And so it goes...

How can I ever get through this?

I have asked myself that question a thousand times over the past week. You see, after all my moaning and groaning, wishing and waiting, I found out I was pregnant. It was incredible. I felt shocked, unprepared, and unapologetically happy. I saw myself in nine months, holding a little baby, growing fat with pregnancy, and yelling at Jeff to get me ice chips while bringing that life into the world.

Yet, a week ago, that dream died. Literally. Anyone who says life begins at birth has never been pregnant. All of a sudden, you're walking around and carrying the best secret of your life. And then, as it was for me, that secret leaves you and you never know why.

I have my theories, of course. I place blame everywhere I can. It just makes the pain more raw - more intense - when you look back, wishing you could have done something different. And now, I'm left picking up the pieces of a dream and trying to remember who I was before. And the thing is - I can't remember. I don't know where she is, what she's doing, or why she left.

It's not like I'm a stranger to heartache. I visited my friend, Tia, yesterday. She lives out by where I grew up. As I left her house, I started driving through my old neighborhood, driving past places that all hold memories for me. I remembered my first heartbreak. I was seventeen years old. I thought I would never be able to get through that. I remember crying into my pillow every night for weeks, wishing I could go back, change something, do something different, try to get him to change his mind. But that didn't happen. And, truthfully, I know I'm a stronger person now because of that. And that's what this feels like.

It's funny, in a macabre sort of way, to think that this event will literally change who I am. Forever. I don't really tend to think of life's moments in that sense. I suppose meeting my husband, my engagement, and my marriage have all changed me. Going to law school radically altered who I was. But, those were happy changes - and ones I was happy to make. This feels like a part of me has irrevocably broken and a sadness I'll have to carry around with my for the rest of my life.

I know that things will get easier. Like that first break-up, I'll eventually stop thinking about him and move on. But I'll be different. And so, right now, I mourn. I mourn the baby I never had a chance to meet. I mourn who I was before this happened.

People keep telling me that I should be happy I got pregnant at all - that at least one hurdle has been overcome. That I'll eventually get pregnant and have another baby. That's like pouring salt into an open wound. That doesn't matter to me. Another baby will still not be this baby. And I wanted this one so much. I see sadness around every corner and I hear it in every song. It's like the world is out to constantly remind me that I'm grieving and to show me what I'm missing.

It helps to write. It helps to talk. I'm so scared of being alone right now because I'll have to cope with my own thoughts and emotions. It's easier, right now, to let someone else do that for me. I'm trying to stay busy. I'm trying to put my best foot forward, and look towards the day that I wake up and this isn't the first thing that I think about. Right now, I'm just hoping for another miracle.

The Soundtrack of My Life

Have you ever been struck by a particular song? There's something about the lyrics or melody that catch you, connects with you, and becomes your mantra for a day, a few weeks, or forever. My "song" came to me today as I was driving down the highway towards work. It was nothing particularly special - I'd heard the song at least a dozen times before, however I had never really understood the lyrics or grasped what they meant to my life.

So, before you know it, I'm crying in my car. But then again, most things make me cry. I've been struggling to put the words to my emotions for so long now, but Michael Buble did it perfectly. In perfect reproduction, I've put the lyrics to paper...just to read and sing when I need to remember what it is I've been fighting for.

Haven't Met You Yet

I'm not surprised, not everything lasts

I've broken my heart so many times I've stopped keeping track

Talk myself in, I've talked myself out

I get all worked up and then I let myself down

I've tried so very hard not to lose it

I've came up with a million excuses

I thought, I thought of every possibility

And I know some day it'll all turn out

You'll make me work, so we can work to work it out

And I promise you, kid, I give so much more than I get

I just haven't met you yet.

I might have to wait, I'll never give up

I guess it's half timing and the other half luck.

Wherever you are, whenever it's right

You'll come out of nowhere and into my life

And I know that we can be so amazing

And baby, your love is going to change me

And now I can see every possibility

They say all's fair

In love and war

But I won't have to fight it

We'll get it right and we'll be united

And I know we can be so amazing

And being in your life is going to change me

And now I can see every possibility

And someday I know it'll all turn out

And I'll work to work it out

And I promise you, kid, that I give so much more than I get

Than I get, than I get, than I get

Someday I know it'll all turn out

And you'll make me work so we can work to work it out

And I promise you kid that I give so much more than I get

I just haven't met you yet...

