emotions – Maybe Mama

Real Talk: I’m Not OK. Infertility and Depression

I’m excited to be back to blogging and getting back to normal, whatever that is.

If you follow me on Instagram or have followed this blog for a time, you know its been kinda quiet around here. Like, ghost town quiet. Not just for a week or a month. Maybe Mama was silent for a good eight months.

Eight. Whole. Months.

In an online space, eight months of silence is a long time when trying to send a message and build a following. I missed opportunities to share my thoughts and experiences, make connections with people, and grow my presence.

So, why?

DEPRESSION

I’m flipping the script to add yet another layer to this story of mine: My fight with depression. This is part of family building journey as much as Lupron, ultrasounds, and HSGs

Last year, in March and April (part of February too because of priming), we did our first IVF cycle. For my circumstances (low egg count, one ovary, high FHS/low AMH, ), I did pretty well in terms of output.

All in all, from one ovary, they got 8 follicles, 4 eggs, and they were able to create two embryos. I felt good about that, because I had already done better than expected.

Every day, my nurse would call to give me an embryo update. The embryos were dividing, and growing on schedule. Until they weren’t. On Day 4 the report was they were growing, but not as quickly, which was not necessarily a bad thing. The next morning’s call, they had stopped growing completely.

I didn’t really know what to feel. I was sad, but more so I was caught off guard. I knew that anything could happen at anytime, but things were going so well, I “forgot” to be worried that they wouldn’t make it.

My doctor called later in the evening to go over everything in more detail. I sat in my car, in the dark, with my teal “baby journal”, where I keep all my notes, listening and writing down all the important points and take-aways from our conversation. All the while, fighting back tears, trying to seem cool, strong, and unbothered.

This whole time, no one saw me break, and I was proud of that. But on this call, I could barely keep it in. I told myself to suck it up, and I focused on the clinical and scientific aspect of what was happening, and not on my disappointment, fear, and anger.

After a few minutes in the car by myself to process, I went in the house. When I went in, I told my husband the news. I broke down, but only a little. I didn’t want him to see me upset either. I knew my being upset would make him upset.

So I kept it together.

And I kept on “keeping it together”. Acknowledging that we failed but not really dealing with it. I kept on pushing, going about my every day tasks, only crying now and then when no one was around.

For those that knew I was going through this journey, I wanted to seem brave and strong. I wanted them to see how determined you have to be to even go through the infertility thing. I wanted to be a billboard for all of the women who have done this, once, 5, 10, 20 times. I didn’t want people to have pity on me.

For those who had no idea, I wanted it to remain that way. I never wanted to give off any hint that I had chaos going on behind me.

But being “strong” and unaffected was a front.

Those feelings of guilt, anger, doubt, and disappointment, were slowly creeping up on me. My veneer of cool was starting to crack. I could feel it.

Children under 5 gave me anxiety. Literally. I could not be around small children without getting upset.

I felt like I was just floating through life. It felt like I was existing in life as one of those floating perspective shots Spike Lee’s famous for.

I found a lot of things to distract me from my thoughts. I went out for dinner, happy hour, or day parties almost anytime someone asked. I started crafting, which was great to calm my anxiety, but it was mainly a distraction. When I felt anxious or sad, or something I couldn’t quite pin down: I ate.

I had random waves of sadness and cried.

I bought a lot of clothes, shoes, and things I didn’t really need.

Some days, I didn’t want to see or talk to any humans. I barely wanted to get up out of bed.

One day, I looked around and I realized the literal state of mess I was living in. Our bedroom (well, my side mostly) was a mess. Dining room: clutter. I felt embarrassed. How could I let it get like this? I spent the whole weekend cleaning the apartment. I realized this was an outward representation of the state of my inner self. This was not me. But I kept on pushing. I’m fine. I’m good. I’m OK.

More and more, my conversations with my husband centered around babies, or lack of babies, or our(my) infertility. The majority of those conversations ended with me crying.

Finally, one day, my husband looked at me very lovingly and said ‘Maybe you should see somebody’

I paused.

I wasn’t offended. He didn’t say it to be malicious. He could see me struggling.

I started thinking about those past 6 months. I knew I wasn’t myself. I was probably depressed.

“Maybe you’re right.” I had a therapist I had seen about a year before for a few sessions. I decided I’d reach out to her.
I procrastinated for another 3 months.

