Katy Vs. Her Ovaries - The Backstory

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you know that I have spent the past few months writing about having babies. The main reason for all of this philosophizing about reproduction has stemmed from my own entertainment of the idea of having a kid. Now, I feel like it's important for you to know that my willingness to have a child started out as some sort of half-hearted experiment in fate. Let me explain... About a year ago we stopped taking precautions to not get pregnant. Being the obsessive planner/control freak that I am, I decided with the input of my dear husband that we should try to get pregnant in May, June, or July of 2012. Why those three months you ask? Because I teach school and the ultimate goal of any female educator is to have a child in March. March allows teachers to take the 12 weeks of maternity leave available and not ever have to come back to school before summer break. It is the Holy Grail of life as a female educator. Because I wanted to be reasonable and accepting of the unpredictability of getting pregnant, I allowed for a couple extra months just for good measure. Needless to say, I did not get pregnant. We closed up shop and continued to make fun of all of our parent friends and their exhausting existence as parents of young people. I tried really hard to not worry with those three months of no pregnancy. It was THREE MONTHS. I heard all these mothers recount trying to get pregnant for 6 months or 8 months or over a year even. They all had kids, so why in the world would I be any different? But for some reason I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. I started learning more about pregnancy and ovulation and cycles and cervical mucous and ovaries. I read articles about basal body temperature readings and biphasic months. I completely over-saturated myself with pregnancy information. I felt like I needed to equip myself with all of the knowledge available to be prepared for the next time we decided to try. Over the next few months I did notice that my cycles (periods? Why are both of those words so icky?) were not regular. Some were 31 days and some were 33. I even had a 53 day cycle somewhere along the way. It seemed a little weird to me and naturally only fed my feeling that something wasn't right. Thankfully, the school year started. I was so busy with volleyball and teaching that I didn't even think about having a child. Cody and I were never really sold on the idea in the first place to be honest. In fact there were a lot of days when I was thankful that those three months hadn't resulted in me being pregnant. I convinced myself that there is so much time to have kids. We are so young. Cody felt the same way. I never did get back on birth control. I used my new-found reproductive knowledge to avoid getting pregnant. After volleyball ended, i did flirt with getting pregnant. I kept telling myself that if I was healthy and viable then maybe I would just get pregnant. I always felt like it would be so much easier to just turn up pregnant. No planning. No thinking ahead. No scheduling a birthdate in March. Just get pregnant. People do it all the time. i mean people get pregnant ON ACCIDENT. In December of 2012 I went to see Dr. Bell for a regular check-up. Everything went fine during the appointment. He told me I seemed completely healthy. I did ask him about my irregular periods. He was literally walking out of the door when I explained what was going on. His response was a simple one: "that probably means you're not ovulating." I sort of felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. My reproduction 101 lessons flooded my brain. Panic set in as I wondered how in the world people get pregnant without ovulating? I never imagined that would be the answer. I was looking for a "oh, there's nothing to worry about," or " almost everyone has irregular periods." I did not expect the answer he gave me. I walked out of his office that day with an appointment for blood work that would definitively say whether I had released an egg. I also walked out of his office with a premonition that hinted that this was only the beginning of a completely unexpected journey. The blood test revealed that I had not ovulated. It took the doctor's office forever to call with the results. I was cooking dinner when the phone rang. The nurse told me so nonchalantly about the results. I asked what exactly the results meant. She beat around the bush about there being a lot of different options, and she listed a few different treatment plans. She ended the conversation by telling me that the ball was in my court as to how aggressively I wanted to treat my infertility. I remember being shocked at how calm and cold the nurse sounded. I remember wondering how one month of not ovulating suddenly classified a person as infertile. I was hurt. Upset. Stunned. Confused. Frustrated. Scared. I felt like what started as an innocent question to ask only because I wouldn't talk to Dr. Bell for another year had unexpectedly opened the flood gates of infertility...I was suddenly involved in a fight to have a baby that I wasn't sure I even wanted.

