A Message From Wounded Warriors To The Boston Marathon Bombing Victims.

These are my friends, and this is our life.

How To Bake A Baby In As Many Steps As Possible.

If there were a hard and long way to do it, I think we've found it. But, there is some hope. Here is our master infertility plan.

1. Sperm analysis, one in June which could be a "yes" or a "maybe" and another one later, six months after beginning Clomid, which could be a "probably not" or "yes." Any further ones usually display the same results as the second analysis, so we will decide then whether or not to emotionally torture ourselves for another three months or call it a day.
1a. If the sperm is stable, it will be frozen. Yay!
1b. If the sperm is not stable, it will hopefully be matched with my eggs and embryos will be frozen. Yay! And where do my eggs come from? Onto the next step...

So, concurrent with steps 1-1b:

1a-1. I will get checked out and make sure my pipes are clear and my oven (uterus) compliant.
1a-2. I will go through hormones and egg extraction, hopefully this summer! The referral to see the specialist was supposed to be put in but of course, it was not because referrals can never be put in correctly the first time. Inconsistency is consistent.
2. Embryos will be made and frozen if good.
3. In a few years, we will attempt to nestle an embryo inside my uterus.
4. 9 months after that, we attempt to begin to raise a baby. Whoo!

Seriously, how many more variables could we rely on to make this work? We hope his sperm is stable enough for freezing. We hope my body responds to the hormones and I eject many healthy eggs. We hope that if his sperm is not stable, embryos will be made and they will be good enough to freeze. And we hope that in two-three years everything still works and a baby will grow inside of me and then wa-la, we will be bio-parents. That is waaaaaaay too much hope for my personal comfortable level, to be honest. Hope kills. Hope doesn't have to deliver- it just has to be a prayer. I am not comfy with that, but that's just me. So, so many things are dependent upon timing and the idea that biologically, everything is working and will continue to work until we don't need it to work anymore (preferably after a baby has been baked and delivered).

And if it doesn't work and the eggs have already been extracted? I'll donate them. Not that anyone would want them, but I'd rather not just have them destroyed. And why are we waiting? Because I think 34 is a wonderful age to bring a baby into this world, especially for us. We both KNOW that having a baby now or soon would be recklessly stupid of us. A few more years of getting our whole lives figured out and we should be good to go. You know, like most people do in their early 20s after college, not early 30s (mid for Aaron now... heehee) after a freaking devastating war injury. Awesome.

And yeah, I get that the hormone shots aren't "that bad" but I am one of those needle-avoiding persons who still cries at ALL shots. I am not excited in any way, shape, or form about this egg extracting process and all the drugs that go with it. I'm already off my very functional birth control pill and not enjoying it. Maybe it's TMI for you guys, but I'm having the revenge period from hell. Anyone who has stopped a pill that was doing a great job knows what I am talking about. My damn uterus is out to kill me. Little does she know that once she does her job or we figure out there will be no baby to bake, she will be put out of service forever. Bwa-haha. I've discussed her inability to function properly before, so I figure you guys get the gist: she has rarely done well without birth control, and even that's been hit and miss. Oh, I got diagnosed with a fibroid at my last "wtf is wrong with me" appointment. So a cyst and a fibroid within the past year. I am pretty sure I've had more cysts but they are cyclical so hard to catch. Whatever. I can't do a damn thing about any of this, apparently. And of course, none of this is a big deal to the doctors and nurses and "these things just sometimes happen." I've had unexplained problems since I was a teen. Why would I think it would get better or be treatable in my 30s? Let's not start trying new things now, right?!

I am sure my sense of humor is sick and offensive, but what the hell do we have left in this process? Cause I've cried it out and Aaron has hashed it out and really, it's either going to work or it's not. We will absolutely, definitely adopt and perhaps we start the whole thing of eggs and sperm, and realize that we don't care to bake a baby at all and everyone goes on their merry way, AND THEN one day we find our kid through adoption. At this point, it's out of our hands. We are about to be doing all we can with this. And I'm okay with that.

One of my best friends got married in Vermont a week or so ago, and it was awesome. I also still need to post about the USO-Metro Awards Gala. I will. I just need to get my shit together this week. Love and hugs, guys. Have good weeks!

Caregiving to the second power.

I have a lot of neat-o and cool things going on, in addition to the fact that I haven't posted about the USO Metro Awards from March, which was as magical a night as my wedding. I also spoke to a panel of medical professionals concerning sexual intimacy issues facing wounded warrior couples (that was a riot). But caregiving is kicking my ass right now, so that's what's on my brain.

There's all the usual stuff which I still struggle to do, to be honest. I've never had anyone take of me as an adult so it's challenging for me to understand needing it done. Yes, even in our situation. It's complex and I'm not proud of the fact that I can't fathom actually physically needing someone to do stuff for me but that's the truth. I imagine people who have children fair better at this because of that. Well, I didn't even have a pet until I got married so I have always been woefully unprepared for this.  I continue to do chores that my husband actually can't, on top of the usual "men forget to do everything in the house and have dust/dirt blindness," so some days suck. Some days I'm not nice about it, some days I cry, but most days I realize I do have to remind Aaron 15 times to do dishes but he will do them. And everyone is fine and happy. We're cutting up, laughing, listening to our vinyl records, and enjoying our time together.

But then he gets sick or hurt and the caregiving duty is doubled. He won't even take his meds or eat if I don't take it to him. He tries, but is sore, in pain, weak, and tired of it. He had a spinal tap performed last Wednesday and hasn't been right since. Two ER trips and laid up all weekend. Laid up today. I don't mind doing these things for him. Not at all. I think we're just tired of being tired and hurt and sick. No one wants this.

There was a Paul Mitchell salon day scheduled for the caregivers today, and usually it wouldn't be an issue for me to attend. But today- sigh. He's still in bed. I am going to drive him in later for appointments to get him checked out, but it was a battle just to have him agree to that. I'm not upset with him for being laid up and in pain and consequently, needier than usual. That's not it at all.

It just sucks. We're all going to get sick and needy from time to time, and if we're lucky we have someone around to tend to us. He does what he can when I'm stuck with back pain for whatever reason. It's okay. But when you throw it on top of a daily life that already includes a certain amount of caregiving, it can feel endless and overwhelming. It's like a black hole of having to get right back up the minute I sit down, checking on my husband to make sure he's comfortable, driving him in because he needs to recline on the ride. I don't mind doing any of this. Duh. All of it, any of it. He'd do the same for me if he could, and when I am sick, he does do what he can.

I won't lie, though. I won't smile and pretend that this is normal and okay and everyone is going to get out of this completely unscathed. Bullshit. This is hard. This hurts. And while I know Aaron and I will be fine and happy and in love, I also know that we are changing and responding/reacting and must be patient with each other. We are growing inside of this, and it is not without growing pains. And I suppose as long as we are still listening to our vinyl records at the end of the day, and cutting up, it'll be okay.

It's just a hard road to travel to get there.