National Infertility Awareness Week 2013

                               28th October - 3rd November
In an effort to support this wonderful campaign, I would like to share this poem written by Lysanne Sizoo from her beautiful book, 'Small Sparks of Life'.

This is for all the women out there who are suffering the bereavement of infertility and miscarriage, who might just need to hear the words, "I understand".

                      The Truth

What would you do if I told you the truth,

If I told you straight, I'm not feeling great.

Hi, how are you? I'm fine, and you?

How would you cope, would you know what to say

If I broke with the custom, would you go away?

Hi, how are you? I'm fine, and you?

My pain is not casual, not an "Oh not so good,"

I'm mourning the loss of my motherhood.

Hi, how are you? I'm fine, and you?

Would it shock you to see me dropping my mask

Behind which I hide my pain and my pride?

Hi, how are you? I'm fine, and you?

If only just someone would reach for my hand,

Just squeeze it and say, "I understand...

I see through your mask, the pain and the pride.

I understand why you needed to hide.

I see that behind that great happy smile

Is confusion and fear, but I am still here."

Just a squeeze in my hand, perhaps not even a word,

Just for someone to see how much I hurt."

For more details about this campaign, please click HERE.

Between the Sheets

I am approaching ovulation - a time of fluctuating degrees of anticipation and stress. I rarely talk to anyone but my husband about my anxieties that revolve around 'the bedroom'. Sex is private after all. Yet, when you are infertile and certainly in the midst of treatment, it is anything but private. Helen Adrienne wrote in her book "On Fertile Ground" that infertility treatment "feels dehumanizing.....your sex life and your menstrual cycle used to be nobody's business but yours. Why do your private parts need to be under the glare of fluorescent lights?" She writes about how "the formality of science [starts] to do something detrimental to the spontaneity and the meaning of sex."
Before egg collection during our second IVF cycle, I felt very emotional and actually burst into tears in front of the doctor just minutes before she was to carry out the procedure, not because I was scared of the anaesthetic or of the operation itself, but because it was just all so unnatural. I felt penned into this world of test tubes and laboratories and more and more ostracised from a world where sex was about casually jumping into bed the moment it took your fancy. I explained the reason for my upset to the doctor and her response was abhorrent. She vehemently denied that infertility treatment was unnatural and in a very brusque manner left me feeling ashamed of myself for not appreciating the marvels of modern medicine. I felt choked with sadness that someone, least of all a woman in her professional position could be so callous and unable to even assume the pretence of someone who cared.
I remember how carefree sex used to be with my husband before I became infertile, even in the days when we were using contraception because back then, we had that freedom to choose and there was no psychological barrier between our desire for each other and our desire to have each other's babies - because they're one and the same, aren't they? If ever I mentioned to friends how sex had taken a bit of a nose dive since becoming sterile, the response was always, "Oh your poor husband" or "Sex is about so much more than procreation. It's about showing your love for each other. It's about just having fun together." These statements tore me apart because I wanted so much to be able to show him my love in a physical way. But how could I when I had been stripped of all the components that had once made me feel like a real woman?
To this day, I still feel robbed of my womanhood. And I still struggle with sexual intimacy. We are working on it, slowly and gently. But it's not easy, especially in a world where sex is flaunted on the TV, in magazines and in real life almost as a means of conveying the merit of a relationship. Is it any wonder that as a society, we feel compelled to exaggerate about how often we 'do it'!
Susan Cooper writes in her article "Sex, Relationships and Infertility": "Couples parenting after infertility can certainly derive great pleasure from their sexual relationship, but it may always be a reminder of their infertility". Maybe it's true. Maybe I'll never be able to fully let go and accept our loss. Maybe I'll never have the self-confidence of my fertile years. But I think I should feel proud of myself for my progress so far in overcoming these personal struggles and equally proud of us both for continuing to survive one of the most difficult challenges a couple can face together.
During our previous IVF cycles I used to often hear people say, "Be kind to yourself. Be gentle and forgiving to yourself." It took a long time to learn how to interpret the vagueness of these words and put them into practice within my life. Right now, I think the kindest and most loving thing I can offer myself is reassurance in the belief that time will heal us both.

