Things Happen As they May (in September)

Jenni says:

Well I have to admit that things have been very rough for the past little bit of time. Getting back to the swing of things from Guatemala was very difficult. Not only the "going back to work" part, but dealing with the recovery; that we didn't have the things that we wanted to have.

My dread of coming back to work and having to tell everyone my experience was a little misguided. I forgot that the people at my workplace neither care nor are interested in me, generally speaking. It's not that I dislike them, or that they dislike me, more that they would rather not talk about it (or the hard things) and I didn't bring up the conversation. It's kind of strange, because there is a lady here at work that has had ectopic pregnancies, and I thought she would be more willing to talk about it, but I suppose people have their own pain, and that it's hard to get into it with someone else's too.

We decided to help ourselves, and we got another dog. I should say, that Anai wanted another dog. It was very emotional as a decision, because we went online to our local shelter website, and there was a dog there named Poppy. The name that we gave our baby that we lost to ectopic pregnancy... so it seemed like it was a sign. We went to go visit the dog named Poppy, but--in a strange twist--our dog, who loves all dogs, and people, decidedly did NOT love Poppy. They just didn't get along. But while we were there, our dog met another dog, appropriately named Clarice. And our dog thought that she was the greatest.

As you may have noticed, "Clarice's" head looks like it was taken and put on another dog's body. Rottweiler on the front and Hound on the back with spotted white legs. I think that's why she had such a silly name. We promptly renamed her "Navi" and she fits right in. Our dog loves her, they are very similar to one another. And having another kooky figure in the house has probably helped us out as well. I think our dog knew what we needed, and we didn't need a Poppy, we needed a weirdo like Navi to help us along. 

But life keeps going, whether you want it to, or not.

Life has a way of pushing and pulling you in directions you didn't think you needed to go.

About a week ago, I made an impromptu call to the Calgary fertility clinic, which is about a three hour drive from our house. I had put in an application to be accepted last year in September. I thought they didn't have space, or they just didn't call. So I reached out to the office, and they said that they had tried to get a hold of me in April. Obviously, while I was in Guatemala. 

Shocked, I asked if I was still able to go to the clinic. They said that I was, but I can only be on the wait list for a year before having to go back and try again. My first application was received September 12, 2014. My consultation would have to be sometime before September 12, 2015... I held my breath on the phone while the receptionist clicked away, hmm'ing and hawwww'ing about it... and she finally said "Does September 8th work for you?"

With excitement, nervousness, and shock, I said yes, of course, we will be there. I'll call in sick to work that day, whatever works, we will make it.

I told Anai about it, and wondered, was it too soon? Was it a good idea? Was it what we wanted. She was over the moon for me. It meant that we could move on with our fertility treatments, and so much faster than we thought. We had assumed, after coming home, that we would have to wait another year, maybe more, until the clinic had space for us. But to come back in July and have an appointment set up in September was a shock.

Anai has had a long number of medical doctor visits to try and sort out what was happening with not only her ectopic pregnancy, but also the miscarriage she suffered in July. She has had her regular period, and everything seems back to normal, but there are lots of tests to ensure that that is true. While she was in with the doctor, she asked for a referral to both the Calgary clinic, as well as the Saskatchewan clinic. Saskatchewan is a province over, but only about 4.5 hours drive away--similar to the 3 hour drive away it is to get to Calgary. So we thought we would maximize our chances of being able to go to a clinic. 

I got the mail two days ago, and I saw a letter from the Saskatchewan clinic. I rushed it over to Anai to open, and she looked at it with shock. It said: "Your appointment is September 9th at 11am."

My appointment, 600km away is September 8th. Anai's is the next day, in another province,on September 9th. All of the issues with Guatemala, the emotional and physical problems, the miscarriage, the loss of Poppy, coming home, dealing with the knowledge that one day we would have to try again if we want to chase our dream... who cares about driving into two provinces in two days? Who cares about taking sick leave from work because it's too soon to ask for time off? Who cares that we might, if we have to, be receiving treatments at the same time as one another, 600km apart?

This isn't the craziest thing we have done. But life is giving us a push. Telling us to explore options we never thought of before. Telling us that we have to try again, that it's OK for us to try again. We can grieve and try again. We can still be ourselves, and try again. 

If we can, we will try to get either: myself accepted into Saskatchewan, or Anai accepted into Calgary. But if it's not possible, we may just have to make it work, one province at a time. 

Thanks to everyone who stuck with us, or is just joining us. We're finally headed in a good direction, and it's up. xxo

It's Time

It's July already. It hasn't felt like that long has passed. I keep thinking about coming back here but somehow time is time, things move on. I did not really want to leave the blog. It's just that the mood shifted. This wasn't an adventure anymore. It just became real life and I couldn't really bring myself to write about it.

