The Young and the Infertile

Experimental Independence

2008-07-04T13:37:00.000-07:00

While I am pretty Rainman-esque in my habits, there are times when I get a whim and run with it. Today's whim: switch to Wordpress. I know there has been some controversy over their "best day ever" policy, but I am frankly in love with their templates. The simplicity, the professional look, the neato pop up thingy on the blogroll. I may decide shortly that this is a short lived experiment, or I may just declare my independence from Blogger forever.

For now, though, you may now find me at: The Young and The Infertile (now with more infertility!) on Wordpress. Ta ta!

A Series of Left Behinds

2008-06-26T13:13:00.000-07:00

My first indoctrination into the concept of The Rapture was when I started working at my current job. Back then, I was still an office gal and so every morning, I would drive to to office and park the car next to that of our office manager. Her license plate holder always intrigued me: IN CASE OF RAPTURE, THIS CAR WILL BE UNMANNED.

I thought it was an odd statement. Up until that point, my only exposure to the concept of 'rapture' was the kind you find in bodice-ripper literature. While nothing is out of the realm of possibility, I had a hard time seeing our very proper office manager announcing to the world that she would abandon all caution when driving in the event of unmitigated pleasure, let alone that she would attempt unmitigated pleasure while driving. I chalked it up to the general rule about the Quiet Types and left it at that. I thought about asking her, but if it was what I thought it was, frankly, I didn't want to know.

Then, I happened to read an article in Newsweek about the Rapture (the capitalization gave me a clue that this was a proper noun rather than an adjective of desire) and it all clicked into place. Of course, the car would be unmanned. She would be up in heaven while the rest of us were left to slog it out down on earth. I thought this was just fascinating. There were so many practical issues - when would it happen? what if you were in the middle of something really really important (like on the can)? what if not all of your family came along? do pets go too? what do you do up there? do you watch everybody else slog it out? who is considered to be a true Christian? is there an appeals process if you think you are and you aren't called?

Not surprisingly, there is a very popular series of books about what happens after the Rapture, the Left Behind series. I haven't read them myself, but they are very popular.

I have to admit I've been feeling a bit left behind this week. We are in that excrutiating state of moving forward with very little momentum since it is a mock cycle. No hope for pregnancy What. So. Ever. Nada. Zip. Zero. I'm popping my nightly Estace but I can't quite convince myself of the progress that it represents. Our actual FET seems ages away in August.

We are also increasinly being left in the reproductive dust of our friends. A couple we knew and hung out with in the town where we used to live just had their second child, their first child having been conceived right after we started trying. So, three years on, we have the dubious distinction of two miscarriages and they have two kids. And, of course my best friend now has a 1-month old baby girl. Our other friends' baby just turned 1 in May. We are officially down to two other couples that we know who don't have children.

With each new child, we lose common ground with our friends as they ascend to that new place where we can't follow.

With every child, we are left farther and farther behind.

I know we are not in a race, but how long will it take before we are all on equal footing again?

image: buddhakiwi

Inconceivable

2008-06-23T11:51:00.000-07:00

Despite my outwardly blase appearance toward 'trying' this month - me trying to get pregnant? Not! Watch me as I down my martini while riding a roller coaster, then soak in a hot tub for an inordinate amount of time, follow it up with pure caffeine pills and finally, hang on for dear life on a ride with a thoroughbred race horse - inwardly, I was secretly hoping for the ultimate surprise: a conception that required nothing more than two people, some wine and a bed. Things were really promising too, since last year after my miscarriage, I had the period that would not end and ultimately got a progesterone shot in the ass to re-set the ole system. This time, it was a picture perfect cycle.

So, on Sunday morning when I noticed some spotting, I knew that once again I was thwarted and we would be back on Dr. Uterus's roster of Unfortunate Infertile Couples.

A few days earlier, when I was still holding out a teensy bit of hope, I saw a woman walking in front of my house with her two year old. I had seen her before and the beginnings of a tell-tale bulge, but I had chosen to think that her t-shirt was just bunched in an odd way. This time around, though, it was obvious that she had The Bump, and I decided in my infinite wisdom that she had acquired The Bump in the way that most people do - in the privacy of their homes, without drama or fanfare and most certainly without needles, drugs or other paraphernalia. And that depressed me. Who was I to think that we would be able to do that - even now, more than three years since we started down the road to expand our family? What a silly infertile girl you are, thinking that you could get knocked up like everyone else. Don't you know that you're Special (and not in a good way)?

Such is the internal monologue of an Infertile Girl.

Once again, I am coming to terms with the fact that I will most likely not be able to conceive on my own, for whatever reason, and that assisted reproductive technology is my ticket to the Baby Game. I used to find this incredibly unfair. Now I've progressed to mildly unfair. Progress! Two-plus years of having the same thought over and over again will tend to smooth it out, rought out the edges and leave a smaller (and hopefully less painful) nugget than when you started.

Being that it is CD 1 today, I called Nurse To a T (Dr. Uterus's right-hand lady) and scheduled the mock cycle for the FET in August. I tried not to think about the fact that we also started trying again last year in August after the last miscarriage and it was a bust. I'm trying not to believe that I am only fertile in February since that is the month when I have gotten pregnant two years in a row now. I start the Estrace tomorrow (that's a new one for me) and will do the PIO injections starting in July. I had originally decided to go with the capsules (Endometrin?) but two things mitigated against it - expense and we won't have the results of an endometrial biopsy for almost two weeks, during which time I will be starting up for the real-deal FET. If the Endometrin didn't work, that would be a terrible time to find out. So, it's back to the butt shots for me.

And, just for sh*ts and giggles, I'll pick up an HPT to make certain, before I start pumping my body full of estrogen, that there really is no alien invasion. I'm not expecting a last minute reprieve, but it's a lot easier to pee on the stick when you don't think you're pregnant than when you do - which is probably why I hardly ever indulge.

Never a dull moment, here at the Young and the Infertile. Will she? Won't she? Tune in to find out!

image: jillhudgins

Advice to the Young at Heart*

2008-06-19T17:13:00.001-07:00

* Total props to whomever can figure out where this is from. No cheating!

People, I can't tell you how many posts I have started and then stopped this week (well, ok, it was three, but who's counting?). I have lots to say, the written diarrhea is backing up, but I can't quite find the right words to express it. I have lots of ideas written down - but none seem inspiring. Where is my muse? Does infertility even have a muse? If it did, I would imagine that it would be Melpomene, she of tragedy. Thalia could be the pinch hitter if good ole Mel was hitting the town one night, desperate for a little levity after the woes of the infertile world.

Maybe I should take the cue of the Greeks and write of cautionary tales and other mythology (although I thought it was so freaking hysterical that they recently reported that the vast majority of ancient Egyptian scrolls discovered in 1896 were torrid romance novels full of porn. 2,000 year old porn, people!). Or perhaps, since it is the season of graduation, I should write my speech as the graduating speaker - which will likely never happen, but if the woman who spoke at my college graduation could actually be invited, there's hope for me yet.