Triggers

The word 'trigger' is something that I first heard of in the context of psychotherapy when I was reading a very helpful little book called 'Nurturing Yourself Through IVF' by Lynn Daley. I learned that a trigger is something, perhaps a comment, an incident/event or something you see on the TV that provokes an immediate reaction inside you that causes you to plunge into a downward spiral of negative thought which ultimately leads to a feeling of anxiety or depression.
During the IVF, I used to be acutely sensitised to these triggers on a constant basis. There were the obvious birth and pregnancy announcement triggers or seeing-ten-pregnant-ladies-in-the-space-of-five-minutes triggers. But I think it got to the point where almost every social interaction became a trigger. I was incredibly nervous about meeting people - friends and strangers, in case of certain comments or seemingly innocent remarks sparking off a panic attack. I felt alienated from the world, misunderstood and increasingly superstitious that someone 'up there' had it in for me, that I was being punished and I didn't know why. I chose to spend a lot of time on my own because that way, I felt safe and unthreatened and I was able to indulge in positive 'ME' therapy.
Triggers are still a regular part of my life. Sometimes they are very mild and I can deal with them with just a few inward positive words. Sometimes they are quite severe and I have to avail of all my 'tools' in order to get through them - self-therapy, tears (either on my own or on my husband's shoulder) and (time-permitting) my relaxation CD or some diary-writing. Often their level of intensity falls somewhere in between these two extremes. The difficulty is of course, that I am now a busy mother, so there isn't the same opportunity to indulge in looking after myself as before. But I have learned to become very disciplined about prioritising my mental health over housework and phone calls/emails etc. I believe a sane and happy mother/wife is more important than a spotless home and an up-to-date social diary.
Up to now I have given a general overview of  my personal experience of infertility and what it means to me living with this condition as a wife, mother and as a woman. I could talk about this topic "'til the cows come home" without repeating myself once and still have a lot more to say, for it is a vast and hugely complicated subject. From this point in my blog, I want to write with direct reference to the present day, using the occurrence of triggers to further discuss the emotional and psychological issues that I am quite sure, effect not only myself but a very large portion of the global population of infertile women.
Thank you again for listening and please do not hesitate to introduce my blog to anyone you think might be interested to read it and contribute in any way.

Looking Ahead

Since having stopped breast feeding at 11 and a half months, I've been feeling the procreative urges with increased strength every month. In my head though I feel conflicted. Part of me wants to at least begin to think about building our family and yet the other part doesn't feel ready to have another child because we are finally settling into some sort of 'new normality' and I am loathed to jeopardise that by putting us through all the fear and heartache of IVF again? Yet, what choice do we have? Most people want to provide at least one sibling for their first child. You often hear parents talk about how their family now "feels complete" having welcomed their second or even third child to the home. Why should we be any different?
I know several people who have decided to have their children close together. I comment to other friends on their madness to be throwing themselves into the stress of newborn and toddler mayhem. But really these comments are just a way to disguise my true feeling of jealousy - not of their life, nor even of their excitement about welcoming their newborn baby to the family in so many months time. No....my jealousy is quite simply of their freedom of choice, their apparent right to think of a plan, click their fingers and enjoy it magically transpire before their eyes.
I hate feeling jealous, least of all towards my friends. It is an ugly feeling. But I think it's also a natural response to infertility that unfortunately we feel we ought to suppress for fear of what people may think. It naturally leads to anger which, if not released, can cause all sorts of detrimental damage to relationships along the way. Expression of anger is often deemed as something negative for some reason, something we should try to avoid. But God, I think it's unbelievably cathartic. Sometimes all you need is ten minutes to 'blow off steam' about something to then be able to reach that point of feeling calm, rational and more willing to see the world from other people's points of view.
Right now we have no specific plan as to how to move forward in our efforts to make baby number 2. Our five year old nephew recently asked me why we only had one child. And it hurt, probably because it was the first time I'd heard the question directly aimed at us. It was a shocking jolt into our near future when I expect our little girl will start posing the exact same question. Only it will hurt so much more because we won't be able to escape her everyday longing for a little playmate, her very own brother or sister to grow up with.
I know I'm sounding pessimistic but I think I'm just psychologically trying to prepare myself for it not happening again for us. And I guess I'm also making the point that thinking of negative outcomes is the very grim reality of being infertile. It's all very well jollying us along with sure-minded 'prophecies' and hollow promises about our future. But how do you know? No-one does. And we're the ones that have to deal with that day in day out.
If we had time on our hands, I would probably want to wait until our little girl is at school before having another. At the moment because I'm at home with her, my whole life is consumed with her - and I love it. I find it hard to see past that. But I know that the time will come when I will have to let go a little bit. My heart will ache to see her go off to school and I fear for those days. So yes, it's time to at least start thinking.....
And part of that thinking process is to prepare ourselves for disappointment. Not only that, but to prepare ourselves for being bombarded with those well-meaning cliches: "Well, at least you're blessed with one....others aren't so lucky." This statement cuts to my core and wounds me so deeply I don't even know where to begin. I know I'm truly blessed. I know others have not even managed to create one child. Remember, I was there, looking the fear of potential childlessness directly in the face. My desire to make more babies is driven by a deep-rooted, primal instinct and also a longing to provide even more for that one, cherished child of ours. My fear is not of being unable to cope with the prospect of never holding another newborn baby and smelling its sweet downy head as it nuzzles against my breast. I can live without that because I have everything here that I want in my life. But my fear, my very deep fear is of being unable to live with that sense of failure, as a woman, as a mother and as a wife.
Most couples these days (certainly in the western world) choose to have two children and then they choose to use contraception or they choose to "be careful" or they choose to "see what happens". They choose! I never used to imagine wanting more than two children before I was hit with infertility. But I find myself already preparing for the wall of misunderstanding that awaits us if ever we are blessed with a second miracle, for the woman who wants that third or even forth baby is not greedy, nor ungrateful. She is simply the woman who wants the freedom to choose.