I've written it in my head over and over again, like a would a story. From the excitement of waiting hearing a heart beat to lying in a oversized hospital gown with my wife holding my hand, but, again, I couldn't write it down. Not when it happened to us. Not when one of the happiest moments of my life and the worst happened just a few weeks apart.

It was too fresh then, a few days after when Jenni started a post and it just sat there as a saved draft. It suddenly feels too fresh now.

I remember writing that my worst fear of this trip was that we would have to come home and tell people that it just didn't happen for us. It never occurred to me that it could be much worst than that. Because we've both still have had to do what we thought could not get any worse. Jenni has to tell everyone that at the moment she has unexplained infertility and that her wife had an Ectopic pregnancy and I have to say the same. I have to try not to cry when I say it or try to stay strong, because I'm at work or on the street and no where near my bed and most of times no where near my wife. Yes, those are two most comfort zones.

I have to say to everyone, 'Yes, I healed quite quickly' and 'we're just glad to be home.' which is so true. Physically, I'm my normal self and home is everything I needed it to be. But there is so much I could say. Like, I am crossed. I feel like I want to give up. This was harder than we ever imagined and now we know that things can go down from here. I want to write the story of how I felt when there was just black in my ultrasound and my giddiness turning into darkness. I don't want to relive the feeling of waking up from surgery but sometimes I just want to talk about it.

Sometimes, I want to talk about all the little rude and careless things people said or did to us while this was going on. Sometimes, I want to go on about how amazing my wife was. I want to paint a picture of her, this tall hero, sleeping crunched up on what the hospital described as a recliner, which was just a chair that wasn't as vertical as your standard chair, but she was there. She was so strong with her back ache and her own unmatched pain, in a word so unlike ours. I know that I rather be me, not because the of chair but because I can't put myself in her shoes and still be able to survive this.

I want to tell people that all I want is a child. I want to tell them about all the children I dreamed happening but those words don't come out. Sometimes, I don't want to even think about it and sometimes I want to cry about it. Sometimes I fantasize to myself, thinking that time does pass and that our future will become our lives.

Yet, when I go to say it, it's not the right person in front of me. No matter who they are it just feels like they aren't the right people to tell. It feels like no one is, and that it would be easier to tell a stranger. It feels like the pain belongs to Jenni and me alone.

It could be because there is no right thing to say, or words to sooth this. Sometimes I fell like. I don't want to be babied. It was just a few cells that would never be more than just the size of a poppy seed. Sometimes I feel like we lost something so much bigger than that.

A lot of people say, 'It will happen.' but it won't just happen. We have to through all of this again. It's frightening and discouraging and I have to add expensive. I got a referral to both the Calgary clinic and one is Saskatchewan . We can wait now, save up, and that seems like the only things we have in our hands.

One of the best ways I have been able to describe this journey for myself is that I'm standing is a field filled with landmines. Each bomb is just another statistic. At any moment, it can all blow up again. There's no direction we need to be going, and not a lot we can do. It's all just blind steps. With Jenni's treatments, we never even got passed the first step. The pieces get harder to put together with each failed attempt. The stats grow against us; the bombs are lined up more closely together. It's hard to say that it's all worth the end game. We could very well end up right back to where we are now, the same place we were three months ago when this all started.

I have yet to face that possibly.

The Canadians

Anai says:

I have been feeling like two different people these days. Well maybe not exactly, maybe I feel like two different states of me. The most overwhelming is the joy I feel for having started my pregnancy. We've spent a lot of our time reading up about what is happening to my body and how, who we are affectionately calling Poppy, is progressing. They are no longer the size of a Poppy seed but has stretched out to the size of a sesame seeds and has a creepy not-face developing. Poppy also has a sort of brain and a heart beat. One we will get to hear in an ultrasound within just a few days. Our appointment will also rule out the possibility of twins and probably make this feel all the more real.

I don't always feel pregnant. However, every once in a while it creeps up on me and slaps me in the face. Like how yesterday I cried because Jenni left me hanging during a high five and when I discovered about a dozen tiny skin tags popping up in a bunch of different places. Those moments make this feel real and though I had a panic attack about the tags and Jenni had to spoon me until I calmed down, they have brought me an unimaginable happiness.

Then there's a part of me that it very down. I love my birth country very much. It is a wonderful  place that can show off it's beauty despite it's short comings. Even when things seem like they are so wrong, the gorgeousness of its people and its landscape strives. I've always seen that, I have always felt pride of having been born here and lived a few years of my life here. Yet the times I have returned as an adult, I have failed to find a home here. I don't know what changed. Was it me? Or was it my country?

