My Cross Pollination Post

I cross-posted with Sam yesterday; just wanted to put what I wrote here so I have it on my post list.
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“Hi, I’m on Drugs.” Not generally the statement that we use about ourselves, but in the IF community, we’re used to it. Pictures of packages, syringes, and sharps containers abound. Concerns about PIO injections and the extent of bruising thereof.

Well, we’re not there yet. We can’t begin to cross that magical bridge until I reach the proper BMI. You see, though we are only facing male-factor infertility, my fertility clinic won’t do any procedures on women they judge are too fat. We’re in a holding pattern.

So, I’m on drugs. Don’t get me wrong, my use of drugs is not solely hanging on infertility, oh no. Drugs have been present in my life since I was 15. Two suicide attempts and numerous scares and an inability of your neurons to stop gobbling up all the serotonin in your system wins you a probable lifetime on drugs.

Currently, I am clawing my way out of a severe depressive episode. Yes, with the help of drugs. Not that I wasn’t taking the drugs during this whole thing, just that they weren’t getting the job done. So now, I’ve added another one into the cocktail. This one is supposed to help me focus and stop the obsessing about food, about death, about the organization of my house, about my marriage, about children, about the unfolded laundry, about the fact that we MUST get a china cabinet, about the latest episode of Grey’s Anatomy, about my husband’s mental state, about my own mental state, about everything. Um, can you tell obsessing is a bit of an issue for me?

Though we’ve been together for 5 years, this is the first time that my husband, John Dear, is seeing me in one of my “bad times.” I’m not trying to keep the knowledge from him, just these big ones don’t come around very often. Sure, there’ll be little blips here and there. A day or two of overwhelming sadness or fatigue. I’ll start crying at a Kodak commercial or start raging against a button that won’t do up right. But it fades. I come out of it and get back to life.

What’s going on now isn’t so easy. There was the usual slide into the black — infinite sadness and fatigue, listening to my depression music that makes me feel more depressed. This time, however, I kept spiraling down, faster and faster. Monday morning found me in a parking lot hating myself, hysterically sobbing and screaming and shaking, terrified that I would drive off the bridge between work and my house. Oblivion seemed welcome, because it would be the only thing that would stop these feelings.

John Dear was unprepared for this onslaught. Sure, he’s had his own battles against what Churchill called, “the black dog,” but nothing to this extent. He started to panic. Suddenly, everything in our lives was a potential danger. Our beautiful apartment on the 8th floor with stunning views was now a death trap, providing two balconies from which I could fling myself. The piles of pills that we both take were available for me to use in an overdose. My car could be driven off a bridge or rammed into a telephone pole. The kitchen knives, the nearby highway, the scissors I used to cut wrapping paper the other day.

His response was understandable, though not altogether too helpful. After fretting about all the methods I could use to kill myself, JD sought to find the perfect remedy, something that would make me snap out of it. Tea, warm blanket, clean kitchen, cooked dinner, JD even yielded control of the remote. But I was still barely responsive.

So, JD now tries bossy and demanding, maybe hoping that anger will force me out of melancholy (or maybe, as I sometimes uncharitably think, because he’s a giant douche). Course, then he feels guilty for being mean to me, like he’s kicking a dog while he’s down, and he starts being super accommodating again. The problem is, major depressions don’t respond to these methods. There really is no quick fix.

A psychiatrist once told me that quick bursts of action from depressives are a danger sign. Depressives who suddenly gain energy often use it to complete a suicide attempt. I tell my mother not to worry that I will attempt this time; I’m too unmotivated, I’m a procrastinator even at ending my life.

Some gentle prodding from my mother gets me to call my psychiatrist, who is alarmed enough that I warrant an early appointment the next morning. With firm instructions that I am not to do anything to myself and if I want to, I should tell JD who can bring me to the emergency room, we channel surf until I fall into an exhausted sleep.

My psychiatrist adds to my cocktail, hoping that this new temporary mix, (perhaps it’s the Holiday REmix? Now with pumpkin!) will get me back onto a level playing field enough that I can go off of it in six weeks. “Hi, I’m on Drugs.”

Cross Pollination

Due to technical difficulties, my honored guest author was not able to send me her post until now, so without further ado...

A Guest Entry Brought to You by the Great Blog Cross-Pollination!!

I was not always a slob. That happened quite by accident. Completely unintentional. In fact I used to be quite the Nike advert. When I was younger A few years ago I used get up before sparrows fart, fumble in the dark to get dressed in my running togs and I used to set out before the sun smiled for the day. I used to meet up with other crazy assed like minded people and we used to stretch and get ready for our morning run. We would set off like a gaggle of geese all talking and loosening up our muscles while finding our rythym.

Then the stronger runners would pull ahead of me and I would find myself lagging behind with the not so strong runners. I would hang out at the back of the pack with the old guys and the newbie runners. Cos that is where I was comfortable.

Then I got ITB (itibial band syndrome) for the first time. I was told to rest it for five months then get back to running. I rested it for five months and went back to the group I used to run with. Now instead of being able to hang with the old guys and newbies I found myself being left in the dust of even my back of the pack mates. I was completely not fit enoguht to run with this group anymore. I got completely left behind cos while I was resting my ITB getting better, my back of the pack mates were getting fitter and running harder and realising their dreams of becoming one of the super strong.

I was gutted and too embarrassed to go back – I stopped running. In many ways I feel like my infertility is similar to my running history.

