How wonderful it must be to turn to your partner and ask "Want to have a baby?" or say "I think I'm ready for another baby! Are you?" And it happens. How splendid. How perfect! Or, gosh, to think, what if it wasn't even planned?! Like BAM! it just happened and everyone is thrilled! Yay, hooray! How exciting! How...romantic, even. There is nothing romantic about this journey. It's a bunch of hoping and failing...and shame and pain and frustration and secrets.
When we decide to have a baby, there are dozens of people involved in the process. There is no late night intimacy or daytime spontaneity. (Well, I mean, there still is ::wink:: it just has nothing to do with baby-making.) It's not just charting out my ovulation and doing it. I first need to coordinate my personal wants with insurance companies, banks, secretaries, nurses, doctors - andrologists, embryologists, gynecologists, anesthesiologists, phlebotomists, pharmacists, lab techs, doctors' assistants, and even transport drivers. (I'm probably even forgetting a few specialists.) Literally, dozens of people are involved in the making of a Frick Baby.
Many people have asked me if I think it will be different this time around. If I will hurt less because I already have one child. I don't know how to answer that. I talked about it a bit at the end of the post - I Didn't Expect That. The volume level of the pain/stress of infertility was turned down while I was pregnant and for about the first 6 months after Eddie's birth. Eventually, I started hearing the negative thoughts begin to whisper in my ear again.
"You'll never be pregnant again."
"Enjoy the one you have."
"You'll never give him a sibling."
"You can't afford any more attempts."
"You can't handle any more attempts."
Today, those voices are loud and clear.
I want another baby. I want another baby badly and sometimes I feel selfish or greedy for it. Maybe even you're thinking it too. "Rachel, quit complaining. You got one. Be happy." Or maybe when I finally got pregnant last time you thought "Ugh, finally, maybe now she will stop her belly achin'!" (Heh, did you catch that small pun, belly achin' = pregnancy.)
Sorry to disappoint, friends. Here we are again.
Many of you have offered your support. You've given me kind words of encouragement. Some of you have said you're happy I'm writing again. The thing is is I'm always writing, I'm just not posting. I have many drafts typed up. I write when I feel something strong. I don't post it because I think, "What's another infertility blog? There's literally thousands out there. Better ones. Why follow mine?"
I'm aware that not everyone that asks about us or that reads this cares. I get bombarded at work a lot. People point blank ask me in front of a group of people if we're trying again. I can't help but wonder if they ask other coworkers if they are planning on going home and having sexual intercourse with their sig others to try to make a baby too. It's hard to keep our attempts secret from people at work as I am usually written off sick.
Some of you may only be curious. It's strange to think that my suffering could be seen as a form of entertainment to some. While surfing Facebook one evening, "Hm, I'm bored. Nothing good here. Oh wait, look at that. Rachel posted another blog. Nice. That chick has got some major issues. Let's see what she's crying about today."
Then I think, I don't know, maybe you read this because you know me. Maybe you know others that have opened up about their struggles. When you hear about infertility or IVF/ICSI you can put a face to it now.
(One face of infertility, mine. Waiting on a lounge chair that may or may not be specifically built to elevate the legs...to keep the embryos/sperm in with gravity? In my hands is an important red form (that I talk about a bit later) and also my "Customer Loyalty Card" (not really what it's called) for our fertility clinic. I don't even know what kind of information is on that. I assume details of our previous attempts. I'll ask next time.)
Or maybe if we go back a few chapters earlier, this whole mess started because of cancer. Chemotherapy killed Eddie's cancer, but also his sperm. Maybe you'll think twice about lighting up that next cig or not lathering up with some SPF 30 or higher sunscreen. Even the most treatable cancers can have lifelong effects.
Ok, let's rewind a bit.
So obviously, we're trying again. In my last post I mentioned "my one year old" and "my 13-month-old." And the very observant may even have noticed I was wearing boots and a scarf in the last pictures. Currently, I go to my appointments in a sundress with my almost 1.5 yr old. (It's easier to lift a dress/skirt than it is to drop trou...it's all about practicality these days.) So, not only are we back at it, we've been at it for a while.
I didn't tell anyone this time. Not even close friends and family. Don't take it personally that I didn't tell you or that I didn't write about it. My own mother didn't even know. I can still hear her complaining "Rachel! You need to tell me these things! I need to know when you're being put to sleep!" I dreamt of breaking the news to my family in America in person. We were planning a trip to the States in late May and I thought "How cool would it be to be picked up from the airport sporting a small baby bump?! To unveil it in my bikini on our family vacation?" I would love to see the look on my mom's, grandma's, aunt's, cousins', friends' faces in real life. My American friends and family never got the chance to see my big belly or feel the kicks.
