You Know You're TTC When...

I've colored the ones that are "me!"

• the Big 'O' no longer refers to orgasm, but instead to ovulation
• you show everyone who will look at your bbt charts
• every twinge is a potential sign: ovulation pain OR perhaps implantation
• it no longer strikes you as the least bit odd to check out at the pharmacy with both HPTs and tampons in your cart
• you schedule your social events around your ovulation day
• if your OPK comes up +, you cancel all social engagements that night so you can BD & lie with your legs elevated and butt up in the air afterwards
• you talk using mysterious acronymns that only your ttc buddies understand: ttc, BD, ewcm, bbt, opk, 2ww
• your morning motto is: "Don't talk to me until I've taken my temperature"
• you take your temperature more than once a day (committed TTCer)
• you refuse to finish decorating that 3rd bedroom in your new house, because you can't stand the thought of getting it just the way you want it only to have to tear it apart next month in order to make room for the nursery you'll be needing
• you put off buying any fall/winter clothes, because you hope they won't fit by the time the weather gets cooler
• you clip coupons for OPKs and HPTs
• your doctor says, "Now take these home and inject this needle into your stomach every day" and you don't even flinch
• you spend more on OPKs, HPTs, and fertility supplements than you do on clothes
• the thought of nausea makes your heart skip a beat!
• you make a mental note of what day of your cycle it is before you say "ok" to a drink
• you get sick but make sure you can take the medicine in case you are pregnant...and would rather stay sick if you can't take the medicine
• you finally look forward to mornings! Another opportunity to take and record your temp!
• you refer (and think) of your husband, not as his real name, but as the letters "DH" in real life
• you suffer silently from Infertility Vision (IV) - defined as the ability to see pink lines that nobody else can see. It's a very common condition among POASers during the days leading up to the official test day. Research is still being done, but at present there is no cure for it!

CD 20 - 3 DPO (3d past ovulation)

Geez we technically "took a break" this cycle but still ended up making love around ovulation day. However, FertilityFriend once again changed O day after my temps took another rise. Originally I O'd on CD 15, but then it changed it to CD 17. It makes me want to throw away all the charts and thermometers! But I know how important the charts can be for historical purposes so I want to continue charting. And, of course, I'll need them if we need to see an R.E. (reproductive endocrinologist). I'm also very interested in using the Fertility Awareness Method for birth control in the future (which of course requires taking my basal temperature every day).

So if I go with FF's change, I am currently just 3 days past ovulation instead of 5. I'm still trying to be relaxed about this. I was so happy to see my chart looking more "normal" and not so erratic this cycle. I also attribute that to my extra B6 boost that I started about a month ago.

Miscarriage Essay

I can identify with many of the emotions this woman experienced during and after her miscarriage, so I couldn't resist posting it. I found it on another woman's blog.

I was eleven weeks pregnant when I miscarried, just about the time when experts agree that your pregnancy is "safe" and you can spread the good news. I'd already done that. I don't do well with delayed gratification. Besides, things like that didn't happen to me.

After I "lost the baby" (a phrase that reminded me of the nightmares I'd had during my first pregnancy, about forgetting the baby in grocery carts or at the mall), I learned how common this experience is. One in every four pregnancies ends in miscarriage, although many experts say the rate is even higher. To my surprise, I found out that several close friends and my grandmother had had miscarriages, sometimes several. As they shared their stories, I wondered why I hadn't known. Or had I known, but never understood? I wondered why, if so many women miscarry, we don't talk about it. There are many reasons, I discovered as I went through the healing process, which eventually, and surprisingly, lead me to a place of gratitude.

The spotting began on a Monday, after a weekend when nothing seemed to go right. I could feel the fear entering my bloodstream, like shots of some corrosive drug. I brought in reinforcements of denial and affirmations. The pregnancy books I spent the morning reading confirmed that spotting was "not abnormal." I told myself not to worry, reminding myself that this was my perfect baby, growing inside a body fit from exercise and fortified with whole grains and organic produce. What could possibly go wrong? I chased the negative thoughts away with positive ones and sat quietly, visualizing my peaceful, healthy baby awash in a sea of golden light.

