What a Headache!

After the whole miscarriage roller coaster, I am once again trying to keep the timing of my treatments private. I tried that with our first Follistim/IUI, but because of certain obligations, I had to miss out on events and find substitutes and the word soon got around.

The second Follistim/IUI treatment, I was open about the timing from the beginning. So when I got my BFP, I felt I needed to tell as everyone right away, as they knew the exact day I’d be finding out anyway.

We watched the heartache of close friends and family who had waited so long for that good news, only to see it taken away a week later, and we decided we couldn’t go through that again. Somehow, someway we would have to keep this next treatment private.

So far we’ve been pretty good. My co-workers might know (because of the missed work due to appointments), but to the world at large our secret appears pretty safe.

The benefit to doing this is I can vent all I want and I don’t feel bad because no one is reading this (yet)! In the past, I sometimes tried to censor myself for fear that people would think I was trying to get sympathy. By the time anyone reads this, I will be way past this point. No sympathy needed (or wanted either!).

This cycle reminds me of our last one, but with an even stronger headache. The nurse told me that the headache is a sign I need to drink more water. I am supposed to drink half a gallon a day. On Tuesday (day 1 of the shots; day 3 of my cycle), the headache came within an hour of the first dose. I had already drunk my required half gallon of water before dinnertime and still it was there. By Wednesday morning, it was gone… just in time to take my second dose. Sure enough, an hour later it was back. I’ve just come to accept that it will be my companion during the 6 days or so that I take this medication. It is just interesting that it gets worse with each cycle, although this time makes more sense because they did increase my dose slightly.

Other than that, I am still plugging along, doing my shots and appreciating every moment. Any time I start to complain too much, I think back to where I was 2 years ago…

I was sitting in a psychologist’s office sobbing hysterically because we had too much debt and not enough money for treatments. The stock market had tanked, my career was stalled, and we were basically paycheck to paycheck. There was no light at the end of the tunnel and I was in the midst of a deep depression. No hope, no encouragement, no way out of where I was. I was so hysterical, at one point, she had me hold onto this little machine and concentrate on the patterns of the vibrations it made. Looking back, I think she was just trying to distract me enough to calm down so I could drive myself home.

Whenever I begrudge the shots, the emotions, the disappointments I am feeling now, I picture that person sitting on that couch holding onto that stupid vibrating machine. And it makes me grateful for every bit of it… even the headaches.

Stunned

Yes, that is the right word for it. Something happened last week that left me stunned.

I have a friend who has been going through a tough time for a while. Finally, after a lot of soul searching, praying, and perhaps desperation, she realized that she needed professional help. Having been there, I empathized with what she was going through and was so proud that she had taken the first step towards recovery. It is not easy.

My friend sought out a therapist and met with her. As they talked, her therapist begun to recognize symptoms of depression. She suggested my friend may want to see her doctor about taking an anti-depressant. This is understandable. My therapist told me the same thing. I chose not to go that way right now, but I know it's an option if I need to. If I can't get out of bed because the pain is so great, I have a refuge.

And my friend was already at that point.

She summoned the courage and went to the doctor. Because of insurance issues, this was actually a new doctor to her. When my friend expressed her feelings and suggestions by her therapist, her doctor shot her down cold, and was extremely uncompassionate.

In an effort to vent her frustrations, as well as help anyone else feeling this way and thinking they are alone, she did what I am doing now: bore her soul in a blog posting about the entire situation.

You would think that such an honest and exposed telling of her most dark secret would be met with compassion, right? If someone didn't have something nice to say, they probably would have moved along, right? Even if someone had a differing view, they would have presented it in a caring and compassionate manner, right? You would think.

But, you would be wrong! Although most comments were supportive, my friend was told by an "anonymous" poster that she was (among other things):

Looking for the "cure all" pill

Medication was 'a little excessive'

She needed to 'just face it, life its hard'

She just needed to 'pray everyday and night, read her scriptures and let the Lord help with her burdens'.

And 'try a little faith first before popping the pills'

Apparently, this person was able to make all these judgements and conclusions from one simple story. In reality, it was my friend's prayers and guidance that led her to seek help in the first place.

'God helps those who help themselves'.

Can I ask this: When did we as women decide to turn on each other? What leads us to believe we can judge each other and pull each other down? What benefit does that have to anyone? What happened to compassion, acceptance, and love? After all we have learned about depression and mental illness, why is there still a stigma associated with it?

If a young mother is depressed and is denied help, who are we to judge if and when things go devastatingly wrong? A woman is judged for seeking help, but then judged for the ramifications of not doing so.

When I read this person's comments, I was stunned. Stunned at the ignorance, stunned at the insensitivity, and stunned at the cowardly way these feelings were expressed. Perhaps this person cares for my friend and was trying to help, but you sure couldn't tell that from the awful way she attacked her.

The next time any of us sees a sister in crisis, I hope we will shut our mouths and open our arms. Share your opinion if need be, but cushion it with love and compassion. A hand to hold is worth a thousand pieces of advice.

Un-stuff that anger!

Therapy is going well so far. By that I mean that I feel crappier than ever, but I think that’s a good thing.

My situation is a tricky one. If I was told that I could never have children, I could grieve that loss. It would suck, but at least I’d have answers.