Ah, yes, I think I will indulge in a little navel gazing, but instead of addressing acne-ridden teenagers who are aching to go get trashed before the ink on their diplomas dries, I will speak directly to the me that ten years ago this year graduated from college. Lord knows I could have used some words of wisdom. Here goes:

Dear Ms. X,

You have now been out of college for a month and frankly, you're a bit of a mess. No forward momentum to propel you to the next adventure, no plan for the future. Knowing what I know now, here's some advice for getting through then.

Seek engagement (no, not a marriage proposal). I know how much you loved college - the friends, the sense of being and fitting in that you never achieved in high school, and I know how hard it is for you to say goodbye to those things. I don't think it would be possible to recreate the experience that you had in college (and in some respects, you probably don't want to), but remember how wonderful it felt to be engaged, learning, constantly introduced to new ideas and new people. You now have to seek those things out for they will not come as easily.

Lighten Up. I do remember very well how much you thought of yourself and how seriously you took things. I'll just say two words: lighten up. Nothing you experienced in your 22 years in any way compares to the shit storm you will run into later in life. Failure to start lightening up will result in a nasty five-year hangover down the road.

Be compassionate. Remember that no one's life is a bed of roses and nine times out of ten, the person who is making your life difficult has a lot of difficulty themselves. The one out of ten person is probably just an asshole and not worthy of further thought.

Be gracious. You know the Golden Rule, but it bears repeating. Treat others as you would have them treat you - even if they don't hold up their end of the bargain! Not only do you get to ride the moral high ground, you have done a good deed that has lightened someone else's burden.

And, most importantly, be mindful. You have your whole life in front of you. Now is not the time to rush it.

Smooches, Your Older, Wiser Self.

ps - those birth control pills that you were taking for endometriosis? Totally not needed. Throw those bad boys out (but still use a condom!). Use the money you would have spent to buy stock in Apple. You could pay for numerous IF treatments off of the earnings. Just a thought.

What would you, dear reader, tell your younger self?

Say Hello to My Little Friend

2008-06-14T12:57:00.000-07:00

When I was about 10 or 11, I decided that I wanted a cat. I have no memory of what possessed me, but chances are it was that I decided this was just what I thought I needed. Up until then, we'd had no pets since my parents both worked and I was at school most the day. My father couldn't bear having a dog knowing that it would be alone all day and he was not partial to cats (oh, how times have changed on that one! He now has this t-shirt. Seriously).

I needled, wheedled, begged, whined, pleaded - everything to get a cat. When they finally gave in, I said no thanks. Why? Well, in addition to being a Grade A manipulator, I realized, even then, that what I really wanted was to know that I could do it. I could get them to agree. Once I realized that that was the goal, I had won. It wasn't about the cat at all - it might as well have been a bike. Needless to say, I didn't have a cat (or any pet) until I was married. That time, I truly wanted a cat.

I have to wonder, though, if my sometimes physically painful desire to have a child is just a more grown up manifestation of the same thing. Do I want it this badly because so far I haven't been able to do it? Has the whole process become another challenge to overcome with the final victory not having a child to parent for the rest of my years, but just producing a living baby? Is this my Petulant Inner Five-Year-Old (who is kissing cousins with My Inner Drama Queen) throwing a hissy fit because I was told "no?

I will be the first to admit that I have gotten most everything that I wanted and those times that I didn't usually were directly related to something I did or didn't do. In other words, not since I was a kid have I been denied something I wanted without my usually having something to do with that denial. (Perfect example: I *would* have graduated from grad school cum laude if I had paid more attention in one stupid class that I took my very last semester and gotten a better grade.)

Yet, I also can't remember feeling this much physical gut-punching pain as I do when I hear that someone I know is pregnant or has a baby. It is literally like a punch in the stomach. And, surprisingly, what is so painful to me is not the idea of having this child, it is the loss of the more pedestrian things that go along with being pregnant - getting to wear maternity clothes, picking out cribs, painting nurseries, picking names. And most of all, it's having Pregnancy Innocence. I lost that one the first round out of the gate, never to be seen again.

After the initial gut reaction, my inner 5-year-old immediately stamps her little foot, crosses her little arms, and through a pouty little mouth yells, "That's not fair! That's what I want! I want to count the little toes! I want to look at cribs! I want to pick out nursery colors! I want, want, want!" I want everything that goes with being pregnant, including having the healthy child at the end. Most of all, I want to feel as if I have a legitimate chance to make it to the finish line.

Although, again, is this just my desire to complete that which I have not been able to? The best way to get me motivated is to tell me I can't do something. Works like a charm every time. But, what was accomplished? This is not the same as getting into a better class at school. This is a child, more of a lifetime commitment than anything I have undertaken. Am I seriously treating it as a challenge like a marathon or a goal to accomplish in and of itself? I have this terrible fear that we are successful and that baby is placed in my arms and all I can say is, "What now?"

I suspect, as with all things, that the truth lies somewhere in the middle. I had similar concerns when we got Fluffy and the Bad One five years ago. I was very honest with Sweetie that I was afraid that I would lose interest once they were no longer kittens. After all, they were adorable kittens doing what kittens do so how could I possibly find them interesting when they were older, more sedate kitties? What I didn't count on was that they would wrap me around their little paws just as easily as if they were swatting a string. I, of course, have loved them from the day we brought them home and in fact, love them more now that they have gotten their "kitten years" behind them. Just goes to show what I know.

Maybe it is best to have compartmental goals - 1) get pregnant, 2) stay pregnant 3) worry about actually raising child when we get there. Small bites, small steps, small goals, all lead to a big mountain. For this process is in part a marathon, with each phase being another leg of the journey.

I will leave you with a quote from Lance Armstrong in that epic story of success in the face of absolute failure, Dodgeball:

"Quit? You know, once I was thinking of quitting when I was diagnosed with brain, lung and testicular cancer all at the same time. But with the love and support of my friends and family, I got back on the bike and won the Tour de France five times in a row. But I'm sure you have a good reason to quit. So what are you dying of that's keeping you from the finals?"

Truer words have never been spoken.
image: readerwalker

Maybe I'm Not as Erudite as I Thought I Was

2008-06-13T17:04:00.001-07:00

We interrupt this regularly scheduled blog to bring you this announcement:

Are you freaking kidding me? I use SAT words people! Ambivalent! Orthodontics! Copious! Affirmation! Misadventure! Manipulated! I write for a living! I pontificate! I hypothesize! I use freaking multisyllabic words (including multisyllabic)!

Obviously, my pride has been ruffled, my feathers strewn.

What's even more amazing is that I took this little test a while ago and my blog's level was undergraduate. Now, I've been demoted to junior high status. Like, OMG. Maybe I should start watching the OC and High School Musical.

Do you agree with this dear reader? Can this possibly be correct?

