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Monthly Archives: May 2012

Hey Friends…

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…I’m still here…I’m so sorry I haven’t been great at updating this blog in the last few days. Things have been…very difficult around these parts (this may win as my most vague understatement of the year.)

For those of you just checking out my blog for ICLW, you came in at a very intense time for me, which has both nothing and everything to do with TTC. Please read previous entries for a general idea on what’s been going on the last week. I am so drained from it all, that I couldn’t scrape myself together to do more posts on the issues surfacing for me. It’s too much for me right now.

Anyhow, I just wanted to thank you all for your incredible, loving, supportive comments. They mean the world to me.

I will resurface in due time, and I continue to follow your stories. You are all so amazingly strong.


State of the Union: Part 1

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First off, thank you to everyone who chimed in yesterday. I was in a really dark place…probably the darkest I’ve been in my marriage. The blog was my life line.  I spent a lot of the day crying in bed, barely eating anything, and feeling like utter crap.

This entry will be long, so I think I’m going to break it up and post throughout the weekend.

I had buried the hurt and pain that this situation had caused me for almost the entirety of Hubs and my relationship, and I think that this was the breaking point. I simply couldn’t continue to pretend that I was “ok” about this anymore.

When Hubs and I took our marriage vows, it was for life. We are both on the same page about that. How we live that life is up to us. But neither of us will quit on each other, or give up on our marriage.  We’ve seen our parents do that multiple times, and it is not in the cards for us. We have too many things we love about each other to let this go. I think the thought of going on J-Date again is enough to keep us married. I’m kidding. Sort of. J Date really is the 7th circle of hell…but I digress. This leaves Hubs and I in a precarious case of compromise. What can we live with? What can’t we live with?  How the hell do we find a middle ground? A better way of communicating? Hubs has told me he would like to see a therapist one on one for a while to sort through some of his issues. He’s also open to couples counseling. It’s a start. It will not change things overnight, but it’s a start.

The truth of the matter is, the story of The Great Argument begins long before Hubs and I even met. We both had fairly traumatic childhoods. Hubs watched his parents divorce at the age of 5, and then watched his mother divorce again at the age of 12 or 13. His stepmother (who his dad married when he was around 6) was a toxic, angry woman who barely tolerated Hubs as a courtesy to his father, and counted his father’s pennies until the day his father died three years ago. Her lawyers promptly contacted Hubs a couple of days after the funeral and let him know that he not only was cut out of any money his father had, she had cut him off from any heirlooms, books, favorite items, etc that his father had wanted passed down to him. The hurt and betrayal is still there, festering. As a child, Hubs alternated one week living with his dad and one week with his mom for his entire childhood. Hubs’ mom was never good with money, and never saved for his college, so when it came time for him to go to NYU, he had to fund it on his own. His father was tight with money, although he had it, so everything that Hubs has built and earned in his life has been from a tireless energy to make something of himself on his own. And he did make it.

Combine this story with my story. My father left my mother and I when I was 8 months old. They were 22 years old at the time they had me. My mother was destitute and on welfare. She moved back in with my grandmother. Both my mother and father remarried other people by the time I was 2 years old. My mother married my stepfather–a soft spoken, very awkward guy who had a house and a steady job. She was two months pregnant with my sister when they got married (clearly she didn’t have any IF issues, haha). They are still married, but their relationship has never been one of spark or passion. I rarely see them kiss or cuddle. Tease or laugh. I feel that my mom married him for financial security, and this is what she got. My father has been married twice since my mother. My first stepmother was an awful human being who had two children with him. They had an ugly divorce. She  took the house, half his money, and he moved into a cramped apartment. My father was a womanizer, and in my teens I had to watch him bang his way through is 30s with some really trashy women he would bring to my school plays sometimes. He’s now married to a wonderful woman for whom he has little appreciation for because she is stable, and doesn’t give him the manic highs or lowest lows that he craves (did I mention he’s bi-polar?)

