A challenge changes shape

I have always wanted to be a mother. I like to tell people that I've thought about having children since I was a child, because it's true and because it sounds good. I like to read about teaching methods and childhood development and what effects experience can have on personality and learning. I often think about what sort of environment I want to provide for my children, how I want them to feel comfortable and safe and loved, and how I'd like to foster in them a love of exploration and creation and imagination. To this day, when I hear about a fun trip or project, I think about doing it with my kids.

Two things came along in my life to derail my assumptions. Neither of them managed to snuff out my dreams, no matter how hard they tried. But together, it seemed that they would see to it that my dreams never became a reality.

The first thing, of course, was cancer. I was diagnosed with biphenaltypic leukemia in 1997, and the three rounds of chemotherapy and bone marrow transplant I underwent to conquer that disease effectively destroyed my ovaries--or, perhaps, the eggs inside them. I only have regular periods when I'm on hormone replacements, and despite having nothing but unprotected sex throughout my seven-year marriage to Sean, we have never had so much as a miscarriage.

Through my struggles with this reality, Sean always told me to face reality, to try to be happy without my dream. Sean didn't want children; that was the second thing.

He never wanted kids. Never dreamed about it, never thought about it except when I talked about it. The most he would ever agree was that he'd accept it if I happened to get pregnant; aggressive fertility treatments and adoption simply weren't things he was interested in. There was a time when I tearfully tried to express just how important having children was to me...he was silent for a time and then said quietly, "I didn't think it was a deal-breaker."

It wasn't, of course. I knew how Sean felt when I married him. I married him because I loved and still love him, not because I expected him to give me everything I wanted. I've come to realize that Sean doesn't fully grasp how much I love him, how leaving him to pursue one of my dreams simply isn't an option.

And so, over the past ten years as I struggled with the knowledge of my infertility and had doors slammed in my face with every test, I was alone. Sean ached for me, but never with me. He wanted me to be happy. He wanted me to forget about having kids and just enjoy my life with him.

In a way, that made it a little easier. At least that way, if I couldn't give him children, I wasn't disappointing him.

But that part of the equation fell away last weekend, when Sean said, as if I'd known it all along, "I still want to have a daughter one day. Just one. Of course, with my luck, we'd end up with a boy. I'd like us to be able to have a kid, but if that's not possible...I would be okay with adoption."

We've got a lot going on right now. We're planning to move across town, and Sean's trying to get a certification and move on with his career. Once that's settled I will be undergoing elective surgery. We won't be ready to try expensive fertility treatments for a year after that.

But that's the plan now. It may be too late...or it may never have been possible. But we'll try.

And if that fails, it looks like we'll be adopting.

I honestly don't know how to feel. This isn't a too-good-to-be-true situation, but it's still so much more than I was led to expect these past ten years.

My world view, which for so long has felt so narrow, seems suddenly to have expanded. If I just turn my head, I feel like I could see it all.

But I can't bring myself to go all-in just yet. Not with all the disappointments I've already gone through.

At this point I will clamp down and allow myself only the tiniest cautious flicker of hope.

Negative, of course

Today, it's over a week since the day my period would have started, if I were on a normal cycle. I wouldn't even know this, but it happened that I had two cycles recently, exactly 30 days apart. That hasn't happened to me without the application of hormone therapy since before I had cancer.

It didn't take much for me to begin to hope that my reproductive cycle had recovered somehow. So I waited to see if I would have period #3. And waited, and waited. If a week goes by, I told myself, I'll take a pregnancy test.

This morning I took two. Just in case.

They both rather quickly came back with the "Not Pregnant" message.

As you might imagine, I had been hoping for more than a regular cycle. I hoped that the missed period not only meant I was normal again, but that I was fertile.

I seem unable to keep from hoping.

It is a good sign that I had two periods in a row. Maybe I will have another one at some point. Maybe if I can get back into my healthy habits and lose some more weight, I'll be able to have them regularly again.

That won't mean I'm fertile, though. After all, I did undergo hormone therapy. That should have helped me get pregnant, if it were possible. It didn't happen, and that is likely my answer. Even if my ovaries do recover, it's likely that none of my eggs are viable.

I've known all of this for years, though, and it doesn't matter. I'll probably keep on hoping until I'm 50.

A whiny ramble--feel free to skip

So, I'm pretty miserable.

Aside from being horribly depressed, I keep coughing, and my left foot is huge and swollen and purple from where I kept it crammed into a dress shoe all day. I also started having abdominal pain again on my way home (early; my boss said I could finish up remotely). This morning I coughed up snot for the first time in awhile; last night I forgot to Flonase, but I'm not sure if that's related.

I had a bad dream right before I woke up this morning, in which Sean basically informed me that I existed to amuse him, and when I tried to leave, he threatened violence, so I headbutted him and then grabbed him hard in a very sensitive place. But as this was happening, dream-me thought that maybe this was all pretend, so I shouldn't hurt him too badly.