Mind the Gap

2008-06-12T14:05:00.000-07:00

I have a gap in between my two front teeth. It's not particularly noticeable (unless you are me, who notices it all. the. time). It used to be a much larger gap, but thanks to the magic - and pain - of orthodontics, it is now a dainty little thing at the bottom of the teeth that leaves curious bite patterns in apples.

image: flyzipper

I am 32 and Mr. X just turned 35. There is a gap of three years in our ages.

There is a cavernous gap in between my ears where, supposedly, my brain is supposed to be. I think it goes AWOL alot.

There is a yawning gap between me and my first cousins, due in large part to the extreme dislike my father has for their father, his brother. I don't really know my aunt and uncle.

By far my biggest gap, though, is the gap between what I expect will happen to me and what actually does happen to me. It is also the hardest gap to get over. There is no magic jump, no equation, no mathematical formula, or easy numerical explanation. It is a gap.

I know that I need to somehow bridge that gap, find the neutral ground, the median, the way forward through the center. The easy way, of course, is to stop having expectations. That's pretty hard to actually put into action. We are surrounded by reminders of what we should expect - the weather is predicted for us down to - literally - the nth degree, store ads tell us that we should expect to give presents to our fathers on Father's Day (and of course, contribute to the economic well-being of the nation), we even say that a woman is 'expecting' when she's pregnant. Expectations are all around us - both external and internal.

To be able to just abandon those one day is a Herculean feat and one that I don't think I am up for. So, now that I have eliminated the first option, what's next? First, it is to recognize that there is a gap - there will always be a gap between what we expect and what we get. Sometimes the gap will be teeny, other times it will be ginormous. Somehow knowing that there is going to be this gap makes it a little easier to accept it.

Then, well, still try to work on letting go of expectations. I can let go of expecting rain and getting none. It may be much harder to let go expecting that I will be able to carry a pregnancy the whole way through. But, I'll try.

That way, it will be one of the best surprises of my life.

Voices Carry

2008-06-10T21:59:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I gave up reading newspapers online. Instead, I opted just to get the headlines for two delivered to my Google Reader: The New York Times and the Washington Post. I needed a filter so that I wouldn't go through so much stuff that just upset me. For the most part, it's worked out really well. Until today, that is.

I was flipping through the Google Reader and saw that Lori had posted, and although I had lots of work to do, I clicked on over (she always cracks me up and who doesn't need a laugh in the morning?). Funny story about SATC (yes, Charlotte, some girls do get pregnant after they decide to adopt, but most don't!) and then, wham, I saw it. A story about infertility in the New York Times featuring PJ! I couldn't click fast enough.

I can't explain why it was that in reading about infertility, and PJ's experiences in particular, in print made so much of an impact on me. It was if we, as a community, had gone viral, legit, out and proud, whatever you want to call it. I listened to the six voices of women with infertility and I found myself nodding at each one - yep, thought that, that too, oh yea! that one! There was a validation there that I didn't even know I was looking for. The idea that six women were willing to talk about this in public and let it all hang out for the lack of a better term, gave me a certain sense of optimism that some day, more people will understand how hard this.

My optimism was curbed almost immediately by the insensitive-bordering-on-outright-dumb comments that some people posted in response. I shared some of them with Mr. X and he just shook his head, and like the good Libertarian that he is, declared that they were entitled to their opinion. I was less sanguine.

Still, our voices carry. I had forgotten how far they can go. Hopefully, more people will see how hard this all is even if they themselves are not afflicted and recognize that all we ask is to have the same right as everyone else to have a child.

[Mrs. X exits her soapbox. Film at 11.] image: circulating

(Note to my friends who have not dealt personally with infertility but who read this blog: this post was not about you!)
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In other news, I must be a popular girl. I have been tagged not once, not twice, not even three times - but four times! And, they're not even the same meme. I've already used up most of my existential energy this evening, so I will attack the easier of the two tonight: you in six questions courtesy of seriously? and loribeth.

1) What were you doing 10 years ago? Well, I had just graduated from college not even a month before and went home with my parents. I know, big dork, but I knew I wanted to take a year off after college and veg before diving into grad school. So, I was painfully adjusting to living back until the parental roof while trying to find a meaningful (and decent paying) job. Many growing pains ensued.

2) What are 5 things on your to-do list today? Today is almost tomorrow, so I'll list tomorrow's to-do's in no particular order: put an iron choke hold on my work to-do list so that I don't feel so freakin' far behind, pick up Sweetie's dry cleaning, don't forget my dinner date up the street, go to the vet to get more pet food, and try to finish the scrapbook I'm making about how I made the quilt for my best friend's new baby.

3) List some snacks you enjoy: Almonds. I need my protein in the afternoon to keep going!

4) What would you do with a billion dollars?: start a foundation to promote conservation, pet adoption and my other pet causes. Fund scholarships for kids who wouldn't otherwise go to college. Invest the rest and live off of the interest - maybe buy a house in Australia, I love Sydney, but otherwise not change much in my daily routine!

5) List the places you have lived: I have to be kind of vague here so I don't blow my intricately laid cover. But, I'll say that I've only lived in three states in my entire life, in two different time zones.

6) List the jobs you've had: a babysitter, library assistant (book shelver - I loved it), resident assistant in college, membership coordinator at a gym, federal employee, clerk at art supply store, teaching assistant, and now my current job, of which all I will say is that I get paid to play with words.

Whew! For my three, I tag Farmwife, Lesley, and paranoid (who had a great ultrasound today!). Thanks to my peeps, Admin, and pepper - I'll get to your tags soon.

From Never! to Absolutely! in A Few Short Years

2008-06-07T17:36:00.000-07:00

The house where we lived when I was in middle school and high school was in a new development (well, new back then). We were one of the first families to move in. The house to our right was purchased by a confirmed bachelor - very nice guy, engineer, with a wonderful dog.

His confirmed bachelor days ended pretty soon after he moved in when he got married. Several years later, they welcomed their first child, a boy. A few years after that, they had twins. One day, after I had my own car and drivers license, his wife asked if I could drive her and the twins to the airport - she had to change out a ticket (this was before the Internets, people!). We loaded up the car with me, her, the kids and all of their paraphernalia and headed out.

While she was inside dealing with the ticket, I sat out in the car with the children (this was also pre-9/11 so you could still park your car at the curb of the airport). As an only child, I had limited exposure to little kids when I was older, so I was exceedingly uncomfortable having two screaming infants in my car even for a few minutes. What would I do if they really started crying? How would I explain it to some authority figure as to why I had two screaming children? I could do calculus, but I couldn't do babies. Talk about poster children for birth control!

My neighbor must have seen how uncomfortable I was with two screaming infants, because when we got home again and the children were safely ensconced, she tried to reassure me by saying, rather condescendingly, that "you'll feel differently when you have you're own."

All I could think was, "Fat chance, lady!" I couldn't even see to my high school graduation, let alone having children. I was, to put it mildly, not entirely convinced back then that I would get married, let alone pop out some progeny. Ambivalent didn't even begin to describe what I was feeling (I think "militantly anti-child" was closer to the truth).

