Shannon and the Sugar Craving

Dieting is overrated.  Every time I try to eat better, I end up hungry and cranky and all around miserable.  Sure, once the detox from junk food is over life gets a little better, but it can sometimes take weeks for that to happen.

A few months ago I gave up soda.  It wasn’t nearly as hard to do this time around as it has been in years past.  I’d have a little bit of coffee in the morning to get my caffeine fix in and avoid a headache, but I didn’t find myself craving Cokes when I would sit down to eat.  But I gained five pounds.

What the hell, body?  Do you even know how to body?

In the last week or so I’ve started drinking soda again. Basically, this whole infertility and PCOS thing has made me incredibly cranky, and instead of drinking the bottle of wine each evening that I would like to, I’m cracking open a Coke and sipping on it while eating a bit of potato chips with ranch dip.

My husband is starting a diet tomorrow, and I hope to get the soda back out of the house once we run out of what we have (I hate wasting things).

There’s days I wish that I could be naturally skinny and beautiful, and not grow hair where it doesn’t belong but grow hair on my scalp instead of having terrible patches and having to wear a wig.  But then I realize that the physical challenges I’ve faced have forced me to develop a personality and rely on my brain a little more than I might have had I been born more physically appeasing to society.  I understand that nobody is perfect, and I certainly never would claim to be.  However, I do like my brain and suppose it’s better than a flat stomach and a smooth, hair free face.

So maybe I’ll give up soda for good, maybe I won’t.  Maybe I’ll strictly follow a diet one day, maybe I won’t.  I’ll never be an absolutely perfect person, but all I can do is be the most perfect Shannon that I can be.

I’d also settle for insurmountable wealth, but one step at a time.


Infertility FTW

When I found out that I was pregnant at nineteen years old, the idea of infertility becoming an issue later in life never occurred to me.  Not really, anyway.  I never considered adoption, though, as I wasn’t sure that I’d ever get married, and I knew that one child out of wedlock was more than my mother was ready to handle as a grandmother.

I certainly never wanted children after the age of 30.

So here is it.  2015.  I’m 32 years old, married, with a daughter who will be thirteen this summer.  I’m also smack dab in the middle of a battle with infertility.

In September, my doctor diagnosed me with PCOS.  He gave me some birth control pills and sent me on my merry way, telling me that after 3 months I needed to stop taking them and my body would begin to ovulate on its own.  As it happens, that was false.

Over the next few months, I read more and more about PCOS and realized that it’s kind of a big deal.  It can lead to things like diabetes, thyroid issues, not to mention infertility and everything else associated with a hormone imbalance.  Oh, and depression and anxiety.

After a brief discussion, my husband and I decided to enlist the help of a fertility specialist.  After about three billion tests (including one that involved a camera in a very private place and some anesthesia), we had a more clear picture of what we’re dealing with.

Last week we were given our results, which were not what we’d hoped for.  While my uterus, tubes, and ovaries all look lovely, I’m not ovulating at all.  I have more eggs than most 32 year old women, which sounds like a good thing but it turns out that it’s not a good thing at all.  Not when you want a baby.

So now our only real option, as far as the specialist is concerned, is to proceed with IVF.  As nice as that sounds, I don’t happen to have $20,000 laying around for something that has a 30% chance of failing.  So my regular gynecologist has prescribed me some Chlomid, which is suppose to help women with PCOS ovulate.  We’re going to give it until the end of summer and see if it works.

Sometimes, life feels like an uphill battle but eventually the hill has to peak and descend.  I’m just ready for some easier climbs.