Hurricane IVF- Just Another Storm to Weather

Hurricanes & IVF: The similarities are endless. It looks like Hurricanes Harvey, Irma, Jose, Katia… the whole gang will mercifully spare our area. Last year, we weren’t quite as lucky with good ol’ Matthew, the bastard. I dedicate this post from last October to those caught in the devastation of these hurricanes  and / or the horrors of September 11, 2001… and as always… the suckiness of infertility.

Whoever came up with the idea of building houses in North Carolina that run solely on electrical power must have been out of their minds….  So here I am in the wake of Hurricane Matthew, sitting in my dark bedroom for the second day, staring at my TV, not watching my football game that, according to my blank clock on the cable box, started without me, waiting for a team of strangers lurking somewhere out there in the night to flip a switch, duck tape a wire hanger to a post or super glue something so I could get on with my life.

 

What if what they’re doing doesn’t work and they have to start all over again? What if the person working on my case, isn’t the right one for my situation and doesn’t know what they’re doing? What if what they think is the problem turns out not to be the problem at all? What if this goes on for a really long time? What if everyone else around me has their situation resolved and I’m the only one left? Am I supposed to go on with my life as usual as though everything was normal? How can I still go to work, get along with my husband, deal with my friends,  deal with my family (who are a trying group to begin with), have fun, laugh like nothing’s wrong… when I’m so emotionally and physically tired and it feels like my whole life is turned upside down?

Waaaaait a minute. This feels eerily familiar.

Didn’t I feel just like this while I was going through infertility? Hurricane IVF. I remember it well. 

My Time in The Bathroom:

Hurricane Matthew: My electrical blackout:

Can’t flush the toilet. The water comes from a pump that runs on electricity.

Feeling around in the dark to make sure the lid’s not down, the seat’s not up, and all of my parts are where I’ve always been led to believe they are. The term “Personal Hygiene” has become highly subjective.

Hurricane IVF: My emotional blackout:

  1. Checking to see if there’s any sign of life in my underwear: “Hello? Any unsettling fluids of any amount, shape or color down there?”
  2. Having to pee with a pregnancy test in my hand.  50% of the pee on my hand. 50% on the stick. In my overwrought, hormone-induced state, I invent Pee-on-a-Stick, coming soon to a State Fair near you.

The Detours

My Hurricane Matthew electrical blackout: I head to work. Can’t go that way, the traffic lights are out and the road is closed. The detour sign takes me to the left. A tree is down. The detour sign takes me to the right. The road is flooded. The detour sign takes me to the left. I drive and drive and drive. No more detours… or detour signs. Where the hell am I?

My Hurricane IVF emotional blackout: I head to work. But first I have to take a detour twelve miles out of the way to the doctors’ office for blood tests. Detour over to the histeralalalagososososososogram (HSG for short) test to see if my Fallopian tubes are blocked causing a detour to surgery and/or IVF. Fallopian roads are open and clear. Headed straight to IUI. Didn’t work. U-turned back to where I started and went down the same road again. Didn’t work. U-turned back to where I started and went down the same road again. Didn’t work. U-turned back to where I started and went down the same road again. Didn’t work. Took detour to the left and headed toward IVF. Didn’t work. Took detour to the right toward the freezer and then a quick left to a Frozen Embryo Transfer (FET). Success. Finally got to where I was going.

And the moral of the story is: No matter what blackout we’re in the midst of, the lights always come back on eventually.

And that light can lead you to all you’ve been wishing for. Some days that’s the family of your dreams. And some days it’s a toilet that flushes.

Thanks for stopping by! I truly hope you feel a little bit better than you did when you first got here. If you’d like more laughs at infertility’s expense, please consider subscribing to my monthly newsletter and/or looking at my eBook above. It’s been downloaded & recommended by 1000s struggling with infertility as well as top fertility experts around the world. (Comments in “Look Inside”) Available on all Amazons, Kobo, & Nook.(newsletter- sign-up at top): http://laughingisconceivable.com  eBook:  https://www.amazon.com//dp/B007G9X19A/

 

 

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6 thoughts on “Hurricane IVF- Just Another Storm to Weather

  1. Its true, the lights always do come back on. What helps, though, is the events in between that helps us get those lights back on. That helps us through. And any chance to laugh along the way is insanely important if not flat out healing.

    Hope you and your family are doing okay given all the hurricanes (literal and figurative) in this world at the moment.

    1. You know, I had a really bad night the night before September 11th. It was one of the worst nights of my life… Then I have really bad & good memories from the aftermath of that day. We endure… yes, laughter always is a great go-to place to start… xo

  2. Hope you guys are doing OK! “No matter what blackout we’re in the midst of, the lights always come back on eventually.” <—-This. I could apply this to many areas of my life. Thank you for the reminder.

  3. The light does come back on. Sometimes it flickers, sometimes it comes on with a different light. But it comes back on. Nice analogy.

    You also made me laugh. I live on top of a major earthquake fault, on the side of a hill, in an electricity-only house, so I can relate. Talk about being unprepared. Or optimistic! Or stupid. Gulp.

    1. You are a dare devil! When we first moved here, there was a tornado alert and I went to the supermarket and was about to get on the line to pay. Everybody had carts full of batteries, bread, water, etc. I had yogurt and raisins. Then my cell phone rang. It was my husband. He asked: “Are you on line yet?” I said. “Almost. Why? Did you remember something?” He said: “We’re out of salad dressing.” I said: “Yeah, we’re prepared.”

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