Get this: I even kept it a secret from Eddie. Yea, you read that correctly. I wanted to completely catch him off guard. Like a normal person, maybe. After we do a treatment, he starts expecting something after about a week or so. Either a scream of excitement or despair from the bathroom. (It's usually the latter.) This time, I wanted to go at it solo. Hit him with the news that I'm pregnant completely out of nowhere.
Well, it didn't work.
The secret didn't work.
And the pregnancy attempt didn't work.
I was able to go to a few appointments and blood draws without him getting too suspicious of my absence. I coordinated things after my night shifts and told him I had to work a bit later. I told him I was meeting friends for lunch but drove an hour north to our fertility clinic. However, when it came down to the point where we both needed to sign the red form, I just couldn't bring myself to forge his signature. No matter how good my intentions were, I had to come clean.
This attempt used up the last two of our frozen embryos. I was pretty sure they were two girls and I kept referring to them as such until it was obvious it hadn't worked. They were the last ones leftover from Eddie's batch.
My grandma is convinced that I will meet all these babies one day. That I will be able to care for them in heaven. I don't know how to feel about that. They never attached to me but they were parts of us. They existed. Very briefly, but I have pictures of each one of our embryos to prove it. Sometimes, I dream of their little faces. Would they have looked like my son? Would they have looked like me? To picture Eddie and I chasing around a dozen (ok, not quite, but those two make #7 and #8) kids in heaven makes me smile...and perspire at the same time.
350. If someone invites you out to a restaurant in Germany, that means that they are paying for your meal. "Ich lade dich ein." Literal translation - "I'm inviting you." Germans in America shouldn't make that assumption.
351. People still iron in Germany. They wash, dry and immediately iron the clothes. I often see clothes hung out to dry here but in the States, not so much anymore. Sorry, Ed, but your fancier shirts get hung and gravity can work out the wrinkles until you're ready to wear them again. Also, I am not wasting my time ironing a basic T-Shirt. Call the Gestapo, I'm just not doing it. If something is still wrinkled when you go to wear it, by all means, iron it yourself. I refuse.
352. Similarly, dryers are very intense here. When my clothes are in the middle of drying, I can't even touch them. Not just the metal buttons or zippers, but the fabric itself, that's how hot they get. I feel like my dryers in the US were never like that. Maybe that's why they hang dry them?
353. Furthermore, it's commonplace to iron baby clothes. Apparently, it kills the germs. My mother-in-law was pretty surprised to learn my stance on ironing as she used to wash, boil, hang dry and iron her babies' cloth diapers. (Yes, hang dry them in the winter of Kazakhstan.)
354. Speaking of winter, the cold is a HUGE issue over here. I mentioned socks in another "fact" of mine and not wearing a hat means you will get an ear infect but check this...not wearing socks will cause a bladder infection.
355. Sitting on a cold surface...you guessed it...bladder infection! It's VERY frustrating to have studied the human body for years and to hear this "fact" come up ALL.THE.TIME! All the time. However, just as they could never convince me that sitting on cold concrete causes a bladder infection, I could never convince them otherwise. My coworkers believe this. Nurses! Doctors, people! European doctors pass this along. This is not a joke!
356. Air conditioning causes illnesses here. ::eye roll:: Stop. STOP!
Them - "It's true, Rachel. Whenever I go on vacation, I always get sick."
Me - "Yea? Because of the AC? Not because of the germs in the airports or the hundreds of people sharing recirculated air inside of a capsule for hours? Ok." ::thumbs up::
357. God forbid a child drink a refrigerated drink or a drink with ice in it! (I don't even know what they think will happen if a child drinks a cold drink. I don't even think they know themselves what would happen if a child drinks a cold drink.) Spoiler alert: nothing. Been drinking cold drinks for 30+ years. Literally, everyone I know drank cold drinks as a child. All of them, still kickin' it. It literally has a 100% survival rate.
Never once:
Teacher - "Class, little Timmy won't be joining us in school for a while."
Students - "Why? What happened?"
Teacher - "He drank refigerated juice!"
Students - ::gasp:: "The horror! The negligence!"
358. Drafts are the worst thing imaginable for children. Every single time I am at any type of gathering with babies or children the mothers and grandmothers are always yelling at people to close the windows and the doors. "Es zieht! Mach die Türe zu! ES ZIEHT!" (Literal translation - "It's pulling. Close the doors. IT'S PULLING!") "There's a draft! Close the doors! THERE'S A DRAFT!")