The cramping began the next day. The fear got stronger, harder to silence. By late afternoon the cramps had become painful, then rhythmic. I got a stop watch. The pain came every two minutes, with its own Swiss timing. I'd felt this before, with my first child. These weren't cramps, this was labor. Acknowledging this brought a flood of grief that finally broke down the thinning wall of my disbelief. The contractions continued to open me up, my body working hard to release a baby that my mind and heart were desperately holding onto. I realized that what I wanted mattered very little here. Operating on a wisdom greater than my own, my body, my baby, and the universe had clearly made plans without me.

As I fully surrendered to grief, to the will of this baby to leave, my water broke. With a rush, it felt like the inside of me emptied. Then my body quieted and the pain vanished. The baby was no bigger than the very end of my pinkie; and yet it had dark eyes, tiny arms, and signs of fingers. It was our child, probably about nine weeks old, our midwife said, when it stopped thriving. My husband, Rick, and I held each other as we gazed on this miracle of life, marveling at his unworldly beauty, feeling a rush of love, an instinctual claiming of him as our own: "You were loved. You were wanted. You will be remembered."

For another day, my body continued to cramp and bleed, releasing the intricate support system created to nourish the baby. I felt so physically weak that my head spun when I walked across the room. I grew so tired of the blood--tired of its shocking brilliance on white, tired of its elemental smell. Grief saturated the air, and I found myself sobbing without warning, as if bumping into invisible pockets of it.

Friends came quietly, bringing flowers, books, and tapes. I felt grateful, though I was glad they didn't stay too long, so I could go back to my grief, my communion. I didn't want to talk, but it comforted me enormously to have them check in and tell me how much they cared. Someone brought me a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies, still warm. Cookies had never tasted so good. I felt a kind of loneliness that only women who've had the companionship of life within can understand. With the baby inside, I felt a cozy and peaceful union, a little like pressing up against my husband's warm back while sleeping. The baby had been my constant companion, part of my thoughts with every action; every decision about what to eat, drink, or do shifted through love and concern for him. The emptiness inside me seemed bottomless, the silence deafening.

Two days later, when I'd regained some strength, Rick and I buried the baby. On a drizzly fall day, we walked in silence on the soggy trial along the American River. The river seemed quiet and melancholy, as if longing for the swell of winter rains. We came to an old oak tree, a carpet of green mjoss covering a thick, strong trunk. It reached out a fat arm, low and to its side, as if to say, "Lay your little one here beside me; I will protect him for you." As we laid our tiny one to rest, I felt part of me go with him into the dark earth. Rick sang a prayer, and the ancient Hebrew words that I did not understand comforted me immeasurably. We held each other under the loving embrace of the ancient oak, crying in the rain. These moments with Rick were now sewn forever into the quilt of our journey together.

Friends and family tried hard to say the right thing. I experienced first-hand how secretively we treat death in our society. We lack any vocabulary for talking about it, so it becomes taboo instead of part of the natural cycle. Miscarriage complicates the issue, because the death is so private. Because they wanted to take my pain away and alleviate their own, many people tried to "uncreate" my baby. They told me that it was "Nature's way" and that "it wasn't healthy." Although perhaps true, this didn't make the baby any less real or his death any less painful. Through the grief, I felt connected with my baby as a way of remembering and honoring him. I knew the sadness wouldn't kill me or last forever. I wanted to remind everyone that it's only sadness after all. It has its place in our tapestry.

Then came the anger. I knew that there were specific stages to grieving and, at the time, I wondered vaguely if I were on track. When Rick started to put the large plastic jug of prenatal vitamins into the back of the cupboard, I surprised both of us when I shouted, "Don't touch those yet!" A friend from back East sent me a big box of maternity clothes that arrived the day after the miscarriage. It sat in the living room spilling its musty contents out onto the floor and aggravating me for days before I could figure out where to put it. The kitchen calendar had prenatal appointments and our due date marked in ink. It was the end of the year and I'd have to find a new calendar, which I found overwhelmingly irritating. I counted the months and realized, after waiting for the recommended four menstrual cycles, it would be at least a year until a new baby came, if a new baby came. I was furious. A year was forever when, just a few days ago, I'd been thinking about baby names and buying Onesies. I thought about the nausea and fatigue of the first trimester, all the good glasses of Cabernet I'd passed on, all the plans I'd made. What an incredible waste. I'd been cheated, and there was no one to blame.