Whatever the change, I cannot seem to find a way back. I am in Panajachel now. It's a lovely little town where my parents started raising their young family. It sits at the shore of Lake Atitlan which even in photographs is breath taking. Being here is the closest I have gotten to comfortable and has always had that affect on me. It is what my grandparents home used to.

I fear that my own disassociation with Guatemala has made it impossible for Jenni to find a place here. How can she fit in when I have outgrown mine? It feels like the open arms are not long enough to embrace us. As a normally timid person, who has to exert a large amount of energy to open up or even hold conversations, I feel like every time I have reached my arms out to close the distance I come out miserably short as well.

Part of the problem is that my family here doesn't know me. My short comings have come across as cold and distant. My efforts have been lost to them. They labeled my wife and I as cold Canadians and have removed the Guatemalan part of me I want so much to reclaim. It is something I want so badly for my children to have. It is the reason we came here to start our family.

On our earlier trips, I thought the crowd had drowned us out and that the excitement of having the whole family arrive together overwhelmed the opportunity to shine as an individual. I thought this time would be different and Jenni and I would be able to connect. I don't know where to go from here.

I want to focus of my little growing family. I want to attend to Jenni and our own journey. It is my responsibility to maintain our state of being and ride the ups and downs of fertility treatments. I want to be the most supportive and strong as I can be and maybe that makes there be three versions of me these days.

The most overwhelming of all is my joy and my urge to keep our dreams for our family inline. My hopes for my time here in Guate are now torn. If I knew how to best tackle it I might be able to move forward. I recognize that it is not all in my hands and that it cannot be as helpless at it seems. But for now, while it's just Jenni and me enjoying Panajachel, I will let it lie. I will focus on our slow going TWW and making plans for Poppy and their siblings and give my wife lots of kisses.

Have the Heart to Try Again

Jenni says:

Well as you may have been able to tell from the last post I wrote, I had been pretty down the last few days. The homesickness combined with some sad news really hit me hard yesterday.

As I mentioned before, I had decided to take Femara, a fertility drug, despite some of the apprehensions I had about it. I started it on cycle day three, and continued for five days. I felt some side effects, mostly sleeplessness and dizziness as well as a general feeling of wow this is shitty. But since it was a good chance, I tried to reign in how awful I felt and was really looking forward to seeing how well the pills worked. Would there be an ok number of follicles? What if there were too many?

But on my appointment, the ultrasound revealed that in fact, nothing had worked at all. I was completely resistant to the medications. I had one follicle, on the left side, exactly the same as last month. Hearing that was very upsetting. All that time, money, side effects...and my body did exactly the same as it wanted to. One follicle. Not even a second smaller one in sight.

After that appointment, Anai and I cried at a coffee shop. It was very overwhelming; having made a decision to try medications and knowing this was so important, it was a lot to digest. I would only have the "regular" chance of conception. The same as any spontaneous cycle.

It was (still is) difficult. Why me? Why would I fall into the 1% of hormone resistant people? When I didn't get a positive on my 15% chance of conceiving last month? But we talked a lot about it, and I had a good chat with my sister, and we decided we should still stick with the plan. Try again, even if we have a regular chance.

I had the procedure today, and I had to laugh when the doctor brought in a practicum student. (Nice to meet you...I am not wearing pants and am laying on paper...) why me? But I am taking this ridiculous universe shit in stride now. Why me? Why not? Screw it, bring on the drug resistances and weirdo students. Sure, why not?!

We decided it can't get much worse. There's only up from here. If I don't get pregnant, we have Anai and baby poppy seed. If I am resistant to drugs, we have another try after this. If the sky falls, we will deal with that too.

I am on my next two week wait. In 8 days we see if Anai and poppy seed are poppy seeds. Twins? Only the ultrasound will tell and I am excited to know. I will roll with the punches and try my best to think positive (even if I am a skeptic) and we will see in two weeks. Thanks for the positive thoughts and well wishes. I have definitely needed them.

always up!

Mixed Emotions

Jenni says:

I'm struggling with a lot of feelings right now, and I think a lot of them are compounded by the fact that I am sick, tired, and mostly... homesick.

I still have a cough, and have been having a lot of headaches. I think a lot of this is due to the weather here: very hot and muggy, then cold and rainy, and so very very smoggy. I have had way too many sunburns, and I seem to never be the "right" temperature. I am always too hot, or weirdly moist but kind of hot/cold, or uncomfortable generally.