Motherhood (Part 3)

Most mothers, whether they are fertile or not will be able to relate to some if not all of the difficulties I have mentioned in the previous two posts. As mothers, we all love our children unconditionally regardless of how they came to be here. I will never know what kind of a mother I would have become if infertility had not been a part of my life. But I feel certain that the 4 years of trauma and concentrated stress that precluded our arrival into parenthood (without a break for recovery in between!) had a hugely negative impact on our ability to let go and relax into our new and daunting roles.
In the early weeks and months, I was seized by a fiercely protective type of love...the type of love you can't really enjoy because it is so over-shadowed by fear. And to make matters worse, I relentlessly chastised myself for not being in a permanent state of blissed-out euphoria. Becoming a mother is hard, but I made it much much harder for myself by denying myself the right to think or utter any negative thoughts without feeling heavily laden with guilt.
Things have undoubtedly got easier. I still have my really bad days or my just-feeling-a-bit fed-up days...of course! Any mother does. But as the months have passed, I've gradually learned how to trust myself again. As a couple we have learned how to adapt to being in a 3-person relationship with our baby girl. And as a mother, I have learned how to slowly let go of fear to make room for love. Our tiny bundle, once so frighteningly helpless, is now becoming a beautiful little girl - a sheer miracle of life who has taught us how to laugh and smile again. During the IVF, I never allowed myself to imagine this far ahead. And yet, here we are, finally able to believe that this dream is ours to keep.

Motherhood (Part 2)

