I can’t stop trying to have a baby, even though I feel like shit all the time and my mental illness rages unchecked by the limited medications I can take that are safe for pregnancy. I feel like if I give up, it will be one more thing bipolar disorder has taken from me. And that makes me angry, me, who was once young and hopeful and smart with a future full of possibilities. I never thought I’d end up pushing 40 and disability class and childless.
My mind is slow today, please forgive me. I woke up with that familiar sense of dread. The first thought in my head was, please God, I can’t do this. I went through my morning routine feeling like I was moving through molasses. Since my bout with serotonin syndrome, my body cannot handle any but the tiniest doses of antidepressants and it’s not enough to keep my demons at bay. My psychiatrist suggested looking into transcranial magnetic stimulation but preliminary Google searches make it sound like hocus pocus. I’ve done the depression thing before, I know to exercise and eat well and take my meds and I’m doing that anyways in hopes that it will appease the angry uterus gods. My bag of tricks is empty; I’m not sure anything can help me other than having a healthy baby.
So, I do what I can and what I can afford, which is not much. I track my ovulation and my husband and I time intercourse as best as a middle-aged couple can manage. I take stupid expensive supplements to help my egg quality, as two confirmed chromosomal pregnancy losses points to that as the problem. Part of me believes in miracles but I kind of only believe that they happen to other people.
I keep going, I stay strong. For right now, that’s all I’ve got.