Being Auntie Koppy

It's that time of year again...

We dust off our finery, accept the invitation, head out to find gift registries, get together with our friends, and celebrate the impending addition of a new family member.

I'm twenty-nine years old, and it seems that just about everyone I know is having children. I love being an Auntie. I really, really do. I love it when the kids learn my name, I love looking at their pictures, I love holding a newborn, and I really love playing with them and making them smile. There is nothing I love more than being Auntie Koppy.

I've always been good with children. There are some people in this world that are clearly "baby" people. I am one of those people. But for me, relating to children is much easier than it is to connect with adults, or at least I think so. A child's world isn't comprised of much more than mom, dad, school, and play group. They're proud of their new shoes, of their pretty dress, or of their new toy. It's just a matter of finding what they love to really get them to open up, laugh, and feel special.

Okay. I just re-read that paragraph, and I sound like I'm writing an instruction manual for child molesters.

So, this weekend was filled with baby-related activities. Last night, I went over to my friend Molly's for a Sip 'n See to meet Baby Maddie. I got to hold Maddie for a bit, give her a bottle, and I read stories to Gracie and Greta. And I could do that stuff for hours. Today, I went over to Tia's for a baby shower, honoring Jocelyn. Baby Maddie was there again and I got to hold her again. Baby Drew also made himself available for a little one-on-one. My cup runneth over.

All of my friends have children of their own, or they have nieces and nephews, so I suppose the idea of being around children is somewhat customary for them. Obviously, I have no children and I'm not an aunt in any official capacity. So, for me, the time that I get to spend with my friends' children is that much more meaningful for me. Still, as my girlfriends are trading pregnancy, child birth, or baby stories, I've got nothing to contribute. It's like being the only girl at Prom that wasn't asked to dance. They show pictures of their children, marvel at their growing bellies, and I...well, I get to show off pictures of my dog.

Relating this to my friend, Kelly, today, she tells me that it could be worse. I could be a cat lady.

And, not that I'd admit it to anyone, but these sort of things are hard for me. But, I don't want to be "that" girl. I don't want to be the one that can't overlook her own struggles to appreciate a friend's successes. So, I save my pity party for my own time. I reflect, I think, I re-read my ovulation calendar, this journal, I talk to my husband, and occasionally, one or two tears will leak out. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I do feel sorry for myself. It's stupid, really.

These past few months have been nothing but a roller coaster of emotions - drug induced or not. But more recently - and maybe I've just been doing a good job of forgetting - I feel a measured level of acceptance setting in. Maybe I'll never been the proud owner of a ceramic ashtray or drink out of a "Best Mom in the World" mug, but I'm starting to realize that with every success comes struggles. Every cloud has a silver lining. To quote the Pussycat Dolls, "Be careful what you wish for 'cause you just might get it." This is what I'm supposed to be, this is what is supposed to happen to me.

Until the course changes, however, I will continue to proudly display (and keep) all artwork made for Auntie Koppy and will always, always be available to babysit. Promise.

Beware of 'Roid Rage

I went in for another check up the other day - just a follow up after my surgery. My doctor takes a look around, peeks at my incisions, and declares me "cured." I look at him, questioning what this means. All my Internet research has never drummed up a cure for PCOS. If it had, you can guarantee that would have been the first thing I'd gone looking for.

"Well," he says, "I don't mean cured. You're still not ovulating. But, your internal organs look great. There's no evidence of endometriosis, and we've taken out some of the cysts. You should be able to have children. However, be aware! It can take women with PCOS longer to conceive."

I let the words wash over me carefully. This is good news, I think. This is what I had wanted - and waited - to hear. However, recalling my seventh grade sexual education classes, I ask if there's any evidence of ovulation, since I'm certain that needs to occur before I can conceive.

"No," he replies, somewhat cautiously. "And I'm not sure why. But, never fear! This is why scientists invented Clomid!"

Clomid is a drug used to stimulate ovulation in patients with PCOS. It's also an anabolic steroid, used by body builders. Side effects include overstimulation of the ovaries, hot flashes, mood swings, and 'roid rage. And, as my doctor informed me, I may have a more severe reaction to Clomid, considering my the reaction I had when I was on hormone replacement therapy.