Katy vs. Her Ovaries - Part 1

When I was in Mrs. Loyd's third grade class, we were required to write a paragraph about what we wanted to be when we grew up. As a nine year old, I explained (in near perfect penmanship by the way) that I dreamed of being two things as an adult: an NBA player and a mom. My mom still has this assignment tucked away in a box somewhere. In high school she used to mention this assignment if ever I found some success as a basketball player. I think my mom loved the dichotomy of her child. She appreciated the relentless athlete mixed in with something as cute as a little girl wanting to be a mom.

I remember wholeheartedly thinking that I could make it to the NBA. I dominated kids at Nancy Orr Girls Club as a child. A head taller than most with a bit of coordination equaled some pretty impressive Saturday afternoons on the hardwood. Nonetheless, the older I got the more reality set in. I eventually shed the impossibilities of the NBA, and I altered my goals to include much more realistic athletic achievements.

However, over the years I never faltered in my second dream. The idea of being a mom has always been something I want. I think this is only natural as the daughter of Patsy Schrodt. My mom has always made evident to my brother and me that being a mom is the best thing she's ever done. I was never one to imagine my wedding day. I didn't envision a perfect husband. After my NBA hopes were dashed, I was never particularly sold on a professional path (still not sold). I've never known a whole lot of what  I want to do...besides be a mom, like my mom.

What's funny about all of this is that I have never been very motherly. I don't exude maternal instinct. I have never spent much time around babies. I don't even like kids a whole lot for the most part. I have just always assumed that I would like (love) my kids. When I met Cody, I had an even stronger desire to have our kids. I am mesmerized with the idea of creating life. I am fascinated with the idea of having a baby that might look like me (or Cody) or talk like me (or Cody) or laugh like me (or Cody). Literally, I think reproduction is the most mind-boggling part of existing. It is bound to be why we are here. Right?

I realize you're wondering what I'm getting at here...Recently, Cody and I have found ourselves at a bit of a reproductive stand still. We are still trying to sort out all of the specifics, but in very general terms we have determined that getting pregnant for us will not be as simple as we both once thought it would be. I will eventually communicate the actual medical issues that we (I) am facing. It's still a little early in the process to start explaining a whole lot.

At first I was extremely hesitant with the idea of sharing fertility details. I realize that we are all a little uneasy with words like "ovary" or "cervix" or "uterine lining." In turn, we are naturally hesitant to share stories about getting pregnant. However, I have spent the last few months dipping my toe in the infertility waters and have found that it can be a lonely place. (i.e. my infertility comfort has mainly come from Khloe Kardashian and Guiliana Rancic. Not acceptable.) Since I don't have a reality TV show, I figure I will do my part in using my words (even the uncomfortable ones) to talk about something that unfortunately impacts a lot of people.

I will eventually tell my story.

Thursday Afternoons in March

A few days ago I was driving home from work on one of those afternoons when everything feels right. The sun was out. The windows were down. The air was warm enough to make you forget about the morning cold. It was a few days before Spring Break when life as a teacher gets a little easier. As I was driving down my street, I noticed my mom was outside in her front yard, and I stopped to talk to her. We sat on her front steps, also my front steps in a lot of ways. We talked about nothing in particular. The flowers she was planting. My plans for Spring Break. The nine holes of golf she had played that morning. I stayed for maybe thirty minutes before continuing down the street to my house.

As I got in my car to leave my mom, I realized that those are the moments that make cancer hard to bear. Cancer is not so obvious a problem at Thanksgiving or Christmas or New Year's. There is too much already present on those days. Too many gifts. Too many people. Too many chores. Too many things to keep your mind from worrying. It is sunny afternoons in Spring when the work day is done and my mom feels good enough to work in her yard when cancer creeps up on you. It is conversations on front steps where cancer is nowhere to be found in my mom's words or laughter when cancer grabs me once again. It is a random Thursday not worth noting for any other reason than wanting to remember my mom just like that. Happy. Healthy. Funny. Present. It is those moments that remind me that cancer is still a part of our lives. We are not fighting cancer like we were a year or two years ago. We are not going to doctor appointments every week or holding our breath for test results. She is not in enough pain to mention. She is not worried enough to steal her usual ways. But cancer is not gone and in all honesty it probably never will be for the rest of my mom's life. All of our front step conversations will unfold against the backdrop of illness. Cancer will permanently be glaring over our shoulders. Stealing a bit of our afternoons. Darkening the sunlight that used to not be worth so much. Tugging at our memories. Reminding us to hold on to these conversations and these moments when things are better than they used to be, than they could be. These moments are easy. Too easy. Afternoons when things are they way they are supposed to be worry me now. Somewhere on those steps there is a ticking that can't be silenced. There is a relentless reminder that no one knows what is around the corner.