One day I opened a pomegranate. Its rubies exploded with garnet juice all over my white shirt and countertops. It reminded me, as so many things did. I'd probably never get the stain out. The jewels burst into tart sweetness in my mouth. I swallowed with difficulty.

I longed for some kind of telepathic voice mail to go out to everyone on the planet who knew about my pregnancy so that I didn't have to respond when they cheerfully looked at my stomach and inquired about the baby. I asked friends to tell everyone they knew, to spare me the task; but for months afterward I still had to deal with the loathsome experience of comforting others through their embarrassment.

Yet despite the difficulty in telling people, I don't think I'd do it differently next time. I found it powerfully healing to have so many people holding us in their hearts, sharing our grief, and keeping us in their prayers. I felt a palpable circle around my family that held us up and beamed tremendous waves of love our way. I realized anew the strength of family and friends. I felt the ripples of that knowledge moving out to embrace my community and then encompassing all the mothers and fathers who have lost children, and all the friends and families who loved those who have lost.

Having saturated myself in grief and anger, or maybe just because I have a low tolerance for self-pity, the day soon came when I could sit at the edge of grief and look for symbols. I knew that the experience had to bring some meaningful gifts. It had been a long time since I'd seen Rick cry. He told me several times, in the midst of his grieving, how healing it felt to open his heart and let the sadness flow through him. Although I think of us both as emotionally open people, I saw how closed our hearts can become when we're not vigilant about honoring and allowing our feelings.

I saw how the barriers we build to protect us from pain also dilute the joys. I realized that we could rejoice in the opening of our hearts even as we despaired at the pain that caused them to break. It struck me that this is the very process of childbirth and perhaps of life itself. With the opening comes pain. We often contract, we fight against it, and at some point we release and surrender. We trust the process, because ultimately we have no choice but to trust it. Instead of pushing against the pain, I tried to embrace it, to see it as my teacher, and then wait for its transformation.

I believe that indulging in grief and anger ultimately allowed me to gain a broader perspective. Looking at the experience symbolically released me from the status of victim and allowed me to channel energy into what was becoming. It became clear to me that my baby and I had agreed, on some level, to serve one another. I agreed to have him inside of me, to nurture and nourish him, love and bless him, and then let him go. I cannot know why he needed to take this journey. I do know that in choosing me to be his mother, he blessed me. I am a better person for his short presence in my life, softer, more compassionate. I have traveled to a new layer in loving, a deeper layer that I didn't realize existed.

The experience of the miscarriage also served to jolt me into realigning my life, giving me greater clarity about who I am and the gifts I have to offer. I realized it was time to leave a comfortable but unchallenging job to pursue writing and develop my own business. In times of great surrender and openness, it's amazing how receptive we can be to messages we need to hear, and how fearlessly we can step into them.

For all these things, I am profoundly grateful.

Our friend Jan shared a story that has given me strength over the past months. Accompanying her husband to a renowned acupuncturist and healer, Jan noticed that the doctor kept glancing at her oddly. This continued on the next visit, when J0an told him that his strange glances were making her uncomfortable. Apologizing, he asked her if she'd ever had a miscarriage. She had, several years ago. He asked if the baby had been a boy and she nodded. He said that her son was still with her, actually right above her shoulder. He explained that the spirit of the baby often stays with its mother, going through the same childhood cycles of maturation until it decides, like a teenager, that it's ready to leave home. Jan's son was a playful little boy who kept distracting the doctor from his work by waving his arms and making faces at him.

I choose to believe that the spirit of my baby is alive and well and very close by. This may be delusional or visionary, I'm really not sure which, if either; but his presence nonetheless brings me joy. He is my reminder to keep my heart open, come home to it often, and always listen to its wisdom.

Lisa Schrader is a personal and professional coach, a writer, a speaker, and a mother to her 8-year-old daughter, Zoe. She lives in Grass Valley, California, and can be reached at schrader@neworld.net.

