Well, tomorrow marks week 20 of pregnancy...the halfway point...20 weeks until William Matthew "Wim" Folsom makes his arrival. And, if I'm going to even remotely try to document this adventure, I guess starting now, late, is better than never.
Getting to this point has taken a lot longer than anticipated, and here's the story.
When I was 18, I got diagnosed with
Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS). Basically, all I knew that meant back then was that my "cycle" wasn't very cyclical, and if a certain amount of time lapsed after my last "flow" I needed to call the doctor and some meds would be subscribed and a few weeks later, I'd "flow." At 18, that didnt' sound like such a bad problem to have, cuz really, less is better in that area right? Well, sure, when you're single and not trying to get pregnant, it's not a bad deal (unless of course your read about all the other possible side effects and risks associated with PCOS).
When Matt and I were about to get married, we knew that kids were in our future, but not the immediate future. So, like any responsible adult of child bearing years, I went to the doctor to figure out our "family planning" options. While, I don't like subjecting my body to meds if I don't need to, we decided to go on the pill, for two reasons, prevent and regularity (i.e., less guess as to when flow should show up and wondering why I was "late"). Of course, it worked as planned (well, at least we thought so).
The first two years of marriage children weren't even a question - Matt was still in school, I was newly back in school, and frankly, we were enjoying our time as "just us." But as time passed along, and more and more of our friends were having kids, and we were falling more and more in love, my clock started ticking. I kept telling it to shut up, knowing that the timing wasn't right. However, Dave Barnes' song "Can't Grow Tired of Your Love" kept singing deep in my soul ("When you say you love me/It's something I can feel/Your words like fire/Melt my heart of steel/Only you do this to me/So let's take two and turn us into three"). I told Matt my feelings, but assured him that I knew the timing wasn't right.
Somewhere in the spring of 2009, after a lovely visit to Matt's extended family in Gainesville, we stopped at Arby's for lunch. There was a family there with two adorable twin boys probably around two-ish. I swear I had no other motives when I mentioned how cute they were to Matt. He then said "I guess if we had a kid now, it wouldn't be so bad." I'm not sure he knew what can of worms he opened when he said that, but it was like opening pandora's box! A few conversations later and when my last supply of pills ran out, we decided not to refill and let nature take it's course....through December, and then we'd re-evaluate.
That's when the ugly truth of PCOS started to come out. Without meds, gone was regularity, weird patches of unwanted hair started sprouting up, my emotions were out of control, I couldn't control my weight regardless of how little I would eat, and my skin turned to that of a pubescent teenager. As I started doing research on all of these symptoms, I learned they were all related to the PCOS...which, by the way is the leading cause of infertility.
A trip to my gyno had me referred to a PCOS specialist. Despite being warned it could take a long time to get an appointment there, I got one within six weeks...with the preferred doctor! I met my doctor, explained to her my history, and where Matt and I were. SHE LISTENED! She worked with me to come up with a plan that would hopefully help control some symptoms and maybe "make things work."
At first I was put on Metformin, which is a diabetic drug that helps with insulin resistance - the underlying issue with PCOS. While it helped with weight issues, and maybe controlled some of the testosterone, it's not a "pleasant" drug...common side effect, severe diarrhea. But, I stuck with it. I also took a "Clomid challenge." Clomid is a fertility drug that can make you ovulate (key to getting pregnant...and something I didn't do apparently). I did this in January of 2010 (so long "try through December"), and failed miserably. For the next year I tried every natural supplement known to man that was supposed to help with fertility, all not accomplishing anything other than frustration and money being thrown away. I got to know my doctor really well during this time...checkups every 3 months or so.
During this time I had been condition to not take pregnancy tests until day 35 of my "cycle." After many months of failures, peeing on a stick just lost its thrill failure after failure. By fall of 2010, I was beyond over testing, beyond over taking my temperature every morning, and essentially just over it all. So, when I woke up in EXCRUCIATING pain (seriously, made appendicitis feel like a minor bruise) in the middle of the night, somewhere around day 30ish, I had no idea I was having a miscarriage until the next morning when flow came with vengeance in a way never seen before. I talked to my mom about it - who had 5 miscarriages before I came along 16 years into their marriage! Pretty much, she said welcome to the "club." While this was a hard pill to swallow, in a way, it gave us HOPE because if I miscarried, that meant that I could in fact get pregnant, which means that at least once in this year and a half journey, I actually ovulated! A huge step! I was encouraged for a short while after that, until things went back to the way they were.