I didn’t want to admit I was depressed. That my cycle failing upset me. I never thought the death of two, four and a half day old embryos would make me feel so much loss. Then I got upset with myself for being sad and depressed: “Women have lost actual babies. Miscarriages. Still births. Why are you so upset?!”

But then I realized: I was not just grieving the death of embryos, but of a dream. A tiny piece of hope stopped growing in that lab that day. It was OK to not be OK. It was OK to grieve. It was OK to admit I was depressed and needed help. To be 100 transparent, I have dealt with anxiety and depression in the past, but never at this level.

In January 2018, I started seeing a therapist, which was difficult at first. Three months later, therapy is poppin’ and I’m in a much better space, and feeling more like myself. Which is a wonderful thing.

I’m sharing this because just like there are women suffering infertility in silence, there are women pushing through depression in silence.

Don’t.

Its OK to seek help. You can pray and go to therapy. God won’t be mad at you.
You’re not less of a woman.

As Black women, we feel we have to always be strong, always be stoic and carry the world on our shoulders. Be long suffering and always wear that Superwoman cape. Who told us that? Being sad or depressed does not make you weak. It makes you human. With all that’s going on in the world, on top of what you may be feeling in regards to your fertility journey and other family or personal stresses and feeling like you may be at a breaking point.

Practice Self-Care
Know when you need to take a break from treatments. Time is not always on our side depending on your fertility journey, but don’t let your doctor push you into a new cycle if you’re not ready.
Allow yourself to grieve any failed cycle or loss
Connect with someone not your spouse/partner: a friend, another TTC sister, a support group.
See a therapist if you feel it is necessary.

7.6% of all Americans report being depressed at some point. About 4% of women and minorities all report having experienced depressive mood, as compared to about 3% of white men.

As always, links and resources below.

Especially check out Therapy for Black Girls!

What is Depression?

Infertility and Depression

Black Women and Depression

I Skipped My First Baby Shower…And I Don’t Feel Guilty

In the infertility world, we talk a lot about doing what’s best for you to make it through this crazy journey. This was the first time I truly did what was best for me no matter how anyone else felt about it.

I skipped a friend’s baby shower. I never thought I would be one of those. But I was, and I don’t feel bad about it.

March was our first IVF. The ultimate result was a fail. Our embryos didn’t make it to blastocyst (stopped growing on day five), and I was caught off guard and a little depressed. OK, a lot depressed, but that’s a story for another post.

Up until this point, I would say I was pretty positive

Insert our friends and their pregnancy.

This is a couple we have done a lot of things with: date nights, birthday parties, game nights, Cookouts, Weddings, Critiquing other friends’ girlfriends/boyfriends. We even got engaged within a few weeks of each other and married in the same year.

We did a lot together…except get pregnant. Of course they have no idea about our struggle. When I first heard the news about the pregnancy, I had that mixed feeling many of us know all too well of happiness and despair. Excitement and panic. Joy and pain. (no sunshine or rain)

Once we got the announcement around the holidays, I started stressing about the shower. I knew it was coming because we saw one of the grandmas-to-be at another event, and she told me the date they had in mind for the shower.

I went back and forth in my mind about going, months before it even happened. Eventually, the invite came, and it got real. It was a co-ed shower, so both hubby and I were invited. He was an emphatic “Yes”. I was still undecided. I felt bad, but I had to pop his bubble a bit and ask him if he was prepared for questions about us having a baby. We had just found out about or failed IVF cycle a few weeks before and were still processing. I know men handle this differently, but they do have feelings. I didn’t want him to be caught off guard when someone asks, and he was triggered. I had to remind him it’s a little different now, and that he may feel some type of way when someone says, “You two are next!” I’ve become an expert. He’s still a rookie in these types of interactions.

He said he’d be fine. The real question was if I was going to go.

“Put me down as ‘yes’ for now, but I’m not sure.”

The weeks passed, and finally we’re at the week of the shower. I was still on the fence. We needed a gift, so of course I volunteered to stop at Target after work to pick up some items off the registry.

I always like to give books as part of a baby’s gift. I like books, and I want to create little readers. Plus, reading is great bonding time with parents and kids. I went into the book section, looking for some of my favorites; The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Green Eggs and Ham, but I’m always looking for new books.

That’s when I found Wish. I vaguely remembered someone on Instagram mentioning the book. I opened it and started to read…and started to cry in the Target. In the children’s book aisle.

The plot:

As an elephant couple embark on a life together, thoughts of children are far away-at first. But as the desire for a child grows, so do unexpected challenges. And it’s only after thwarted plans and bitter disappointment that their deepest wish miraculously comes true.

