gwynniepoo

[gwynniepoo]

I’m going to preface this post with an important statement. I ADORE my daughter, I would lie, cheat, steal and/or kill for that girl. I never EVER regret having her and I’d go through the nightmare again to have her here. She was 100% worth it. I’m merely writing my experience (and it SUCKED) all while realizing the experience has made me who I am today, and I like who I am. Ok, rant over.

2001

This was the year I decided to get pregnant cause you know there was no reason to think I couldn’t. Both of my sisters were champion breeders, I was a legacy! My husband and I had been together many years and had been married about 2 years. The baby hormones hit me like a Mac truck and I was ready to be a mom. You know who wasn’t ready? My stupid body.

I had periods so heavy that I was LOSING BLODD VOLUME. Doctors repeatedly asked me if I had suffered an traumatic injury recently. There were vegetables that had more iron than I had, I was so anemic , I had to give myself B12 shots and take supplements that tasted like metallic butt. It was awful.

After a few months, my OBGYN sent me to a fertility specialist to try and figure out why I wasnt getting pregnant My husband passed his “test” with flying colors. He had more sperm than they had ever seen, he could have knocked up a Walmart in one go. It was me, I was the problem. After a million blood tests and countless ultrasounds, I was told I was a candidate for fertility treatment. My stupid ass didn’t even think to ask if it was safe, I was just determined to get pregnant no matter what.

All the drugs (usually shots) were prescribed. I felt like a bloated pincushion that wanted a baby but felt too gross to actually have sex. Every month there was a series of shots in my butt or stomach that got my ovaries to produce shit tons of eggs. Thie series then culminated into one shot that made me ovulate, and I felt EVERY ONE of those eggs leave my ovaries like some kind of fucked up firework. Then I’d have to go into the office to have a doctor inject previously collected sperm into my hoo-haw. Then the Dickhead would smugly suggest that my husband and I “go home and have sex so we wouldn’t know for sure how it happened”. My poor husband’s member had been traumatized by having to “perform solo” under pressure in a fucking doctors office (where EVERY nurse seemed to be hugely pregnant BTW) and I was a bloated, grumpy grub covered in hormonal acne. Let’s just say we did what we had to but fuck that guy. Month after month I pumped myself full of hormones, creating hundreds of eggs. It only occurred to me years later that I could have been “Octomom” (but without the weird lips and shitty parenting skills, I mean I’m not perfect but WTF is her deal? ).

I had two six week miscarriages. 2 failures with no real explanation. The doctor decided to dig deeper, to look for congenttal damage, etc. they found out that I had something in my blood called an “anti-nuclear antibody” and that usually meant that I had an autoimmune issue but 🤷🏼‍♀️ lets keep trying! Now, here’s where I talk about what a true IDIOT I was back then. I didn’t question any of my doctors. I took the drugs without researching what they did. I dragged my husband behind me without asking him if he was uncomfortable. I was completely and stubbornly determined to FORCE my body to make a baby. I didn’t even consider the damage I could have done to my daughter. What an absolute fucking asshole.

At this point I was working at a local bead store. I literally spent my paycheck on supplies and taught myself everything I could think of on all the books in the shop. I was taking evening silversmithing classes too. I honestly believe I would have just gone south with the distraction and I’m positive that getting me out of the house was a relief to my husband! I had no idea that I had an anvil ty disorder until the hormones I was taking sent me into an OCD fog. The doctors told me it was normal, so I didn’t get meds for it until much later. I set up a little studio in my basement and holed up there making ANYTHING that would distract me from the rage and sorrow I was feeling at my own stupid useless body that couldn’t do what it seemed every other woman’s could. Seriously, EVERY woman I saw was pregnant, I wanted to punch them in the throat.

[gwynniepoo]

In the 1930’s, a French entomologist named Frances Magnan decided that the bumblebee’s proportions were too clumsy for flight. He posited that due to it’s weight and tiny wings, the bumble’s ability to fly defied physics. This theory was disproven in early 2000, by biologist Michael Dickinson but the idea of a creature defying physics through sheer force of will has stayed in the popular consciousness.

Many people see the bumble as a symbol of strength, resilience and just plain blithe stubbornness. I have identified with the symbol of the bumblebee since reading about the theory in the late 2000’s, after a very traumatic childbirth that left me broken physically. I had a lightbulb moment that years of therapy haven’t brought me. “Aha!” I thought “That’s IT. The doctors are telling me a won’t get better, they’re telling me it might get worse but somehow I’m still trucking! Maybe if I just act like I’m good, I’ll eventually feel better“. Years later (16) , im still here and I’m still trucking. Most days I’m ok, some days I’m nauseated, dizzy and exhausted (so I rest on those days).

What I learned from the bumblebee is that I may be clumsy looking and I may be a bit dopey. I’m also stubbornly determined, focused, effective and I will go from “chill” to “sting the SHIT out of anyone” if provoked. My hope for this blog is to reach out to my fellow bumblebees out there. This blog may be about my journey but if there’s someone out there struggling with feelings of worthlessness, it would be my honor to help them learn how to fly even if it seems impossible.