Part 1: I Did It My Way

I did all the right stuff. I've read every article about preparing to prepare to try to conceive. Since June of 2010 I've been taking vitamins and a fish oil supplement every day to make sure I'm getting all my folic acid and omega-3s, well in advance of conception. I yelled at Jeff when he sat with the computer on his lap for too long, telling him to put a pillow or blanket between the sperm-killing-heat-radiation-laser-bombs of our Dell and his pants. He rolled his eyes and sighed. I stopped drinking pop (unless it was a weekend and it had Captain Morgan in it). I had months to prepare and I even made an appointment for a pre-conception consultation in the Fall of 2010. My west doctor (I'll refer to any doctor who practices western medicine as a "west doctor"...more on this later) talked to me about vaccines that I should be current on before trying and genetic testing. I had blood work done, everything was good to go, and I labeled myself "adequately ready to conceive should Jesus also agree." 

 

October 2010. The day we were no longer actively trying to avoid babies. Yikes-a wikes-a. I've documented everything like a statistician. I have charts and spreadsheets that you wouldn't believe. Jeff thinks I'm crazy.

 

We didn't know how long it might take. We've had friends who sort of "oopsy" got preggers a little sooner than they planned, and friends who tried for a couple of months. We hoped it would happen for us in early winter. 

 

Elbows up. (nice butt in the background)

Not only did we not get pregnant, but literally nothing happened with my body. Nothing. We waited and waited, thinking "gosh, we must be pregnant." I took test after test. Negatory. Nada. Nothing. We went to Cancun in January and we thought we might be pregnant, so I didn't drink. In Cancun. On vacation. I know - I fooled you with those pics of me doing elbows up. Virgin daiquiris, my friend. All of them. Mango. Banana. Pineapple. Strawberry.

 

We got sneaky at bars and restaurants thinking we were pregnant. I would order a drink and Jeff would later tell the waiter or bartender to make it virgin. I drank a lot of sprite during the winter of 2011. Don't you feel duped. I feel cheated.

 

I got antsy, so I ordered mega quantities of ovulation predictor kits from Amazon and took them once, sometimes twice, a day for MONTHS. I was peeing in cups and on sticks like it was going to save my life. Nothing.

 

I called my west doctor in March 2011 and said something must be wrong. I went in and had blood work done. I also had an ultrasound to check out my insides. Not the pretty kind of ultrasound you see in the movies on a big preggo belly. A scary ultrasound that no one adequately prepared me for. I thought something was awry when she told me to take off my pants. Something was definitely awry.

 

My hormone tests all came back low, but I was told that everything was "still pretty normal," that I did not appear to have polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS) and that I had "beautiful" ovaries based on the ultrasound. Seriously. She said beautiful. No eggs and nothing else going on, though. She told me to give it another 3 months and call back if still nothing.

 

Still nothing happened with my body, so I called back in May. Screw waiting 3 more months. My west doctor willingly gave me some drugs to jump start a period, and more drugs to take after that to force an eggo release. I took all the drugs on the right days and went back for another bizarre ultrasound in June 2011 to see if it worked. Take a guess. It didn't.

 

Sidebar: On that day in June that I went in for more tests and to find out if the drugs at least worked so that we could try to get pregnant, Jeff received an offer for his new job in Dallas, Texas. All in one day. We didn't know our heads from our asses that day.

 

My west doctor told me that not only did I not have a single egg ready to go in either ovary as hoped (and after the drugs it was actually possible for me to have multiple eggos ready to go), my uterus was in no shape to let an embryo implant. Basically, I'm dry as the Phoenix desert. I'm cold. Frigid. I jinxed myself in high school when I said I never wanted kids and that I should just have my ovaries removed. (I was going to be a high-powered prosecutor in NYC. Laughable now.)

 

In the little consultation room at my west doctor's office, I'm thinking, alright, round 1 didn't work. Let's try round 2. She said the drugs failed so badly and that even an increased dosage would do nada. She felt bad and said this was as far as she could get me. She recommended I head right on over to the infertility specialists and start taking the mega-hormones. She said she was absolutely 100% positive that "they" could get me pregnant.

 

My head starts spinning. I'm no fool. I know this means that they're going to make Jeff shoot me up with drugs in my butt every morning. Then I would end up having a zillion eggs harvested, my body would go into forced menopause, I would be implanted with only a few, but they would all quadruple so that I'm all of a sudden carrying 24 babies like a golden retriever. Something seemed so forced and chemical about the whole thing. I began to babble about how my husband just accepted a job offer in Dallas that morning, and that we're going to be moving. I said we're just going to take a step back, move to Texas, and not seek advanced infertility treatment in Chicago. I asked her for a referral in Dallas for a regular west doctor and an infertility specialist. Lucky for me, she went to med school with a doc who now practices in Dallas. I was armed with my doctor info and ready to walk out. She gave me the last words of caring advice, including, "Try not to stress. Find ways to relax. Go to the spa, get some acupuncture."

 

I had no idea how famous her last line would be, and poor Jeff didn't know what was coming...