You can catch up on the rest of the story so far, here:
I am only a few days out from having a laparoscopy and hysteroscopy. Where the doctor looks to remove the endometrioma cyst on my ovary, search around for any obvious causes for my inability to get pregnant, and scrape out any other endometriosis from anywhere it should not be. I am also sick with a cold and my period is supposed to be due any minute. I am in a foul mood and I am struggling to come to terms with just about everything. I am nervous I’ll be deemed too sick to have the surgery. I am nervous about the surgery. I have never been put under general anaesthetic before in my life and for some reason my lack of control of the situation is really getting to me. I mean, I like to have some control in my life, but I wouldn’t call myself a total control freak. Yet this freaks me out. I’m going to be completely out to it and anything could happen without my knowledge. I know that these procedures should hopefully help my quality of life (my periods have been HORRIBLE and I just want the madness to end*) and the unavoidable end game is that there is the hope that it might help my chances of being able to conceive with my husband. You know, that baby we’ve so badly wanted for years now, who hasn’t turned up yet. Tardy little bugger.
I am struggling because I am usually a realist. Or even verging on optimistic. Yet, I am in a headspace where I feel quite disillusioned and unable to imagine an outcome that actually makes me feel like things are getting better. See, this whole fertility thing has been a mixed bag for me. When I got pregnant with the Little Mister it was amazing. He was determined to hurtle his way into this world and I am so glad he did. But…I was the person who got gestational diabetes. I was the one who against the odds was lucky enough to have PUPPP (from halfway through the pregnancy and not at the end like most people). Whenever I was told the odds of something happening to me during pregnancy were low, I just stopped listening because it turns out I’m pretty ‘special’ when it comes to the weird shit. I even got a ridiculous infection in my amniotic fluid that brought on labour really fast (luckily the Little Mister was full term when it happened). It was considered an unusual case for some reason at the time.
So you can imagine how I’m feeling days out from this surgery. I am not optimistic about this cold pissing off in time. If I do miraculously shake off the illness in time, I can’t imagine coming out of it with the doctor saying, “Everything was routine and normal. We found the exact issue and you’re right as rain. Good luck trying for a baby in a few weeks when you’ve recovered.” and then my period gets easier and we suddenly conceive like all those ‘friends of friends’ we keep hearing about. I just can’t go there. I imagine us still not conceiving and feeling defeated and confused and frustrated. I imagine the hurt of being on the two week wait roller coaster over and over again. I imagine waking up and being told they took my tubes or my uterus isn’t viable for baby carrying. Despite having previous tests that have not indicated this to be the case. I imagine my anger that maybe if I hadn’t tried Clomid in the first place I wouldn’t have ended up even more infertile. Like that’s a thing. I worry – what if it all goes wrong and my keyhole surgery turns into open surgery? What if I don’t ever come back and my quest for a second baby leaves my first baby without me ever functioning normally again? What if all those things the doc said were such a minute chance of going wrong with me, go wrong with me? Because I’m me?
Yes. I’m probably coming off as a Negative Nancy right now. A paranoid…Patricia. But it’s not that I’m trying to be down in the dumps about it all. A small part of me is excited at the possibilities. But a larger part of me is used to this not being so simple. I can’t seem to believe that this will ever come easily. That our time might come where we get to feel the miracle of a good, successful pregnancy. It feels like it’s been so long with no results or clear answers. I know people try a lot longer than us and I know that those people would be laughing at me for feeling like this only 2 years in. But it’s tough. I don’t know how they do it.
But I guess I know why. Because our family isn’t complete yet. Because that old nursery in the back of my house feels like a sad place. There’s a space in my heart waiting for a special little person to decide it’s the right time to come to us. And we just can’t give up on that nagging feeling that we can’t be done yet.
I think I also think of my own (adoptive) parents. They never got their answers. They did all the right things and deserved the world and it didn’t work. Hence the adoptions of my brother and I. Of course none of us would change any of that for the world now, but I often (half) joke that my mum is a terrible example for hope for those with fertility issues. Because every procedure she’s tried that I am now going through, didn’t make things better!!!! She’s been a tremendous support, but gosh it’s a bit disheartening too.
I keep trying to remind myself that I am lucky because one advantage I have is knowing that my body has done the whole baby thing one time before. That gives me a slightly better chance than someone who has never been able to do that.
I don’t know how I’m going to get through this. Other than I’ll just literally have no choice but to get through it. I guess when I’m lying on the table counting backwards from ten, I might stop overthinking it. I guess whatever greets me at the other end will be whatever it is. I just hope and pray (in the non religious sense) with everything that I have that I will be strong enough to cope with even the toughest or most unpredictable news I might receive. I hope I will be able to handle whatever comes my way with as much sanity as I can possibly muster.
Life isn’t fair and I might not ever get the ‘fair’ outcome my friends and family are believing I deserve. And it’s knowing this that drives me crazy these days.
I just hope that maybe there’s a bigger plan out there that will end in some kind of joy for my family. It’s hard not knowing what that ‘plan’ is, but I really have to believe that there is one.
Luckily, I was allowed to go through with the surgery – my cold was not going to be a problem. I was glad to just get on with it. I was so relieved to wake up and be told that my tubes were intact and that everything that was growing in the wrong place had been removed. Sadly, this did absolutely nothing to help my fertility, but it was good to know my health wasn’t an issue anymore. It was a relief to finally be able to take good drugs to get rid of my cold and in all honesty, I think that the general anaesthetic was actually great – I had a good sleep haha.
*despite my hopes, my periods didn’t get better – they got inexplicably steadily worse