See, I was not one of those kids who a) knew they would have kids or b) even wanted them. I hated playing with dolls, playing house or planning my dream wedding. At the same time, I wasn't exactly a tomboy. I was just me: bookish, but quirky, with a love for Chuck Taylors and a wicked CD collection.

By the time I met Sweetie, I still wasn't entirely sold on the idea of having children. I was in my first year of graduate school and trying to keep my head above water. Of course, our talk came around to this topic generally. I tried not to freak him out too much so I just simply said, that I didn't really know if I wanted them. In later years, he claimed that I was adamant about not having children and I explained to him that I wasn't adamant, I just didn't want to scare him off by even bringing up the topic.

The thing is, I didn't decide that I wanted children, until I met the man I wanted to have them with. He was the first man that I had dated who I even could picture myself having children with and who would be a good father. So for me, deciding to have children was less a function of my biological clock than it was a function of totally changing my mind. At the same time, I don't know if all of me has caught up - I still catch myself at restaurants with screaming children being thankful that they aren't mine, or that I can still sleep in if I want to, go out on a moment's notice, etc.

Maybe I will feel differently when it is one of my own.
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Thank you to everyone who posted with their thoughts on how to break my funk. Each of them made my day a little brighter. Yesterday was better - I had a great day with my mom and we didn't talk at all about my infertility. It was nice to have a normal conversation. We went to the fabric store to show off the quilt I made, then grabbed some lunch, and headed to my favorite consignment store, finally stopping at a cross-stitch store that I hadn't been to. It was really nice.

Where Did All the Clouds Come From?

2008-06-05T08:05:00.000-07:00

These past few days, I have been feeling what can only be described as 'emotionally delicate'. My equanimity of the past few weeks has abandoned me (I sincerely hope only temporarily) and I feel deflated, depressed and battered.
image: visulogik
Where did all of the clouds come from so quickly?

I suspect it started with my best friend's announcement of the birth of her first child last week. I am still thrilled for them, and am genuinely happy that she has a beautiful baby girl. I am also thrilled that I finished the quilt on time. But, - and there is always a but, isn't there? - I could not shake this feeling that she has embarked on a journey that so far, I cannot follow.

She is a mother. And I am not. And this hurts more than I want to admit to you and to myself. I have this profound sense of loss, as if I am re-experiencing my miscarriages all over again, whenever I think of it.

Why does this hurt and hurt so badly? Surprisingly, it is not the Green Envy Monster at all. It is just this deep seated ache, right behind my breastbone, dull and constantly throbbing just under the surface. There is also a little bit of shame mixed in, as if I feel like I have to explain why my body hasn't been able to do this one little thing so far. And the memories of all of the hopes that we had when I was pregnant for the first time. There is the crushing uncertainty of whether we will have that happy moment of carpet bombing our friends and family with pictures of what our love (and untold riches) created. They have all come rushing back - welling up into tears in my eyes and that familiar tweak in my nose just before I sneeze.

The result has been the usual depression - as if my body feels twice its normal weight and I'm being dragged down by gravity, but also copious amounts of tears shed over things that while sad are not really worthy of copious amounts of tears (case in point: I finished the biography of Marie Antoinette and was unconsolable at what she went through at the end). There is also the pressure, as if my head was in a vice, maybe from all of these feelings swirling around in there just trying to get out.

In short, I am a mess. I am a walking Cymbalta ad. I would like nothing better than lie in bed and stare at the wall, but, I don't. I have work to do, deadlines to meet, people to service. My mom is here and I can't bear the thought of ruining her visit with my depression.

I just can't seem to get past this myopia of each minute ticking past that I don't have a warm infant in my arms or a baby in my belly. And, right now, short of overdosing on kittens, I don't know how I'm going to get out of it. All I can see is what I don't have.

But, I will find a way. I always do. Most likely it will be a good cry and some careful sharing with Sweetie. I will also investigate whether my thyroid is somehow involved - my metabolism has been all over the place recently.

What do you, Dr. Reader, suggest I do to get out of this funk?

Fits and Starts

2008-05-31T20:03:00.001-07:00

When you think about it, we are all waiting for something at any given point of our lives. I am waiting on multiple things: on myself to be ready to try again with Dr. Uterus, on my mom's visit this week, to hear from the Golden Retriever rescue organization to see if I passed the phone interview on Friday so that we can graduate to the home visit. Inevitably, though, once the thing that I am waiting for actually comes around, there is always a bit of a let down, as if the anticipation of the thing was far more interesting than the thing itself.

I've come to realize that waiting and anticipating are rather shallow activities. They are passive, like letting life wash over you rather than getting out the door and doing something. There is the temptation to view filling up the time with activities as distraction. I think in fact, that it should be classified as living, not distracting yourself while waiting.

To be sure, there are times when waiting is actually very therapeutic to me. If I get to an appointment early, and can sit there and read trashy magazines, it is almost as calming to me as having a purring cat on my lap. There is something about knowing I can sit there and do nothing without the need to justify that I am doing nothing that makes me super relaxed.

Most of the time, though, waiting is self-defeating for me. I feel as if I have wasted the time waiting and anticipating when I could have been out doing things. On the other hand, I feel that if I had just gone on doing the whole living thing, I would be giving the message that I wasn't that interested in what I was waiting for (never mind that I don't know who would be getting this message).

With infertility, I feel as if I have been waiting for my life to begin - with the birth of a child. I'm only now beginning to realize what many of you are probably yelling at the screen: my life has been going on the whole time and frankly, it's been passing me by as I waited and waited and waited. I have read many blogs about waiting during infertility, this notion that your life is in a holding pattern until this one variable can be worked out. I've done that for three years and I don't feel as if I have much to show for it.

So, for me, what does it mean to start living again? Well, it means making plans without first thinking about whether or not I will be pregnant. It means doing things that I want to do because I don't know when I will have the opportunity in the future. It means getting the dog now rather than after we have kids as Sweetie wants because I want one now. It means just living my life without looking at the calendar.

Like many things, talking (or blogging in this case) is a lot easier than doing. But, I've now put it out there. You lovely ladies (and gents) will hold me to it. You will call me out for twiddling my thumbs or throwing pencils in the ceiling. You will remind me to get off my duff and do something.

So, go, Mrs.X! Get moving!

image: dhammza

Baby, You've Arrived!

2008-05-29T18:21:00.001-07:00

I received an email today letting me know that my best friend had her baby on Tuesday. Baby M is a gorgeous beauty of a girl and very healthy. I am thrilled for my friend and her husband, who reported that they are both exhausted. I will no doubt be hearing this one quite often in the coming months and (probably) years. Baby M has wonderful parents who will be loving, kind but still let the kid know who the parents are. What an adventure they have ahead of them.

And still, I would be lying to say that I am not even a little sad. While it is not nearly the level of what it was when she told me that she was pregnant, I can't say that I am completely immune. It makes me miss our babies. I miss that we weren't able to bring them home with us or be utterly exhausted after coming home from the hospital carrying this precious cargo with us.

In the past, I would try to cheer myself up by reminding myself that above all, I believed that I would have a child. Now, I just don't know. What is shocking is that I am perfectly ok with that. I would love to bring home a baby, but I know that it may not be in the cards.