359. I don't see many people wearing shorts here. If you prematurely wear a dress/shorts you will most likely get a comment from a German somewhere along the lines of "Du wünscht dir aber Sommer!" (Literal translation - "You're rather wishing for summer!") A.K.A. I find it slightly inappropriate that you're wearing such little clothing already.
When we decide to have a baby, there are dozens of people involved in the process. There is no late night intimacy or daytime spontaneity. (Well, I mean, there still is ::wink:: it just has nothing to do with baby-making.) It's not just charting out my ovulation and doing it. I first need to coordinate my personal wants with insurance companies, banks, secretaries, nurses, doctors - andrologists, embryologists, gynecologists, anesthesiologists, phlebotomists, pharmacists, lab techs, doctors' assistants, and even transport drivers. (I'm probably even forgetting a few specialists.) Literally, dozens of people are involved in the making of a Frick Baby.
Many people have asked me if I think it will be different this time around. If I will hurt less because I already have one child. I don't know how to answer that. I talked about it a bit at the end of the post - I Didn't Expect That. The volume level of the pain/stress of infertility was turned down while I was pregnant and for about the first 6 months after Eddie's birth. Eventually, I started hearing the negative thoughts begin to whisper in my ear again.
"You'll never be pregnant again."
"Enjoy the one you have."
"You'll never give him a sibling."
"You can't afford any more attempts."
"You can't handle any more attempts."
Today, those voices are loud and clear.
I want another baby. I want another baby badly and sometimes I feel selfish or greedy for it. Maybe even you're thinking it too. "Rachel, quit complaining. You got one. Be happy." Or maybe when I finally got pregnant last time you thought "Ugh, finally, maybe now she will stop her belly achin'!" (Heh, did you catch that small pun, belly achin' = pregnancy.)
Sorry to disappoint, friends. Here we are again.
Many of you have offered your support. You've given me kind words of encouragement. Some of you have said you're happy I'm writing again. The thing is is I'm always writing, I'm just not posting. I have many drafts typed up. I write when I feel something strong. I don't post it because I think, "What's another infertility blog? There's literally thousands out there. Better ones. Why follow mine?"
I'm aware that not everyone that asks about us or that reads this cares. I get bombarded at work a lot. People point blank ask me in front of a group of people if we're trying again. I can't help but wonder if they ask other coworkers if they are planning on going home and having sexual intercourse with their sig others to try to make a baby too. It's hard to keep our attempts secret from people at work as I am usually written off sick.
Some of you may only be curious. It's strange to think that my suffering could be seen as a form of entertainment to some. While surfing Facebook one evening, "Hm, I'm bored. Nothing good here. Oh wait, look at that. Rachel posted another blog. Nice. That chick has got some major issues. Let's see what she's crying about today."
Then I think, I don't know, maybe you read this because you know me. Maybe you know others that have opened up about their struggles. When you hear about infertility or IVF/ICSI you can put a face to it now.
(One face of infertility, mine. Waiting on a lounge chair that may or may not be specifically built to elevate the legs...to keep the embryos/sperm in with gravity? In my hands is an important red form (that I talk about a bit later) and also my "Customer Loyalty Card" (not really what it's called) for our fertility clinic. I don't even know what kind of information is on that. I assume details of our previous attempts. I'll ask next time.)
Or maybe if we go back a few chapters earlier, this whole mess started because of cancer. Chemotherapy killed Eddie's cancer, but also his sperm. Maybe you'll think twice about lighting up that next cig or not lathering up with some SPF 30 or higher sunscreen. Even the most treatable cancers can have lifelong effects.
Ok, let's rewind a bit.
So obviously, we're trying again. In my last post I mentioned "my one year old" and "my 13-month-old." And the very observant may even have noticed I was wearing boots and a scarf in the last pictures. Currently, I go to my appointments in a sundress with my almost 1.5 yr old. (It's easier to lift a dress/skirt than it is to drop trou...it's all about practicality these days.) So, not only are we back at it, we've been at it for a while.
I didn't tell anyone this time. Not even close friends and family. Don't take it personally that I didn't tell you or that I didn't write about it. My own mother didn't even know. I can still hear her complaining "Rachel! You need to tell me these things! I need to know when you're being put to sleep!" I dreamt of breaking the news to my family in America in person. We were planning a trip to the States in late May and I thought "How cool would it be to be picked up from the airport sporting a small baby bump?! To unveil it in my bikini on our family vacation?" I would love to see the look on my mom's, grandma's, aunt's, cousins', friends' faces in real life. My American friends and family never got the chance to see my big belly or feel the kicks.