January 2011 came around and I decided that enough was enough, and I'd pretty much given up hope. I decided to quite obsessing, and control some other health issues that were a little bit more in my control (especially being on Metformin). So, I "traded" my obsession with
fertility boards and
PCOS boards, for
WeightWatchers. It worked, I lost 22 lbs! I met an overall health goal to loose 10% of body weight. When I went for my next follow up, the doc was pleased. AND my yearly blood work and tests for hormone levels actually showed a good improvement! The doctor put the ball in my court and asked what I wanted to do next. I sheepishly asked if, since my hormone levels were doing better, maybe I could take that Clomid challenge again. Honestly, this was a half-hearted attempt on my part, almost a "yeah right, let's do this for the heck of it, even though it won't work." The doctor agreed that we could try again. And ordered an ultrasound on day 14 of the Clomid challenge cycle.
On day 14, I somewhat hopefully, went for an ultrasound at a diagnostic facility that wouldn't tell you anything the day of. All I wanted to know was if there was any sign that I did, or would, ovulate this cycle. I left in tears, crying to Matt that "all I want to know is if I'm just a cow with useless utters or a bird with the ability to lay an egg and sing." I got a call from my doctor a few days later saying that the ultra sound showed "either a gestational sac or a cyst" in my uterus. Well, gestational sacs don't show up until around week 4 of pregnancy, so it seemed unreasonable that that's what it was, but to be sure I had to get a blood pregnancy test done. Which I failed (no surprise). Which meant that I had an UFO (unidentified floating object - thanks to my sister in law for naming it that). A followup appointment was scheduled.
April 20, 2011 - I go for my followup. Honestly, I can say I went to this appointment totally relying on God, fully surrendered to His plan. I had an awesome worship experience on my way to this appointment singing along to Newsboys' song "He Reigns." In my head I'm guessing that at this appointment we're going to schedule a D&C to take out my UFO. And I was OK with it all. I was actually excited to show my doctor my chart for this cycle (I did decide to chart since I was on a clomid challenge and wanted to know if I responded) because it showed I did ovulate - 10 days ago. But, because of the recent failed blood test, and the UFO in my ultrasound, I knew there was no way I was pregnant. Nonetheless, the nurse made me pee on a stick "just to make sure." I laughed it off as too much precaution, but did as I was told. A few minutes later, before my doctor came in, the nurse knocked on my door with this:
For those that haven't peed on a stick before, two lines means that you have a positive pregnancy test. I'm PREGNANT! I kept looking at the stick in absolute disbelief. But a blood test confirmed it.
I called a few key people that I knew would a) be thrilled for us, b) would pray for us, c) would keep our secret. I was cautiously excited. Nervous that it would be another miscarriage, but surrendered at whatever God was deciding to do in my body.
Unless you've been down this road, I don't think you'll ever understand...whether the road is 3 months or 16 years (Mom, if you're reading this, I don't know how you did it!)...it's a road that is nothing but frustrating and painful. I would say that 85% of the time I was "ok" with the situation, that I was surrendered to the Lord and His will. But that other 15%...I felt like a failure at being a woman and a wife, There were tears, lots of tears, but I have an AMAZING husband who was my strength during this time. He helped me surrender over and over again. He prayed with me, prayed for me, held me as I cried, dealt with my mood swings (I'm pretty sure he contemplated purchasing football pads at times...) and just all in all was amazing.
In general, we were pretty silent about our trials, partly out of pride (because who wants to admit that they're dealing with infertility?), partly out of self preservation, partly because we didn't want to burden others with our trials. However, there were a few keys friends during this time that I could talk to...women who had gone through or were going through the same situation. I am forever thankful for these women (you know who you are!)
Oh, and you know how God likes to have a good laugh sometimes? Well, he did get a good one out of our situation in that very crucial "special month." After church one day, I was playing with my friend's child. A friend (completely unaware of our situation) says something along the lines of "Mrs. Folsom, that looks good - Mr. Folsom, you'd better jump on that!" WRONG thing to say to someone dealing with infertility. I actually was in a really good mood that day, and had a rather smart-ass response back "Yeah, well, tell my ovaries that." I'm pretty sure I've never made someone feel so bad...the look on friend's face was that of shock. Of course, I then felt like a complete jerk and profusely apologized and said I would e-mail an explanation later that day, which I did. The response back was one of "will be praying for you." Well, a few weeks later I had to go up to the friend and say "apparently God listens to your prayers...cuz we're pregnant, now just pray it sticks!" So in my smart-ass, somewhat self-pitying phase, when I finally opened up to someone that I should've been open with about the situation since the beginning, that person starts praying, and we get knocked up! HA! Good one, God! Maybe we should've taken more seriously the whole asking for others to pray for you...who woulda thunk it!