For the time being, I am happy and sad at the same time. I am happy for her that she has this wonderful new being in her life and I am sad for me that I don't. But, I am not sad because I don't know if I ever will.

But, the good news is that I finished the quilt for M on Monday and she was born on Tuesday. Nothing like getting it in under the wire!
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In other news, I have posted my first entry on our trip to Paris on my other blog. Check it out!

And, thanks to everyone for your wonderful comments about my last post. I'm very glad that so many of you were able to get something out of it. Isn't that what the blogosphere is for?

The Post in Which Mrs. X Puts the 'X' in Existential

2008-05-27T13:52:00.000-07:00

Even before our historical soujourn in Paris (did I mention that we saw a pirogue that plied the Seine 3,000 years before the Romans turned up?!), I had been giving a great deal of thought as to what it means to live a full life. How is a full life defined? Who says what is full? Who judges?

For a while now, my definition of a full life required that I have children - preferably my own biological children. I've been clinging to this notion that my one purpose in life is to have children, not because I want them (which I do), but because I'm a woman and therefore it is my purpose. Very Biblical, I know.

I didn't use to think this way. It has only really taken root as our slog through the mire of infertility has gotten longer and harder. In other words, with every passing month, disappointment or loss, it just gets entrenched even further because it is the most fundamental biological function that I haven't been able to fulfill which I must fulfill to prove that I was a woman. Pretty screwed up, eh?

The first clue that this is what is nicely called 'fuzzy logic' is that I don't ascribe it to anyone else. I think other women are a success in their lives if they are happy - no matter what happens to their uterus. My second clue is that I didn't start thinking this way until my first miscarriage, which threw very cold water on my euphoria at finally being able to do that one thing that I was supposed to be able to do. And, more recently, the perspective that I gained in Paris showed me first hand that very few other people truly care whether I give birth to a child and I will probably be more well known if I have an interesting life than if I propogate the species.

Each of these points is slowly chipping away at the wall of expectations that I have built for myself (again nobody else!) but the foundations are still there. Foundations last a long time. We saw the foundations for the medieval Louvre that dated back to the 12th century (personally, I found this way more interesting than the Mona Lisa) and the foundations for the Bastille. Foundations that were laid before my ancestors even got on a boat, and in at least one case, before there even was a New World. Foundations are dug deep and meant to last. They get buried and forgotten.

I need to excavate my foundation, bring into the light, study it and then dismantle it because it is only making me suffer. So far, though, despite all of my rational thought on the subject, I can't shake this idea.

So, I've turned to a radical new place for affirmation that my idea is frankly bull: obituaries. I have always adored reading obituaries. They are truly a person's life resume. They are the record of who you were, what you did and where you went to the rest of the world. Of course your family knows what you did and has special stories about you, but isn't everyone most interested in getting their story out to as many people as possible? For most people, that doesn't happen until they are dead.

What has struck me in recent years reading obituaries is that more often than not, the discussion of the person's life only mentions their children at the very end, usually in the list of survivors. The narrative of their life focuses on them, what they accomplished (other than having children) and what they enjoyed. In short, the focus is on the person's interests, history and accomplishments, but not necessarily that they had children. For most people, you wouldn't think that they had children at all!

You probably wouldn't believe how helpful I have found this, morbid as it may seem, because it provides a great lesson: in the end, it doesn't really matter. When they write my obituary, they will discuss how I met my husband on-line back when it still was not very well known (back in my day, there were no pictures!), I had many interests ranging from history to interior design, I played the flute and the piano and loved classical music, I painted in watercolors and oils, I was passionate about animals and the environment (yes, I am a tree hugger), I took pride in my work and my relationships with those I worked with, I enjoyed traveling and reading.

All of these things are true and absolutely none of them have to do with the fact that (so far) the largest my belly ever got was after an orgy of barbeque. In the end, it doesn't really matter what happens, as long as I can look back and claim (genuinely) that I was happy. And, right now, despite everything, I can say that.
left image: ::: Billie / PartsnPieces :::; right image: caribb

Positivity

2008-05-25T12:30:00.000-07:00

Somehow I've managed to hold on to some of my post-Paris halcyonic feelings and lack of caring about my past infertility/miscarriage misadventures. This has enabled me to enjoy untold riches: I'm still immune to pregnant women and I've had no trouble working the quilt for my best friend's first baby due next month. I even asked her what the name was going to be! This is huge for me.

Big Red arrived last night and I am - without irony - very happy to have it. The post-miscarriage spot watch is over and I actually have a shot at (gasp!) a normal, non-medicated, interfered with or otherwise manipulated cycle. This makes me want to go buy new shoes and get a pedicure or do something similarly girly and distinctly off limits when someone is trying to get knocked up like going to a waterpark or getting on a rollercoaster! Maybe horseback riding? The possibilities are endless.

And, I have definitely decided to take the month of June off. I'm just not ready to jump back in to the melee. When I do get back in, I want to make sure that I am completely ready and I can't even begin to say that right now. While I am no doubt his favorite patient (what's not to love?), Dr. Uterus can certainly live without my company for a month.

But, I've been rather bemused at myself lately. Who is this girl who uses exclamation points and is chipper about getting her period? Where is our snarky Mrs. X? Did I throw her into the Seine or rig up a guillotine in the Place de la Concorde? None of the above. I just got tired of being negative and whiny. You, dear reader, may not have thought that I was, but I felt it accutely. And, I decided that I was tired of it.

So, I'm trying out the new and improved Mrs. X. She's certainly not all sunshine and baby animals, but she's also not the poster child for Woe Is Me Whine and Cheese. Rather than take bets on how long she'll stick around, I'll just welcome her into the fold and say, stay as long as you like.

The Magic Number

2008-05-21T14:33:00.000-07:00

I briefly left the desk this afternoon to get the mail and when I returned, there was a voice mail on my phone from Dr. Uterus' office. My HCG is officially 2! Yay! I was shocked since it was 83 just two weeks ago and I was expecting maybe 20s. So, maybe my mellow Paris experience also helped eek out those last little whatevers of HCG from my system. No more Vampira at the lab for me!

Hopefully, Big Red should arrive soon (although no signs right now) and I can try to get back to a normal cycle. Since before we left for Paris, my thinking has been to just relax in June, not start the mock FET cycle and just be. I'm still leaning in that direction and Sweetie is cool with that. We'll see how I feel when Big Red arrives and I have to call in to report the same.

Either way, it is finally over and that feels wonderful.

image: sunface13

What 10 Days in Paris Taught Mrs. X

2008-05-19T18:55:00.000-07:00

Bon soir, my dears. As you can tell, I have returned from Paris and I am as mellow as mellow can be. Mr. X and I had a fabulous vacation, full of gorgeous weather, wonderful food, fabulous wine and of course, many adventures. Sure the exchange rate was atrocious and the prices reminded me of New York and London (I swear it was roughly $6.50 for a Coke in a restaurant. Really), but we used these as an excuse to walk everywhere, check out free museums, and linger over dinner.

