The (Relatively Important) Stuff I Don't Think About: Part 2

Full Disclosure:  I'm half Greek and half Italian, therefore I am hairier than many other women.

When I was 15, my mom thought it might be a good idea to have me get laser hair removal on my face.  We went in for the evaluation, and the dermatologist said that I should get my hormone levels checked first, just in case there was an underlying issue.  I also had really bad acne at the time, so she thought maybe things were a bit wacky.

I met with a pediatric endocrinologist and had a ton of blood work done.  Based on all that blood work, the endocrinologist diagnosed me with Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia, an adrenal failure that is genetic (no one in my family has ever had it).  It is supposed be present from birth, although the type she diagnosed me with doesn't become apparent until puberty.  It is also 100% NOT curable.  Remember that part, it's important.

The only treatment for CAH is steroid medication, taken daily.  The biggest issue with CAH is that because the adrenal glands are malfunctioning, if a trauma were to occur, a person with CAH would go into shock (I had never had an issue with going into shock).

The steroids did nothing for my acne, or body hair.  In fact, the only thing they did was make me tired.  I took the steroids faithfully for years, assuming my doctors knew what they were doing.  They took blood tests every few months.  They were supposed to use those tests, and my reporting of symptoms to monitor my steroid dosage.

When I started college, I had to switch to an endocrinologist for adults.  She was frequently late for my appointments (like, hours late), and she did not seem to hear my complaints. She would just write stuff down, and tell me to up my steroid dosage.

During that year, I had issues with heart palpitations and fainting.  Things that were never an issue in my life.

When I went home after my freshman year of college, I was exhausted.  I slept all the time.  I just couldn't bring myself to do anything.

I went back to school, and reported all this to my endo, so upped the steroid dosage, again.

Things got worse.  I slept more hours of the day than I was awake.  I missed almost all of my classes.  I missed work.  I was like an elderly person on the verge of death.

Mr Headless (at the time just "Boyfriend Headless"), wanted to go with me to my next appointment.  It was a bone density scan appointment (large levels of steroids will cause osteoporosis).  While he waited for me to come out, he found a pamphlet about DHEA levels, and how the levels of DHEA are directly related to life function.

DHEA is produced in the adrenal glands.  Unless the adrenal glands have been forced into a state of atrophy due to steroid medication.  The more we read, the more it seemed that this was the problem.  I was running out of DHEA in my body.

We were going to ask about my DHEA levels at my next appointment with the endo.  But there never was another endo appointment.  I got a letter a few weeks later saying that she was no longer seeing patients, and that I needed to find a new doctor.

When I went into my appointment with my new doctor, the nurse practitioner in the office looked over my paperwork.  She was startled to see the dosage of steroids I was on.  She said, "that level of steroids is appropriate for a 300 lb man, not a 100 lb girl!"  Then she added, "also, I've looked over your old blood work, and I'm not sure you ever actually had this disease."

They weaned me off the medication, so as not to shock my body.  When I was completely off, they retested me.  I didn't have CAH.  I never had.  I had been over medicated for a disease I never had for over five years.  The doctor said I was, "borderline, at best."  She would never have made a positive diagnosis based on the results she saw.

The doctor said, "If you had continued on that level of steroids just a few months longer, you would have died."  My DHEA levels were in the single digits.  My body was shutting down.  I would have died.

But I didn't die.  That letter saved my life.  That perfectly timed intervention.  That divine act.

The (Relatively Important) Stuff I Don't Think About: Part 1

Full Disclosure:  When I first got married, I really wanted 3 children: 2 biological children and 1 adopted child.

After Lil G was born, I still wanted 3 children, and I wanted my second bio child ASAP.  Mr Headless wasn't ready, so we waited.  Considering the issues I ended up having with PPD (and later, PTSD), waiting was a very wise decision.

When Lil G was 15 months old, I dreamt that I was pregnant.  The baby in the dream was a boy.  I shared this dream with Mr Headless, and to my surprise, he said, "that sounds nice."  I asked if he wanted to go for #2, and he said, "yes."  

From the days of trying to conceive Lil G, I discovered that I don't ovulate regularly, so  I was delighted to have a positive ovulation test in the first month of trying for #2.  Within 3 weeks, I felt pregnant.  I had several of the early symptoms I had when I was newly pregnant with Lil G.  The thought of soon having a second child, when my first was still so needy and nonverbal, was actually really scary.  I tried to stay calm as I waited for official confirmation.

I tested on cycle day 24, and saw the faintest positive, and then within an hour, I started spotting.  I'm a little ashamed to admit, I felt relieved in that moment.  I was newly off my depression meds (and was not yet ready to be), and I was freaking out at the thought of having another child.  After that brief moment of relief, though, I began to feel very sad, and pregnancy announcements from friends and family definitely did not help during this time.

I later discovered that I have a progesterone deficiency.  I don't think I always had one, but maybe I did, and it's just worse now (I did have to take medication to induce ovulation in order to conceive Lil G).  So, I took a variety of medications that were supposed to fix the issue, and they never did.  

During this time, Mr Headless decided he didn't think he would ever want another child after all, and if he did, it would be many years away.  I went on birth control pills as the last ditch effort to fix the hormonal issues.  A year later, I still have a progesterone deficiency, even on birth control pills.