Where was I in this mess as a child? I was bouncing around back and forth to my dad’s house every other weekend. My home never felt stable. There would be times I would wake up in a panic and not remember whose house I was at, or what bed I was sleeping in. The feeling of displacement I felt as a child has deeply effected me in a way that even 8 years of therapy 3-4 times a week couldn’t help entirely. My apartment I lived in for 8 years before moving in with Hubs had no pictures on the wall. I bought picture frames, and never filled them. I barely had furniture. I lived in a state of “almost leaving”. My office at work is the same. As a child, I never felt like I belonged anywhere. I was always left feeling left out, empty inside, completely alone.

Enter: the deed to the house.

After many long conversations about it yesterday (some more circuitous and frustrating than others), Hubs and I were able to untangle some of the extremely complicated feelings about what this deed represents to us. To our marriage. To our childhoods.

More on that to come…


Shit, meet fan.

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Warning: this post has a lot of bad marriage juju in it. I’m an emotional wreck right now.

The fact that this is all happening now, a couple of days after my anniversary, is both awful and frankly, unsurprising.

I’ll start at the beginning. In the beginning, Hubs and I began dating. We had been friends for 7 years prior to dating, so things moved pretty fast. Hubs had been successful in his career and had a large sum of money saved with which he had been looking to buy a house (this was prior to us dating). A couple of months into dating, we knew things were serious, and he invited me in on the house hunting process. This process was exciting for me, as I had never imagined being able to buy a home–I had been living on my own renting for almost 8 years. About eight months into dating, and after we had gotten engaged, we found the house of our dreams. The. Perfect. House.

It wasn’t until around that time that I realized something was amiss. Hubs had all of his paperwork in order to buy the house–all of his bank info, credit checks, loan approval, etc, but nothing had been asked of me. I certainly didn’t have as much money as Hubs, but my credit score is near perfect. I have had a stable job for almost 10 years. I have no debt. I had some savings I could have plunked down. Not much, but enough to feel like I could contribute. I didn’t speak up then, and I should have. Instead, we made an offer on the house (and by “we” I mean Hubs), it was accepted, and a couple of days before “we” were due to go in and sign the paperwork, I spoke to Hubs about coming with him to sign for “our” house. He told me that he wanted to sign for it on his own.

To say that this cut me like a knife would be an understatement. It was more like a knife cut, gut punch, and bitch slap all at once. I asked him why he didn’t want me to sign for the house with him when we were engaged and planning our wedding together. He told me that he wanted to be able to “feel like this was his contribution to our marriage.” I told him that moving into a house that I helped pick out, that was going to be the house that we raised our children in, without my name being on the deed with him felt wrong. It didn’t feel like a partnership to me, it felt like I was a squatter in my own home. There was an ugly argument about how I was “really” doing this for the money–so I’d be protected in the event of a divorce. He told me he wasn’t asking for a prenup and that I should be grateful that he was able to buy this place for us. While it did bother me that without my name on the house building equity with him, it could effect me down the line (be it divorce, death, etc.) this was certainly not my primary concern. In fact, the fact that he was refusing to put my name alongside with him on the house and have me, his future wife, sign the paperwork with him, became more of a concerning issue than having a piece of property to haggle over in the event of a divorce.  I frankly was doing just fine financially on my own. This house and/or half of his bank account was not entering my mind. The fight was awful. There was no way to resolve it, and he wouldn’t budge. I loved him, and didn’t want to end our relationship over this, so he went ahead and bought the house on his own. He told me “don’t worry”–that he would look into adding me on to the deed “after the wedding”.