Another very challenging aspect of the early months of motherhood was all the unwanted advice! I felt so bombarded by well-meaning friends and family who were clearly compelled to share all their 'pearls of wisdom'. Being as we were, severely exhausted and consumed with self doubt as to whether we were doing things the 'right' way, it took all my energy and confidence to listen......and ignore! Because whether or not you do decide to take on board all or some or none of those 'pearls of wisdom', it is your path to discover. I remember reading from the book, 'What Mothers Do' by Naomi Stadlen that "most of the time, what mothers seem to want from each other is compassion - without any advice." She says that "silence often works better than words." "Rarely is it necessary to tell a mother what to do. It may demoralise her further, and certainly does not help her to learn. A mother needs to feel safe enough to risk feeling uncertain....A mother needs time to grow into motherhood, together with her partner. She needs to learn that some of her ideas work. The most uncertain and under-confidant beginner can gradually turn herself into a unique mother."
I would love to have had the nerve to quote these lines to some of the health visitors we met along the way, who were often so entrenched in their black and white theories of how to raise your child that they were oblivious to the fact that their so-called professional advice caused myself (and several other mothers I know) all manner of unnecessary stress.
I felt undermined and patronised during our 10 month developmental check-up after being told by our health visitor that I was giving our baby too much milk and that I should refrain from offering her milk in the night as it was a bit like "offering her a tasty slice of cake", thus perpetuating a behaviour of refusal to sleep until we had fulfilled her needs. Oh, how dare I fulfill her needs? How unnatural that our baby, not one year old should still crave a drink of milk in the night in the warm and comforting bosom of her mother or father?!
As much as we wanted a full unbroken night of even 5 or 6 hours sleep, we couldn't bring ourselves to let her cry without picking her up, not even for 10 seconds. I know several wonderful and extremely loving mothers who did manage to successfully do the gentle training method. Whether it was for their own sanity or perhaps for the preservation of their marriage, I'm not sure. I wouldn't dream of casting any judgement because we all have to find a way as a family that works best for ourselves. What I did find very discouraging though was the odd tactless comment to suggest that my decision to not sleep train might have been dictated by the fact that I was a full time stay-at-home mum. Our daughter is now almost 2 years old and I am still at home with her. Whilst I am aware that I do not have the same level of time pressure as a working mother, I do feel very strongly that stay-at-home mothers have an enormously challenging job that is both physically and mentally demanding.
Being a mother, regardless of whether you are at home full time or not is undoubtedly a role that deserves more respect within our chaotic modern world that to a large degree has lost touch with the importance of family life. Here is a wonderful quotation from the same book by Naomi Stadlen. I would highly recommend this to any new mother. Since our little one was 5 months old, it became my 'bedside bible' and to this day I still dip into it from time to time when I need a boost of morale:
"Taking trouble over a baby is definitely tiring and sleep depriving. But mothers could cope better if we all acknowledged how difficult and complex it can be. If a mother says she is short of sleep, this could be a sign not of her failure, but of how well she may be mothering. I believe that the real, dreadful quality of maternal tiredness is the mother's sense of struggling against prevailing disrespect. The baby may tire her, but we, if we aren't careful, can exhaust her."

Motherhood (Part 1)

I wish I could say motherhood has been a breeze and that all my anxieties blew over the second I lay eyes on our baby girl. But any mum or dad will tell you that becoming a parent is a huge shock. From the moment you leave the hospital you are thrown into an unfamiliar world of chaos. No amount of foresight can prepare you for the practical and psychological upheaval when this tiny bundle enters your life, so utterly helpless and reliant on your care and attention for its very survival.
I found breast feeding incredibly difficult as I was always so convinced that I could not supply enough milk. Our baby girl would scream relentlessly, then simply nibble and sleep on my breast. This pattern continued day and night, allowing me little or no time to rest myself. We eventually decided on a programme of feeding whereby she received (on a 3 hourly cycle) a combination of breast, formula milk and then a top-up of expressed breast milk (which I pumped while my husband fed the bottle). It was a challenging and exhausting regime (especially when my husband went back to work), but finally around week 7, our baby returned to her birth weight and at least a suggestion of sanity returned to our household.
I remember at one of the weighing clinics bumping into a lady I had met just twice before during my pregnancy and relaying to her the feeding difficulties that we had finally managed to overcome. In my fragile and emotionally vulnerable state, I was certainly not prepared for her comment which was that our baby was "obviously so much happier now to be on the formula" and that before, I was "just feeding her skimmed milk from my breast." I kept my composure (just!). But upon reaching the privacy of our car, crumpled into inconsolable tears, fired by rage that another woman.....another mother could be so cruelly insensitive, because the truth was, her words confirmed what I already thought of myself - that I was failing at the one thing every mother should be able to do for her own baby. This sense of disappointment in myself never left me and was especially hard as I knew so many mothers who managed to exclusively breast feed so well. But as the months wore on, I began to really love breast feeding our baby girl and although my milk only provided a portion of her daily intake, I was proud of myself to have persevered right the way through her first year.
When she was born, she was so small and delicate and by 3 weeks had gone down to a mere 5lb 9 ounces. In those early weeks I was petrified of accidentally causing her harm, perhaps by pressing my fingers too hard against her neck when pushing her on my breast for the latch, by manipulating her body the wrong way whilst attempting to get her dressed or by jiggling her to sleep too actively so that I may have jostled her head (even though I know I always held her very securely in my arms). I remember being so insanely sleep deprived when I was standing rocking her to sleep that if I dared to imagine dropping her through sheer exhaustion, I then became wracked with anxiety that it actually happened. These nightmarish fantasies reared their ugly head on a regular basis, causing even greater anxiety when I was actually feeling angry or frustrated inside. Even just feeling that negative emotion whilst holding her was enough to make me feel tormented by the idea that I had already caused her harm- albeit inside my head! Luckily the insanity of those early months wore off as I started to get more sleep....or perhaps get used to not getting sleep! I also think it was largely to do with just overcoming the fear of touching her, holding her and consequently allowing myself to slowly fall in love with her.