And, for the first time in longer than I can remember or even quantify, I didn't care about infertility, miscarriages, pregnancy or any of it. I. Was. Free. And it felt damn good.

I can chalk up part of it to the vacation mentality, the knowing that when you wake up in the morning, the most difficult decision of the day is which section of Paris to explore (terrible choice, I know). But, I also think that Paris itself gave me some perspective. Allow me to explain.

On our first full day in Paris, we headed over the to Musee de Cluny which is the museum of the Middle Ages housed in a former abbey built around 1490 - this was before Columbus even reached the Americas, before our little nation was even a blip on the radar screen. Part of the museum's structure is also the former Roman baths built in the 1st - 3rd century. I was literally standing next to stones that were cut over a thousand years ago by hands that are now nothing more than dust. I still think this is so cool.

The people who built these things - the Romans, the Normans, the Gauls, the Visigoths - never probably thought that these buildings would last past their lifetimes and certainly not over a 1000 or 500 years later. They were preoccupied, as we are today, with their lives and making it. In the end, though, the one lasting thing they did that is still tangible is to build these churches, forums, baths, etc. Their legacy, their lasting contribution in the world is measured in stone.

It struck me, then, and again and again during our time in Paris, that my life is so insignificant in the greater scheme of time and the world. It doesn't really matter if I am able to procreate or not - my life won't be judged by that. In fact, in 100 years, it probably won't be judged by anything because no one may have even heard of me. And, probably even more surprising, I am perfectly fine with that.

I also got the distinct impression from the Parisians, both with and without children, were supremely engrossed in one activity and that activity only: enjoying life. Lingering over coffee, people watching at sidewalk cafes, reading in the park. Everywhere I turned were people who weren't constantly checking their Crackberries or hurrying everywhere. It was so refreshing and so different from the life we lead here.

What surprised me even more, though, was how disgruntled the women with children looked. There was one evening as we were heading back to our apartment where we were standing at an intersection waiting for the light to change before we could cross the street. Next to me was a women with a toddler in a stroller. The kid was wailing her head off and looked to have been crying for some time - her face was red and her hair was all toussled. Her mother, though, was just staring into space and I couldn't help but think that what she was thinking probably went along the lines of, "What the hell did I get myself into with this kid?"

Of course, she could have just as well have been mentally composing a shopping list, I'll never know. But the sadness on her face coupled with the fact that this kid was screaming her head off and the lady wasn't even moving led me to think I had pretty much hit the nail on the head.

If I had to sum up what all of this rambling means, I'd say that this trip reinforced what I've been trying to practice for sometime now which is to recognize that having children isn't everything and shouldn't be the sole focus of my life. When you are in the trenches, it's hard to see farther than the next battle in front of you, but, let me tell you, life outside of the battle is pretty sweet too.
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Part of our trip to Paris included a complete unplugging from the Internet and TV and I loved it. Yes, you heard that right. I didn't have a TV for 10 days and it was fabulous.

I'm still trying to practice a modified form of this unplugging, so I may not be posting as often for a while. Of course, I could say this and start posting everyday. Anywho, I'm still enjoying the honeymoon from not thinking about infertility as a result of our trip, so I'm not quite ready to delve into my four-letter word project - not to mention the fact that I still haven't finished those damn Atlantic magazines to find the answer to the word question.

Instead, I'll probably entertain with stories of Paris. I doubt I'll hear much grumbling from the masses.

Speaking of Words...

2008-05-07T07:04:00.000-07:00

I want to thank everyone who proposed some new four-letter words regarding infertility. I had started off the list with WANT, ENVY, HOPE, FAIR and later added LUCK (which was seconded by Shelli).

Denise added PITY, jp added NEED, ahuva batya (who could use a hug right now if you have a moment) added COST, peesticks added BUMP (as in the dreaded celebrity bump watch), kimbosue added WAIT and TIME, elizabeth added SPOT, EASY and ENDO, shinejil added JUST, paranoid added NOPE, jellybelly added YOGA, gumby added PUKE, and Melanie wisely decided not to provide any seeing as how she could not think of any that were polite and not the real four-letter words. M- how about KILL as in you kill me?

I did think of yet even more: TURN, as in when will it be my turn? and FATE as in the cruel fickle bitch.

Obviously, I have a lot of posts ahead of me. I'll ponder while I'm away luxuriating in Paris, and when I return, the series will start. In the mean time, here's another assignment.

I only recently found The Atlantic, recently considering that it's been around since 1857. I thoroughly enjoy it and find the articles to be well-researched and insightful (well, with the possible exception of Caitlin Flahnigan). The very last page, however, is devoted to nothing short of word smarminess. People write in and request a made up word to describe some strange situation, like I want to double dip at parties, but I know this is bad. A nd then, all of the erudite and well-educated put on their smug thinking caps and come up with some cute catch phrase. Here is the entry from the October 2007 edition (that I am just now finishing):

Oh my, I could have a lot of fun with this. But, I'll let you lovely ladies have the first crack.

When I get back, I'll post what the winners were from here and in the magazine. Be creative!

The New Four-Letter Words (updated)

2008-05-04T13:03:00.000-07:00

Isn't it uncanny that most truly nasty words in the English language - yes, "those" words - are all four-letter words? With the exception of 'ass', I can't think of one that we use that in its base form isn't just a plain four-letter word. Maybe it's just a co-ink-i-dink, maybe it was planned that way so that someone could generally sweep them all under the category of Those Four Letter Words, maybe it was for expediency so that even the most illiterate could understand and use them. Who the hell (See? Another one!) knows. In any case, I have some new ones that I would like to add to the list. These are the four-letter words associated with infertility:

Want.

Envy.

Hope.

Fair.

'Want' is probably one of the first words that children learn (not that I have personal experience with this one - and my mother cannot remember what my first word was, so I can't even use myself as an example. Foiled!) 'Envy' has gotten a bit of a bad rap what with being one of the Seven Deadly Sins and all. 'Fair' is taught in schools as the bellweather of behavior. And 'hope', well, hope is tarted about everywhere from stationary to jewelry and has been reduced to a platitude that makes people feel better.

Each of these words has taken on new meaning in the context of infertility and has a new definition. I had started out just writing a post about why I had this problem with wanting and envying and then I realized that what I was writing was actually multiple posts about the words that we hear and that we use to describe or justify what we're going through. So, over the next several weeks, I will write a post about each word and how it is now a four-letter word when it comes to infertility.

Are there any four-letter words that you would like to add?

*Updated* I thought of another one while reading comments to someone who just suffered a loss: LUCK.
image: mag3737

The Misbehaving Ovary and Other Tales of My Lady Parts

2008-05-02T12:28:00.000-07:00

I am currently rather foggy due to the 800mg of Ibuprofen I took about two hours ago after I got home from an emergency dildocam appointment with Dr. Uterus. What fun is this, you ask? Get a glass of wine and pull up a chair.

