Memories

It's funny what can be a trigger for memories. A scent, a date on the calendar, the clouds on a certain day.

For example, since I l ive in the great white north, none of the exterior doors to my building at work open right into the building, you have to go through another set. The gate that I tend to use is right next to the outdoor "smoke shack." I have to pause to badge in, and the smell of stale smoke and the outside always takes me back to the bowling alley in my little home town. My dad has bowled league pretty much since my conception. On the rare occasion that my mom wasn't home on league nights, I would get to go with, and that smell just takes me there. I can actually see it in great detail, one that honestly hasn't changed based on the last time that I was in there.

Then, there is the calendar. Both Son and BabyA were conceived in December, which means that I was usually cycling around this time of year. Trying to get downtown to my clinic during rush hour in the fall rain or early winter sleet, thanking God that I could get by with my bigger sweaters because I was all puffy from the progesterone and the injectables. It just seems strange, even two years later, to not be doing that again. There is a rhythm of sorts to infertility treatments. At least for me; if I couldn't have the predictability of a regular cycle on my own, it was of ultrasound, bloodwork, trips to the pharmacy.

So, alas, my thoughts turn to wanting to find that rhythm again. I had actually come to some sort of point where I was almost OK with being done. It still feels wrong, in a way that I can't articulate, to go through what we did, invest so much money, time, and emotion, and then just close and weld the door shut. Husband can't understand it; he thinks I'm nuts. Maybe since it was never really his body failing; barely sub-normal motility aside, he never had the feeling of failure and utter contempt for his body. The only way that I was able to at least push the majority of that aside was having kids, nursing them, in essence growing them.

I've been struggling a bit more with this since the announcement that my brother and his wife are expecting in January. I felt all of those weird, knee jerk reactions steeped in years of infertility, in addition to a degree of self-loathing that I was feeling that way STILL, even after two kids. Would this give me a baby fix that I seem to need so much, or will it hammer home that I'm not done? I'm old, I'm a repeat gestational diabetic, I could end up paying for daycare for three (!), and I'm a bedroom short. Oh, and the other half of the required genetic material, since he's not supportive of the idea.

To some degree, it almost feels like infertility all over again-wanting something that is so far out of reach, but feeling that it would be the last piece in the puzzle. It's not like my kids aren't good enough, or don't fulfill that part of me. That's not it at all. I just feel as though we aren't complete yet. Would I be crushed it we ended up staying at two? No. Not in the least. The two of them are more than I could have ever anticipated. I'm still amazed some days when I have to look back in the car and settle a fight between two talking, sentient beings.

That being said, am I tempting fate to expect another good outcome? The two previous outcomes were more than I could have asked for. What if, by wanting more, and not appearing to appreciate what I have, will I get more than I can handle? What if we don't dodge the multiple bullet? What if something goes wrong? I understand fertiles have the same issues, but because it was so hard getting here, I wonder if the stakes aren't a bit higher, at least in my own mind.

My fear is that time will just pass us by, and by making no affirmative decision we really make a decision with no thought, no discussion. Big talks like this don't usually go too well at my house. Despite my best efforts, I get all emotional, which tends to hold less weight with Husband than something that I can lay out in the type of ABC logic that he seems to require. I get pissed off that he doesn't "get it", and that if he really knew me at all he would and he's so mean....you get the idea. The whole issue that I can't really point to one particular factor doesn't help my cause. I read an article not too long ago that pretty much said that if you are wanting another baby to fill a personal void-companionship, a need for attention, etc.-you are doing it for the wrong reasons. I don't think that I fall into that camp but since I'm the type that can analyze things to death, it keeps pecking at me.

So. It's fall. I'm thinking about babies. And unable to make any decision at all.

Ouch.

OK, I have to fess up. One of the very few things that I DON'T mind about having PCOS is that a lack of periods really isn't that big of a deal if you don't want to get pregnant at the time. Really. Oh, I know, there is that whole facial hair issue, and the weight combined with the diabetes risk, and then the infertility thing. But other than that? Not so bad.

As a matter of fact, I was at my yearly OB/GYN visit a couple of months ago and after the damn scale (cursed thing!), the nice nurse asked the date of my last period. When I replied, "December 1, 2006" she just looked at me with a funny look. I explained that I had a 15 month old (at the time). She just asked as she handed me the pee cup, "Are you worried?" I had to laugh, that laugh reserved for infertiles when encountering someone that doesn't know their history. I just told her that it would require an act of God for me to be worried. I don't think that she even checked.

At that appointment, my GYN wasn't quite as glib. She looked at me from over her glasses, and told me in no uncertain terms that I wasn't allowed to wait much longer. She had all sorts of good medical reasons. We also discussed the fact that I was down to one, maybe two, brief nursing sessions a day, and really wasn't that protected anymore (in addition to the mini pill that I have been on since BabyA was six weeks old). Again, I pulled out my laugh. She upped the ante by telling me about one of her patients that was in the same boat, with the same absolute belief that it would take divine intervention, and was now 36 weeks with twins. You know, those stories that any infertile hates. I have to admit, that I took a bit, just a tiny bit, to heart. As previously discussed, now would not be the right time to have the oops that I occasionally happily dream of. My luck just seems to work that way.

No, I am not leading up to any announcement, other than PMS sucks. I've been spotting off and on for a couple of weeks now, and I just started the "real" pill last night, and I feel like crap. I always get a bit nauseous when I start out on the pill, and this time is no exception. I also feel all bloaty, my back hurts, and I just want to crawl into bed. Oh, and isn't it SOOOOO convenient that this was the way that I felt each time I was pregnant? I'm pushing it far to the back corners of my mind, although I might pull out a test in a couple of weeks just to make sure. Faced with the reality of a third, it does scare me a little bit. What an odd feeling, an infertile afraid of being pregnant. I just feel to some degree like I am "over it." I don't have that driving, desperate need anymore. If we don't have any more, we could be OK. I just need to find a way to accept it if that is the end result. It just feels really strange to worry about something like this, when my reality has been so different.

Blech. I'm going home to find a salt lick and some more caffeine. And then as many Advil as possible. This being a girl stuff isn't so much fun....