The Nine Month Wait

We took the test at 03.45 on the 17th March 2011 - St. Patrick's Day! Within seconds the blue line appeared to signify that I was indeed pregnant. What a moment that was! I just burst into tears and clutched my husband, relieved and truly elated to have finally escaped the nightmare that had consumed us for so long.
But no sooner had we found out the wonderful news than I was already putting pressure on myself to just forget the past and move on. How could I? We had been through a life-changing trauma that had uprooted our whole world and thrown us into disarray. And so, pregnancy was never going to be easy. Right from day one, I lived in constant terror that our dream would be mercilessly snatched away from us at any moment. I practically cradled my belly like it was made from the finest porcelain. I panicked if I accidentally nudged into a shopping trolley or if our springer spaniel  jumped and pushed his paw even gently into my womb area. I only wore elasticated waistbands or chest high maternity trousers (even in the very early days) for fear that anything tight or low-cut would cause harm to our fetus.
We did actually have a nasty scare on week 11. I had a small bleed one evening - not a huge amount, but it was red and it was enough to throw me into an uncontrollable panic. Upon ringing the out of hours emergency number, my husband was told that we would just have to attend the Early Pregnancy Clinic the following morning as it was "such early days in the pregnancy". For 15 long hours, we feared the worst before we were able to be reassured with an ultrasound scan image of our tiny 11.5 week old baby bouncing around doing acrobatics inside me.
I continued to suffer from tremendous anxiety though, especially in the first 6 months. I remember when I was at 17 weeks, I flew into a raging anxiety attack because my husband had leant on my belly a little while I was lying down. He applied minimal pressure, but it took me several hours to convince myself that he hadn't unwittingly harmed our baby. I also used to spend stupid amounts of time obsessively googling for reassurance if I had happened to accidentally eat even a tiny smidgeon of one of the forbidden 'danger foods', not relaxing until I felt a little bubbly pop of movement inside me.
By the time I reached the third trimester, my levels of stress dissipated greatly because I could feel our baby kicking and moving about on a regular basis. Plus, it was comforting to reach that milestone whereby she could potentially survive if I were to go into premature labour. But despite these reassurances, I was never going to let go of the fear of losing her until she was safely in our arms.
One and a half days before our daughter's arrival, my waters broke in the most undramatic fashion. So undramatic in fact that it took twelve hours of assessments and monitoring with various different doctors and nurses to establish whether it was kick-off time or not! Sure enough, by lunch time the following day, our baby girl decided to begin her descent into the big wide world. I won't lie - within a few hours of back to back labour and with the help of a wonderfully supportive midwife, we opted for the epidural. For some reason I do feel the need to confess my lack of heroics....but then, I think I'd shown enough courage  by that point. Plus, I was just so emotionally (and physically) exhausted that the easier option seemed right for us. I also believe that, coming from the world of IVF, I had lost so much faith in my body and had become so reliant on drugs and close monitoring that I didn't have the confidence to do it any differently at this most crucial stage of our journey.
And so, after twelve hours of blissfully relaxed labour, during which time I slept, chatted, munched on cereal bars and listened to soothing tunes, our darling daughter was ready for the big 'push'. And push I did, like a "true Olympian"......apparently. My husband, the doctor and the midwife were like excited spectators at a 100 metre race, shouting and cheering words of encouragement while I pushed myself beetroot purple. Those minutes before our daughter's birth, whilst unheroically painless, were truly exhilerating and pumped with the adrenalin of impending joy. Before we knew it, she was pulled out from between my legs and placed on my naked breast - our perfectly exquisite baby who, against all odds, had come to be with us at last.