We moved into this house, got married, and I tried hard to forget about what had happened. All of my friends were congratulating me, asking me “how does it feel to be a home owner?” I had to smile and pretend I was, and that I had a warm, inclusive husband who wanted me to own this home with him. I felt like such a fake. That feeling has never gone away. Early on in our days at the house, I called the DWP to straighten out an issue with a bill, and they told me that I couldn’t authorize a change because I wasn’t “the home owner”. I also couldn’t deal with installing our alarm system in the house because “I wasn’t the home owner”. Our mortgage bills started coming addressed to only Hubs. A few weeks after we were married, he  proudly showed me another mortgage bill and said, “Look, we’ve already paid down $5,000 against our loan.” The remark was like a slap in the face. It wasn’t my loan. It wasn’t my bill. It wasn’t my house. I brought up adding me on to the house again, and rather than agree and look into it, he told me (once again) that the only reason I’d want my name to be added to our house was because I was after the money, or wanting to ensure I got the house in the event of a divorce. I tried explaining to him that in no way was I ever planning on us getting a divorce. I was simply looking for that symbolic gesture: Putting my name on the house alongside his. Fully including me in the home that I helped choose. That I am helping to pay for. Again, he refused to look into it. I tried, again, to bury the feelings of hurt.

Cut to: a few days ago. With the new loan rates being lower than ever, we decided we’d try to refinance. Only thing is–surprise!– I’m not on our current loan. Other thing is: I’m the only one employed right now, so us getting approval for another loan is heavily dependent on, you guessed it, me. Hubs was eagerly investigating how to get the paperwork together so we could start the process of getting me on the loan. Funny how quickly he’s able to get his shit together on that one, yet finding a few legal documents on Legal Zoom to add me to the deed of the house is some sort of monumental task.  At one point, after discussing how I could be added to the loan, he told me, “And don’t worry–I’ll look into getting you on the deed, too.” Well, at dinner last night, at a restaurant, I might add, the conversation of our refinancing came up, and me getting my credit approved for it. I was fine with looking into that, and also mentioned, “We should also look at how to get me on the deed.” To which, as I anticipated, the conversation took an ugly turn. He told me, “Forget about it. We won’t refinance, then.” He then proceeded to tell me that he will never put me on the deed to our house, simply because all I do is ask him about it (which, for the record, is a total of three times in our entire relationship). He started ranting about how I am always trying to control things, and control him, and how much satisfaction it gives him that this is the one thing I can’t control. He told me that this will be a “good lesson” for our relationship to see how we can come through this without him giving in to my “demands”. I began crying in the restaurant, trying to eat my dinner, and also realizing that this home–our home– will never truly feel like my home. He has taken that away from me.

He keeps repeating, “We’re married. Of course this is your home. We own it together.” No, we don’t. The fact that he refuses to put my name on the deed has been the single biggest problem in our marriage. He doesn’t understand that the undercurrent of anger he feels from me sometimes stems from this issue. He doesn’t understand that this is a source of horrible stress for me.

I keep thinking about the fact that I have gone 8 or 9 months without ovulating, and I can’t help but think that this is my body’s way of telling me that something is deeply amiss. Here I am, popping pills that will force me to ovulate and potentially conceive with a man who doesn’t want to put my name on the deed to our house to “teach me a lesson about my controlling ways.” I am giving him my body for bearing children, and giving my fucking perfect credit score and a stable job that I hate so we can get another loan. He says the one way I don’t “give” is in loving him, regardless of whose name is on paperwork. It’s hard to feel loving to someone who is telling you that he doesn’t care about having the future mother of his children on the paperwork to our house.

We’re supposed to go to Catalina tomorrow for our anniversary, and I simply can’t see that happening now. The last thing I want to do is be romantic with him.

I am an absolute wreck right now…I’m sorry if this all sounds convoluted and strange. I just don’t know what to do about anything anymore. If I sound like an awful person for wanting my name on a deed, please reserve judgement…I’m in a really dark, fragile place right now.

6 month wait

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Hey y’all. I’m relatively new at all of the medical protocol associated with TTC, and I don’t have an RE yet–at this point, my gyno is able to give me Clomid, and monitor my cycles. I can see him on a moment’s notice.

However…I’ve been reading a lot on the internets lately about a 6 MONTH WAIT to see an RE when it’s time for an appointment

Excuse me?

Is this standard? Is this for a general consult?