Then I woke up.

When I told Sean about the pregnancy test last night I had already been asleep for awhile, and I woke up when I heard him settling in in the living room. He said the same thing AJ did: "Don't get your hopes up." And like I said before, I really thought I wasn't. But apparently I did a lousy job.

The nurse said that false positives hardly ever happen; it's usually false negatives. I looked up false positives online and it said they are usually due to taking fertility drug shots, which I have not done recently. I guess the test was just defective.

Pretty lame. Oh well, yet another bad memory to add to the pile. I've been thinking about writing a timeline of all the bad things that have happened in my life, but I'm pretty sure that would be counterproductive. Not to mention whiny.

I should be thankful I'm alive, and have such a great family, and a cute and sweet husband who loves me, and a job I enjoy, and enough money to be able to save and eat out and have fun.

It's funny, I had decided recently that I was just going to assume I couldn't have children, because I figured that would be easier. But I guess I never fully embraced that path, because I was so susceptible to the idea when the nurse (who apparently knew nothing of my situation) asked, "Do you think you might be pregnant?" It took a week or two, but then, like a moron, I looked into it.

And then, like a moron, I posted about stat labs on Twitter, and that made Mom wonder why I needed stat labs, and so I ended up telling her, and she was at the farm with Dad and Ben and Manda so they all found out, and so I called AJ because everyone else knew...and I originally wasn't going to tell anyone until I'd had a blood test. I'd had one that morning but it turned out the lab couldn't do them stat, so those results will actually be in tomorrow, and it was too late to get them done by the time I found out, so I had to wait and do them this morning. And I guess I just got upset and frustrated and nervous from all the waiting and ended up blowing it, and I got Mom's hopes up.

Damn it.

When the nurse called to tell me, I didn't want to talk to anyone, so I just sent Sean and Mom a text message about it. Mom called back and I may have been rude. I just tried not to think about it for as long as I could for the rest of the day. But of course, eventually it overwhelmed me, because I'm a stupid wuss, so here I am, sitting at home gushing in stream of consciousness on my blog when I should still be at work. That frustrates me too, because I've been sick so much lately, and I was just getting back to being the kind of employee I strive to be. And now this.

I think life likes to let me rise up before it kicks me back down. Maybe it's more amusing that way. This time I feel like I was crouched on wobbly legs when it hit.

Whine, whine, whine. Let's take a step back. What have we learned here? I was told years ago when I first went to an endocrinologist that my chances of being fertile were low, especially if I couldn't have my own periods. I started out taking hormones, but after awhile I decided I was tired of pills and wanted to be normal, so I just stopped taking them. (Good job.) Five years later, I have a period out of the blue, which is likely a menopausal flushing of all the lining that had built up for those years. I take this as a sign that my body is curing itself, instead. My doctors tell me otherwise but I am apparently incapable of comprehension. I start back on hormones religiously and take pregnancy tests anytime I start to feel "weird". They are all, of course, negative. I get frustrated. After my doctor leaves her practice, I let everything slide again. But after awhile I decide I want to get back on track with my health, so I find a new doctor. She tells me that the chances of someone who's had chemotherapy regaining ovarian function after this long are practically zero. I feel like I can maybe move on. Then she adds, "But miracles do happen." I have grown to hate this phrase because it gives me hope.

That brings us to now. I have weird symptoms where I get overly tired just walking from my office to my car. I have chest pains. I seem to not be breathing properly at night, and sometimes during the day. Flonase, saline spray, and elevating my head seems to help with sleeping, but does nothing for the weird day breathing. Eventually I started getting bloated in my legs and hips. I also occasionally experience abdominal pain, at one point so bad I threw up. I am often so hot that the only thing that helps is sticking my head and arms into the freezer.

Of course I think the hotness is a menopausal symptom, but I have put off starting my hormones because I thought I had a drug interaction one day when I threw up. I'm still not sure what happened there.

In discussing my various symptoms with my various doctors, the nurse at the endocrinologist's office asks the fatal question, the question I've been asking myself. "That's supposed to be impossible," I say, keeping my voice level. "But I suppose I could check." And eventually I do. And for some fucked up reason it says "Pregnant".

Why would you do this to me? I mean really. What is the point?

Maybe the point is that I should just have a hysterectomy so I can stop worrying about it. (Or I could stop having sex, but I doubt Sean will get on board for that.)

Your host, dear readers, is a moron

Hahahahaha, I did it to myself again! I let myself believe it was possible. At least this time I had a decent reason--the pee test SAID "Pregnant", it didn't say "Not Pregnant".

But whatever!

I do promise that I tried very hard not to get excited. I was even marginally successful! But you know what, I honestly thought when they called with the blood test results that they would say "Congratulations."

[Edit:] My family sent me flowers. They're pretty.

Just say no

Doctors seem to think they'll hurt my feelings if they say no. "Never say never," they'll say, even after informing me that there is only a 7% chance of ovary function returning to normal after a bone marrow transplant, and even then it usually happens within the first year of recovery.