The Silver Lining of Infertility

I remember ages ago, not long after our first IVF failure, being asked directly by an acquaintance why it was that I felt so fearful and panicked as a result of my infertility. I was gobsmacked that I had to spell it out for her with a surface-level explanation. I think though she's not alone amongst the fertile world or indeed those who haven't yet experienced trauma in their lives. How can you know unless you've really been there? I think though it was the tone of the way in which she asked that galled me at the time.It was a tone of indifference, almost like she was saying in her head, "God, it's not that bad! Get over it!"
I think I used to feel guilty or narcissistic for wallowing in my emotion. After all, all you have to do is turn on the TV and you are immediately bombarded with stories about genocide, civil wars, famine and all sorts of global atrocities. It makes you think, "Here I am moaning about being infertile?! How can I be so selfish in the grand scheme of things and ungrateful for the fact that we are......well, alive!?"
However, contrary to these self-punishing sentiments, you will read at the beginning of most infertility websites something similar to the paragraph below. This particular excerpt is from a fact sheet written by Alice D. Domar for Resolve, the leading infertility association in the USA:
"Research has shown that women with infertility have the same levels of anxiety and depression as do women with cancer, heart disease and HIV+ status. While this may surprise some, it actually makes sense. Procreation is the strongest instinct in the animal kingdom. You are facing genetic and social pressure to have a baby. You are likely surrounded by friends, family, neighbours, co-workers and a society who can conceive easily. Infertility can be very lonely."
Whilst I cannot speak first-hand about the stress of cancer or any other life threatening diseases, I can wholeheartedly vouch for the fact that being infertile is quite simply, terrifying. Infertility is your personal crisis and I have come to realise that by minimising the experience you are unwittingly causing yourself detrimental psychological damage.
From the moment I regained consciousness after the operation to remove my second and last remaining fallopian tube, I was plunged deep into an abyss of severe anxiety. However, I initially ignored my grief and instead was doggedly determined to push forward, to find a solution. During this time, I careered dangerously close to insanity, developing compulsive hypochondria following the discovery of a small lump in my breast. Even after I was given the all-clear at the Breast Care Clinic, I was still wrought with worry, totally unable to see a future beyond death and doom.
But it was only after the failure of our first IVF cycle 8 months later that I allowed myself to fully pour out the heartbreak and fear that had been building inside me for so long. Back in October 2008, I became sterile. But with a glowing prognosis, we walked confidently into the world of IVF, assured in the knowledge that this was our answer. All of a sudden, our faith was crushed and we were totally lost at sea.
It's a long story as to how we finally arrived at our positive pregnancy test result. It took almost three and a half years from the point that I became sterile, during which time we rode the emotional rollercoaster of rising hope and shattered dreams over and over again.
But it's true what they say about a crisis in one's life. I read this in another fact sheet for Resolve, this time written by Susan Cooper on the subject of  'Sex, Relationships and Infertility'. She says:
"The Chinese have two definitions for the word 'crisis': danger and opportunity. Although infertility is not dangerous in the sense of being life threatening, the emotional pain that accompanies it can be threatening to one's marital and sexual relationship. Yet the opportunity for increased intimacy and growth is profound. If we avail ourselves of this opportunity, we will have discovered the silver lining behind the dark cloud of infertility."
I could not agree more. During our IVF era I tortured myself with guilt for the fact that I felt so empty and incomplete..... for the fact that I needed more than just the two of us. I needed to be a mummy and daddy together. Yet, the more desperately I longed for this, the more I hated myself for seemingly rejecting the very person with whom I wanted this dream to happen. I was trapped in an inescapable vicious circle of emotional guilt. But luckily, I felt able to confide in my husband and through complete openess and honesty about even the darkest thoughts that, in my mind placed enormous jeopardy on our marriage, we became closer and more emotionally connected than ever before.
I still felt troubled, scared and deeply heartbroken for us both. But at least I knew my husband would always be there to help me dispel that fear.
Since the moment of conceiving our baby girl, I locked myself into a box of denial and during this time, despite the arrival of our little bundle of joy, I pined for the level of intense intimacy that my husband and I shared during the 'dark days'. But since starting this blog and admitting that the pain of infertility has not left me, since feeling stronger in myself and more connected to the world around, I can feel my husband and I moulding back into place together. We are finding each other again. I knew we would because we have survived so much together. I love him and our little girl so much.