It is afternoons like this one that cancer is a problem; however, without cancer these afternoons would not count nearly as much. The ticking would be gone. The skies would just be bright. The flowers would just be blooming. The words would just be words between two people. Cancer takes away, but it also gives back. It makes you (me) stay a few minutes longer and laugh a little quicker and make note of Thursday afternoons in March when the world is right and the people you love so much are planting flowers in the front yard.

Friend Diva

Cody: Why don't you like my mom?

Me: I like your mom!

Cody: She doesn't have enough to offer you, does she?

Me: What's that mean?

Cody: You only have so much room in your life for people. If someone doesn't have something to offer, you just don't let them in.

Pause.

Me: Just be glad I had an opening a few years back.

I recently devoted 2013 to finding new people in my life. I chalked my lack of good people up to a new crop of babies (see http://codyandkaty2010.blogspot.com/2013_03_01_archive.html) or people just not being interested in being friends like all the cool people on tv (see also http://codyandkaty2010.blogspot.com/2013_01_01_archive.html). 

After the above conversation with Cody, I realized that I'm a friend diva. I expect a lot out of the people I consider my friends and in turn require an extensive commitment from someone before I "let them in" as Cody puts it. I'm starting to think that I don't have a waiting line of friends because word has gotten around that I require a boot camp like initiation into the friend zone. I require endless conversations about ridiculously depressing or over talked about topics (i.e. men, the existence of god, my entire high school sports career, terminal illness, fate, destiny, and why we are really here). I expect text messages to be answered in the utmost timely manner. I need you to watch at least half of my favorite tv shows which all come on premium cable channels. I need you to thereafter analyze my favorite characters in those shows...also in a timely manner. I like to hang out at least twice a month. I'd prefer you to not have children. I need to like your husband/significant other as much as you. Democrat over Republican. Dogs over cats.  A user of correct grammar. Willing to travel when I want you to. No country music fans. No smoking. No loud breathing (no, I'm not kidding). And a propensity for a well-timed curse word or caddy remark is a bonus.

I know, right? Quite the exhaustive list of characteristics in a friend. Cody made me realize that I am impossible to be friends with due to the above mentioned traits of my perfect friend. I'm a friend diva. Cody tried to describe my extensive screening process for important people as me having a high barrier to entry (Cody is really into business stuff lately. Barrier to entry refers to the obstacles present when starting a new business). I expect the best and only the best. I need to have real conversations with real people about things that matter in this big wide world. I don't have time for acquaintances and superficial chatter. In other words, I have a high barrier to entry when it comes to letting people in my life. Surprisingly, I think Cody is completely accurate.

In honor of Cody highlighting my high barrier to entry, I have decided to revamp my friend resolution for 2013. I don't want to find new friends necessarily. Instead, I want to start being more appreciative of the ones that I have. I want to stop requiring so much of my people and instead focus on all of the good they bring to the table. I have good friends and good people. I have never questioned this. I have just lost focus of what is right in front of me. I have let the changes that naturally happen to people impact my relationship with them. I assume everyone has as much time on their hands to cultivate deep, meaningful relationships with me as i have to cultivate relationships with other people. Not every person has to be the person. Maybe the answer is to roll with the punches a little better and accept that each person is good for something. I need to start finding the good that everyone around me has to offer. Even my mother-in-law who I need to work on allowing in a little more. Or some at all. 

New 2013 resolution: stop being a friend diva.

Babies and Northern Lights

I am in baby hell and there is no obvious escape route.