So, I think to myself, I am now in a Catch-22. Taking Clomid may make increase my chances for ovulation, but my husband will be so scared of me that he won't come near me. What's a girl to do and why can't I seem to catch a break? So, I tell my doctor, thanks - but no thanks.

You see, my body has been on a number of drugs for a really long time. I've been on birth control since high school - for at least ten years. And, let's not forget the number of painkillers I've taken after all nine (yes, nine) of my surgeries, as well as all the hormones and antibiotics prescribed after the most recent procedures. It needs a break - I need a break. I want a few months to myself to let my body figure out how it's supposed to behave without pharmaceutical interference. Maybe everything just needs to clear out of my system and everything will turn itself right again.

But again, I need to have a plan. So, I left armed with graphs and charts so I can plot my basal body temperature. We'll continue in this fashion for a few months to keep track of any potential for ovulation. If I continue to remain in this infertile state, I'll consider taking Clomid. But don't worry - I'll make sure to warn you all first.

Book Club

I've been looking for new material to read. I'm an eager reader by nature, and my Aunt Jill passed along a list of books she's working her way through over the summer. Happily, I have been making my way through the titles.

I stumbled across a new book entitled "Look Again," written by Lisa Scottoline. It's about a single mother, who adopted a little boy only to discover that he was kidnapped when he was an infant. The story is just an adaptation and variation of a story that's been told countless times on television, as well as through movies and books.

I can't seem to make my way through it.

I don't know if it's because I know the inevitable conclusion or if it's because I identify too much with the main character. The story scares me. Maybe I watch too much television.

When you're faced with the possibility of infertility, adopting seems to be the most logical solution. I've looked into the option. I've gone to meetings and I've run the numbers. First of all, adoption is expensive. The people I've talked to say it costs, roughly, about as much as it would to have children naturally. But, to even have someone come into your home - just to determine if you're "qualified" to adopt - costs over $2,000.00.

And then, I start ruminating. So, let's pretend that we make the cut and we're put on a list of prospective parents for mothers to choose from. Who would choose us? We're both workaholics, and we live in downtown Minneapolis. If I was a woman looking to give her child up for adoption, I'd never choose us. I would want to pick a family where one parent stayed home - a couple with a nice house out in the suburbs. A house with a yard and a swingset - close to great schools and big parks.

I'm begging for someone - anyone - to tell me I'm being irrational.

Because here's the thing - I know we will be incredible parents. We'll never let our child go to school with a runny nose. We'll let her learn life's lessons the hard way but we'd never let her fall down. She would respect adults and never be teased by her classmates. We love her now and we've never seen her.

But adoption scares me. There are things beyond my control. What if she hates us? What if her parents change their mind?

It's time I found some serenity, as Jeff is so fond of telling me. I want peace of mind. I want to know my future. I need to learn to relinquish my control and remember that some day, some how, there is a little child out there just waiting to join our family.

I hope she gets here soon.

MTV can Bite Me

I'm starting to get irrationally angry at certain television shows and movies. The latest one I'm starting to get upset about is a show on MTV called "16 & Pregnant." First of all, from an objective view point, it seems contrary to give a television show to pregnant teenagers when we should be teaching them about practicing safe sex and abstinence. To me, MTV is saying, "Hey, you made a completely irresponsible decision, but we'll put you on T.V. and in magazines." It's like rewarding irresponsibility and encouraging other girls to show the same lack of restraint. As if the only thing standing between them and stardom is a just a baby away.

From a completely subjective perspective, though, I get so mad that those girls can get pregnant without even trying...and then, most of the time, they don't even want the baby and they act like it's a huge burden that they're saddled with a child. Now granted, I probably would have felt the same way if I had a baby when I was a teenager. However, had I known that I probably wouldn't have been able to have children, I might have been promiscuous, which I wasn't. It may have been a double-edged sword at the time.

