2; “Just Relax – It’ll Happen When You Relax!,” or: GTFO

Let me preface this by saying that I am NOT a patient individual. Anyone who knows me knows that, and so the very first thing I did when we decided to try getting pregnant (besides get down to 15 lbs. less than where I am now, but that’s another story) was buy a shit ton of ovulation tests. Now if you don’t know what these are or have never used them and you have children, congratulations. Also, as an aside, please know there is going to be a lot of “GOOD FOR YOUUU”s in my posts and it is not directed at ANY one person who didn’t have trouble conceiving. I hate you all equally. :o) Not really, of course. I love you, especially if you’re reading this and especially if you have Reese’s you are willing to part with in exchange for literally nothing. But those complex emotions are, again, another story for another time.

Sorry to use a Dane Cook joke because it’s not 2005 nor am I an asshole, most of the time, but let’s Tarantino this and go back in time. I used ovulation tests – which, like a pregnancy test without the pregnancy part, is a stick you pee on to tell you when you’re going to ovulate, therefore your most fertile time – on our EUROPE TRIP, in September/October 2016, the first month we started trying. The night I got a positive result, I will not go into massive detail about, but let’s just say we’d spent the evening at Oktoberfest in Munich after spending the day in Salzburg in ANOTHER COUNTRY and had to get up at like 3 a.m. for a flight to London. It was…not the most laid-back experience, let me just put it that way. I don’t have many regrets but if I could go back I’d probably just chill the fuck way out on that trip because the timing was not ideal. At the airport, I literally fell backwards down an escalator. Luckily no one was watching except my equally terrified and amused husband, who still calls me Doodlebug to this day because of how I just. Kept. Fucking. Rolling. (And in New Orleans, where I’m from, that’s what we call roly polys, pill bugs, whatever the rest of you weirdos say.) Also, to be fair, the suitcase Josh was “holding” fell into me. I was the overpacker though so Josh 2, Doodlebug 1 I guess. I’m not mathing right now. I’m in the bathtub and I’m tired.

Speaking of chilling out, ever have anyone tell you “Just relaaaxxx, it’ll happen!” LOL BECAUSE I HAVE HAHAHAHA yeah. No. There is no scientific proof that NOT trying to time sex properly and enduring a little bit of stress to make that happen won’t lead to a baby but gosh golly, we tried it anyway. Josh and I went away for weekends a couple of times, I tried not tracking my basal body temperature (oh we’re about to get real educational and maybe even a little TMI up in here because I have learned A LOT) and symptoms. I tried drinking more water to help with my fertile cervical fluid (I warned you), eating and drinking out of glass instead of plastic, every vitamin you can think of, reading books about how to get pregnant faster, and nonnnne of that worked, guys. None of it. We are a case of unexplained infertility, which – you guessed it – is a case that the doctors can’t figure out. My Fallopian tubes are open. I don’t have endometriosis or PCOS. I seem to be ovulating on my own and have regular periods. I’m a human. I’m not THAT old. Josh had three – THREE – analyses done on his situation and those came (no pun intended ugh SORRY) out fine. A little tip (lolz) if you’re a type-A individual and have unexplained anything: don’t.

Turns out I DO have a weirdly positioned and difficult to penetrate cervix (imagine that!) and something called diminished ovarian reserve (DOR), which is a likely lower egg count than most women my age (33). So maybe these could be issues? I don’t know. But I had an ovarian antral follicle count (AFC) of 12 the last time I went to the doctor, about three weeks ago, and I believe most women my age have 15-25? Definitely more than I have. And the higher your AFC, the better because it means you have more fertile years left and if you undergo fertility treatment (more on our history of that later), you’re likely to get more eggs on one round of stimulation. My AMH hormone is also very low, which signals DOR as well. However, AMH and AFC tell you absolutely nothing about egg quality. Know what does? IVF! What a coincidence. The possibility of paying thousands upon thousands of dollars to potentially be told your eggs are a complete Dumpster fire. What a steal. Luckily my doctor believes I’m a very good candidate for IVF and that my eggs aren’t all hot garbage, which is probably just something he says to all the girls but alas. Josh and I are meeting with him next Wednesday to go over our schedule and get a few questions answered and cry over the price they give us so that should be a really fun time.

I joke but we actually are excited about it at this point because it’s something new to explore that we haven’t failed at before, which I know is a very glass-half-empty way to look at it but it’s almost impossible not to feel that way at times. Over the past two years, we have been through five intrauterine inseminations (IUIs – lots of fun acronyms when you’re dealing with infertility), one miscarriage and dilation and curettage (D&C), at least 10 friend/family pregnancies (three during months we had failed IUI cycles), approximately 73 bottles of wine – shout-out to that for playing its part in these 15 lbs.! – and roughly $15,000 spent (between medications, IUI treatments, a surgery, pregnancy and ovulation tests, vitamins, acupuncture, a crib that is sitting forlornly in the room we don’t feel right calling a “nursery” anymore, etc.) that has gotten us nothing tangible, so it’s safe to say we’re ready for this next step. And despite my sarcasm through 85% of this post…I am thankful for it. It has made me so much better of a person, and I’m excited to explain why to you guys.

But for now…bed. The water is cold and I regret everything.

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