Two of my good friends have had children within the past three months. One of said children was born just last week. Today I went to visit this newly created human. As we were sitting around admiring this little guy, we all started commenting on the looks of the baby. My first-time mother friend said that the baby's appearance had improved since being born. She noted that his head was sort of cone-shaped from the get-go and that his nose was sort of smashed. She went on to admit that her and her husband had tried to brace themselves for their new son not being the cutest addition to the family. Being the animal lover she is, my friend said that her first thought upon seeing her baby boy was "it's no puppy."

I could not agree more with my friend in respect to human babies being anything other than a puppy. They are not as cute as puppies. They are not as easy to take care of. They are not as affordable. Human babies cannot be put in cages for hours at a time. They cannot be bathed with a garden hose. Human babies require feeding numerous times a day and cannot be trained to use the restroom any specific place until years into the relationship. Human babies do not come when you call them. They do not take a liking to having their ears aggressively rubbed or being left outdoors on sunny afternoons...or any afternoons for that matter. And yet, nearly every woman I have in my arsenal of friends has signed up for a bare minimum of eighteen years of human babies for which I have very little explanation.

As an adult I have seen a few lines drawn in the proverbial sand. College or no? Moving away or no? Marriage or no? The only line drawing I ever gave much thought was moving and marriage. I knew that both of those decisions would very much dictate most aspects of my life. I sort of understood the ramifications of picking up and moving away and sort of understood the ramifications of getting married. Whether I understood the specifics of those processes is not as important as me having understood the seriousness of whatever the ramifications were. And yet, I always took solace in the fact that both moving and marriage is somewhat easily reversed. I knew that moving can happen at most any juncture of a journey. I knew that marriage was a little more difficult to reverse, but nearly half of us find a way so I could too.

Recently, I have started to notice that the number of folks on the other side of the baby line is rapidly increasing. Facebook is a hotbed for baby videos and baby announcements and gender reveals and 20 week updates (by the way, no one cares that your fetus is the size of a fig). Babies are everywhere and they don't seem to be going away. People I don't even know are having kids and announcing it to the world of Facebook on a daily basis. With every new baby, I feel a stronger sense of urgency to finalize my decision on which side of the line I want to stay. With every 20 week bump picture, I find myself considering what I would be craving if I were pregnant. With every gender reveal surprise, I find myself sucked in to the wonder of so-and-so having a baby girl as if one of these times someone's gender reveal party is going to expose that someone is having a pterodactyl instead of a boy.

I honestly don't get the attraction. Yet, I understand that I must be missing the appeal of children, because we all keep getting pregnant. Some of us are even signing up for baby #2.

I ask my mom friends to articulate what is so intriguing about their own child, and I never get a sufficient answer. I get a lot of "make sure you do everything you want to do before..." answers. And a lot of "you have plenty of time before you have kids." I've had a few "I would have waited a little longer" responses, but I never get an answer that communicates the reason for having a baby. I even ask my own mom who claims that my brother and me are the best thing she has ever accomplished. She gives me the predictable "you just don't know until you have your own" response, which I think answers why we all do just that. Babies benefit from the ultimate marketing campaign. We are all persuaded to jump on the baby bandwagon because the only way to understand is to get one for yourself. Babies are unable to be appreciated from afar. There is apparently some magnetic pull of early morning feedings and incessant crying. There is power in those little cone shaped heads and dirty diapers. In between the spit up and poop, there is some sort of baby drug these little unassuming humans are creating. To non-parents babies are like a mystical creature unexplained by all the parents in this world. Babies are like Nessie or Big Foot. They are UFOs and aliens. Babies cannot be defined or understood until you simply drink the kool-aid. Babies are the Northern Lights of adulthood. You don't know when exactly you're going to get to see them, but everyone testifies to the transformative experience of being in their presence.

I don't know when or if I will ever get to see the Northern Lights of parenthood. I used to think I would just sign up to get on the baby train whenever it was that I got bored with being just me. I assumed that since sixteen-year-olds all over America get pregnant without even meaning to (shout out to "Teen Mom" by the way) the process of getting pregnant must be pretty simple. However, I think getting pregnant can sometimes be as complicated as finding the Northern Lights. You've got to be in the right place at the right time. There can't be a cloud in the sky and it needs to be a new moon. You need to be outside of the city lights and it needs to be just the right time of year. I suppose having a baby would not be quite as magical if every person in this world simply put their name on the baby list and one showed up a few months later.

