Five for Friday

1) Seventeen days. One thousand unique page views. 50 comments. A surprisingly solid audience in Russia. These are some of the surprises I have encountered in the last couple of weeks since I started blogging. My readers like (or at least visit) the posts I cringe over more often than the ones I publish with ease. The more it makes me cringe - the higher the page views. There is something to learn from that maybe?

2) You like awful drawings and memes that I make in Paint and Photo.Shop. I support your like of them. I will keep making them if you keep liking them. I was motivated (at first) to illustrate autocorrect blunders I experienced in a facebook group. It kept going from there. Here's a look at the early days though:

The time someone mistakenly recommended a cod liver oil pack (instead of a castor oil pack) for cysts...I'm assuming this was a TTA strategy?

Or the time someone was describing a really fertile person's insensitive comments as a 'snack in the face' (instead of a smack in the face)...

Or the time someone was recommending Power Mint Tea (instead of Peppermint Tea) for the alleviation of PMS symptoms. I love this one so much.

Or the original autocorrect blunder - when someone recommended taking some Mole Trim for cycle related pain (instead of Motrin). In this instance, I didn't draw anything per se... I did what anyone would do (umm...right?) - I went online and found a nicely trimmed mole and asked if this one was a good NSAID substitute! :)

3) I have found a bit of power mint empowerment to adding my voice to the chorus of fertility struggles. All of a sudden I feel like I have a right to be a part of the discussion. I have a right to not approach things with positivity all the time when they SUCK. These things, when you realize them, change you a little. You itch and twitch a little less. Not much. But enough to notice. And you write more. More than you thought you had in you.

4) The past month has been filled with a lot of sleep disturbances. My adrenals are going haywire. Some of the people I have talked to online seem to think my post peak compounded progesterone might be feeding my adrenals as they try to convert it to cortisol. My liver functioning may be a part of the puzzle - and all symptoms point to that being a possibility too. Not sure what to think of all of that, since the high dose of post peak progesterone is the only thing that prevents me from descending into the depths of (what I like to affectionately call) Charlie Sheen PMS. Yeah, it's that ugly. In any event - I'm having a rough time managing the waking/sleeping schedule over here. Trying a few things to kickstart my adrenals back into behaving, so we'll see if that works. Got any liver cleansing tips?

5) Despite having the worst insomnia and subsequent sleep schedule I've ever had, my chart is looking like a flipping dream this month in comparison to the 18 months charted prior. WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?! I normally get a light bleed of about 1-2 days, followed by 3 solid weeks of constant mucus, then a split peak (or a double peak followed by a split peak). Yes, it's really fun to chart. Sometimes I get back-to-back-to-back-to-back peaks for over a week and then an instantaneous period with a non-existent luteal phase despite post-peak support. Yes, it's really fun to time meds with that particular cycle trait. And recently (the last three months), I've started getting premenstrual spotting for days on end. Every chart is longer and longer - over 40 days now, when they used to be 28 on the dot. So you can imagine how I have been surprised this cycle when I have seen a 5 day bleed that showed a crescendo/ decrescendo quality to it with medium bleeding involved! And you can understand why I was surprised when that was followed by a DRY day. And even more surprised when fertile mucus showed up on Day 7 - like there is some normal ovulation going to magically happen on its own this month. Oh body-of-mine, you so crazy...

Happy Friday. That's today, right? :)

First Comes Love, Then Comes Marriage...

....then comes denial, bargaining, anger, tears, and acceptance?

I think my problem recently has been looking at my marriage through the stages of grief. Over the past year and change, the process of trying to unravel our fertility issues has taken its toll on us. For me, it has colored and camouflaged love in the form I knew and recognized and understood it...so I just don't see it as easily as I did before.

Marriage is not my grief though. Our fertility is. But the fact that my fertility was never fully realized until I was married is what intertwines and confuses this topic for me so often. At least that is today's self-diagnosis! :)

I don't suppose that I write today with answers so much as I write with questions and to process 'out loud'. How do we encounter our spouse, through the lens of infertility, without our marriage suffering? The people who can answer that question with "It's easy, you just..." are the people who don't sit here as I carefully count out X number of fertility-focused pills each day and figure out when I can eat before one of them and which ones have to wait until after Y and the math on how I can manage to keep Z exactly 12 hours apart from X if meal A is late today. They aren't the people who get horrid bruises from incompetent Lab.Corp staff every. single. month. And they aren't the people who have lived the hope and subsequent let down when you are once again not pregnant (whether that involved never being pregnant or losing a pregnancy).