So, there I am, reading this sweet book, and tears running down my face. That decided it: I. Wasn’t. Ready. Cute onesies, bibs and blankets are one thing, but an amazing children’s book about how Mommy and Daddy had to suffer and fight to have you: Waterworks.

I knew If I couldn’t read that book and keep it together in a Target, the chances of me making it through a shower were slim.

I went home, wrapped the gifts, and told my husband I wasn’t going.

“What do you want me to say?”

I didn’t have to think long because I did have an out. I had a meeting, then a little fellowship afterwards. They didn’t know that I could leave or skip it all together if I wanted. Perfect! “I have chapter meeting, and it’s an important one. I won’t be done in time to ride down with you.” (They live about a two hour away since our move)

Hubby went, and by all reports and pictures posted to Facebook, the shower was great.

As for me, I did what I wanted that day, and I felt not one drop of guilt. I’d rather have people slightly disappointed that I wasn’t there, than for me to be uncomfortable, on edge, wrestling my emotions, and recycling one of my canned responses to when we’ll have kids or why I ‘m not pregnant.

At some point, you have to choose you. Sometimes that looks like selfishness, being disengaged, or a party pooper to others.

But if they only knew the real story…….

If you’re interested in purchasing Wish by Matthew Cordell, for you or a friend, you can do so here.

8 Things You Need to Know about your IVF Protocol that No One Told You

Hi Maybes!

I’ve been a little quiet because…..I just finished my first protocol for egg retrieval. We’re going to freeze and transfer in a few months once we get this thin lining resolved.

Updates on my cycle soon to come.

Having just finished the whole processes of stimulation and retrieval, I feel like there are things no one told me,practical things, that I never knew, so I’m going to share a few things I think might be useful to know before your start.

Step. Your. Sock. Game. UP
Seriously. You will be in the stirrups more in these 10-12 days then you probably have been in all of your adult life. Give yourself a boost of confidence. Give your doctor and staff something fun to look at. Keep them guessing. Wear fun socks. Trust me on this.

Drink A Lot of Water

Why? Because you will have blood drawn every time you go in. Every. Time. You’ll feel like a pin cushion. If you’re like me (and hopefully you’re not), and have small and hard to find veins, drinking lots of water will help you a lot. Even if you’re a standard blood draw, being well hydrated makes your veins plumper and easier to find. It will make this part of the appointment go a little bit smoother.

One of my arms on the **last** day of monitoring.

Give yourself an extra 5 minutes your first dose day

When taking your injections , its important that you dose at the same time every day, or as close as possible. On your first day, or your first day adding a new medication, give yourself an extra five minutes, especially if its something like Menopur, that has to be mixed by you.

It can be a little cumbersome sorting out all of your needles and viles, mixing, and measuring. Add in at least a one minute pep talk to yourself the very first day to hype yourself up to stab yourself with a needle.

On that note….

The needles for the injections are not that bad

They really are thin, tiny needles. Unless you have a real fear of needles, you’ll be a pro at jabbing yourself after about three doses. Except for the trigger shot. THAT needle is longer, and a little wider, but it goes in your butt, not your tummy, and is intramuscular, going into muscle, so it needs a little more length and needs to be a little wider. Its all relative, because none of these needles in more than a few millimeters across.

For this process, a little tummy fat is a good thing!

Many of the stimulation meds are given subcutaneously, meaning under the skin. Usually you have to pinch an area of skin/fat on your abdomen. If you have a lil extra there, it will be a good for these purposes for this.

You can’t be Shy (because you may have to do your shots in a public space)

If you follow me on Instagram, you saw me post about my first public dosing. Long story short: I had the bathroom all to myself, them someone came in. With her nosey self, she lingered around, taking forever to wash her hands and re-applying her lip stick oh so meticulously, to see what I would be doing since by that point I had my supplies laid out. After a while I just said “F it! She gon’ learn today ” and proceeded with my shots.

I had 2 more times I had to dose in public restrooms. Fortunately, there was room and shelf (or shelf like) space in the stall where I was able to have more privacy. Except for the lady at the road stop that was telling me her whole life story from the other stall….

Bloat. All of the bloating. And Gas

I’m telling you because I love you. After a few days of stimulation meds, you will be a little bloated, OK, a lot bloated. And gassy. You’ll feel the pressure and heaviness of those enlarged ovaries (which is great!), but it makes you feel very bloated and full. Your injection areas will be a little swollen as well. Its uncomfortable, but manageable.