Sometimes I talk myself into wanting a baby. And then sometimes I remember that I have blankets hanging over the windows in my bedroom in some pathetic attempt to block out the sunlight allowing my husband and me to sleep until eleven on Saturday mornings. I realize that blocking out sunlight will be useless with a crying baby in that same room, and I heed the advice of all of you frazzled parents who longingly remember a time before parenthood when the sight of the Northern Lights was still just a dream in your clear, well-rested mind.

Fried Chicken Stuffed Animals and Crinkled Love Poems

In honor of Valentine's Day tomorrow, I would like to dedicate a post to the guy that I love. I am not the biggest fan of February 14th. Before Cody I don't think I ever had a Valentine on Valentine's Day. I did have a relative stranger give me some chocolate and a stuffed dog (that smelled like gas station fried chicken by the way) when I was a sophomore in high school. He also included a poem that very vividly described me dribbling a ball up and down a court and how much he loved the faces I made when I was playing (so creepy). That was the extent of my Valentine's Day action before my husband.

Because I so very much appreciate Cody for rescuing me from fried chicken stuffed animals and crinkled love poems, I would like to take a minute to highlight all the reasons I love Cody Wayne Prater.

The first Valentine's Day I ever spent with Cody was our second semester of college. We were not technically "together", although we were very much on the path to being in a relationship. He got me flowers, a stuffed dog, a pink painted BMW toy car, and a "self-portrait" that he drew himself. I had apparently mentioned wanting all of those things in some capacity in the months that I had spent getting to know Cody. I remember sitting on my bed that Valentine's night. He told me his rationale for buying (or making) all of the gifts and I realized I was in a little deeper than I previously thought. I spent a really long time trying to deny my relationship with Cody. I don't think I was ready to be someone's girlfriend, a title I had fulfilled for only brief, unsuccessful stints in junior high or high school. I thought I liked Cody, but I thought being his girlfriend seemed too much for me.

I remember after he left my apartment that night I started to cry in true 18 year old girl fashion. I was so thankful and happy that I had found a guy that liked me enough to be so sweet to me. It seemed so out of the norm. I had never had a guy really show me any sort of extra attention. All my life I had boys interested in me in half-hearted ways; never enough to pick me over a more traditional choice (i.e. girls who were not 6 feet tall or who didn't lean a bit to the serious side even as a teenager or who wore makeup on a regular basis - it's ok to be jealous of adolescent Katy by the way). I had never had the right stuff to really impress a guy so that he would want to go out of his way to be good to me (with the exception of chicken stuffed animal guy).

Tomorrow will be our 8th Valentine's Day together. March 1st of this year will be our 8 year anniversary of being a couple. We never took any breaks. There were never many bumps in the road. We signed on 8 years ago and have never really looked back (except for this one night in the parking lot of the Links when we nearly talked ourselves out of love).

One of the weirdest things about life is the way that somewhat insignificant decisions people make sometimes end up literally mapping out huge chunks of their existence. As a freshman in college I was scared to death of being in a relationship. I thought I liked Cody, but it never really crossed my mind that I might love him or be in a serious relationship with him or certainly marry him. We were young. We were strongly in like. We enjoyed spending time together. We took all the same classes. We didn't know the magnitude of those simple days when we fell a little more in love each minute we spent together. I realize now that all of those afternoons of college algebra homework and riding around in his jeep and making out on his bed for hours and hours and hours would ever lead here. I never paid that much attention to all of the little moments that eventually connected to write the only love story of my life. I didn't know we would be where we are today, but I always knew Cody was worth holding onto.