There is no "It's easy, you just..." to this Catholic path of being married and not having children. It's like a constant itch. We know we're living our vocation and that children are an important component to that. In the day-to-day living of that reality we feel the void. There is a place in our life for children that is not occupied. And we as married creatures feel that void heavily, though differently as man and woman.

When I finally got the courage to start talking about this journey 'out loud' (read: I still cringe every time I push the 'publish' button), I didn't realize how consumed my life and every passing thought is focused to the goal of having children. I knew we were immersed in treatment for the betterment of my health. I knew that we were focused on conceiving and carrying a child. But I didn't realize how much of a one-track-record-on-repeat that I have become. I went from being a dynamic, smiley, multi-hobbied, adventure-loving, light-hearted girl to a monotone, frown-faced and miserable ear-worm in under two years. It just feels like I have a constant thundercloud over my head...

And why is that? How did that happen? Actually, I know the answer to that question; I can even tell you all of the steps to achieve that! This is the moment where I realize NFP's impact on my psyche and how I have approached my marriage. And I'm not talking about the practice of achieving or timing things, y'all. There are other blogs that whine about that and I have no intention of joining that chorus. What I mean is a little different. My NFP chart is an integral part of my medical treatment plan and it is the 'God document' if-you-will on how our marriage looks on paper. For spouses to encounter each other, even from the early newlywed days, there have always been ultrasounds, needles, pints and pints of blood draws, bruises from the blood draws, pelvic exams, cervical exams, laparoscopic surgery, incisions, stitches, abnormal bleeding, infections, torn-up stomachs from antibiotics, fevers, drug induced panic and anxiety, drug interactions, severe exhaustion and lingering fatigue, drastic diet changes, itchy rashes, constant recurring UTIs.......... and the list goes on.

No-flipping-wonder!

Marriage has literally HURT for the entire time I have experienced it. It has involved fear and physical and emotional pain the entire time. No wonder I'm not having any fun over here and I feel like a 2 dimensional bore! How did I not see this before? Maybe it's because the cyclical reality that I live now involves an active audience and it never did before (at least he doesn't make popcorn and sit back and watch me unravel like I'm a one-act tragedy)? Maybe it's because one hundred percent of our marriage has had to be focused on children from day one because the women in my family go through early menopause and I'm not young enough to be casual about this? Maybe it's all of the above and a couple things I'm not thinking of yet? I bet it's probably that last one, y'all.

I sit here thinking about how every single month has been lived as a neat, contained cycle of grief. And how each month after the next has been compartmentalized and disconnected from the previous disappointments and becomes it's own vacuum-sealed terrarium of grief [that's right, I just described marriage like it was part of the Kreb's cycle... :)] If we continue this way, I'm going to need a very large warehouse for all of these individual compartments of grief. None of that sounds like a great way to live out marriage in the long term.

2 Corinthians 4:8-9

"We are afflicted in every way, but not constrained; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed..."

So this is where I ask you if you can relate. How do you rise above the fog? I can't seem to connect with the girl I used to be - she knew tons about life that had nothing to do with making babies and the heartbreak that comes with that. She wasn't boring or monotone. So what works for you? How did you push the reset button? (Counseling and spiritual direction are definitely part of the answer. We know that much. I'm more asking what else worked for you with your spouse. You are creative, internets! Share your creative wisdom!)

Sincerely,
A needy newlywed

Life Before NaPro

Romans 8:17: "We are heirs of God, fellow heirs with Christ, provided that we suffer with Him, so we may also be glorified with Him."

Job 6:10-12 "Then I should still have consolation and could exult through unremitting pain, because I have not transgressed the commands of the Holy One. What strength have I that I should endure, and what is my limit that I should be patient? Have I the strength of stones, or is my flesh of bronze?"