Your mind will be a little foggy. You will have emotions and moods

This is commonly said, but I wanted to clarify. For me, it wasn’t the violent, quick, up and down mood swings, it was little things. I cried about something every day the first five days. Things that would usually just annoy me, made me really pissed off. Things that wouldn’t bother me at all made me upset. It’s like PMS turned up a little. There were times in the middle of an emotional moment, I said to myself “why am I crying?” or “What is wrong with me?” I was very on edge.

The fogginess, I imagine is similar to what pregnant women call “pregnancy brain”. I just didn’t feel like myself. I forgot a lot. I felt like I was operating out of body a lot of the time. It was just a general lethargy and sluggishness I fought through pretty much every day once things really go going. Some of it may not have been the meds, but also the overwhelmingness and newness of starting my first IVF cycle, and all that it meant. Just know that you will be in a strange head space, rather its med induced or not.

*Bonus Don’t call new people you meet by the name brand of one of your meds

This seriously happened to me, but I didn’t say it to his face. A group of my friends and I had just met some new people, and later I was trying to remember one guy’s name. It had a “V” and an “L” in it somewhere. I said this with all seriousness:

Me: What was his name? Vivelle? Oh wait, that’s my estrogen patch.

July: Cookouts, Fireworks, and Awareness

One thing I have absolutely NO problem doing on my blog or social media is shouting out, partnering, or spreading awareness about/with other group or individuals that are about women’s health in general, or uterine fibroids, infertility, or Black women specifically.

I discovered last year that The White Dress Project started an initiative to recognize July as Fibroid Awareness Month. I found out pretty much at the end of the month, but now that I know, I’m going to kick it off right.

July is Fibroid Awareness Month!!

This is an “unofficial” month of recognition and education on uterine fibroids. Some states have adopted, but there are about 45 to go.
Want to make it a nation wide thing? Sign this petition to send to Washington to make it happen ( I mean….they have a lot going on, but maybe something simple like this can make it through all the BS.)

Use this month to tell your story, make sure you’ve had your yearly visit to your gyn (*ehem* self), change your diet, schedule that myomectomy you’ve been putting off (trust me,you’ll feel 1000 times better!)

This month I’m going to publish Part Two of the Mystery of Fibroids focusing on beauty products as a possible cause or agitator of fibroids, and I’ll be sharing lots of articles and information on fibroids.

Check out the Fibroid Facts page for more information on uterine fibriods

Happy Birthday, Prince (Even Though I Know You Did Not Celebrate Birthdays)

Since April 21, 2016, I have been in a weird place. A sad place. A celebratory place. A place of remembrance. A place of discovery. I told myself (and my hubby) that after today, I will make an honest attempt to move on. Its hard feeling like you lost someone you knew so well, that you really didn’t know, and didn’t know you.

Prince Rogers Nelson would have turned 58 today. He ~~was~~ is my favorite artist of all time. Please indulge me as I go off topic a little for today’s post as I give my tribute to him on the anniversary of his birth.

You may remember last year on mother’s day, I went alone to a Prince concert. Not only was that my way of escaping the infertile mother’s day blues, but it was also fulfilling a dream of mine since I was six years old: see Prince live in concert.

I’m not a fan because I thought he was sexy (though he has had his phases where, I can’t lie, he was lookin’ fine). I love Prince for his artistry and creativity. Even as a kid, I was just drawn to the music. At six years old, I didn’t know what a “sex fiend was”, but I loved the way the music sounded and felt. When I was 9 or 10, I asked my Mom if I could go to see Prince in concert (it was 1988, Lovesexy tour). Of course the answer was “No”, but what 10 year old asks with all sincerity to go to a Prince concert? Me. When I decided I wanted to be a creative when I was around 13 or 14, I really started to appreciate him on another level. By high school, I was fully immersed in all things Prince. Reading books, buying up CDs new and old, examining and dissecting lyrics. He made it OK to be different. When I was a teenager, I was that kid that stepped juuuust outside the box. Enough to not be the same (because I never, even to this day want to be the same as everyone else), but not enough that people thought I was strange. Just kinda weird. When I was in the 10th grade, I had this hat that was…different. I can’t explain it with words. But I loved it, and it was me. One day, a security guard at school said to me: “That is the ugliest cute hat I’ve ever seen.” It was the best compliment to me. It made me love the hat even more. That’s the confidence Prince gave me: I could wear ‘ugly-cute’ things with pride. I mean, it takes a certain amount of confidence, and zero-f**k giving to be a grown man rocking 4 inch heels, wear eyeliner, and pants with you ass cheeks out. Prince made me OK with who I was.

