Am I There Yet?

I just found a prayer to St. Jude that I scribbled on an index card awhile ago, but have never used. Just reading it comforts me in a way I haven't felt in awhile:

Most Holy Apostle, St. Jude Thaddeaus, faithful servant and friend of Jesus, the name of the traitor who delivered your beloved Master into the hands of his enemies has caused you to be forgotten by many. But the Church honors you, and I invoke you as the special advocate of those who are in trouble and almost without hope. Help me to realize that through our faith, and by the power of Jesus who loved us and gave His life for us, we triumph over life's difficulties. Come to my assistane that I may receive the consolation and succor of heaven in all my needs, trials and suffering, particularly that I may soon conceive a child with my husband, and give birth to a health baby, and that I may praise God with you and all the saints forever.

I promise, O blessed St. Jude, to be ever mindful of this great favor, to always honor you as my special patron and to gratefully encourage devotion to you.

Amen.

I'm having a lot of strange feelings in my uterus since I ovulated. It feels as if my uterus is a thin fragile vase with a bunch of very fine cracks. Every time I feel another twinge, I think of it as another crack appearing in the vase. Sounds weird, but this is the imagery that comes to me. I think this happens every month, but I don't remember, which is why I'm making a note of it this month.

Today is 3 days past ovulation (dpo) and I've got no pregnancy symptoms whatsoever. Doctors will tell you that this is absolutely normal, that most women don't get any symptoms until around the time menstruation is expected, if not later. But based on the pregnancy and TTC blogs I've read, many women start having symptoms within the first week after ovulation, and descend into mindfuck hell until they get a positive HPT or their period. I almost never have symptoms to dwell on. My breasts often swell for a few days and ache from the inside. But they are never sore to the touch. Only once in 19 months have I even thought maybe. This was around our 2nd month of TTC; my breasts were so hurty and swollen that if I rolled over on them during the night, the pain in my nipples would jolt me awake. During the day, it felt like I was hauling around two hard, heavy soccer balls in my bra. This lasted for several days, and even though I tried not to think about it, sometimes I'd have these small secret bursts of happiness thinking, is this my baby?But, obviously, it wasn't. I've never felt that way again.

I wonder how it'll be when I do get pregnant. Maybe I'm not the type to show symptoms. What will the infamous 2 week wait that leads up to testing be like? I think I've mentioned this before, but I have always been convinced that I'll know when I'm pregnant. Symptoms or not, my subconscious will tell me. So many questions, so much waiting.

The day after I wrote that cheery post, I was overcome by a wave of pessimism which was triggered by post-sex spotting. It wasn't that much, but it was right around ovulation and made me come to the irrational conclusion that, already, the cycle was a failure. Dawg was distinctly unsympathetic. Perhaps rightly so - it's common enough for a woman to spot a little around ovulation - but still I was annoyed. And then, because I was mad at him around ovulation time, I got upset that by being angry I was putting stress on my body, and sending bad vibes to the egg & sperm, so it now really wouldn't work, which thereby made me all the more upset, sending increased bad vibes to the egg and sperm.... Gaaaah! How tiresome this all is. I know how foolish this circular worrying is but some days I just can't help it. We've been doing this for 19 months. How does someone remain even-keeled for so long? I've been trying to meditate every day and it helps. But I need to learn how to zen out before I work myself up, not just always talk myself down from the ledge.

I've been having issues with God these days. I feel horrible and guilty for even thinking these thoughts because I have had - and do have - so many blessings in my life. But at the same time, these days, I can't pray any more. In the last 19 months, I've made a swath of light across France with all the church candles I've lit. I've done two Novenas to St. Jude, and prayed to the Virgin Mary to talk to Jesus who might talked to God. At one point, I was going to church every day. I don't just pray to be pregnant - I pray for my family and friends, I ask for grace and understanding and patience and peace. Sometimes I get it, but it doesn't seem to last.

At this point, I figure that God has heard me and knows what I want, and so there's not any more that I can do. He'll make His move when He's ready. I'm resigned to this, but at the same time, I'm feeling kind of distant toward Him. Kind of like a kid whose parent has promised something but keeps postponing delivery for unfathomable adult reasons. I can't help but feel hesitant to trust Him. Even though I really, really want to. I'm sorely disappointed in myself for feeling this way. Everyone has hard times; everyone gets disappointed. Why not me too?

I wonder if God will punish me for not having faith; for being angry and distant with Him. I don't think so, but who knows with God? I can only hope that He'll keep in mind that I'm just a stupid, weak human, responding to disappointment in a stupid, weak human sort of way.

