Will It Ever Happen to Me?

That is a question that makes its way into my mind at least once a day. Sometimes it’s a more pessimistic variant (e.g. “this will never happen to me”) that haunts my day. It’s somewhat amusing that I was always confident in many areas of my life. I was a small kid when I decided I was going to live in the United States and, not for a moment, did I give up that goal... and here I am. I told myself I would be a successful career woman, independent, driven, and that I would always strive to be the best in my field. I can indeed say that I do very well for myself and my family.

In my early to mid 20s, in midst of relationship dramas, I have to confess that I had the same approach about marriage. It was unfathomable to me that I would fall madly in love with one man and that man would fall madly in love with me. What are the odds of two people falling in love at the same time?!? It was “never” gonna happen to me so I convinced myself that I didn’t need (or want) to be married anyway. As you read in my original post, it turns out love was in my horizon, and there is a pair of blue eyes that melt my heart every time it looks in my direction. There was a moment right before my wedding, that I looked at the mirror and thought “well, it did happen to me... wow”. What seemed so unachievable felt so natural at that point.

Now as I look around and see a false perceived increase in pregnant women surrounding me, I can’t help but once again ask: “Will it ever happen to me?” Maybe it’s time to convince myself that it can happen to me.

Back to the real world and away from the madness that is my mind, today my temperature spiked to lutheal phase temperatures. Because I had so much insomnia issues this cycle I think fertility friend will not give me crosshairs. Fine by me! I have been doing this for long enough to know when I have ovulated (one of the “perks” of one year trying). Fingers are crossed that the appointment next week will be cancelled. It would be the best late valentine’s day gift God could possibly give me.

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CD15 - 1DPO

The Massage Therapy

One thing that has become clear to me is that the amount of time it takes for one to conceive, directly influences one's gullibility. If you would have told me one year ago that I would be getting massages and considering acupuncture, I probably would have laughed hysterically. Give me facts, give me science, give me numbers... not alternative mambo jambo. Boy, have I changed...

My husband and I have a massage therapist. He is our go-to guy for any muscle aches and pain, my husband's hip issue, and my stress over work. In one of our sessions he casually mentioned he works with couples who are trying to conceive and to let him know when we were trying. I then started thinking (to much of my husband’s despair) about giving it a shot. What did I have to lose besides 60 minutes (well and a little money)?

He was understandably skeptical, but agreed under one condition: “You have to promise you are not going to throw money at anyone who tells you they can get you pregnant.” I can understand his (very much founded) fear and agreed to discuss with him, so we can jointly reach a decision on any and all treatments be them standard or alternative. I cannot, in good faith, commit to anything past that and he seemed to be at peace with that compromise. We scheduled an appointment for an hour, when he was going to show my husband pressure points and specific massage movements that are designed to increase a woman’s fertility. I conveniently overlooked the fact that he never explained what the massage would do.... would it be a stronger ovulation? Improved cervical mucus, perhaps? A stronger uterine lining? You know I just laid down, relaxed, and let the massage therapist and my guy get to work.

The massage was incredibly relaxing. At times it made me amazingly turned on and ready to jump my husband’s bone (well perhaps that’s how it increases fertility?). I was, however, a bit annoyed at my husband who was yawning and sounding uninterested at what the therapist was doing. The therapist kept explaining all the reflexology points and how to relax and stimulate the pelvic area, which oils to use. I have to admit that a piece of me thought that even if I did not get pregnant I got 60 minutes of the most relaxing full body massage a girl can get! And that already felt amazing!

Fast forward to the next morning. I had an abundant amount of egg white cervical mucus (EWCM) for the whole day. Not a little, not some, but a ridiculous amount, the way I rarely have (it was hump time, naturally). For the next two days it was watery and still is - I just wish my husband would do the massage again as I am definitely about to ovulate. However, being a guy, he is totally disinterested and wants to keep trying to traditional way (so why did he borrow the massager is just beyond me...). Since he was supposed to do it every other day to work I guess it is the end of the massage try out. I’ll still try to convince him a little more.

Our Story

I always wondered how this story was going to start. Perhaps fueled by the certainty that conceiving would be so easy for us, I envisioned that my first post would mark the beginning of my pregnancy. Such naïveté should probably confirm that I was indeed a Pollyanna, or maybe merely ill-informed about my own body and, subsequently, my fertility.  

My high school was very detailed about sex education. Between the giggle fits and blushed pimple faces we learned about all birth control methods, sexually transmitted diseases with graphic pictures and honest conversations. In a somewhat polemic move, the principal of my school distributed condoms before carnival under the “better safe than sorry” guise. Throughout my entire high school life I had only seen two pregnant kids in my school. One was a transfer who was expelled from catholic school when the school found out she was pregnant. The other simply ignored everything we were taught. Sex talks in my house were always welcome and no question was ever censored. I was a lucky teenager armed with all prevention knowledge a teenager could have. The following high school year our biology curriculum focused on embryology and genetics. There was a hint of irony in the Sex Education -> Embryology/Genetics sequence that was lost in my teen mind… but I diverge.

Perhaps such emphasis on how to prevent led us to (erroneously) believe that having a baby was as easy as not using birth control, having a drink, and going to the back of a car. Two weeks later you would be hurling your breakfast and gushing over cribs while waiting for our bundle of joy to make an appearance. We “knew” exactly how to do it and how to prevent it! Ha! We knew nothing about making babies.

Throughout my twenties I obsessed with every period that was a mere couple of days late. How could this be? I was “never” late!! Tears were shared with best friends along with “what will I do now” conversations regarding children that never existed. As I applied myself towards two degrees, worked, interned, and maintained a social life, my life was blissfully child-free. I had all the time in the world and no hurry to fall in love, get married, and start a family. And I just “knew” that once I wanted to have kids all I had to do was toss the birth control aside. That’s what I was taught.

Many years later I met the love of my life. A cute, somewhat shy, and amazing man swept my rebel heart and I finally said “I do.” It wasn’t too long before we decided to have kids. And I did what I knew. On October 2010 I stopped taking the birth control pill and we decided to start trying on February 2011 following a microsurgery I had to undergo. Thus began the most brutally frustrating journey of our married life: Trying (unsuccessfully) to have a baby.  

The first month was disappointing. The second was a little better psychologically speaking. As we hit six months and not a single positive test, we started realizing this wasn’t as easy as we originally thought. My feelings ranged from disappointment, to frustration, to anger, to sheer numbness, until finally what I now call “hopeful desperation.” My husband’s feelings seemed to range from indifferent, to annoyed, to a bit frustrated, and now he seems to have joined me in the hopeful (though not yet desperate for him) train.

We hit the dreaded one year mark. We are looking for answers to questions we haven’t even formulated yet. We are hopeful for a smooth ending while ready for a bumpy ride. Whatever it will be it is our journey, but one that you are welcome to follow.