The other day, I had the good fortune of stumbling upon a fantastic blog post by Cheri, the creator of No Kid On The Block. Smart, funny, and seriously kick-ass, Cheri generously shares her journey, the reality of living with premature ovarian failure, and spot on musings about the life she lived prior to trying to conceive. I couldn’t help but nod and shout, “Amen sister!” Cheri has generously given me permission to share her post with you here.
9 Things I Miss Most About My Pre-TTC Life
The other day I picked up a pack of birth control pills for the first time in a year and a half. This was before this month’s treatment was canceled because of a rogue cyst, back when our RE was trying to delay my cycle so I could start injectables. She had me take one pill the day after my period started. And it might sound ridiculous, but popping that little candy-colored tablet brought back so many memories. Memories of a simpler time.
I’m not going back on birth control any time soon (besides, I’ve basically got my own built-in birth control in the form of lazy-ass ovaries) but I did get a little nostalgic thinking about the old days. Here’s what I miss about life before TTC.
Sex was just sex. Sometimes it was awesome, sometimes it was meh, but it always good clean (or not-so-clean?) fun. It was lighthearted. It was spontaneous. It was recreation. These days sex is a lot more regimented – and loaded with emotion. That’s just part of TTC. Don’t get me wrong; we can still have fun. But I can never really let go. There are always those nagging thoughts in the back of my mind: either a teeny-tiny hope that maybe, just maybe, it will work this time around – or a sadness at the realization that what happens so easily, and so naturally, for other couples just doesn’t work for us.
Facebook was a happy place. I could stalk my friends in peace. Pregnancy announcements, ultrasound photos, baby shower invites – they all rolled off me like water off a duck’s back. These days, each one is like a dagger to the heart. And please don’t get me started on the fake-pregnancy-announcement breast cancer awareness post phenomenon. So, so stupid.
Babies didn’t make me cringe. Okay, I’ll admit it: Sometimes, particularly when people wanted me to hold their babies, I cringed. Just because I don’t have a lot of experience holding babies, and it makes me nervous! Mostly, though, seeing babies used to make me smile. I smiled at their newness, at their potential, at their wide-eyed wonder at anybody and everything. But most of all I smiled because I naively thought I was getting a sneak preview of my own future – and I happily pondered what it would be like to be a mom with a baby of my own. I still think about it, but without the same cheerful naivety.
My skin was (almost) perfect. After a round of Accutane cleared up the acne I fought my entire teenage existence, my 20s were characterized by glowing skin. I always had at least a pimple or two, but it was nothing a little concealer couldn’t take care of – and it was mostly contained to my face. Now that I’ve tossed the birth control and started taking DHEA, I’ve got adolescent-worthy acne all over my back, arms and chest. It’s so severe that I wouldn’t dare wear a tank top or swim suit – but because I’m TTC, my treatment options are limited.
I could read my favorite blogs. There’s a core group of food/healthy living blogs I’ve been following for years. I read them for recipes, but also for glimpses into the lives of the people I feel I’ve come to know. I remember when the first of these bloggers – Kath of KathEats – announced her pregnancy. I was so genuinely excited for her! And then, one after the other, they all started to get pregnant. I’m not exaggerating when I say that every few weeks I open up a blog, see a post thanking readers for their well wishes on the big announcement, and *click * close the website, not to return again – at least, not on a regular basis. On the plus side, at least my cookbooks are getting better use.
I spent a lot less time analyzing my underwear. Sorry to be gross, but it’s true: I miss the days when a trip to the bathroom involved nothing more than peeing and flushing. Nowadays every time I pull down my pants or swipe the T.P., it’s another opportunity to check for pre-period spotting or CM. Even the basic act of rummaging in my drawer for a clean pair of undies in the morning forces me to think about my infertility: Do I wear a black pair today or a white pair?
I could enjoy unlimited coffee and beer. In many ways, I’m glad that I’ve cleaned up my diet since trying to conceive. But I do mourn the freedom to pop open a beer after a long day and not worry about what it’s doing to my eggs or, potentially, a future baby. These days, I feel guilty if I drink two nights in a row or if I pour myself that second cup of coffee in the morning. Caffeine and booze – the only good things about being not pregnant, and I can’t even enjoy them anymore.
My doctor’s office didn’t know me by name. In my pre-TTC life, if I wasn’t sick, I didn’t go to the doctor. Nor did I go to the laboratory or acupuncturist, or spend countless dollars on vitamins, supplements, and prescriptions. The closest thing I had to a healthcare routine was taking that one little birth control pill every morning. I didn’t know how easy I had it.
I felt good about my body. I don’t have a perfect body by any means, but before infertility, my body always did what I asked. Whether it was kicking butt in kickboxing class, climbing a mountain, or, you know, knocking boots – I knew I could count on it. I felt healthy, sexy, strong. Now I just feel broken. I am grateful for my health – for the fact that I can walk and talk and generally be active – but I can’t help but feel a little betrayed.
But despite all my bitching, I know there’s no going back. I’m jaded, yes, but also a little older, and hopefully a little wiser. For instance: I now know I would never, ever post a pregnancy announcement or ultrasound pic on Facebook. You never know who is going to be hurt by it.
TTC is a struggle, but it’s one I accept. All I can do now is hope that, when all my suffering pays off, the reward will be that much sweeter.