CD 18 - Other Motherhood Questions

(see entry 2.19.07) What are the best and worst things about entering motherhood now? What are the easiest and hardest things? How might this impact your relationship with yourself? With your partner? With your career? When you think about entering into a relationship with another, new being, how does it make you feel? What excites you about it? What scares you?

• The best things about entering motherhood now are that I am still considered "young" and I strongly feel God telling me that it's "our" time to be trying. The worst things are just the everyday answers: not enough money (is there ever enough?), busy with other activities, etc.
• The hardest thing I see is going to be deciding what to do about my job. I've only been there 1 year and I look forward to all the opportunities available. I fear it will be a very difficult decision to decide to stay at home, work part time, or be a full time working mom. My mom stayed home until I was about 6 years old and I really value the time we had together during those early years. I don't know yet if working part time in my current department is a possibility and I'm afraid/nervous to ask the question.
• When I've mentioned the possibility of quitting my job, my husband has not been too "keen" on the idea. He went to a babysitter as a kid as his mother was a Kindergarten teacher. In his mind, he "turned out fine." I've told myself to remain open minded as the decision will indeed be very difficult to make and for us as a partnership.
• When I think about entering into a new relationship with a new being, I feel like I just cannot wait to meet her/him. I'm scared because I don't know how to care for a screaming baby at 3 a.m. (but I hope J will help), ;) but I'm excited to be responding to the human instinct of keeping our gene pool going. How thrilling it must be to hold the little being in your arms that is completely and wholly yours, made from your flesh.
  

God's Hidden Gifts

In a recent podcast I listened about difficult times that God puts before us. A comment in the show mentioned how each struggle one faces results in a "lesson" or "gift" for us in the end if we are willing to watch and wait for it. Sometimes it is really difficult to see these lessons... especially to see them as gifts, don't you think? And sometimes they feel as though the gifts are a loooong time in coming.

I've heard of many women who say they don't ever forget the loss and will remember and memorialize the loss(es) in different ways. These women, however, once they finally have a subsequent living child, come to recognize all the pain and suffering from the miscarriage as a gift, for if they had not gone through it, they would not have the particular child they were blessed with later that they love so much.

The comments in this podcast allowed me to reflect directly on our miscarriage now that we have had significantly more time to consider and remember our loss. Here are the few lessons and gifts I can recognize so far:

• I learned (and am still learning) how to talk about my loss with other people, giving a greater voice to this type of loss that has been so silent for centuries
• I am able to be a sounding board for other women who suffer a pregnancy loss because I "get it."
• Knowledge is power. I have become empowered researching miscarriages and fertility, and interpreting and recognizing my own fertility signs.
• I've learned patience and to trust God's timing (still working on these!).
• A strengthened relationship with Jason.

And I trust God that many more are to come!

My Childhood Pony Remembered

Snowball (1975-March 2007); I owned him approx. 1987-1990. I will try to post a picture soon!

From a former owner:

This is the letter that I have dreaded writing for years but I wanted to let all of you know that our little boy has gone on to Heaven. As most of you know he had a displaced colon last September that Va. Tech was able to fix and the same thing happened again yesterday. Carolyn, Holly and I decided not to put him through any more surgery, and Mt. View did all that they could but he was just too old. Carolyn and her family wanted to bury him on their farm so they went and picked him up this morning and did just that. He will always hold a very special place in all our hearts especially those of you he taught how to ride and simply those who knew him. He was one of a kind...

And another:

He was a great little guy---how many careers did he have? How many people did he carry? How many children loved him (except possibly at foxhunting time!)?

If there are ponies in heaven (and I sincerely hope so), he will certainly be there. I'm sure that He who oversees all will forgive Snowball a few bucks and a few extracurricular grab-the-bit-and-runs (mostly in his youth), for all the good works he performed with the mini-jockeys.

Perhaps God waits even now to greet him with the words we will all hope to hear one day, "Well done, my good and faithful servant."

