medications it was impossible not to have the experience run our life. Every thing was timed. We had to plan our days around our injections or pills. I had to leave work early or receive injections in the car. We had to find out what the policy was on bringing needles into a concert. My husband gave me almost all the injections. I knew it was hard for him to inflict pain on me each time. I could see it in his eyes. The injections left bruises and left me sore at the injection site. It wasn't pure hell but it was extremely difficult.
That's me! The oven!
My name is Kelly and I am the gestational carrier-to-be. I really hate that name. Surrogate is even a little weird to me. I don't know what the right name/term is - but I'm sure I'll find it before this is all over. Or maybe not. Who am I? Why am I doing this?
I am 32 years old, married to the love of my life (who also happens to be the best man and husband that has ever been), and a mom of two beautiful amazing children. My son is 5 and my daughter is 4, and yes, I am the genetic parent and gestational carrier for each of them. That is exactly why I am here.
My husband and I are living our fairy tale and while we may do things the hard way, everything has worked out exactly as we have wanted and hoped for. Even the unplanned, unseen things have been welcomed, life changing and defining moments for our family. We have much to be grateful for, try not to take anything for granted, and we live for today.
When we decided we were ready to start a family we were both lucky and blessed. We were pregnant on the first try with each child and we had no complications throughout either pregnancy. Prior to starting to try I had an appointment with my OB/GYN to have my IUD removed, discuss getting pregnant and start prenatals. During my pelvic, prior to removing the IUD, my doc remarked "You've got great hips! Oh, ya, you were made for having babies."
I have never forgotten that. If I have been given this body that handles pregnancy so well, why wouldn't I be a part of this opportunity to help our friends? By no means was this decision taken lightly by me or my husband. If he were not 100% supportive we would not be here. Obviously having kids the ages we do makes the decision more complicated and delicate. After much consideration and debate we decided that we could not withhold what we could potentially offer. This is not a sacrifice to me. This just is. Beyond the complicated facade it is very simple: We have these amazing, beautiful, ridiculously funny and loving friends who we know would do anything for us. So their oven's broken. No problem! They can borrow ours!
I am 32 years old, married to the love of my life (who also happens to be the best man and husband that has ever been), and a mom of two beautiful amazing children. My son is 5 and my daughter is 4, and yes, I am the genetic parent and gestational carrier for each of them. That is exactly why I am here.
My husband and I are living our fairy tale and while we may do things the hard way, everything has worked out exactly as we have wanted and hoped for. Even the unplanned, unseen things have been welcomed, life changing and defining moments for our family. We have much to be grateful for, try not to take anything for granted, and we live for today.
When we decided we were ready to start a family we were both lucky and blessed. We were pregnant on the first try with each child and we had no complications throughout either pregnancy. Prior to starting to try I had an appointment with my OB/GYN to have my IUD removed, discuss getting pregnant and start prenatals. During my pelvic, prior to removing the IUD, my doc remarked "You've got great hips! Oh, ya, you were made for having babies."
I have never forgotten that. If I have been given this body that handles pregnancy so well, why wouldn't I be a part of this opportunity to help our friends? By no means was this decision taken lightly by me or my husband. If he were not 100% supportive we would not be here. Obviously having kids the ages we do makes the decision more complicated and delicate. After much consideration and debate we decided that we could not withhold what we could potentially offer. This is not a sacrifice to me. This just is. Beyond the complicated facade it is very simple: We have these amazing, beautiful, ridiculously funny and loving friends who we know would do anything for us. So their oven's broken. No problem! They can borrow ours!
1 comments:
You are covered in Love, your bitter disapointment is shared by those who love you very much. Aunt Kay
Post a Comment
WOW! Thank you for visiting our blog and taking the time to share your thoughts with us. We appreciate and respect all comments. However, due to the sensitive nature of this blog topic, we maintain our right to preview and approve all comments before they are posted for public reading. Any comments containing rude, crude, hate speech, or anything otherwise considered to be insensitive will not be posted. We appreciate your understanding and thank you for contribution.