Here we go again. Cycle #19 of trying to conceive. But now we've brought out the small artillery. Clomid, sonograms, IUI. I'm lucky that I don't seem to suffer any side effects, except for hot flashes, whilst on Clomid. Other women get severe headaches, become moody-ass bitches, get blurred vision. But then, since I'm already a moody, headachy bitch with fucked up vision, there's really not much more the extra hormones can do to me.

Dawg and I are becoming regulars at the "medically assisted procreation" wing of our hospital. What an awkward, indiscrete place. So many couples sitting around the waiting room, uneasily aware that, by being there, we are revealing something deeply intimate about ourselves, and learning something deeply intimate about each other. I try not to look around, but I cannot help seeing the shoes of other people and wondering - what are you here for? is it a male factor problem? Do you need insemination? What number IVF is this for you? Do you, like me, cry every month when you realize that you're not pregnant? Do you do your own shots? Is that man going to jerk off now? Has he just finished jerking off? How long have you been trying? Have you ever gotten pregnant? Are you pregnant, now? The first time Dawg and I walked in together, I could tell that Dawg was very quietly freaked out. All these eyes turning toward us as we stepped out of the elevator; we could practically hear everyone thinking: what's their problem? (Good question. I wish I knew. ) Dawg sums up the experience more succintly: "The whole thing is TMI."

The fertile time in my cycle is always a weird time, emotionally. I am amazed at quickly how my optimism renews once this phase begins. Forgotten are the days of stormy, helpless sobbing, the pleading with and raging at God, the feelings of bewilderment, the feelings of emptiness and grief. Once my period's over, I think cheerfully: maybe I'll get pregnant this cycle! Why I would think this, I don't know. I mean, how is it that, only days after being a beaten-down, heartbroken sobbing mess, I can bounce right back up with a smile on my face, ready to start all over again? Knowing perfectly well that in another 10 days it's very likely that Dawg will need to mop me off the floor? The whole thing seems so....unhealthy. If it this were a relationship, I'd need to get out of it.

Anyway, the insemination was today. From all accounts, I'd heard that it feels the same as a pap smear. And now, by my account as well, it feels exactly like a pap smear. Except after it was over, and I was still lying there with my legs spread, I felt some fluid leaking out of me, and I thought - hmmm, it's more like sex than I thought. (Turned out to be some water Dr. G had put down there to "clean me up." Still, it was nice, natural touch.)

Afterward, Dawg and I recounted the positives of the experience:

1. Dawg had an orgasm;
2. We had a great breakfast in the hospital cafeteria with excellent freshly squeezed grapefruit juice (remember, this is the Hospital for Dictators - serving canned juice might have disasterous for Franco-dictatorship country relations)
3. We spent quality time together in the waiting room.
4. I got to spread my legs as if I were having sex, though I did not have an orgasm
5. The boys definitely made it to their destination
6. We might have made a baby.

After reading "The Alchemist" by Paulo Coehlo, I pay attention to good omens while in the hopeful phase of my cycle. The omens today were these: 1) when leaving the hospital, Dawg remarked that it was "weather to conceive boys" - meaning, according to an old German saying, it was a beautiful day. (At first I though he was revealing some kind of hang-up on having a son, but then he explained.) I'm counting this as an omen simply because Dawg said it unthinkingly right after the insemination and I've never heard him use that expression before; 2) when I got home, I saw that my online "word for the day" from an online dictionary service was "fecund,"which means fertile.

Why, yes, I am grasping at straws.

Haven't posted lately because there's nothing much to say. We've went on vacation for a couple of weeks (Germany-Switzerland-Italy), and when we returned I've been writing like a madwoman. Unfortunately, it's not on my book. I'm sending out a couple of short stories. Yesterday, I sent out the first. Hopefully, by the end of the week, another will be gone. But, starting today, I want to spend at least 3 hours a day on the book.

We begin fertility treatments later this month. An IUI - a procedure where they squirt "washed" sperm straight up my cervix around ovulation time. I don't know what to think. There's no reason that it should be any more effective than us having sex, but I just can't bear the thought of leaping straight into IVF. But I have a feeling that, somewhere out there, there's a needle with my name on it. It's already in existence, wrapped in sealed plastic baggie, waiting to be plunged into my stomach. Or butt. Or wherever it is that IVF needles go. I'm still praying that we won't have to get to that point. Well, half-praying. I'm resigned to taking whatever steps it might take to get pregnant.

Hold on, baby. Your mamma's coming for you.