When I first started trying to have a baby with my husband, we were the first couple of our group to tred on this ground. I started temping and peeing on OPK’s to track ovulation *laugh ass off here – right ovulation in the worst PCOS case I’ve ever heard of* and we had sex. Lots of it. We were really good at it. We enjoyed it. We did not conceive. Then came lots of tests for both of us. Clomid. Gonal F. IUI’s both failed and cancelled. Very little sex . Herbal remedies. Acupuncture. Reflexology. Reiki. IVF. Very little sex.

I feel like our infertility is a lot like my ITB. While we’ve been “off tending to our injury” every single one of our friends who were around at the start of our trying to have a baby journey has achieved the holy grail of parenthood. Some of them twice over. They’ve got stronger and have become one of the elite.

And we’re still at the back of the group – eating their dust.

While I’m in no way prepared to give up trying to have a family like I gave up running, I do find myself considering it at times when I feel glum. Why not just give this up? Find something else to do with my life? Focus on oversea’s holidays and get a nice hobby. Spend money on something other than ART…

Then I look into the distance and I see the group and the fun they’re having. The joy and the rush they get out of running the race. And I know. I know that my race is no where near over.

I will cross that finish line. I will find a way to become one of the elite.

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Know who my guest poster is or care to take a guess? Let me know in the comments.
You'll find my post here.

I Miss Tim Russert

Not Dead Yet

This day, this past week, has been a tough one. Thank you so much for all your support and concern and love. It just means so much to me.

Just in case I start to scare you with what I'm going to write, I'll put the ending first. I'm alive, I'm not hurt, I have an appointment with Dr. Chai in the morning to discuss increased meds vs. different meds and her overall plan for me right now.

I tried to go to my mikvah appointment today, but just couldn't get there. I talked to John Dear, but wasn't really able to resolve anything. I told him that I was going to cancel the mikvah appointment and that I would call Dr. Chai (my psychiatrist for those just tuning in). I wound up stopping in a parking lot, hysterically sobbing and tried to call her. I listened to her voice mail, but just couldn't leave a message. So, I tried my mother and my brother, but was not able to reach them. I couldn't face talking to my father. I know that he would be there for me, but I was just too overwhelmed at the time.

I couldn't see going home (too afraid of running off the road (I drive over a big bridge in between work and home) or rear ending somebody), and I just couldn't be around JD at the time, so I drove myself back to work. A shaky drive, wondering exactly how I was going to get through this day, my life, would going to an ER or a psychiatric ward help, and worrying that my mental issues would stand in the way of anyone letting me have children; anyways, I made it back to work in one piece.

At work, I was able to speak with both my brother and my mentor. John Dear checked in with me periodically. I spoke to my mother at about 4:30 PM. She was finally able to get me to call Dr. Chai and leave a message.

Dr. Chai called me back very quickly and, after ascertaining that though I was having thoughts of death, I was not making plans or taking action to kill myself, scheduled me for an appointment early tomorrow morning.

I have not spoken to Fairy Godmother (my therapist) yet, but imagine that I'll talk to her tomorrow as well.


The Realization
In talking with my brother, I had an AHA moment. In the past, I always used food as my drug of choice. I was so sad and in so much pain, I just felt too much. I wanted to feel nothing, so I used food to numb myself.

Well, I've stopped doing that, so I really have lost a major coping mechanism. Now that the world is too much with me again, I've been having a much harder time of dealing. This is something I'll be speaking with Dr. Chai and Fairy Godmother about tomorrow.

Duh

Based upon your responses to this depression quiz, you appear to be suffering from a severe depression. People who have answered similarly to you typically qualify for a diagnosis of major depression and have sought professional treatment for this disorder.

If you scored...	You may have...
54 & up	Severe depression
36 - 53	Moderate/severe depression
22 - 35	Mild to moderate depression
18 - 21	Borderline depression
10 - 17	Possible mild depression
0 - 9	No depression likely

I'm at 70. I think that means I win.

Another Reason to Vote

If you weren't going to vote before, here's a good reason. Vote tomorrow and receive a free coffee at Starbuck's. Yeah, you got that right.

I don't care who you vote for (though I hope you vote for my guy), as long as you exercise this precious gift.

Standing Strong

Thanks to all who commented on my last post about abstaining from Halloween candy. I was down .8 lbs at Weight Watchers this week and I attribute it all to following a NO CANDY policy.

I do agree with some of you that abstaining can often be a part of the problem. When something is forbidden, you do seem to want it more. I, however, cannot do that with Halloween candy. I think of it much like an alcoholic would. Why would you stop at 1 or 2 pieces? How can you stop at 1 or 2 pieces? If I started, I don't think I'd be able to stop (and we can go on past history for this as well).

I think that it's become easier now because I can say to myself, "Self - you've gotten through the hard days and you didn't eat any of the candy, you don't want to start now." So, abstaining from the Halloween candy this year is what is working for me.

Next year, when I'm down to where I need to be to have ART and (crossing my fingers) am actually pregnant and (total crossing of fingers) not dealing with gestational diabetes, I will choose to experience the awesomeness of eighty twenty one of each of the following miniature candies:

1. Reese's Peanut Butter Cup
2. Hershey's Miniatures (all varieties)
3. Nestle Crunch
4. Snickers
5. Milky Way

I will not have any of the following:

1. Candy Corn (yuck!)
2. Three Musketeer's
3. Orange Peanut-shaped Doorstops
4. Anything Peep-related

What are your favorite candies? What are the ones that you absolutely cannot stand?