***Fair warning - this isn't going to be pretty - proceed at your own caution***

There are a lot of moments in life where it is difficult to distinguish the 'before' and the 'after', let alone the murky middle-area between them. That's not how things worked when it came to NaPro treatment for me. In my life, there is a clear line in the sand - and it's bold and italic and underlined. Before and after are completely divided by it. And you could stand on that proverbial line and look back at the pile of illness on one side and then turn around and look in the other direction and very clearly see greener pastures on the other side. Right now, I'm pretty content to knock out the 'before' in just this one blog post. I expect to point back to this blog entry in future posts, because all of the clues for what was to come rest here.

Life before NaPro was painful. And exhausting. And fraught with illness and frustration. It was nothing for me to be house bound for two weeks a month. Projectile vomiting my way through high fevers, doubled over with stabbing abdominal pains, and barely able to take care of myself - and these describe how I felt *before* I would have to deal with my monthly cycle every month. Menstruation was its own traumatic monster. It's kind of sad that I ever considered a period as separate from all of the dysfunction I experienced. Truth be told it was all misery connected. The things I know now...

I can't promise I'll save you from all of the ugly details moving forward on this blog, but I will save you from most of them in this post. Yes, there are [indeed] gross things to follow. I'm saving the worst from this page though. Conceive of that!

My monthly cycle has always been excruciating. Suffice it to say that is not normal. But it was my normal. I had no basis for comparison otherwise, so I only knew that sometimes things were *less* awful and sometimes they were *normal* awful. Normal-weight-teenagers are not supposed to have severe edema or the kind of bloating that makes it impossible to button pants. They aren't supposed to get a fever every month, or cramps so badly that they can't keep their meals down. Unfortunately, I was raised by tough love and was expected to push through things like that. And so I did.

Fast forward to my late teens and early twenties and the dysfunction was amplified by a factor of 10. By now, I was a frequent flyer at doctor's offices, since I was finally in charge of my own medical care. I was told to exercise more. Stop dwelling on feeling bad and count my blessings. Take multivitamins. Drink more water. And my favorite - "learn that being a woman is just going to suck sometimes". As you can imagine, none of these sage pieces of advice were much help. I tried my best to follow each doctor's recommendations, even training for 10K's and carrying my whole day's water with me everywhere I went to ensure that I wasn't dehydrated. I took the best multivitamins that money could buy. And I tried to laugh off how much 'being a woman sucked'. My reward was pain, weight gain, bloating, mood swings, allergies and respiratory issues, skin problems, severe edema, headaches, fatigue, joint pain, constant nausea, and a whole lot of unexplained itchy rashes.

With 15 doctors and college behind me, I embarked on life as a new homeowner in a new city...determined to find the root cause of my misery and make a good life for myself. I became passionate about my faith, got involved at Church, and finally connected to the Pro-Life cause that I had always kept at arm's length. But I was sick. And oh so tired. And yes, tired of being both. All of the bad medical advice had worn me down and I felt worse for having followed it. I was experiencing constant (and back-to-back) bouts of strep throat at this point, followed by multiple instances of extremely painful shingles. IN MY MID TWENTIES. I felt as if I was 65 years old every time I ventured online to read about my ailments. Then, just when I thought that things couldn't get worse, they did.

There is one word in the English language that strikes fear in my heart like no other: abscess. In 2008, after years of constant cyclical illness...I think my body just decided it was done trying to get better. Like the finale at a fireworks show, things became exponentially worse when I started suffering from skin infections. Nothing seemed to make that better. Not soaking in a tub or applying ointment. Not fresh linens or antibiotics. Not homeopathic remedies or anointings. I tried everything I could think of, but doctors told me "these things just happen as you get older" and didn't give it another look. Meanwhile I was in agony.

One particular infection turned into a grapefruit sized abscess and completely incapacitated me. I grew a 104 degree fever and could no longer walk. Emergency doctors sent me home. I broke down in utter defeat and just wept myself into an ugly pile of whatever was left of me. No amount of physical pain I had ever been in came close to this and I had been told to go home and come back when it's WORSE. I was terrified and convinced I was going to die. (When I say that, you need to know for context that I previously had my all of my wisdom teeth extracted from my mouth with NO pain medication, followed by an intense tonsillectomy. That'll purify a person and buy some time off in purgatory!) So back to saving you from awful details. Suffice it to say that I was in agony for a week before I was able to have the infection dealt with and the process was so intensely painful that I burst blood vessels in my eyes and all over my face from the agony of all the pain and screaming. I literally looked like someone beat me in the face. And I felt like I'd been run over by a truck. Someone should have painted tread marks on me. It would have been appropriate.

