November 2018- DON'T ASK ME IF I'M PREGNANT!

I found this deep in my Google Drive- November 2018 was a shitty time.

This is a story about a bitter and heartbroken woman trying to get pregnant. It’s the fucking journey that’s breaking me, not some extraneous situation that would USUALLY be the cause of such distress. 

I spent years avoiding pregnancy. Popped Plan B like candy, went on birth control when I could afford it, had to go off when insurance decided to stop covering it, and then finally started using Fertility Awareness Method after my wedding. I was on my way to a healthy pregnancy, so I thought. I woke up every morning at 7 am and took my basal body temperature to confirm ovulation, I checked my cervix (even had to go to the gyno to have her point it out to me), evaluated my cervical mucus for peak ovulation, and read countless books and blogs and obsessed over podcasts that discussed fertility. I, the continuous planner, wanted to be prepared. I wanted to know everything about my body and when it was most fertile. After two years of marriage, we decided we would start trying. In November, I went to my first preconception appointment and to say I was giddy is an understatement. The doctor said there should be no reason a healthy woman like me couldn’t get pregnant and to come back and see her if I wasn’t pregnant yet in 3 months. Three months passed and nothing. My body wasn’t ovulating at the same time each month, my luteal phase was always a coin toss, and my job became increasingly more stressful. I was working big hour days, lacking sleep, not working out (I had no time), eating too much take away, and started having aggressive panic attacks. My body started its rebellion in March 2018 and it brought me to my knees. I was getting more and more hours, mind you the beauty of consulting is they don’t pay you more for hours worked but they can fire you at will for not meeting your billable target. I’m not saving lives, but for some reason, I’m killing myself to deliver my best work to my clients. Oh and I should mention, my previous doctor was booked for the next 4 months...so I guess I should have anticipated we wouldn’t be pregnant and booked the appointment as I left?

April 2018 came around and I had a good friend's bachelorette party. I was terrified. At this point, I was having 3-4 panic attacks a week, all revealed themselves in unique ways. Either massive vertigo (like I was on stormy seas and I would have to yell out “come on you bitch!” at any given moment to get over the wave that would crush me- watch the perfect storm), I would suddenly think my teeth were falling out and try my best to keep them in my mouth as my heart rate would skyrocket, I would hyperventilate and start shaking like I was hypothermic, facial paralysis, and these super fun attacks wouldn’t hold themselves back for a bachelorette party. To say I was at an all-time low is an understatement. I gained 15 pounds, my hormonal acne was next level, and I would randomly and rapidly decompose as a human in front of old college friends that knew FUN Kaylee, not this version. 

I tried to be my best self, but I broke down. I’ll never forget laying the bed with the bride quietly crying saying “I’m sorry I’m such a mess” in a broken and exhausted voice. She kindly played with my hair and said “you’re ok, I’m not your friend because of fun Kaylee. That’s not the only version of Kaylee I love, I love all versions.” At that moment I took my first deep breath in months and realized, I HAVE to change. 

After taking my first 5 days off in over a year, I slept and bought a house. Yeah, great idea Kaylee. Let’s lower your stress by buying a house! WTF! I spent the week closing on the house and moved in two weeks later. It’s now April 20th and my husband and I got the keys to our 4 bedroom house. We were so excited. We walked through our new home and decided which room was our nursery, how we would teach our kids how to garden and throw a football in our big yard, play soccer, teach them how to ride their bikes in our cul-de-sac, and here they would take their first steps.

We thought this is it. It’s going time! 

Come May, I had a business trip out to London and took a weekend trip to Paris with my momma. I was gone for 2 weeks and while stressful, I had a blast. Despite traveling, I still monitored my temperature and realized I was late. I was so excited! This was it, I always said I wanted to go to Europe before I got pregnant and I did, and I am. 

BFN after BFN and yet no period. I was now 50 days late and freaked out. I went to the doctor and she said if I didn’t start we would have to do a forced bleed. I insisted something was wrong. My body has been off for a while, which she attributed to stress and suggested I try to lighten my workload. I left the office with a script for Day 3 tests and a strong suggestion to “take it easy”. After battling with my pride, I knew my doctor was right. I was going too hard for too long. So, I went part-time. By part-time, I mean I went from 60-70 hours a week to 32-40 but being paid 20% less…. 

I thought, ok. I’ll give my body time. No more long-distance running (due to cortisol), just TRX, cycling, and Pilates. A month later my cycles were back to 28 days and a 14-day luteal phase (phew!) and I thought, “alright, I’ve done everything I can. My Day 3 tests were all within the normal range and my husband's Sperm Analysis came back normal. It’s time to get pregnant. It’s going to happen this time.” A few months later, I wasn’t pregnant and I had gained 7 more pounds. Turns out, if you aren’t running all the time but eat similarly your body will show it. 