CD 7 - Healthy Supplements

Some notes about what I recently learned:

• wild yam taken from ovulation to cycle day 1 has been known to assist lengthening the luteal phase
• flax seed or flax oil can help relieve constipation during pregnancy and is an essential fatty acid
  
• red raspberry tea/infusion is helpful for pre-conception and pregnancy
• a source for herbs and supplements: Swanson Vitamins
  

CD 6 - Another Response from 2/19 Post

If I don't try to get pregnant now, then what? What are your concerns and fears? If you were not to enter the path of motherhood now at this time, what would that be like?

• If I didn't try to get pregnant now...? Well technically we're taking "off" this cycle. It feels a little bit freeing so far. I feel myself relaxing a little more. I think the break will be good. You hear of so many couple getting pregnant right after they stop trying so hard... (although plenty get pregnant trying awfully hard too).
• My concern is that we will "waste" another good, potentially very fertile month. My fear as time goes on is that I don't truly know with 100% certainty that I will be able to be a mother of my own biological children.
  
• If I don't enter the "path of motherhood" right away, well... It certainly has been disappointing to have not entered it when I wanted to. But I have learned a lot about the fertility process and about myself in this "wait" period. The journey surely involves plenty of waiting!
• Also I know I'm "young," but I'm starting to feel the clock tick... I would love to have more than one child. I don't want to prolong number 1 any longer so that we don't have to face more risks and potential issues in the future if I am a lot older.
  

Tuckered Out Pups

CD 3 - I'm Not Sure Whether I Want to Become a Mother Because...

• From what friends and family say, my entire life and purpose for it will change. Life will no longer be about me. It will be about my child. That will mean giving up a lot of personal "me" time. Life will revolve around my child for the next 18+ years. I like my space and time to do what I want, when I want.
• The responsibility scares me yet intrigues and excites me at the same time. I hear stories of parents taking home their first baby thinking, "What, they're really going to let me leave with this baby? Are they sure this is safe? That we can really take care of it?" I bet I would be thinking the same thing! I suppose I could practice by carrying around a crystal egg, like the one in the movie Risky Business with Tom Cruise for about 3-6 months. I remember how much trouble he got in with his mother when she found the crack in the egg after she and his father returned home from their vacation. I fear I would easily "crack" or break a baby!
• My marriage would turn upside down in many ways. Less sex, more stress, different topics that would require our communication between each other. We would be changing many of our typical routines.
• I would have to spend less time with my dogs. Indy & Razor would adjust, but they would most certainly be jealous of the baby on some levels. Indy would suffer more. He is more "needy" than Razor. Razor in his Labrador Retriever way is more capable of "going with the flow." Indy, however, has more needs. At his Border Collie core, he needs a job and needs to feel needed.

That's all I can think of at the moment. They don't sound like very significant reasons to me so far to halt this journey!

CD 3 (cycle day 3)

I have started reading on more natural methods to assist fertility. I've joined some "fertility alternative" online boards and started reading Fertility Wisdom: How Traditional Chinese Medicine Can Help Overcome Infertility by Angela C. Wu. Chinese medicine and acupuncture is all about finding the proper and natural balance in our bodies. Ms. Wu describes and illustrates many methods in this book that can be used and practiced throughout everyday life in conjunction with other natural methods or with a modern western medical fertility doctor. I look forward to learning more about these practices. I will also ask my friend who sees an acupuncturist more about what she has learned.

Also I called my OB-GYN and got the name of the fertility doctor (reproductive endocrinologist, or R.E.) that they refer patients to. The nurse gave me the name of Dr. Bruce Bateman at Martha Jefferson Hospital in Charlottesville. I plan to quietly ask around about him and other doctors in the area, just to gather more information in case I decide to make an appointment somewhere.

Jason & I have decided to "take a break" this cycle. The stress of trying will not be missed; though, I think we are getting better at keeping it fun ;) when the fertile time rolls around. We are not thrilled about the idea of a December baby. (My brother seems to get the "shaft" every year. His birthday is December 19.) However, if we are blessed with an "accident" this cycle, what a blessing it would be! And, there's always the possibility that he/she could come early (November)! Not knowing my ovulation date yet of this cycle, an estimated due date would be approximately December 8.

I am loving this blog! It's excellent to be able to get all my thoughts and many resources listed in one place.