My Menstrual Cycle

 Had a bit of an emotional panic attack today about my blog. Just felt a bit overwhelmed by what I am doing. ie) exposing myself and my innermost feelings to anyone and everyone who wants to listen! What if people don't understand? what if even my fellow infertile sufferers are not able to fully relate to what I have gone through and what I continue to go through? Then, I'd feel even more alone and ashamed of myself than ever. I had a bit of a cry when my husband got home from work. And I think that's all I needed really. Since then, I feel reassured that I am doing the right thing. It's that whole learned behaviour of hiding away that I am fighting against. Bugger the what ifs! It's true, there may be folk who just don't 'get it'. But it doesn't matter. It's about me being in control at last and not being afraid to tell it as it is.
Since becoming infertile, I have gradually over time become so familiar with the ups and downs of my menstrual cycle. In fact, I am acutely aware of it. I know that 2 or 3 days before my period I will feel quite bad-tempered...sometimes psychotic! (which is where I am now, hence the emotional attack earlier). I then calm down just before it starts. Day 1 of my period, I normally feel extremely relaxed, loved-up and quite horny. My sex drive increases at this point, but I often feel rather anxious on and off during the week after my period tails off. Then as ovulation gets closer and closer, my mood improves and my sex drive escalates. I feel really good mentally, confident in myself and very amorous with my husband. But immediately after ovulation, I slump! I feel moody and my sex drive plummets to minus figures and I often feel quite depressed. That's definitely my least favourite time of the month. Then as we get closer to my period arriving, my mood perks up a bit, as do my feelings of amorousness (not sure if that's a word...but you know what I mean). And so we're back to the beginning.
Isn't it ironic that a woman who is completely incapable of naturally conceiving actually knows her menstrual cycle better than the back of her hand?! Really it shouldn't matter. It should be irrelevant. But you see, everything is ticking along as normal. Each month my body continues to go through the process of preparing itself for a baby. The womb lining thickens and an egg is released. But of course, each month the egg dematerialises into nothing because it is unable to get through to my womb where there are millions of little sperm swimming ready and waiting in vain. The doors are closed. And so, approximately two weeks later, my uterus sheds its lining and makes preparation for another month of potential reproduction, little knowing that its efforts are futile.
My body goes through the motions every month. And despite everything, I too go through the motions. I don't mourn the loss of a baby when my period arrives - I'm not quite that insane. (Although I have been known to google the words 'pregnant no fallopian tubes'. It's amazing what you can find on the internet!) But I do feel very energised as ovulation approaches. I know all the tell-tale signs that I am ovulating. And even now, regardless of everything that has happened to me, I still feel excited, knowing that I'm ripe and ready, good to go for a bit of rampant baby-making. I know that it's hopeless, that I am psyching myself up for yet another explosion of heartbreak. But I can't help it. My body is dictating and I'm going with the flow.
How heart-wrenching it is every time to have the magic of procreation snatched away from us! Sex is a HUGE topic which I won't get into right now. Let's just say that living with infertility does create all sorts of complicated emotions that can have enormous repercussions on one's ability to fully enjoy physical intimacy. It's about feeling broken, damaged as a woman, lacking in femininity because you can't do that most basic and natural thing - make a baby. It's about feeling angry towards yourself (and others) and guilty that, as a wife, you shouldn't be so obsessively hung up on procreation.

It's Good to Talk!