Cody has been the most constant force in my life in the last decade. He has done right by me for 8 years. He has never said a cross word to me or treated me with anything other than respect and love. He is a good, good man that I often times wonder how in the world I ever convinced to be with me. And beyond being a good guy, Cody creates more fun in my life than I ever could have imagined. He has taken that too-serious-tall-kid from high school and smoothed my edges both in my relationship with him and also in my relationships with other people. He has taught me how to loosen up and laugh a little more and be a little silly. He has made every day of the past 8 years a lot of fun. He is truly the best thing in my life.

On occasion, I find myself taking inventory of my world. It is nice to take the time to note all of the good stuff in my life. As I list the blessings I have around me, it is always Cody who I am almost surprised to see standing next to me. I have always had a great family. I have always had good friends. I always knew somewhere inside of me that coaching volleyball as an adult would be a pretty cool way to pass my days. However, I didn't always know that I would find a good man. As a teenager I didn't sit around and dream of the man I would marry, because finding a boyfriend was outside of my realm of daily thought, much less finding a husband. Needless to say, Cody is the best decision I have ever made. I am certainly glad that 15 year old Katy knew better than to settle for fried chicken stuffed animals and crinkled love poems. Compromises can be made anywhere other than in love.

In honor of this husband of mine, I will leave you with a few pictures that truly capture the essence of Cody Prater.

The Big Bang Friendship Theory

I watched an episode of "The Big Bang Theory" recently in which Sheldon tries to make a new friend. Naturally, Sheldon's unique personality causes him to have a difficult time navigating the waters of getting to know someone well enough to consider him a friend. He ends up giving up on the process but not before enlisting flow charts and scientific data to try to figure out how to make his new friendship work.

After watching the show, I couldn't help but feel a connection with Dr. Sheldon Cooper. Granted, I do not possess the same characteristics that place Sheldon on the Autism spectrum. I also don't have a Ph. D. or an IQ that's off the charts. I am in theory less crazy than Sheldon. I should have friends like Sheldon does. I should have a Leonard, Raj, and Howard. I should have a group of friends that are a part of my life on a daily basis. We should drink red wine and have conversations about life and love and men and everything - conversations that matter. Conversations that sustain you until you meet again.

I'm afraid that I have fallen victim to a far too common phenomenon in this world. I like to call it the "we no longer sit around and do nothing as single females in a world where our biggest engagement is class for a few hours a day" syndrome. All of my friends are married (like myself). A lot of my friends have babies or are soon to have a baby. We all have jobs. We all have lives. When I was younger, I never imagined that in the craziness of adulthood I would lose touch with friends.

Now, before we get too crazy, let me just say that I do have friends. I have great friends. Good people. Kind people. People that I wouldn't trade for anything. People who have been there for me when I needed someone. My friendships are just different friendships than I once anticipated.

Maybe I watch too much T.V. I've definitely seen one too many "Sex & the City" episodes. Maybe I'm a sucker for a good conversation with someone other than my husband (although I do love talking to him). I always envisioned myself having friends that were a daily part of my existence no matter who our husbands were or how many children we have or how many hours we worked that day. I always envisioned having friends who are first on my list to call when the world comes crashing down. I always envisioned having friends who would drop what they were doing to be there for me. And I have always known that those expectations of other people require me to be a good friend in return. I believe that women need other women in their world.

At the beginning of this new year, I decided that my New Year's resolution was to make a new friend. I had no idea how exactly I was going to accomplish this task, but the continual birth of babies all around me is a constant reminder that my friends are signing up for responsibilities much more pressing than being my friend. Soon after making this resolution, I found myself sidetracked by one of those situations that you never predict happening. It was one of those moments when Cody could only do so much. I needed a friend. Yet, I found myself held hostage by the knowledge that most of my friends were busy. Busy with life. Busy with kids. Busy with husbands. Busy with something other than talking me off a ledge. I understand that this is just the direction in which life moves, and I am certain that I have played just as much a role in this predicament as anyone else. I am not bitter. I am not angry. I do not blame anyone for this. I just know that having a friend who knows you and understands you is a blessing and something that I am not willing to give up on just because I'm getting older or busier. I don't buy it.

I hope other people have had these same thoughts at some point. Otherwise, I may be more like Sheldon than I would like to admit.

I obviously need a flow chart. Bazinga.