take it from the top....or start from the bottom?

I am so grateful for the kind words of support and encouragement on Facebook last night.  It was humbling to know that you are joining me on this 30 day journey.  Thank you. 

All day long, I have been pondering the question that became the title of today's post.  In other words, do I stay negative or go positive?  My default is "look on the bright side" but I am not sure that the bright side can adquetely explain why I want to share some of my sadder, darker stories here.  More importantly, it is that very darkness and sadness that has shaped me into who I am now.

All day long, it's been nagging me and even though I wish it was not -- the answer became clear. Start at the bottom and work your way up.  Here's a story that might help shed some light on that darkness..

2004

Like so many couples in their early 30's, Matt and I were newly married and ready to start a family. We did what everyone told us to do -- "wait a year and just enjoy being married".  When it came time to start "trying" (I really, really hate that word) we took a lot of other well meaning advice as well.
"Take your temperature", "use this website to chart it", "don't worry for six months to a year, it's normal not to get pregnant at first".  My favorite piece of advice was "all it takes is a few too many beers at the Padre Game!"

So six months passed and then almost a year and after all of that well meaning advice, there we were.  Not pregnant.  I'd hear that phrase over and over again for at least another year.

We did what most couples in our situation do -- consulted our doctors and eventually took all of their well meaning advice:  "wear boxers", "take Clomid", "inject yourself with crazy hormones", "spend every morning at the lab and then the clinic following other infertile women around on a sad sort of field trip", "stop drinking caffeine"....you get the picture.

2004, 2005 and into 2006 was like a blur of fertility drugs (which SUCK by the way), appointments, consultations, poking, prodding, and replacing sex (at times) with interuterine inseminations (IUI).  Romantic. I once wanted to ask the doctor "was it good for you?" but I couldn't do it.  Least she could have done was make me breakfast after...

Diagnosis: unexplained infertility.  No reason or explanation of why it was not working for us despite all of the "trying" we were doing -- medically or otherwise.

At one low point of our journey, we got the news of another failed IUI in the Costco parking lot on the way to a 4th of July BBQ.  I still hate that parking lot and I still kind of hate the 4th of July.

It was after that sad news that Matt and I decided to take a break and re-evaluate what our next step would be....and wouldn't you know it, all of that well meaning advice to just keep "trying" paid off.

A few days before September 6th, 2006 -- my 34th birthday, I walked downstairs at 6am and while Matt sat, eating his yogurt and banana, I thrust a plastic stick in front of his face that said "pregnant".  His mouth dropped open and he said "how did that happen?" Looking back, it was both a sweet and sad comment.

To be pregnant "just because" was such a thrill and such a shock after all we had gone through.  We hugged and maybe cried and really just stood there holding each other.  Later that morning, I called our doctors and they insisted on a 6 week sonogram since I had been a fertility patient.

Fast forward to the day of the sonogram....

I had the day off and Matt was going to meet me at the doctor's office.  I had lunch plans with a girlfriend after and if all went well, I was going to share the news with her and celebrate.  We sat in the waiting room together, holding hands and smiling nervously.  The doctor called us back and we were so anxious.  The sonogram started and in a few quick moments, we knew it was not good news.

Nothing was there. Nothing.

I'm not sure how much time passed really and I can't remember what was said and how it was explained.  What I can remember is the crushing feeling in the air, the sadness on Matt's face and the words "ectopic pregnancy".

Instead of Matt going back to school and me going out to lunch, we were sent straight to the hospital. A few hours later, I was in surgery and Matt was in the waiting room with all of the parents.

When I woke up, I was feisty and pissed off.  I ripped the oxygen mask off my face and demanded to see Matt.  The two staff members in the recovery room calmed me down and told me he was on his way.

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally got to see him and I demanded that we leave right away.
Instead, it was apple juice and graham crackers and finally, a humiliating ride to the car in a wheelchair like I was an old woman who could not walk.

I remember Matt getting in the driver's seat as I slumped into the door on my side and just closed my eyes. I remember waking up the next morning with some bandages on my stomach (laproscopic surgery -- thankfully) and a crushing sadness in my heart.

Someone told me once -- losing a pregnancy is not only losing a child, but the dreams of what that child might have meant.  Ten years later, I can still say that is some of the best "advice" I got during our infertility journey.

Until this experience, I had never in my life known such deep sadness and I did not know how to handle it.

For quite some time, I became that girl that was slouched against the car door with her eyes closed.  Just going through the motions while silently suffering this loss and coming to terms with what this dream ending meant.

Eventually, I went back to work and stopped slouching and opened my eyes to the world again....but that deep sadness still remained.  I cried, I was angry, I asked why over and over.

At some point, I learned the answer to why -- that answer is "unexplained".  I will never ever know why and ten years later, I have created a life out of not knowing, of accepting, of being happy with what I do have instead of what I don't have.

This bottom for me is always going to be part of my story.  Believe me, I wish it never happened.
But it did and when I look back, I see how this experience changed my life -- eventually for the better.

Sharing this story for the first time publicly ten years later feels scary, good, healthy and above all, necessary.

Thanks for letting me start at the bottom....

xo
Margaret