Around this time, I was assisting a close friend with her cycles. Identify peak days, answer questions, look at her chart, tell her when to OPK and BD, and it was like I had a little fertility journey partner. I was excited and happy not to be alone! 

Around August my husband and I’s dog, my precious Moka, started to take a turn for the worse. I decided to take her to the vet and learned she had terminal cancer and only a few months to live, tops. I did not handle this news well. I remember laying on the cold laminate tile of the vet's office, holding Moka in my arms, whispering “my baby Moka” through my tears. Above all else, she was my rock. I love this dog like she was a human child (smart as a kindergartener and an attitude of a 13-year-old). She was and always will be the best. I sobbed until my husband came home and then broke down crying as I tried to explain that she was dying. I’ll never forget him crying saying “our baby is dying?” over and over. After a few more camping trips, and Moka’s luxury getaway including wine, a rare ribeye, roasted potatoes, and other kinds of human/dog treats, her health rapidly went downhill. My husband was a mess and I hired a “home to heaven” vet to come to our home to put her down. That day was the worst day of my life. She was struggling to breathe, her gums were gray, and she didn’t want to move. I called and asked if they could come earlier, and they did. 

As she passed, we lay there with her and told her how much we loved her. How she was the best dog we could have ever asked for and that life would not be the same without her. I couldn’t control myself. The vet had mentioned she could go with her favorite toy, but she didn’t have one. We were her favorite toys. So we tucked pictures of the three of us together under her collar, Lee wrapped her up in a blanket and carried her lifeless body to the vet’s car, and we waved goodbye saying “bye sweet Moka” through our tears. 

That night I cried harder than I ever thought possible. I was grabbing at my chest sobbing “I want her back, I’ll do anything”. The next two days were tough. I couldn’t stop crying over the loss of her. 

After feeling a bit better, realizing she was the best gift we could have asked for, I finally felt a bit more like myself. That’s when my girlfriend I was helping on her fertility journey sent me a picture of her chart and my heart dropped. At first, I was delighted, and then I was inconsolable. She was pregnant, I was not. 

I initially wanted weekly updates, but as the updates rolled in I noticed my mental health began to degrade. My hope was fading and I rarely smiled. After another month amiss, I started to dread her announcement. I hoped no one would ask me “Are you pregnant yet?” but of course those questions came in and the stung like a dagger in my already wounded heart. I would first say “well fuck you too” to myself and then start crying while I typed out “nope”. Her announcement date came and went and I felt broken but no worse than before. After a few more baby announcements, gender reveals, and births I started to realize a baby may not be in the cards for us. I went to the doctor for an HSG test and instead he lectured me on trying too hard. He told me to give up and I’d most likely get pregnant. I swear you could see the daggers and flames coming out of my eyes and piercing his heart. I’ve never wanted to hurt such an old man in my life, but I have no shame admitting that I visualized me choking him to death in that dank patient room with my husband as the witness. 

I left in a rage. My husband agreed with the doctor and said that I should chill out and that my stress and trying was preventing the baby. To that, I say BULL FUCKING SHIT. For CENTURIES, women have been stressed AF. Either acknowledging the probability of them, their partner, or most definitely of a few of their babies dying. Of diseases, the ability to find food or water, and just the slim chance they will live to 30 would be STRESSFUL AF. Now I’m not saying stress doesn’t cause an issue, like lack of ovulation, but what I’m saying is stop telling me to stop stressing. It stresses me out even more. I’ve done everything I can. 

At this point, I decided to go back full time. I’m the primary breadwinner and buying a house but having 20% less of our income was tough. Also, I was bored. I’m now 13 months TTC and no baby. I’m feeling hopeless, broken, afraid, and fucking angry. But, at the end of the day, I’m realizing that I didn’t get married to have a baby. I got married because I love the shit out of my husband. Yes, I dream about what our babies will look like (my husband is objectively beautiful) and if they will have his eyes and my nose. But, at the end of the day, I need him not a baby. I need him next to me each morning and night and without him, I would not be the same, without a baby I would just be sad and have substantially more money and free time. 

My grieving process has begun and I’ve decided to pivot. We are going to use the money that would go to a baby and travel and spend more time together. Maybe, one day, our baby will come, but I’ll be trying my best to live my best life in the meantime. But for the love of God, DO NOT ASK ME IF I’M PREGNANT!