The mystery of my infertility is why I can’t move on. Until I have an answer, I am stuck thinking ‘what if’. The five years of trying without success has taken away my hope, but I feel like I don’t have enough information to justify letting go. It’s quite a conundrum.

Yesterday, ‘N’ (my therapist) suggested to me that I acknowledge the frustration and anger I feel about my situation. I normally just stuff it down and replace it with numbness or sadness. I mentioned that many times I feel like just throwing a tantrum. ‘N’ said, “Well, why don’t you?” I replied, “Because at the end of it, I will still be in the same situation I am in now, only with fewer friends.” Even so, some kind of cathartic release might be beneficial. I am going to give that some thought.

During our conversation, I admitted that much of my anger is directed toward God. I hate even seeing that in writing, but it’s true. I feel so spoiled and ungrateful when I look at all the many blessings in my life and then think about my current attitude. How horrible!

Still, ‘N’ suggested that I explore that. She told a story about her friend who had the opposite problem I have; she was dealing with an unwanted pregnancy. She had a rocky childhood and had no desire to parent. She couldn’t believe this would happen to her and she was angry at God.

‘N’s friend finally ‘had it out with God’. She expressed all those ugly feelings inside. At the end of it all, she was able to accept the pregnancy and her relationship with God became better than ever.

It has been a good two years or more since I have prayed and asked God for a child. Pretty rotten when you think that there are people out there praying for me, and I’m not even doing that for myself. I don’t deserve their prayers. It’s just after years of asking for the same thing, trying to figure out what lessons I am supposed to be learning, trying to have faith with no reward, I just gave up.

So my prayers turned bitter, then angry, and finally stagnant. This is why ‘N’ suggested getting those feelings out. She said God knows me better than I know myself. She said He understands and He can take some anger. Then she said something that struck me, “He probably just misses you”.

And to tell you the truth, I miss Him too. I miss that part of my life. I still have a strong faith in the things I believe; that is unwavering. But I miss the connection, and I am sure the anger I am feeling is the main contributor to that.

It is time to un-stuff that anger. I have a feeling that I won’t come out of it looking very pretty, but hopefully I will feel better. And, (obviously) as I work through this, I won’t write those ugly feelings on here. I have tried to just put everything out there, but this part should probably remain personal.

I can already feel that when this fertility game is all over, I’m going to wish I handled it with more dignity, humility, and grace. Sigh.

Step 1: Admit you have a problem

You would think that a psychology major, who also dabbled in a marriage and family therapy masters program, would easily recognize when it was time to get help and not be embarrassed to ask for it. You would think.

But you would be wrong.

For a while now, in the back of my head, I have wondered if my sadness and depression was a little too much to handle. My bad days were getting worse and more frequent. What would throw me off was I would have good days in between. I still felt sadness on these days, but I felt I could function normally and I was still laughing and smiling. So every time I would have an awful episode and consider pursuing help, the next day would be okay and I'd think, "I can do this on my own". Adding to this dilemma was my stubborn and independent attitude.

Well last week, I had one of the worst nights ever. Let's put it this way, I cried for hours and ended up broiling a batch of lemon bars (instead of baking them). Nearly catching your house on fire is enough to make you wonder if now is the time to get some help.

In my clinical psych class, the question was asked how you know if someone needs treatment. We were told, once the problem is affecting their ability to function they may need some help. I thought about the times I will sit on the couch and just stare for an amount of time that is embarrassing to share. I thought about those nights when my body is exhausted but I refuse to go to bed and sit up until all hours of the night. I thought about the times I avoid doing things with family and friends. I thought about the times I close my office door and just sit there and cry. I thought about that very night when I, a proficient baker, made two batches of lemon bars, both of which had monumental errors, one nearly causing a fire. I thought about the fact that I didn't even remember making them and that one batch broiled for 35 minutes and I didn't even smell it.

Fortunately, that awful night continued into the next day. Because of this, I was able to sum up my courage and call for some help.

One major reason I had been avoiding that phone call was money. Most therapists can cost over $100 an hour. Insurance can cover it but I had always heard of insurance coverage being something like six sessions. I had noticed a phone number on my insurance card for mental health, so I decided to give them a call.

As soon as I heard them say, "Psychological Services", I nearly hung up the phone. What am I doing? My 'problem' is not big enough for all this, right? How many people deal with infertility without therapy, and make it through just fine? Am I making a big deal out of nothing?

It took a second, but I found my voice and told them the reason I was calling. I think that God knew if He put one obstacle in my way to seek treatment that I would give up. Not only does my insurance cover therapy, but they will help pay for 35 sessions a year. This is pretty much unheard of. Even the lady on the phone was surprised. All I would pay is the co-pay, which is somewhere between $15 - $25. After all the money I have wasted on infertility treatments, I figure it's time to spend some on myself.

With the money business out of the way, it was time to find a therapist. The company that runs my insurance's mental health division is unbelievable. I told them a little bit about myself and why I was calling and they matched me up with someone. They were soft and considerate and understanding. I truly am blessed.

So, I have my first appointment in 2 weeks. I am scared and unsure. What will I talk about? How do I start? What if I just sit there and cry for the entire session? Can she really help me feel better?

I always thought the only cure for infertility was adoption or pregnancy. Now I am learning that there is no cure. I have a wound deep inside me. Someday it will heal, but there will always be a scar. If I can find someone to help the healing process, than it's worth a shot.