I would rather you just told me it was impossible, because I hate wishing and hoping and planning when I don't know if it will ever happen.

Regardless, I do think I like my new doctor, despite her tendency to ramble.

Deciding to decide

Growing up, I had many ideas about motherhood: what I believed was important, goals I hoped to achieve, things I wanted to do for my kids. I wanted to be like my mom, first of all, and think of fun and educational activities that would keep my children engaged and prepare them for life as adults. As I got older, I started thinking about what I'd feed my kids and how I'd keep them exercising, and that's at least partially why I get so upset with myself for being out of shape. Because it was also important to me to practice what I preached, and not expect anything from my children that I didn't expect from myself.

I wanted to have a large home with a swimming pool and a game room, and I wanted to host my children's friends often. I wanted to make healthy and delicious snacks for all the neighborhood kids and provide them a safe and fun place to play after school.

Travel was also very important to me. I wanted my kids to see more than just the town where they were growing up. But I didn't want to be constantly moving and taking them away from their friends; I just wanted to broaden their perspectives. When they got to be in high school and college, I wanted to send them to study abroad, and take in exchange students.

I wanted to foster in them a love of community and a desire to serve. I planned to take them to retirement homes and hospitals and other places where they could volunteer and meet people and brighten someone's day.

I also wanted to teach all of them to know their way around the kitchen and how to do their own chores, and to enforce it--and in recent years that plan included implementing some FlyLady methods.

I wanted to take them places where they could learn: Shaker Village, astronomical observatories, big cities, small towns, historical cities, museums, beaches, forests...anywhere that practical learning could take place.

My goal was to make sure that my kids grew up safe and happy with the knowledge of how to enjoy life, and with a strong curiosity and love of learning.

Another one of my notions about motherhood was that I wanted to absolutely make sure I had my kids before I was 30. I wanted to be a young, "cool" mom. I wanted to be able to keep up with them, sure, but I also wanted to be able to relate to them. Not so I could be their friend instead of their parent, but so I could understand what to say. Somehow, I always thought that 29--the age my mother was when she had me--was too old to be beginning, that by then I should already have my kids.

These ideals have lasted this long because "before I'm 30" was always so distant...but as I continued into my 20s, I started to see that things weren't quite going to work out the way I'd planned. Sure, I knew somewhere inside that things wouldn't be perfect. I might not be able to provide all the trips and recreational activities and educational tools and such that I hoped to--money, space, compromise, those and more factors could easily alter the end product. And I knew after three rounds of chemotherapy that it was possible my ovaries and eggs were completely shot. But somehow I still imagined that I would find a way to have my cake and eat it too.

So now here I am, 29, no kids, no plans to adopt or even to ask a doctor if there isn't some sort of aggressive treatment we might try. Up until now it's always been treatment to bring my body to a sense of normalcy. The goal wasn't pregnancy; pregnancy was a marginally possible side effect. Given my FSH levels at last check, I am a little afraid of making pregnancy the goal, but Sean and I also haven't committed to having children. We haven't planned for it at all. Up until now, the idea has been that if it happens, it happens.

But I'm 29. I don't know if I can just bounce around anymore waiting to see if something will happen.

I don't know that I want to start trying to adopt immediately or anything like that. I just feel that it's time to take a larger measure of control over my potential parenthood. Even if that just means deciding to wait. At least then the waiting will have been a decision and not simply the natural outcome of doing nothing.

Too many kids

I had another weird dream the other night. In this one, AJ and Faye had six or seven children. They were living in this tenement-style apartment building, and the kids were distributed throughout various floors. We used the fire escape to go between them.

I was trying to play with all of the kids and get to know them, and it struck me as odd that some of them had the last name "Mills". "Why aren't they Aubreys?" I asked AJ.

"You're the one who came up with Shelly Mills," AJ retorted. Shelly Mills is the fictional deceased girlfriend of a character of mine from the AMRN who was loosely based on AJ.

"Oh," I said, because this was somehow logical.

"I think we have too many kids," AJ said later. "Do you want one?"

He's said this to me before in real life, as a joke, but in the dream he was absolutely serious. And I seriously considered it for awhile in the dream.

She says I'm visiting her in July though

I went to Brooke's old apartment during my lunchbreak to spend a little time with her. Right about now she should be at Augusta Regional Airport, getting ready for the first leg of her transcontinental trip home.

While I was at the apartment I noticed she had a tiny Magic 8 ball sitting above her stove. I picked it up, and, stupidly, I asked, "Will I ever be able to have children?"

There was a big blue glob in the way, so I couldn't see the whole message. The last word was "Doubt".

"Will I see Brooke again this year?" I asked.

The reply appeared to be "Count on it", but I just checked a list of standard Magic 8 Ball responses, and the only one like that in the list is "Don't count on it".

The list does include "Without a doubt", though.