What I came away from that doctor thinking was that it would be a little more difficult for me to get pregnant, but with extra effort and diligence, it was not a long shot. I did a little more internet research where I found that it is not considered infertility unless the couple is facing no health problems and has been trying for at least a year. We were nowhere near a year yet, and the doctor did say the medication would be harsh, so we decided we would wait until it had been a year and take it from there.
I was not going to mess around though. I went to the library and checked out every fertility related book I could get my hands on. I read anecdotal stories of women who had been through the entire arsenal of fertility treatments. I found a cookbook with recipes using foods to boost fertility. I did fertility yoga, and considered acupuncture. I learned the mechanics of how my body worked (or was supposed to work) in more detail than I ever thought I would. I honestly think I could teach a class. I even started the all-consuming process of "charting".
Charting is a fun little practice in which one goes to the store and finds a special little thermometer called a basal body thermometer. One then uses this thermometer to take ones temperature at the same time every morning, before getting out of bed. Before moving if at all possible. One then marks this temperature on a chart along with a multitude of other things including, cramps, moods, headaches, bloating, cravings, fatigue, irritability, nausea, etc. You really have to learn to "listen" to your body. The point of all this is to try to pinpoint when you will ovulate so that you can time things appropriately. The catch is that you usually don't really know for sure when you will ovulate until after it happens. The biggest indicator being a spike in your temperature. By the time you see that spike, it's too late. You're either pregnant, or you have to wait another month. I was
Poor Allen. He really bore the brunt of my insanity. I would agonize over paying attention to every possible symptom of impending ovulation, afraid we would miss it. If you're looking for a way to suck the romance out of your marriage, that's an effective way to do it. To add to the stress, weeks turned to months without any sort of temperature spike. I worried that I was doing something wrong. I would test over and over and over again, thinking maybe I had just missed it, but had gotten lucky anyway. Each test just brought more heartache. Then, from nowhere, that huge message from my body that I was still not pregnant.
All this is classic PCOS. Of course I had no temp spikes, when you have PCOS you don't ovulate. Hence, no spike. Somehow in all my frenzied reading, I managed to always skip over the stuff about PCOS. I didn't think it applied to me. Looking back, I wish I had just read it anyway. I might have saved myself a lot of trouble.
I was a woman possessed. I wanted a baby so bad I probably would have done just about anything to get one. But there was nothing I could do. Nothing but keep trying. I got angry. I felt betrayed by my own body. I had taken pretty good care of it and didn't understand why it just wouldn't work the way it was supposed to. I was angry at people who did have children and didn't meet my standards of what kind of parents they should be or how grateful they should be. I would get angry at those who didn't have the experience of infertility and said the wrong things, even though they were only trying to help. I even found myself angry with God. He had prompted me that now was the time to start a family, and now I felt like he was denying me. Much of this anger was taken out on Allen. This was not a time in my life that I am proud of. It's ugly. My thoughts were ugly, my actions were ugly. As I reflect back, I am baffled at how I could think some of those things and am ashamed even now to admit them.
I find some comfort in another woman's story. She is someone I feel a special kinship to since we share the same name. When my parents tell the story of how they chose my name it always seems like it was just meant to be. I think now that this was a journey I was pre-destined to take. I was given her name so I would know where to look for strength, for faith, and for hope. Hannah is all these things.
She too struggled with an adversary who "provoked her sore, for to make her fret, because the Lord had shut up her womb." And although she wept and was "in bitterness of soul". She did not lose faith. She asked the Lord to bless her with a son. She also promised that she in turn, would give that son to the Lord, so that he could then be an instrument for blessing others.
Even in my darkest, most angry times, I had some faith. I knew she was there, and that she belonged to our family. I also knew that I would do whatever it took to get her.
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