Grabbing June by the Balls

Do you remember in fifth grade when they tested your physical ability? You’d run, you’d do sit ups, and they’d try to force you to climb up a rope (for whatever damn reason). Do you remember the chin ups? I could never, ever do chin ups. I still can’t. I vividly remember just hanging there while my gym teacher looked at me with her arms crossed waiting for me to do something. I would offer her one amusing anecdote after another but that didn’t seem to suffice. Typically, after five minutes or so of some quality hanging, she’d let me release the bar and drop defeated to the floor.

This weekend in general, I was in the serious throws of PMS. Every symptom was there: Cramps, backache, headaches, sleeping poorly, craving chocolate and moodier than a bipolar patient off their meds.

Even though we genuinely want to take the summer to have crazy monkey sex, lose some weight (which I’m hoping you can do through the crazy monkey sex) and regroup in general, I still can’t help but get sad when I know I’m getting my period. Aunt Flo has become “Exhibit A” in the case I’ve mounted against myself as being a failure. Her arrival is always a reminder of what could have been.

Needless to say, I wasn’t in the best emotional place when I got an email from one of my friends with pictures of her child. She and I started trying to get pregnant the very same month (not that I’m bitter). She now has a four month old son and I have a several thousand dollar debt. Perhaps I should email her a copy of my invoice for good measure?

Then, on Facebook (or “Fertilitybook” as I like to call it since everyone on there seems to be pregnant or having babies), another good friend of mine posted pictures of her three children. If only I could post the picture my doctor took of the fertilized eggs they transferred for my IVF. It’s a lovely photo; in black and white and the two embryos are side by side. They both even look like me – curvy and fabulous! Still though, aside from the fact that they no longer exist, they really aren’t as cute as my friend’s two-year-old daughter. They may be cuter than Jennifer Lopez’s kids though. Have you seen her kids? WOW. Too bad they look like their father… it’s a shame.

The biggest news from this past weekend was that Sam’s brother and sister-in-law gave birth to their second child; a girl. They started trying for their second kid six months after we started trying for our first (again, not that I’m bitter or anything). Yesterday, they sent me the baby’s first picture. That also happened to be the day Aunt Flo arrived. Despite trying to pass it off as some sort of “Rorschach Ink Blot Test”, I resisted the urge to send them a picture of my period.

Seeing everyone’s families grow, the pictures, the emails, etc. made me feel like I was in fifth grade again hanging from that bar only this time, I wasn’t in gym class. I was in “Fertility Purgatory” being forced to watch everyone else live our dream… just hanging… waiting for something to happen.

It’s like when you order something at a restaurant and you see a member of the wait staff put it on someone else’s table. That’s how I felt this weekend. “Umm, excuse me? I’m sorry but I think you got the baby we ordered?”

Did I mention I’m not bitter?

There really is only one thing to do when you’re feeling stagnant and in the dumps and that’s to come up with a new plan. Get active. Fight the good fight. In short – get super effen pissed off and start kicking ass and taking names.

In my case, I’ve decided to cheat on my usual Reproductive Endocrinologist (a very nice old man who I’m sure means well) and get a second opinion from a respected fertility clinic here in New York City. This shouldn’t be a big deal as it’s my uterus and I can show it to whomever I choose, but I do have a bit of guilt. I honestly don’t know why. I mean, I’ve been with my doctor for awhile now, but it’s not like he put a ring on my finger. Well, if I’m being fair, he did give me a Nuvaring once but that hardly counts.

I’ve left a message with a new fertility clinic and I’ve faxed over a request to my current doctor to ask for a copy of all my records. Perhaps a pair of fresh eyes looking at our case can come up with some explanation as to why we’re not pregnant yet. If not, then hopefully I can at least get a hotter doctor.

I’m also taking herbs that my acupuncturist has recommended, I bought the book, “The Infertility Cure: The Ancient Chinese Wellness Program for Getting Pregnant and Having Healthy Babies“, I’m eating healthy, I’m taking my vitamins, I’m exercising, and I’m trying (yes, that work again… trying) to not be scared.

I’m scared that they’ll never figure out why we can’t get pregnant. I’m scared that they will find out why we can’t get pregnant and it’ll be something unfixable. I’m scared of spending more money and not getting results. Mostly though, I’m scared it’s never going to happen for us. And if it isn’t obvious, I’m also scared of Jennifer Lopez’s kids. Seriously – they don’t look right (not that I’m bitter…)

What I need is to remember is what my fifth grade gym teacher used to say to us: “It’s not whether you get knocked down; it’s whether you get back up.” She also said, “You’re all lazy and probably won’t amount to much.” But I find the first quote far more appropriate and inspirational. Yes, I’ve been knocked down but I’m getting back in the game in the hopes that this time around… I won’t get knocked down. I’ll get knocked up.

So, I have a message for the month of June – I’m handing out lollipops and whoop ass… AND I’M FRESH OUT OF LOLLIPOPS!