I think I've hit that point where most post-IF bloggers reach a wall.

You know the question... should I still be here?

I'm struggling because I feel like I'm an IF fraud. It's hard to cling to the roots of IF-blogging when I'm not cycling, and I'm not going through the highs and lows related to that. In fact, I'm hesitant to even comment on other blogs because, well, sure I've been there, but I'm not there now. If I'm feeling optimistic in my comments, I don't want to seem like I'm looking at reproduction through the rose-colored glasses of my own success... or worse yet, inadvertently saying something hurtful in a comment, not by virtue of what I said, but because of the position I'm sitting in when I say it.

So... where to go now?

I don't want to be a pregnancy blog because, well, round ligament pain and pregnancy paranoia isn't the most interesting thing to blog about.. and however excited I get about comments, the main fact is, I blog for myself. Besides, the last 16 weeks have been blessedly uneventful (except for the dire scenarios that have existed only in my head). Hard to come up with a topic to discuss when the most exciting thing I can think of is whether or not my pants still fit.

I still feel different from most pregnant women. But I feel different from how I felt just a few short months ago, also. Not in a smug Ha! I've made it out the other side* kind of way, but just different.

Truth be told, I've always felt different. There was a time before G when I felt certifiably Infertile. Until he was conceived. Naturally. After that, all bets were off - after all, I had a child with no help from anyone outside my marriage.

That begs the question - can you be truly infertile if all you need is a few years? I mean, technically, yes. If you go by the clinical definition. But inside, I felt like I'd be successful again, even if it took another few years. When I proved that one right, I felt like we'd figured out what the deal was - we didn't need drugs, we just needed two years, give or take. We saw an RE after the miscarriage not because we thought it was our only option for conception (regardless of what my OB said), but because we thought it would help speed up the process. I was tired, too tired to wait another two years.

So what category do I fall in, knowing that in all likelihood, it's just a matter of time before all the bits fall into place?

I had an interesting exchange with a friend earlier in the week about the difference between someone who was 'struggling' with IF, and someone who merely 'needs help' to conceive. In my not-so-humble opinion, you "need help" if you are unable to conceive on your own, but know that using [insert random fertility drug or treatment here] will reliably allow you to conceive and carry a baby in a relatively short time. "Struggling" is the term I'd use for someone who doesn't have that certainty. Who can try a dozen different drugs & techniques and only maybe find some success.

I don't know where I fall on that scale. I'm somewhere in between. I'm not so arrogant that I believe that letrozole was my wonderdrug, the 'cure' I'd been searching for, just because it worked the first try. I went through several failed IUI's that should have worked, if all I needed was a little assist in the ovulation department, or a little help for the swimmers.

Fact is, we don't have any major fertility problems. We have immature & funky swimmers who tend to fall on the lazy side.. and a slightly stubborn case of PCOS... neither of which would be as big of a problem without the other... but they're not insurmountable obstacles.

It took six months with an RE. Six months. Seems pitifully short, doesn't it? At the time, it seemed like a very long six months, but honestly, it's the shortest amount of time I've ever spent 'trying'. Hell, six months is in the average fertile range.

Only I'm pretty sure I wouldn't throw myself into the average fertile category.

I just don't feel like I belong in the hardcore category either.

So I'm floating out here in limbo. It's making it hard for me to continue with my blogging because I don't know who I am, reproductively speaking. I don't know that I have a contribution to the community, and I don't know if I'm past the point where it helps me to work through things by blogging.



*snort. as if. I'm not even halfway to the other side.