Young Prince lookin good1 If I were 14 and not all of 1 or 2 when this poster was out... — Young Prince lookin’ good!
If I were 14 and not all of 1 or 2 when this poster was out…

Going through teenage angst, and the uncertainty of my 20s, and feeling like I didn’t quite fit in, even with friends all around, his music gave me a place to feel comfortable. When I needed creative inspiration, he provided it. When I was in love, or when I was heartbroken, he had a song that somehow expressed exactly what I felt in my soul. He was a friend I never met in person. An inspiration. He was everything I wanted to be as an artist.

He introduced me to new sounds of music. Because his music was everything from R&B, to Rock, I began to appreciate forms of music I might not have otherwise. He helped me expanded my mind and my world.

And, I can’t lie. I think I learned about kissing from Prince. When I saw Prince kiss Apollonia in Purple Rain, I just knew when I got older and got a boyfriend…that’s how it was gonna be. (well…..)

What was portrayed as arrogance and weirdness: not wanting to talk to people, being so tightly in control of his image, being a perfectionist: I understood. He was (I’m almost positive) an introvert. Introverts in general have little to no patience for small talk, or being “fake”, and keep their world small, keeping those they trust and like most close.

But of course, Prince was not perfect, and was, after all, human. Prince comes with a story of loss that does relate to infertility. In 1996, he and his first wife Mayte Garcia lost their son to a rare genetic disorder just one week after birth. Mayte recently admitted to losing a second pregnancy to miscarriage not long after. The pain of those losses seem to have taken a huge toll on their marriage. Its a reminder to us, that while we have a lot of emotions and feelings about not conceiving or losing a pregnancy, we’re not in it alone. Our partner also experiences disappointment, fear, loss, and heartbreak.

Prince was not afraid to speak his mind. About the record industry. About God. About Chemtrails. About Black Lives.

He gave anonymously to libraries, music programs, and schools. He quietly donated money to the family of Travon Martin. He stood up for Black empowerment.

He was a Philanthropist and humanitarian.

As much as I, and all of the Purple Army feel like we knew him, the truth is we didn’t know all of him. We knew the parts of him he allowed us to know. The recent medical examiner’s report released June 2, 2016 lists the cause of death as accidental. Cause: overdose of Fentanyl.

I struggle with this, as he was known to be a clean eater. A vegan. Not a drinker or smoker, or into drugs. But after years of doing splits, leaping off of speakers and pianos, and wearing four-inch heels, I’m sure his body paid the price. Even after hip surgery, I’m sure some level of pain persisted. My understanding of chronic pain is not much, but I know that it can be debilitating.

If he did become dependent on painkillers to perform, it doesn’t change the way I feel. If anything, I have empathy. Both Prince and Michael Jackson were so in love with music and performing, and wanted perfection, that they pushed themselves to the extreme limits. Literally wearing themselves out. Possibly not only numbing the physical pain but emotional and spiritual pain from the past as well.

I fully expected Prince to be walking out on a stage in full swagger and guitar strapped around him when he was 80 years old, still tearing it up. We just can’t believe he’s not here. I know I can’t

Picture credit: Billboard 2016 — Notes, flowers, and more left at Paisley Park Picture credit:
Billboard 2016

Since April 21, the world has been mourning and celebrating: Dance parties, tribute bands, memorials, Facebook groups, Instagram pages, and movie marathons. People are fully taking advantage of the temporary leniency and distraction of his attorneys, posting concert footage, rare interviews, and music on YouTube (They are back on it now, and videos are coming down with the quickness) Then of course, there was Madonna’s tribute…

It remains to be seen if BET will live up to their claims in the shadiest promo that’s ever been shown. (See what I did there Prince fans) Today they announced some of the artists scheduled to perform in the BET tribute.

We shall see….

The point is, today, I want to say Happy Born Day Prince Rogers Nelson!

Artist. Humanitarian. Visionary. Businessman. Teacher. Performer. Human. Friend. Alexander Nevermind. Jamie Starr. The Kid. Camille. “That skinny mothaf***a’ with the high voice”. Christopher Tracy. The Artist. Genius.

You’ve given us all so much. I know you are with God, and you will live forever through your music and philanthropy.

Peace and Be Wild.

Welcome 2 The Dawn