It seems as though every time my husband and I have a glimmer of hope, we get knocked down so low that it is hard to remember that our doctor hasn’t given up on us yet.
I was so excited as I started this week. Monday was the last day I was taking Provera, which meant a period later this week, and the start of our first round of Clomid. On Monday afternoon, Dr. Smith’s nurse called me to deliver my test results. I had completely forgotten that he had ordered blood work before I left his office two weeks ago. Since I was told not to wait for the results, the tests seemed meaningless. I didn’t even remember what he ordered, and I assumed it was just the standard routine that I have drawn nearly every visit. The results were not good, to say the least. You see, my biggest complication with PCOS is that I have unusually high testosterone levels, which is a major symptom of the disorder. However, mine are the highest my doctor has EVER seen. And, despite the fact that they were in normal range a month ago, they have once again skyrocketed to levels that prevent Clomid (or really anything else) from working. Basically, he wanted to see us the next day (yesterday) in his office to discuss a new plan.
After I hung up the phone, I cried. Mostly, I felt defeated in a battle that I didn’t even get the chance to suit up for. But, it also hurt my heart to hear that my testosterone levels were high again, because the very idea of it makes me feel like less of a woman. I consider myself to be an intelligent person, and my mind KNOWS that this is not my fault. I even KNOW that I am actually pretty lucky that I don’t take more after my Hungarian roots, because the symptoms would be more visual. But, my heart… my heart feels pain, hurt, anguish that I am defective. It makes me feel like I am not a woman. Sure, I have breast and a vagina, but my ovaries make more testosterone than they should, and my brain doesn’t know how to turn it off. Essentially, my body appears female, but behaves male. It is a major identity crisis. I feel like my husband married a woman, but didn’t get one. I irrationally worry that my body will somehow find a way to change shape and grow a penis. I KNOW these things can’t happen, but I cannot change how I feel. I feel manly, and no woman ever wants to feel that way. We are conditioned from birth to grow up as beautiful woman. We wear make-up, color our hair, bat our eyes, and sway our hips. And, I feel like my body has forgotten those things, choosing instead to spit, scratch, and grunt. I am defective. If I were an electronic, I would have been traded in under factory warranty. I am broken.
After stewing in these thoughts for a full day, my husband and I made the long trek to Dr. Smith’s office. I wanted to believe I had prepared myself for the worst, but if I were really honest with myself, I hadn’t. Dr. Smith had a plan, though, which was a little reassuring. My cycles, the way my body will respond to treatment, it’s all a guessing game at this point. While Dr. Smith couldn’t answer all of our questions with more than, “I don’t know yet”, he did explain in detail what he would like to try in order to get my body in gear. Since my testosterone went down with birth control, we know I do not have a tumor, and we know that there is a window of opportunity that could produce ovulation. So, I will now be taking three weeks of estrogen treatments once I finish my period sometime next week. These treatments are the same ones given to women who are going through menopause, which I am not. Dr. Smith is certain I am not going through early menopause, because my levels would be more than double what they are, which I guess was supposed to make me feel better, but really didn’t. After I have taken three weeks of estrogen, I will be given another blood test and then “smacked” with Clomid. Basically, I will be on the highest dose of Clomid Dr. Smith is comfortable with. Though, that doesn’t mean I will ovulate. Like I said before, it’s all a guessing game now.
Maybe I am crazy for putting my body through this. Maybe it will work too well, and we’ll end up with a litter instead of just one healthy baby. Maybe it won’t work at all. But, I have to try. I think the worst part about the uncertainty of infertility is the guessing, waiting, praying for a positive result. Being that I am what Dr. Smith calls a “toughy”, it makes it even worse. I can no longer rely on the statistics that surround the medication, because I do not fit the mold of the women who usually take them. I am thankful that Dr. Smith is still willing to try pills before exploring other options, because our insurance won’t cover anything beyond that, and the other procedures can be painful and invasive. But, I wish it were all over. I have dreamt of holding a baby my whole life. Since I have known my husband that baby has a face; features similar to his crooked smile and brown/ green eyes. I want to hold OUR child. I believe in adoption, and I would never love an adopted child less than I would love one I carried for nine months, but I want the chance to be pregnant. I want to help God grow a miracle. I want to feel that baby grow, kick, move. I want to feel the pains of birth, and hear our child cry for the first time. And, I don’t think these things are selfish. I am not motivated by greed, hate, destruction; I am motivated by love. What can be more pure than that?