Last night I had the worst pain I think I have ever had. It was terrible because it was like someone was stabbing my left ovary over and over again. I couldn't sleep because no matter what position I was in, the stabbing would continue. The pain even started to radiate down my thigh! It didn't help that I had two glasses of wine last night and I was reading the super weird, but brilliantly written American Gods so by the time I turned the light out, my head was filled with all kinds of disturbing images. When I did manage to sleep I had super weird dreams.

Needless to say, when I got up, I immediately called Dr. Uterus' service and had myself an appointment made by 8:30. Of course, my Inner DQ was running around in a panic muttering things like "ruptured cyst" and "lose an ovary" and "surgery, surgery!". I called Sweetie who is out of town and discussed contingency plans in case I needed emergency surgery. By the time I made it to Dr. Uterus' office, I just wanted someone to knock me out from the pain, preferably with lots and lots of drugs.

After a surprisingly pain-free date with the dildocam, it appears that my naughty left ovary has, for whatever reason, developed a hemorrhagic cyst. The good news is that while pesky and painful (did I mention painful?), my cyst is not particularly worrisome and will resolve on its own. I have the heating pad clutched to my lower abdomen and the bottle of Ibuprofen within my clutches (although I may have to upgrade to the Vicodin). I just hope the pain subsides before we go to Paris. Mrs. X will be a cranky girl if her ovary is acting out while she is trying to admire the Venus de Milo.
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Thanks to everyone who commented on my last post for confirming that a) boys do not think before they speak sometimes and b) I was not crazy to be really pissed off by what Dr. Uterus said to me. I was so discouraged by that meeting and it was so wonderful to hear that I was perfectly justified feeling this way. Additional props to Paranoid for perfectly describing our collective rage as 'apoplexy'.

Even before my emergency meeting today, I had requested to talk with Dr. Uterus again regarding the mock cycle. I wanted to understand the theory behind it, particularly since so many of you who have done an FET haven't heard of this being done. I couldn't get the cost-benefit analysis. Cost: much pain, lost month and an endometrial biopsy. Benefit: maybe information about what might happen with the actual FET. As you can tell, the costs were outweighing the benefits.

After discussing my cyst, I brought up my concerns regarding the mock cycle. In his view - and this is strictly his view - not doing the mock cycle ahead of time would be bordering on careless. The purpose is to ensure that the particular protocol that is used works on the particular individual such that the endometrium is the right thickness and ready to receive the totscicles. In fact, the gold standard is two mock cycles in a row! Thankfully, he recognizes that this isn't practical and only recommends one. I was still concerned that even with all of this information, the actual FET cycle may still not have the same endometrium results as the mock cycle. He acknowledged that this was a possibility, but it was the best source of information and far better than not doing one at all.

I had also given some thought over the past few days to a possible compromise on the mock cycle. Rather than doing the PIO injections, I would try the new vaginal inserts. He had told us on Tuesday that he has had some patients who have not responded to them, but since it is during the mock cycle, we'll know then rather than during the FET cycle. And, if I don't respond to the vaginal inserts, I will happily poke myself in the ass till kingdom come. He was happy with this compromise and was fully on board.

So, I will do the mock cycle because I know that I will not be able to live with myself if I don't do it and the FET results in a bust. I will always wonder if it didn't work because the protocol failed and we didn't know it because I didn't do the mock cycle. And, with the vaginal inserts, I don't feel as if it is such a huge burden on me for a cycle that is a mock cycle. We would also really be starting to try again at the time that we had discussed, which was July with the mock cycle being in June. The Queen has also given her approval.

I also asked a simple favor from him: I asked him not to tell me any more stories of his other patients. He agreed immediately. He acknowledged that they usually help other patients who feel like they are alone in their struggle - but I told him, I blog, I'm not alone! I am also one of those people who don't particularly benefit from stories of other people's success. He was very gracious and apologized for telling me stories in the past. I immediately absolved him of any guilt since he didn't know that I didn't want to hear them until now.

So, I am finally at peace with our meeting with him and I am on board with our plan for going forward. It feels good, even if my naughty ovary doesn't.

Off With His Head!

2008-04-29T14:52:00.000-07:00

Well, it would seem that my Inner Drama Queen likes it here in la-la-land and has once again appeared. Maybe it's a Tuesday thing. Maybe it's just that time of year. Or, maybe I'm genuinely losing it and she's taking over a la Jekyll and Hyde.

Suffice it to say that I have found myself wanting to yell, "Off with his head!" several times today. Honestly, no one really deserved it, but She Who Must Be Obeyed doesn't understand the niceties of society that there are in fact very few offenses that would warrant that. (In reality, I'm a staunch death penalty opponent, but she didn't get that message.)

All of this peevishness (I love that word) arises out of our meeting with Dr. Uterus. Surprisingly, very little had to do with the technical details that we discussed. He confirmed our suspicions that it was just again Stroke of Bad Luck, which while eminently unsatisfactory in terms of a concrete answer, is probably the best that we are going to get. We talked about doing pregenetic implantation diagnosis (PGD) on our totscicles and he was quite honest that they have never attempted it on frozen ones, although it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility. He also recommended against doing it since it is so untested in frozen ones, which made sense. We talked about what further testing we can do (none) and the protocol for an FET cycle.

The thing is, it was just being in his office that had already started to set me on edge. Our last visit when we were told that our second baby in a row had died is apparently still very fresh emotionally. It all started to come back before we even saw him. I was also annoyed by the poster in the room with the picture of twin babies with the glowing ad copy gushing about how in a few months a couple he helped were preparing for twins! Dear God that was discouraging. He's been helping me for almost TWO FREAKIN' YEARS and I have twins all right! Twin miscarriages!

Now, lest you get the impression that I blame Dr. Uterus, I don't. I know it's not his fault, it's not Dr. Freak Out's fault, it's not even our fault. I know that he's doing everything within his power to help us. I don't deny that or under appreciate that for a second. Our history can really be chalked up to random bad luck. I also know that with those posters he's doing what everyone in America does - he's selling something. But, I found it so offensive today considering that I have done everything that is asked of me and I still have nothing to show for it and his advertisements make it sound so easy, so quick, so simple, so without pain.

The discussion of the FET protocol also annoyed me. He prefers to do a mock cycle first - with an endometrial biopsy for your parting gift at the end! - before doing the actual FET. I did the quick calculations and of course figured out that we're talking about two months - one month in which I have no hope of getting pregnant just to see if my uterus can be tricked into thinking its time for pregnancy and then one month in which the frozen totscicles are thawed and transferred. The thing is, once I decide to get started again, I don't want to go through a mock month. It's a wasted month (even though yes I understand that it is necessary)!

Being the inquisitive little one that I am, I also asked what the mock cycle entailed as far as drugs and monitoring. The good news? No monitoring. The bad news? I would have to shoot myself in the ass again with the goddamn progesterone. WTF!? And this is just during the mock cycle! I would have to do it during the FET and during the 2WW! This really pissed me off. I have no problem doing it when I know that it will help with a possible pregnancy, but I really resent having to do it for a mock cycle. It's like what else is required of me? Walking on hot coals? Climbing Mt. Everest? Finding the cure to cancer?

