So now I'm an inspiration, am I?

I decided it was time to wade through my stockpile of leftover fertility meds and donate the goods to my local RE. Some stuff was getting close to its expiration date and I didn’t want anything to go to waste.

So, sack o’ drugs in hand, I made the trip to his office. From the office staff’s reaction you’d think I was some sort of returning hero. They were genuinely glad to see me, from the front desk staff to the phlebotomist. The head nurse, a lovely woman who has been beyond supportive, gave me an enormous hug and I swear, there might have been tears in her eyes at the sight of me and my swelling belly.

When she walked me into the doctor’s office to say hello I got another grand reception, and an introduction to a medical student that had been trailing my RE to see if the specialty was one that might interest him.

RE to Med Student: “This is the woman I’ve been telling you about!”

Then to me: “Don’t worry, I haven’t been using your name, but I do use your situation as an example. Mostly to other woman to encourage them to not give up, but also to Med Student here to demonstrate the depth and variety of problems one can encounter in a patient!”

The depth and variety of problems one can encounter in a patient? Gee, thanks. Yeah, I know Mother Nature had made it damn clear that I was not under any circumstances to reproduce, but Science trumped her ass and here we are.

He then proceeded to list off, with my help, all the myriad and assorted things that are wrong with me and should have prevented this pregnancy from ever occurring, all for the benefit of Med Student.

Hearing my local RE proclaim me to others as such a tough case really brings it home what a miracle this pregnancy is.

In this same vein, at my last ob/gyn appointment my doctor (who I’m not a big fan of so far - let’s call him “Dr. Bumble”) told me that he had sent several people to the Sher Institute of Reproductive Medicine based on my story alone. Tough cases all, he said.

I’m happy to provide an example of what’s possible, but do I have to be the poster child for lost causes made good?

Yikes.

In response to my constipation/toilet clogging/hemorrhoid issue, Dr. Bumble suggested I up the intake of my stool softener to 300 mg a day and add in a teaspoonful of mineral oil. Since I was already at 200 mg a day it was doubtful that increasing the dose by 100 mg would do much, so I have taken matters into my own hands and brought the dose up to 400 mg a day. I’ve skipped the mineral oil thus far - a medicine that costs 89¢ a pint scares me more than anything. There has been some improvement on the movement front, but I haven’t filed away the plunger just yet.

19w2d today. Hallelujah.

Plumbing problems.

Warning: this post is not for the easily grossed out.

All is not right in the House of Bad Egg. My insides aren’t working so well, and in turn are causing problems for the plumbing at my house.

I was sporadically constipated before I became pregnant, especially during IVF cycles. Since I found out I was pregnant I’ve been taking a stool softener every day at the suggestion of my local RE. Not to mention the increased fiber & fluid intake.

That stuff used to work. It works no more. Now I’m stuck in this hellish pattern where I won’t poop for two or three days. When I do finally go it’s shocking. Astounding. Painful. And worst of all, toilet clogging.

Yup, I’ve clogged every toilet in the house, repeatedly. I now know not to even set foot in the bathroom without bringing the plunger with me. And no, it’s not overuse of toilet paper, just the sheer size and volume of poop. If I weren’t disgusted, I’d be proud.

It’s embarrassing, really. Dear B., big strong man that he is, has never clogged one of the toilets at home, much less all three of them. He’s been out of town for two weeks, which means I can’t even pretend that anything he’s produced has contributed to the clog. They’re mine, all mine.

There are few things I enjoy less than plunging a clogged toilet. Normally I coerce B. into doing the dirty work, but with him gone I’ve had to become quite the pro. Just another unpleasantness I must deal with alone. Okay, yeah, I’m creating the clog so technically, I should be the one dealing with it, but hey, I so rarely work the girly angle that I feel entitled to on occasion.

You know where this is going, I’m sure. Yup, I’ve grown myself a humdinger of a hemorrhoid. Last bathroom session I actually let out some sort of primal scream at the excruciatingly painful moment of passage. Just a sneak preview into the kind of noises I can expect to make while in labor, I guess. (Provided I make it that far, of course. My bowels may explode before then, among other possible calamities.)

17w5d today. A miracle, really, in spite of my plumbing issues.

The doors have opened...

I’ve been admitted to the club. I belong. Suddenly I’m no longer the infertile person who is completely left out of the baby/child/parenting conversation. In fact, I’m the premier new member, the center of attention.

It’s overwhelming. While I’m more than glad to be rejoining the fold I left behind as I isolated myself while my infertility raged, it’s bittersweet. I often feel like an imposter, a fraud. Sure, things are looking pretty good now, but don’t these people know that the rug can be swept out from under my feet at any moment?

One thing has become clear though. I was left out, I didn’t fit in, I wasn’t imagining things or exaggerating when I thought my friends only ever talked about babies/children/parenting.

No wonder it hurt. No wonder I isolated myself.

I am grateful for their advice and eager to catch up on learning all that I missed. Having more of a social life has been lovely. Still, I can’t help but feel that I don’t belong, that this hard won pregnancy can be revoked at any moment, that none of them truly understand what’s at risk. They talk of bouncy seats and breastfeeding and I’m interested, but my little voice says, “don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched, girl!”

Jackpot!

Does it get any better than this?

One boy...

One girl...

Both measuring perfectly, looking great, and right on track. Sixteen weeks today.

I am relieved that it’s not two boys, though that was what I was preparing myself for. The testosterone in this house would have been scary thick, but this way we should maintain some semblance of the balance we currently have...which is still pretty darned testosteroney, since I’m a tomboy and B. is Uber Man.

This pregnancy became a lot more real to me today. Instead of two nebulous beings floating around in there, I have a son and a daughter, babies that looked tons more developed since the last ultrasound four weeks ago.

Pinch!

Is this really happening to me? How is it possible that I’m so blessed after so much struggle? When is the other shoe going to drop? (What the hell does that expression mean anyway?)

Yeah, I’m a sappy mess today. I’m sorry if this is rough to read, especially for those still actively struggling with infertility. And I apologize for the long breaks between posts. I've been posting less because I can't help but feel that my joy might be salt in someone's wound, which is not my intent, not at all.