Infertility Football

If you were to go deep into my subconscious today, you’d see a football game. The weather is overcast and the people in the stadium are not happy to be there but they're still interested in the outcome. The band is warming up and the cheerleaders are working on their cheers. "We're number three! We're number three!" They look at each other disapointed in how lame their chant is. They are all wearing “IVF” on their sweaters… as they have for the previous two games.

I take the field wearing an adorable football uniform (that has Spanx built in) and get into position. Suddenly, the head cheerleader bounces over to me and says, “Ummm, Jay?” She flips her hair. “So… the girls and I were talking to the band and ummm, well, we just can’t do it. I’m sorry.” She hands me her pom-poms. “Good luck though, kay'?” The band packs up their stuff, the cheerleading squad gets on a bus to go home and I stand alone on the field.

That’s how I feel about In Vitro Number three. I’m about to play another game and my inner cheerleader and her friends have blown me off. No music and no “Go team, go!” Just me, holding an infertile football, two deflated pom-poms and several Gonal-F pens with little hope and even less enthusiasm.

Tonight, we start stims (Gonal-F and Menopur) and for the first time in my fertility journey, I have such low expectations that it’s almost embarrassing. When I paid the majority of my IVF this morning and saw my Savings Account diminish to almost nothing, I didn’t think, “Here’s hoping this works!” Instead, I thought, “Well, there goes my savings. Maybe next time, I should just set my money on fire.”

You know how they say all of a cocaine addict’s money goes up their nose? Mine appears to be going up my uterus and so far, it’s yielded no results. At least with cocaine, you are productive and lose weight. With estrogen, you cry over missing a subway and become as bloated as a dying Elvis. It’s simply not attractive.

Today, when I told my mom how I was feeling, she said, “I’m so sorry you have to spend your money on this. You could be using it to travel, to buy new furniture, a new vacation or even a down payment on your own home.” Although I truly appreciate her attempt to empathize and I know in my heart she meant well, she basically gave me a list of all the things I now can’t do or can't have thanks to our unexplained infertility. I swear, sometime her pep talks are downright depressing. It’s a good thing she never worked a suicide hotline.

Adding to the fun, one of my dear online friends sent me boxes of Ganirelix. Unfortunately, the person who delivered this package of goodness proceeded to put it on the radiator in our building... thus compromising its effectiveness. As you may remember, a few weeks ago, the dog downstairs ate a package that was sent to me… and now this. You must all think I live in a cardboard box in Times Square. Next week, I'll be telling you an homeless man ran off with my progesterone. Rest assured - I plan to address this. I’m going to have a serious chat with both the mailman and the dog. Four letter words and hand puppets will be used in each conversation to make my point clear.

As a side note, it goes without saying that if any of you kind blog readers have any extra Ganirelix lying around that you could spare, I’d sincerely appreciate you letting me know. I promise no one will eat it or cook it this time.

Now, getting back to our unexplained infertility… my husband and I got all our additional test results back this past Friday and we’re fine. No autoimmune diseases, no blood clotting disorders, no fragmented sperm: Nothing. Zip. Nada. We’re healthy. This is technically good news but it’s also frustrating as we still have absolutely no reason at all as to why I haven’t gotten pregnant after two years of trying, three inseminations and two IVF’s.

On top of this, it occurred to me recently that the fact that I’ve never been pregnant might be a bad sign. As far as I know, I've never even been pregnant for 5 seconds. I’ve had friends who have had miscarriages and/or chemical pregnancies. Mind you – I SO don’t mean to make light of either. I can't even imagine what that's like and for any of you who have gone through it, I'm truly sorry. The thing is, I can’t help but almost feel jealous that at least these know they are capable of getting pregnant.

And how sad and insane is that? I’m now officially jealous of women who have had miscarriages. What the HELL is wrong with me? I long for the days when I was just jealous of women who had great hair.

So, to sum up: Unexplained infertility + no pregnancies = Why should I believe this is ever going to happen for me? This is my fertilty theorem.

It really isn’t that I’ve lost hope (or my sense of humor for that matter) but this is my third time playing this game and frankly, I’d like to win for once. It sucks showing up to the same field over and over again being the losing team. I have become the infertile Charlie Brown and I have no doubt that Lucy is going to pull the ball away again at the last second. Why? Because that’s all I ever known so far. I only know what it’s like to miss the ball. I only know what it’s like to lose the game.

The one major positive is that at least I’m still in the game… and it starts tonight. Even though I’m not gung ho, even though the band and the cheerleaders have left and are probably splitting a pizza somewhere gossiping about who is sleeping with who and even though the odds are against me winning, I’m suiting up and plan to play the best I know how. Here goes nothing… WE'RE NUMBER THREE! WE'RE NUMBER THREE!

* Please also check out my piece this week on Fertility Authority called, "HOPE IS A FOUR LETTER WORD" at: http://www.fertilityauthority.com/blogger/jay-bronte/2011/05/19/hope-four-letter-word