For a few years now, I have been denying the complications and embarrassment that would come with having PCOS. I never wanted to think about the fact that as a woman, I flat-out did not 'operate' correctly. So, as a sanity-saving mechanism, pride set in. I chose to not speak with anyone, except my husband and mother, about the impending infertility. Even after three, six, nine months of trying to conceive, I refused to let my guard down.
To better understand where I am coming from, here's a tidbit about myself: I am a smart, educated woman who has always been the 'rock' of all her relationships, struggles, and triumphs. I never drop the ball, and I work really hard so that the hypothetical ball is nowhere even close to the ground. To put it simply, I get what I want, not because I whine or beg, but because I make it happen. I am always in control of my life.
Seeing that conception was not coming easily or naturally and suffering the never-ending comments of how each of our parents "can't wait to be a grandparent," we officially shared with our families and friends that we had been trying to conceive. What would normally be exciting for the future grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, was overshadowed by the fact that we had to share the science of my PCOS and then had to make them understand that a baby may never happen. It was as if all the pressure was on me. Unfairly, yet unavoidable, my pride--my need for control and success--made it as if I was letting not only my husband down, but our loved ones too. If I am being honest, I still battle these feelings every day.
So, why did I name my major emotional outlet 'Pride?' Simply put, seeing the word in conjunction with my outward feelings reminds me that pride stands in my way of being healthy. I may have no control over whether or not my body wants to ovulate this month or if my Metformin makes me sick, but I do have control over my sanity.
Pride in my strength is what proudly makes me who I am, yes. But pride when it comes at the expense of my mental, emotional, and physical happiness...well, then it's a bitch.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
An Introduction Is In Order
I admit, my husband and I have been living happily in Wonderland for years. But then, just as we think all is perfect--BAM! Maybe I should start at the beginning...
I met my husband when I was 16 and he 18. He had a tattoo, an earring, spiky black hair, and muscles to die for. He drove my parents crazy with his 'bad boy' attitude; he drove me wild with his charm and heart. We dated throughout my last couple years of highschool and into my early college years.
We had our issues here-and-there. We took 'breaks' and even split a few times. He had to experience life and so did I. By graduation though, we had apologized, made-up, forgiven our childish trespasses, and started anew. We were no longer children playing 'house.' We were adults in a committed relationship.
With his position at a Fortune 500 and my newly accepted job offer with a nonprofit, we packed up, left our family and friends behind, and relocated three states away. We struggled at first with homesickness and money problems, but we depended on and supported eachother 24/7. Our relationship took on a strength that even our closest friends and family recognized. Shortly after our move, we married. And as our relationship grew stronger, our finances, employment, and general view of life did as well.
It has now been three and half years since our wedding day, and we are happier than ever; however, we both have agreed that something is missing...a little me and/or a little him.
Unfortunately, this is where our happy ending stops. Well, at least for the time being.
Diagnosed with hypothyroidism at 19, I have been struggling with weight and hormonal problems for almost eight years. My medicinal strength gradually increased; however, I was diagnosed with PCOS and pre-diabetes at 23.
Doctors warned me that conception may prove difficult, but I did not listen. Why would I? I was absolutely not ready for children, nor did I know 100% if I ever would be.
I guess my 'biological clock' started ticking afterall.
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| a recent photo of the two of us; Musee du Louvre, Paris |
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