I feel so relieved to have started this blog site. I actually burst into tears on my husband's shoulder after I published the first post. What a huge relief to be finally admitting that I need to talk and that I'm ready! I've been consciously aware of my desperation to communicate the difficulties I still have with being infertile more and more lately. Even just a few words helps alleviate that awkwardness that you feel in company when you feel you're holding things back. That's what it's like being infertile, especially second time around - like you're hiding behind a pretence or like you're wearing a mask with a huge inane grin that says "Yes, honestly, everything is GREAT!"
OMG, what a relief to no longer feel so locked in by fear of what people may think. And the miraculous thing about all this honesty is that it fills you with a surge of good feeling, positivity and greater confidence in yourself. It's time to throw away all the shame, anger, guilt and fear that's all part & parcel of infertility.
During our ectopic pregnancies and our IVF treatments, I was always very open and honest with my husband and I'd talk and cry with him on a very regular basis, sometimes daily! This ability to talk freely with each other has undoubtedly strengthened our relationship along the way. But what I've found is that it's incredibly hard to maintain that level of intimacy when you become a mother.
Since becoming a mother (and probably since becoming pregnant) I have devised a new coping method for getting through my negative thoughts & feelings associated with infertility. I give myself self-therapy every day - sometimes even without my realising it consciously. I've convinced myself that this is a sign of my growing strength, the fact that I can console myself alone without having to 'bother' anyone, even my husband! But the truth is, my unwillingness to share the fact that it still hurts is to do with two factors - a lack of time because of my busy new life as a mother and also because I feel guilty and ashamed that I still feel this way.
Things have undoubtedly got easier since our little one has come along, especially since getting through the first year which we found very stressful indeed. Slowly our life is unfolding and blossoming day by day. She's our little jewel.
But it's still hard. And yes, it's great that I can give myself self-therapy....sometimes very effectively indeed. I've become something of a pro, I think! ;-) But the down side is I do a lot of bottling up. And my husband & I don't get the chance to communicate as much as we did before having our little girl when we had so much time to indulge in looking after each other. Often by the time we get a moment at the end of the day, I've kinda already sorted it in my head, even if that means having a cry on my own. And that's just not the same. I feel reluctant to offload on him these days because I feel I should be past all of that and God love him, he's heard it all 5000 times before!
But also, whilst I know it's important for my husband & I to maintain communication, I've come to realise (hence the blog) that it's about communicating to a wider audience - friends, family and beyond....
I read somewhere that secondary infertility is even more lonely than primary infertility. And in some ways I have to agree. But why does it have to stop there? I think that whether you are infertile with no children, 1 child, 2 children or even 3!!....you are still infertile. That's the thing you have to live with as a woman. It's like being blighted with an early, irreversible menopause - the curse of growing old before your time. How horrible to feel this way about yourself! (and apologies if any infertile men are reading this....I hope you understand that I am not dismissive of male factor infertility. It's just that I can only speak from my own persepective...as a woman.
I do feel strongly though that the way forward (for both men and women) is to talk......
So, I thank you in advance for being my listeners and I look forward to reading your contributions. Whether you know me or not, whether you are infertile or not, I am opening this out to you all.

Still Can't Accept It!

I still cannot accept I'm infertile! Back in 2008 after I had my second and last remaining fallopian tube removed, I remember feeling totally panicked every morning I woke up. It was like losing a loved one and having to re-remember the horror of their absence every day.
Five years down the line, I STILL feel that way. OK, it has got easier. Time subdues those raw emotions. And not to mention the fact that we now have a beautiful little girl who has just lit up our life.
But I am still infertile. I sometimes feel very scared that I am never going to be able to accept it. Like most people, we do want more children - another sibling/siblings for our little girl. Am I being greedy or ungrateful for wanting this privilege?
Infertility "wreaks havoc upon your sense of identity as a woman and as a couple" (as written in my profile). Who am I as a woman if I can't jump into my bed with my man and 'make babies'?
Sex, sex, sex!! It's why we're all here. It's how we all continue to be here. It's what makes mankind live on & on in this vast universe. I know, I'm getting a bit existential here.....but it's true. And being infertile does make me think about these things. It makes me feel like a useless cog within the wheel of life. We have our baby only because others were able to 'do it' for me...for us!
I'm convinced the key to my accepting infertility and being able to live with it is to come forward and to talk to people about what it means to me. Rather than cowering in shame because I feel it should no longer matter to me, I need to tell the world, "No actually....it bloody does matter - and this is why...."
I have spent hours upon hours trawling the net looking for blogs and forums to make me feel connected to other women going through the same thing. God knows, in desperation to alleviate my sense of isolation, I have googled just about every permutation of the emotional aspects of infertility, particularly for women who are point blank infertile (no ifs or maybes) and who also may be suffering in silence as they mother their one and truly cherished miracle baby. It's a tough old job being an infertile mother and I know I am not alone.
This is my way of reaching out. I am determined that through honest and open communication with fertile and infertile people alike, I will beat this insidiously debilitating disease.