If so, should I be making an “anticipation of needing an appointment” appointment so I at least get on the books for one if we need it months from now? I’d hate to be 4 months in to Clomid, realize I need more help from an RE, and THEN have to wait 6 months to see a specialist.

How does this all work, exactly?




Infertility can suck it.

Who are these people?

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I got a call from my bank yesterday asking me if I had made a $350 purchase at Best Buy in Bridgewater, NJ. Ummm…no? They then proceeded to list off about 5 or 6 more charges totaling close to $2,000 that Mr. or Mrs. “Bridgewater” decided they were going to use my card number for. Fortunately, my bank had already flagged the Best Buy purchase, and declined all of the rest of the charges.

Not only does it creep me out that someone has all of my card info, and was trying to buy stuff with my card, it brings up a larger question:

Who ARE these people?

Do they sleep well at night knowing this is what their lives have become? Stealing other people’s shit, and taking what isn’t theirs? I drag my ass every day to work to earn that money so they can spend it on their Best Buy shit??

Sorry, I have never had this happen to me, and it feels really violating.

After coming off of that phone call, I went to my night class. I take class at a community college in a somewhat seedy area near my office. There are lots of young moms who go to the classes and bring their kids along because they can’t afford sitters. One such mom in particular was waiting in an area by the elevators with her cute little three year old girl who was playing on some steps by the elevator. As I walked by, the little girl jumped off one step, fell, and hit her head pretty hard.

I gasped, and went to see if she was ok. Her mother yanks her off the ground by jerking her arm and says,”I told your ass that would happen. Stop crying, little baby.”

I didn’t know what to say…the woman definitely looked like she would kick my ass if I told her what I thought of her parenting, or how lucky she gets to actually BE a mom, so I got on the elevator, and the doors closed on the sound of the little girl’s hysterical crying, and the mom berating her.

Who ARE these people?



One Year ago Today…

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…this boy…










…married this girl…










And their worlds felt “right”.

Hubs is my “bashert”–my soul mate, my destiny, my “meant to be”.  I am so happy we chose to walk this path together, even if the path has been bumpy in some spots. Infertility has added a layer of stress to our fledgling marriage that many other couples will never know. I used to be angry or jealous of other newlyweds who made perfect babies right around the year mark of their marriage. I don’t envy them anymore. What Hubs and I have gained in the last year of needing to support each other through this is immeasurable. The truth is, infertility has made us a couple who will never take a family for granted. It has made us stronger, although it certainly pushes our limits on a day to day basis.

On our wedding program, we chose a couple of quotes that spoke to us both. One was a quote from “When Harry Met Sally” because Hubs and I were friends for 8 years before getting married and we both love the movie. The second was a quote that, a year later, still makes me teary when I read it.

Listen to the mustn’ts, child.

Listen to the don’ts.

Listen to the shouldn’ts, the impossibles, the won’ts.

Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me…

Anything can happen, child.

Anything can be.”

Shel Silverstein.

Twofer at the gyno!

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Today I got a pleasant surprise for an infertile anovulator who constantly seeks vaginal health opinions and attention: A last minute appointment at the gyno! Not only was I able to get my annual PAP smear taken care of lickety split, I also got a fresh pack of BCPs to kick off Operation Screw It, These Ovaries Are Getting Medicated. A twofer one if you ask me!

The plan is to go on the BCPs for a month starting tomorrow, and then kick off my artificially induced hormonal “period” with some Clomid CD 3-7. I have not gotten an HSG test yet, but my gyn said that unless I have had a history of PID or chlamydia, he would recommend I wait a couple of cycles to see how I respond to Clomid. Insurance doesn’t cover my HSG unless I have a history of endo.

Stand back, ovaries. I have a prescription for 50mgs of Clomid in my hand right now, and I’m not afraid to use it.

All in all, aside from needing meds to do what most women can do in a few months of drunk horney boinking, today felt like a good day for fertility overall. It feels nice to finally feel like I’m going to be jump starting something. I don’t know what it is exactly…but at least it’s something.