After 18 months of *constant* anguish and a lot more of [insert horrible things here], I was a husk of my former self. I looked like death. I felt like death. And yet despite not being able to keep much food in my stomach most of the month, I was also gaining weight at record paces. I would wake up with a body temperature of 94 degrees Fahrenheit and my arms and legs were pins-and-needles numb and I would often fall out of my bed from the lack of coordination or feeling in my extremities. I could barely hold my utensils at a meal, let alone use a knife. My brain was a constant fog and I couldn't remember much from one conversation to the next. My hair was falling out at an alarming rate. My skin was randomly cracking open and bleeding. I was convinced that there wasn't much left in life for me. I began to get such persistent angry rashes that doctors believed the deformed, hot, inflamed, itchy, purple stains covering my torso and legs was a form of Lupus. I saw neurologists and rheumatologists and dermatologists and dentists and any number of GPs (I honestly lost count at this point) and nurse practitioners and GYNs. The consensus was the same in that I never heard the same thing once. The most creative diagnosis was when I was told I had a skin condition that only afflicts African American boys under the age of 9 and asked if I wanted to be in a study.

Then one day I wandered into a PatientFirst (I know, we're all expecting my continuum of care to meet a new low as I say that...) and had the privilege of meeting a military doctor who was just doing a rotation there while he was waiting for orders to deploy back to Afghanistan. He took one look at my medical record and came into my exam room and sat down in front of me and looked directly at me and said "I'm sorry you've been in so much pain for so long. Ignore what the other doctors have told you. We need to get you into surgery. Those were the first words of hope I had heard in years - - and yet they terrified me because how do you operate on someone when you don't know what is wrong with them? This is the part of my life where I started reading the book of Job over and over. And absorbing anything I could about the early martyrs of the Church and sufferers of stigmata. This was the only way I knew how to process my pain. I couldn't really connect with anything else anymore. I wasn't completely hopeless, but I was seriously despairing.

Fast forward to post surgery: life resumes in an instant. It's as if all the cracks in the Earth's crust had healed and flood waters receded and skies cleared of their black clouds and angry crows were silenced. (I'm nothing if not descriptive!) There was a dull silence for a few weeks and my last shred of sanity really needed that to just B R E A T H E. It was around then that I met my (now) husband. When we began discerning a life together, NFP became a new acronym in my vernacular.

One of my closest friends had found a method that worked well for her. And because she is the only person who was ever capable of empathizing with my health struggles, she made a recommendation that I look into learning the Creighton model of charting. I had helped her study when she was refreshing her anatomy and physiology knowledge, quizzed her for her tests, and attended the first introduction session she facilitated for moral support....so by the time I began to chart, I knew that NaPro treatment was connected to NFP. Outside of these circumstances and this exposure to Creighton, I'm not sure I would have ever stumbled upon NaPro. My (then) fiance and I dove into charting, but by the second month of tracking my cycle and PMS symptoms, we were hearing things like "this is the most severe case of PMS I've ever encountered" and "let's get you scheduled to see a NaPro doctor to see what they think of all of these biomarkers on your chart". I knew not what was in store. My faith in medical treatment up until that moment was pretty stretched, if there was even a thread of it left to stretch.

Life before NaPro ends right there. The line is drawn right before I stepped foot into that NaPro doctor's office. My first blog cliffhanger! :) Ok, ok, I'll spoil it: I lived and things got much better and I started a blog ;) . I'm still working on putting together my timeline of treatment since NaPro treatment (which is the phase of life we're still in.... so that will be a work in progress), but I'll have to save the rest for the many posts to follow this one. Take a look at the tags on this post for a hint on the foreshadowing if it's too much suspense!

For now, I'll say: God bless the hands of every NaPro surgeon and every NaPro Medical Consultant and every Creighton Model Practitioner, Sonographer, and Nurse. The difference that you've made in my life has been nothing short of a deeply religious experience. We may not have achieved our fertility goals yet, but at least I'm healthy enough to have goals these days.