The progesterone deficiency means that I both don't ovulate consistently, and that when I do, my cycle is too short to maintain a pregnancy.  The hormones just aren't right.  

Even if we wanted another child, right now, it would not be possible.  Maybe it will fix itself with time, and maybe it won't.  I just don't know.

I don't ever say that we're not having another child due to infertility.  First of all, I don't want pity, and infertility either illicits pity or disbelief.  I also don't appreciate the idea that I am making up a fertility issue as a cop out.  My own mother is resistant to the idea of secondary infertility, and definitely doesn't believe that she could have produced a child who isn't super fertile.  Secondly, part of me feels like if Mr Headless and I both really wanted a second child, we would find a way to have one.  Either I would try even more medication to have another biological child, or we would apply to adopt a child from China in a few years time (I always wanted to adopt from China).  However, we don't want another child right now, and likely never will.  

This is why I say simply that "our family is complete."  

I say this line so much, that I rarely think about my infertility, and I rarely think about the child I lost (who would be 7 months old right now).  I believe that what happened was meant to be.  I believe our family is exactly the way it should be right now.  So why does thinking about it still make me feel so sad?

Beginning

I've started and stopped blogs a few times in the past two years.  Starting is the hardest part.  Where do you start when it's like you're blogging for no reason at all?

Right now, there are no big changes in my life, and I'm very happy with that.  I don't work.  I'm not expecting.  I'm not moving.  Heck, I'm not even planning a real vacation for another 2 1/2 years.  So what is there to say?

I guess I'll start by saying, I never figured out who I was before I leapt head-first into motherhood.  Well, maybe that's not quite right.  I think it's not that I didn't know who I was, because I certainly tried my darnedest to "find myself" for years, but more that I'm just not very interesting.  Or rather, that I have very few interests.

I constantly found myself flitting from one interest to another; throwing myself into something for a brief period of time, only to see it fizzle away.  Sure, there were things that were constant.  I've always (always, as long as I can remember, and I have a great memory) loved literature and writing.  I've also always loved art, both the studying of it and attempting to create it.  I've also had a lifelong fascination with religion, but I'm not religious, despite trying to be for many years.

Ah yes, and then there was the interest that would change my life forever: children.  I always liked kids.  Even when I was a kid, I liked kids younger than myself.  I didn't really do well with my peers, but younger children liked me, and I liked them.  By high school, I knew I wanted, no, needed to work with children.  I took all the child development courses my school offered (more than once, receiving no credit the second time through, doing it just for the joy of it).  I took education courses in college.  But during my shadowing, during which I shadowed a former teacher of mine, I became discouraged.  She warned me that certain policies had taken a lot of the joy out of teaching (specifically, teaching English, which was now very rigid).

As with so many of my pursuits, I fizzled out.  I went into grad school for professional writing, but went to work as a teacher's assistant.  It was, hands-down, the greatest job in the world.  I loved going to work everyday.  I loved the kids there.  The pay was terrible, and a bit insulting, actually, but the sheer joy of the job made it a moot point to me.

But there was this nagging feeling that wouldn't leave me. I had been married for a year, when I started badgering my husband ("Mr Headless") about having a baby. As a teen, I was (mis)diagnosed with a medical condition that I was told would render me infertile, or at the very least, sub fertile.  Even though I was later shown to be clear of this condition, and it's not something one can be cured of, so no issue of it "recurring," I couldn't shake the fear of infertility.  I longed to be a mother, I didn't want to miss that chance.

Three months after our one year anniversary, I was blissfully pregnant.  I was also a bit naive.  Although I had worked extensively with children, I had never, ever held a baby.  Or spent time with a baby.  I had literally no baby experience.  My forte was with toddlers and preschoolers.  I was screwed.

"Lil G" entered our lives in March 2009 and tore up the place.  The girl had a presence right from the start.  She was bizarrely alert and aware for a newborn.  All the doctors kept saying, "she's so aware!"  It's really draining to have an "aware" baby.  Mr Headless and I always said that it was like she hated being a baby.  We have all these videos of baby Lil G, and she keeps trying to do things that a newborn can't do, and she couldn't do them, but she really wanted to.  Needless to say, her inability to do the things she wanted to do made her miserable.  Lil G was a screamer.  She just cried and cried, and never slept and had severe reflux and couldn't eat.  Oh, and then I got PPD.

So, that first year with a baby taught me that I'm not a baby person.  When she finally started sleeping, and talking (instead of screaming), things got better.  My PPD lifted, only to be replaced by really bizarre PTSD that manifests itself when Lil G cries at night, or when I convince myself, as I'm falling asleep, that she is crying, and then I have a panic attack.  I do this routine every night.  I convince myself I hear faint crying from the monitor as I'm drifting to sleep, have a panic attack, and then talk myself down and fall asleep.  I think it goes without saying, Lil G will be an only child.

Now my sweet little girl is almost 2 1/2 and time is slipping through my fingers.  She gets more amazing by the day.  Her laugh is infectious, her voice is adorable.  I could kiss her constantly all day long, and it wouldn't be enough.  I'm smitten.

So, that's where I stand.  My life revolves around a 2 1/2 year old firecracker.  My sweet husband, who I have loved for almost nine years, is still my very best friend in the whole world, followed by my mother. I'm a very simple woman.  I just want to be happy, and I can safely say that I am.  And that's all that matters.