Get this: I even kept it a secret from Eddie. Yea, you read that correctly. I wanted to completely catch him off guard. Like a normal person, maybe. After we do a treatment, he starts expecting something after about a week or so. Either a scream of excitement or despair from the bathroom. (It's usually the latter.) This time, I wanted to go at it solo. Hit him with the news that I'm pregnant completely out of nowhere.
Well, it didn't work.
The secret didn't work.
And the pregnancy attempt didn't work.
I was able to go to a few appointments and blood draws without him getting too suspicious of my absence. I coordinated things after my night shifts and told him I had to work a bit later. I told him I was meeting friends for lunch but drove an hour north to our fertility clinic. However, when it came down to the point where we both needed to sign the red form, I just couldn't bring myself to forge his signature. No matter how good my intentions were, I had to come clean.
This attempt used up the last two of our frozen embryos. I was pretty sure they were two girls and I kept referring to them as such until it was obvious it hadn't worked. They were the last ones leftover from Eddie's batch.
(These girls waited over a year in a freezer for me, but just didn't make it.)
My grandma is convinced that I will meet all these babies one day. That I will be able to care for them in heaven. I don't know how to feel about that. They never attached to me but they were parts of us. They existed. Very briefly, but I have pictures of each one of our embryos to prove it. Sometimes, I dream of their little faces. Would they have looked like my son? Would they have looked like me? To picture Eddie and I chasing around a dozen (ok, not quite, but those two make #7 and #8) kids in heaven makes me smile...and perspire at the same time.
Germany vs. America
351. People still iron in Germany. They wash, dry and immediately iron the clothes. I often see clothes hung out to dry here but in the States, not so much anymore. Sorry, Ed, but your fancier shirts get hung and gravity can work out the wrinkles until you're ready to wear them again. Also, I am not wasting my time ironing a basic T-Shirt. Call the Gestapo, I'm just not doing it. If something is still wrinkled when you go to wear it, by all means, iron it yourself. I refuse.
352. Similarly, dryers are very intense here. When my clothes are in the middle of drying, I can't even touch them. Not just the metal buttons or zippers, but the fabric itself, that's how hot they get. I feel like my dryers in the US were never like that. Maybe that's why they hang dry them?
353. Furthermore, it's commonplace to iron baby clothes. Apparently, it kills the germs. My mother-in-law was pretty surprised to learn my stance on ironing as she used to wash, boil, hang dry and iron her babies' cloth diapers. (Yes, hang dry them in the winter of Kazakhstan.)
354. Speaking of winter, the cold is a HUGE issue over here. I mentioned socks in another "fact" of mine and not wearing a hat means you will get an ear infect but check this...not wearing socks will cause a bladder infection.
355. Sitting on a cold surface...you guessed it...bladder infection! It's VERY frustrating to have studied the human body for years and to hear this "fact" come up ALL.THE.TIME! All the time. However, just as they could never convince me that sitting on cold concrete causes a bladder infection, I could never convince them otherwise. My coworkers believe this. Nurses! Doctors, people! European doctors pass this along. This is not a joke!
356. Air conditioning causes illnesses here. ::eye roll:: Stop. STOP!
Them - "It's true, Rachel. Whenever I go on vacation, I always get sick."
Me - "Yea? Because of the AC? Not because of the germs in the airports or the hundreds of people sharing recirculated air inside of a capsule for hours? Ok." ::thumbs up::
357. God forbid a child drink a refrigerated drink or a drink with ice in it! (I don't even know what they think will happen if a child drinks a cold drink. I don't even think they know themselves what would happen if a child drinks a cold drink.) Spoiler alert: nothing. Been drinking cold drinks for 30+ years. Literally, everyone I know drank cold drinks as a child. All of them, still kickin' it. It literally has a 100% survival rate.
Never once:
Teacher - "Class, little Timmy won't be joining us in school for a while."
Students - "Why? What happened?"
Teacher - "He drank refigerated juice!"
Students - ::gasp:: "The horror! The negligence!"
358. Drafts are the worst thing imaginable for children. Every single time I am at any type of gathering with babies or children the mothers and grandmothers are always yelling at people to close the windows and the doors. "Es zieht! Mach die Türe zu! ES ZIEHT!" (Literal translation - "It's pulling. Close the doors. IT'S PULLING!") "There's a draft! Close the doors! THERE'S A DRAFT!")
359. I don't see many people wearing shorts here. If you prematurely wear a dress/shorts you will most likely get a comment from a German somewhere along the lines of "Du wünscht dir aber Sommer!" (Literal translation - "You're rather wishing for summer!") A.K.A. I find it slightly inappropriate that you're wearing such little clothing already.
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