I am at that age where everyone seems to be having babies. I see round baby bellies everywhere. It seems every time I turn around, another girlfriend is pregnant or another one has just given birth. I don't mean to sound bitter. I'm not. Truthfully, I am so jealous that sometimes I have to hold my breath until the feeling passes. Which, I suppose, makes me sound like a bitter (and barren) woman. And, it kills me that no one else seems to be having the problems I am. I've read the statistics. I know that 6.1 million women are affected by infertility. Some indicate that the as many as one in five women have difficulty or an inability to get pregnant. Other figures indicate it's closer to one in ten. Guess what? I know five women. I know ten women. I probably know one hundred women. So why, then, do I feel singled out? Why do I feel like I'm the only one with this problem?

But again, I sound ungrateful. I have been given so much. My husband supports and loves me. My friends will listen for hours. My family cries when I do. My sister offered to be a surrogate for me. I am overwhelmed at the amount of support I've been given. How, then, can I feel so unlucky?

So, that's why I put this blog out there. Maybe someone will stumble across it some day and she can realize that she's not alone out there either.

Roe v. Wade (The Real Story)

The Supreme Court's decision allowing a woman to do what she wants with her body is one of the most contentious pieces of litigation that this country has seen in the last sixty years. Abortion is a hot-button issue, and you'll rarely find anyone in this country that doesn't have an opinion on it. However, this issue has got me thinking, and I find that I'm viewing things in a much different light, given my lack of ability to reproduce.

The name, Jane Roe, was obviously a pseudonym. Her real name was Norma McCorvey. She had two children by the time she was nineteen. Her first pregnancy occurred when she was sixteen, and the result of an abusive relationship. Her second child was placed up for adoption. Her third pregnancy, and the one at the heart of the Roe v. Wade dispute, was actually born. She never underwent the abortion and the baby was placed up for adoption. Since then, Norma McCorvey has led an interesting life. She's a lesbian and has lived with her partner for many years in North Texas. She's also a Republican, a devout Catholic, and now campaigns tirelessly for an unborn child's right to life. She has continually expressed remorse for her contribution in the class action, claiming she was simply a pawn, utilized by two ambitious (and female) attorneys.

I've read the text of Roe v. Wade at least a dozen times. You'd have to believe that this was part of the law school curriculum, and it was even more hotly debated at the Catholic law school I attended. In essence, it gives a woman the right to do with her body as she sees fit. I believe that this characterization, even if painted with broad brush strokes, should be something that women hold dear. I can say, with absolute certainty, that if the government ever tried to legislate on what I can or cannot do to my body, I would be one of the first people on the steps of the Capitol, trying to protect my right to privacy.

But this is about the bigger picture. Last year, there were over 800,000 abortions performed in the United States alone. In China, you can't have more than one child, and abortion is technically a free service offered by the government. The "one child" policy has become more relaxed in recent years, but it surprised me when I learned that the policy has been in place for almost thirty years. In contrast, Chile and El Salvador prohibit abortion under any circumstances, even if the mother's life is at risk. The theory behind the law is that Chileans believe that the life of the unborn child is greater than it's mother's life.

At the end of the day, I think I still come down on the side of a woman's right to choose. I think. I suppose, more objectively, I believe that the government shouldn't control my reproductive rights, in the same way I believe China shouldn't be able to control the nation's family planning. But I see the way my friends carry their pregnant bellies around, and you can already tell they'd die for the life inside of them, and I wonder if Latin America doesn't have an equally good argument as well. I don't suppose there's ever going to be a policy that all Americans can agree on.

I was talking to my friend, Steve, last night. Steve and I have been good friends for years, and I've always been able to talk things over with him, even things as uncomfortable as infertility. I should also mention that Steve is a die-hard Republican, and this has been the source of many hearty debates over the years. Steve calls to tell me what he's been learning in his "Natural Family Planning" Class (side note: He's getting married in July), hoping to pass his recent knowledge on to me. I told him I'd heard it all (because really, I have). And, as it usually happens with us, we got on a political subject where our opinions diverge. Abortion. I told him what I thought about it, feeling as though my opinion should carry much more weight than his, since I am obviously a woman. He told me to think about how many aborted babies could be put up for adoption, and increase my chances if abortion weren't legal.

It makes you think.

According to some (possibly unreliable) statistics, there are two million couples in the United States that are infertile. Now, who knows how many of those people actually want to have children, but at the end of the day, if we take a lesson from Chile and put the baby's life ahead of our own needs and short foresight, we could decrease that number of childless couples.

But, that's just a thought.