Hi friends. Its been a while, hasn’t it? I’ve been keeping up with everyone’s blogs via the wordpress app, but verbosity + fat fingers makes for difficult phone commenting, so I mostly just keep my thoughts to myself unless they can be captured by a hearty ‘congratulations’ or ‘fuck that!’
There’s been a lot going on, but most of it has kept me away from regular contact with my computer and/or time I can spend on a blog post. And most of what’s going on has little or nothing to do with baby making (or, with me making a baby, since technically, a lot of what I do is at least tangentially related to some people making babies or trying to keep them from making babies unintentionally.) Really, the only thing of baby-making note is that I started birth control pills last week.
Which is actually a big deal because BCPs kind of make me want to die, and I’m actually not being hyperbolic about that, ok?
Which is what I want to talk about right now.
You may remember this post about how birth control makes me a bad person, and you may also recall that for this reason, I requested to be put on another form of hormonal birth control (ie: the ring!) for the subsequent phases of IVF that require it (in my case, a lot, due to cancelled cycles and lazy ovaries) I made the request again for the FET cycle but was told by the FET nurse that BCPs (specifically, lo ogestero.l, my very favorite of all of them!) were my only option. This may or may not be factually true but given the fuss I put up about timing and my suspicion that Nurse Incommunicado was punishing me for my squeaky wheelness, I decided I wouldn’t push it and just took the damn prescription.
I started the pills last Tuesday while I was away in D.C. for work. Because I was out of my normal context (maybe) and because the pills hadn’t had time to build up in my system (more likely) I was lulled into a sense of false security. Maybe this time I won’t actually hate everyone and want to sob for no good reason! Maybe I will be a normal birth control pill taking person!
No luck. On Saturday, La and I were laying in bed watching “Big Love” (I am working on catching up on years of good TV I missed while not owning a TV or other such accoutrements) with which I have become recently obsessed. I was filling her in on some back story, since she hasn’t been watching since the first season, and she said, “I don’t want this to offend you, but the relationships are pretty simple. I get it.”
Would I have been offended if she hasn’t told me she didn’t want to offend me? We will never know. But I was. Well, not offended so much as hurt. My feelings were deeply hurt, although now I can’t really tell you why. After we had a small spat (I’m pretty good at recognizing when the BCPs are informing my feelings) I just wept for a good 10 minutes into her shirt.
Last night in the car I started crying after she asked me if I was ok. To my knowledge, I had been ‘ok’ (for all intents and purposes) up until the moment she asked if I was ok, at which point I started crying. So, its not even like I’m maybe ‘more sensitive’ about little things. No, I am apparently able to have deep and intense emotions that are actually totally disconnected from . . .well . . .anything.
And I’m making light of it, right, because it is ridiculous. Truly, it is. And, it doesn’t really matter how funny, in retrospect, any of this is. Because when you are in the middle of feeling awful, it just feels awful. And while I know, rationally, that what I am feeling is being caused by birth control pills, I am still feeling it. And that’s the point, right?
last time around, the lo ogester.ol made me ragey. This time, it is making me deeply sad. Like, problematically sad. Sad enough that if I didn’t already know that asking for something else would totally fuck our timeline (which would also make me problematically sad), I would be on the horn with the nurse immediately demanding something different. But I can’t really fathom another setback right now, and I’m already a week down. Although two more weeks of this feels really, really unimaginable.
But I need to figure something out, because I can’t keep feeling the way I have been. Right now, I’m ok. But its so volatile and it feels so distinctly NOT ME. That’s the hardest part, i think . . .feeling like I have lost my sense of humor, my ability to banter, my thick skin and sharp wit. Sure, I’ve been known to be a bit of a cry baby, but I tend to feel very clear on why I am crying and it is always with purpose. I want myself back. I want to be the wife, friend, colleague, daughter and person that I have been before. Two more weeks.
How do straight women who don’t want babies DO this? Thank God for IUDs and patches and rings, amiright? The separtist in me thinks this might be some horrible male conspiracy.