I am so very excited that my wife is pregnant! But I was rather blindsided by a lot of sad feelings for myself. I didn't know I would be anxious and feel forgotten in the tide of happiness. Swirling around in my head is the thought that we can, or should, just go home after my second try, regardless of if it works or not.

That's not the plan, but I am discouraged right now, and the thought of being home is vastly tempting. We already have a baby (babies?) that it suddenly seems unimportant for me to be pregnant, even though it's something I want very badly.

But I think to myself that I could be home, safe, comfortable, and happy. Not that I don't cycle through those things here in Guatemala, I just don't have them all at once it seems. Nothing beats your own house. I miss my dog and my family. My garden and my own cooking. We have been gone a month, and to think of being away for another month just seems unbearable.

I am struggling with this very much. The want to go home. But having to give up on my last try to do so. Of course, I am hoping with everything I am that it works for me this time, but I can't help but doubt it. Anai will support me whatever decision I make, but right now, I don't think I have it in me to be here another month.

My ultrasound appointment is tomorrow, Anai's blood test confirmation of pregnancy is tomorrow too. I will have to decide in the coming days what I truly want most. I didn't think it would be such a difficult choice. Wish us luck.

Two Weeks Down... Forty to go!

Anai says:

Yesterday we made an impromptu decision to go to Antigua. It's only forty five minutes away from the Capital. My grandfather had a business meeting so we caught a ride with him. We booked a nice little hotel just off the main square. It has a beautiful garden, the bed is perfectly firm and the pillows just right. We had an pretty tasty meal last night on a Terrance with a moonlight view of the volcanoes and cathedral and arch. We barely touched the subject that tomorrow (which is now today) we planned to take an at home pregnancy test.

It seems that the theme of this trip is, don't sleep well the night before something important. I'm still fighting a cough and Jenni was lucky enough to re-catch the cold we have been fighting. We were a perfect duet of hacking as the early hours of the morning approached. Jen eventually got up and took some Nyquil, it calmed her or should I say zonked her out way passed our free continental breakfast.

I, on the other hand, was awake early. The thought of the wait being over was looming over me. I could get my results any minute, as soon as Jenni wakes up, I kept telling myself. I knew the darling needed her rest. I entertained myself by watching a telenovela (Spanish soap opera) and cooling my families heels as they whatsapp'ed about my upcoming pee test. It was a fun morning, I enjoyed both immensely.

Once Jenni was awake, we decided to take a shower, and discuss the best time to take the test as we did. It wasn't until we were about to get in that I admitted to holding in my pee all morning for the test. I probably shouldn't have held my pee in for so long because admittedly my steam was quite powerful and I managed to make a bit of a mess.

We put the test down and left it on the vanity. We stood outside of the shower discussing the results. The allowed three minutes must have passed we thought shortly after and we checked it....

The control line was strong but really blurry, the results window completely blank. We laughed. I had peed all over the damn stick. After all that tension we got anticlimactic results. We had to go buy another test because I ruined the damn thing. We threw it out and jumped into the shower. Once we were out we thought we should tell my family, who we have been keeping in touch with in a group chat.

We shared the story, still laughing at ourselves. My sister asked for photo evidence so I went back to the bathroom and fished the test out of the garbage can. I had my phone camera ready and when I flipped the stick over I saw it clearly. A faint pink line is the results window, a positive. I called out to Jenni twice. She says she thought I was whining about getting pee on my hands but when she rounded the corner she knew. I handed her the test and the tears started flowing from both of us freely. We laughed and cried and hugged and kissed. It will be always one of my most cherished moments.
I called my mom, father and sister and brother. Everyone got extremely emotional.

Jen looked up our due date and we got a few different answers. One thing she did read was that our baby is right now the size of a poppy seed. I thought that was so neat. So Jen took me and what will now be known as baby Poppy for now to lunch, to celebrate our first triumph.

One down, one to go.

Vacation within Vacations

Jenni says:

we are headed off on another impromptu adventure. Anai pees on a stick tomorrow (!!) and I have started to take Femara. It was with much internal struggle that I came to that conclusion, as it isn't a drug that you are able to use for fertility in Canada. But here, it seems common and our doctor said that he has had better results with it, rather than Clomid which he is less familiar with. So I decided to give it a shot and I am on cycle day five, and Femara day two. Fingers crossed that this works out for me this time.

Anyway, our adventure now takes us to Antigua. (Old Guatemala) we decided about an hour ago that we should go as I have until the 18th to go back to the doctor and find out how my follies did on Femara. Coincidentally, Anai's grandfather told us at lunch that he was headed there. Today! So instead of waiting until tomorrow, we are going to go tonight and have a vacation within our vacation. We are looking forward to some relaxation with just the two of us, and finding out our results.

More later :)