But, even this was not enough to rouse my Inner DQ to her full fury - and what did rouse her will probably appear to you to be the most inocuous thing. While we were getting ready to leave, Dr. Uterus stated that I have taken on a new position in his practice. I am now the patient who has such rotten luck and bad outcomes that I am next in line for the divine miracle, the run of better luck, whatever. His patient who used to occupy this throne is now 9-weeks pregnant with a "beautiful baby" and his pride and thrill was evident. It was like a sucker punch to me. I know that it was meant as a story of hope - see if she can do it, so can you! - but it just came across to me as this mockery of all that I've been through. I had a pregnancy that he declared beautiful and then it went horribly wrong. To me, it was like going through it all over again.

I know that's not how it was intended and I didn't tell him what I thought. I know he genuinely thought it would make me feel better. I'm just one of those people who those kinds of stories don't. I did share with Sweetie, though, hoping that he would understand, would give me some comfort. Nope. He got frustrated with me and accused me of being envious. (Envy is now a four-letter-word in our household). I agreed with him. I am envious and I don't like that I am, but I am. I feel it and get over it. But, when I looked for comfort and validation, he instead chided me like I was a 5-year old. It ain't easy being green.

Sorry for the length (and the whining and the peevishness), but rarely is a long story made short. Sweetie is going out of town tomorrow and I am grateful for the time to myself to reign in the Queen so that she can't go all half-assed crazy.

Twenty Questions

2008-04-28T11:26:00.001-07:00

Thanks to everyone for your wonderful thoughts and wishes for getting me out of my funk. I'm feeling much better now that I had a stress-less weekend and was able to have some good conversations with Sweetie (plus lots of snuggling).

We have our appointment with Dr. Uterus tomorrow to discuss what happened with this last miscarriage and we've been dutifully preparing our questions for him.

Here are some of the biggies (with my own commentary, of course):

- What really were the chances of this happening two times in a row?
I'm more and more convinced that this was probably more common than he would have led us to believe. I don' tremember exactly what he said, but I got the impression that it was very unlikely that it would happen twice in a row.

- Do we need to have additional testing on either us to see if we have 'sticky chromosomes' that predispose us to nondisjunction problems (which in turn cause those pesky monosomies)?
While this wouldn't be something we could fix except possibly through donor gametes, at least we'd know.

- What are the chances that PGS on our remaining six totscicles will destroy them?

- How successful is the PGS test in finding chromosomally abnormal embryos and can it be done on 5-day thawed blasts?
If it is only 30% effective, for example, it may not be worth it.

- Do we need to do any immunological testing, even though both miscarriages were chromosomal?

- What are our chances of conceiving naturally?
I want to this know because frankly, there hasn't been a time that we had a legitimate shot at pregnancy while we were trying naturally. The first year we tried, my tubes were blocked. It was like I had my tubes tied. Nothing was getting through. The two times I have gotten pregnant, it was through ART and the months that we were 'off' I was either benched with ovarian cysts or getting over a miscarriage (which does wonders for messing up your cycle). I want to know if we have a legitimate chance even though ART may be a faster process - if it works.

- What are the protocols for doing an FET (which we would likely do next)?

- What is the thaw rate that the IVF lab has for frozen embryos?
Just because we have six on ice, doesn't mean that all six would make it through the thaw which really kills me, but what can you do?

And, before I head back to the padded cell, I'd like to say a little word about statistics. Several of those questions up thar can only be answered with statistics. I have come to eye statistics warily and with much suspicion over these two years. Statistics really aren't that useful to me anymore because they really don't help predict anything with respect to me. I've had lots of things happen that statistically had a very low probability of happening and yet happen they did. So, while they're somewhat helpful, I tend to make decisions now based upon the worst case scenario, not the statistically predicted one.

They also set me up for even more disappointment when something that should have a low statistical chance of happening (like a second monsomy miscarriage in a row) happens. Not only are you grieving that you have lost another pregnancy, but you are angry because statistically, this wasn't supposed to happen (don't even get me started on the statistics of miscarriage after hearing the heartbeat. That to me is the greatest travesty of statistics of them all.)

So, while I've pretty much given up on statistics, they are a necessary evil. I'm also stuck with them since Sweetie, mathematically-minded guy that he is, lives for statistics. I may ask Dr. Uterus, though, not to give us any more specific predictions about the chances of us having another miscarriage. We tend to take what he says as gospel so when it doesn't come to pass, there's another disappointment to handle.

Are there any other questions that we should be asking? Any thoughts would be greatly appreciated!
image: Dom Dada

It's Not the End of the World As We Know It

2008-04-25T12:49:00.000-07:00

It may come as a shock to you, dear reader, that I have been known to be on occasion ... well, ... um, a Drama Queen (*snort*). My little Queen gets out and runs around when I'm particularly stressed, or tired, or emotional, or usually, all three. When my Inner DQ gets started, heads will roll, Henny Penny will run around screaming about the sky falling, the Rabbit will be late, dogs and cats will live together and general mass hysteria will be right around the corner. In other words, I will feel as if the cosmic shit will hit the fan at any moment.

It's rare that I get truly riled, but it happens every now and then. I realized on Tuesday that I was getting close to that line. To be perfectly honest, I was a bit of a mess last Tuesday. I was already depressed which in turn made me more susceptible to crapitude should anything the least bit bad come down the pike - which it did and it was a doozy. It didn't help that earlier in the day I had emailed my pregnant best friend laying out my tale of woe and I received a response back that I, - and this is a direct quote, "sound great!". Yep.

So, by the time I found out that we had yet another monosomy which I had been led to believe would be quite unusual, I was fit to be tied and certifiable. I genuinely believed that we had the crappiest luck on the planet, we were doomed to having only furry children, and perhaps strangest of all, that Dr. Uterus was actively jinxing us by continuing to give these sunny pronouncements on high about how it will be better next time. See how whacked out I was?

Wednesday morning rolled around and I rolled around in bed while petting a purring kitty and getting fur everywhere. I knew what I had to do and my choice was solidified through the morning. I had to take a Mental Health Afternoon. And that is exactly what I did. I went shopping at Nordstrom with my Christmas gift card but didn't find anything. I'm so cheap these days that spending $150 on a jacket just seems decadent. I also don't get that Thrill of the Bargain that I do at my favorite consignment store.

I quilted, I worked on the photo album of the quilting process that I will give to my best friend along with the quilt (this being the same friend who thinks I sound great), I started planning the cross-stitch pattern that I want to make (a first!) and I vegged. In my PJs. I also did some good old fashioned emotional thinking and came to a few good conclusions:

1) this is by no means the end of the world. I'm not dead. Sweetie's not dead. Our parents aren't dead and we're going to Paris in a matter of days.
2) it probably isn't as unusual to have two monosomies back to back as Dr. Uterus would have us believe.
3) we have options for the totscicles that we have left, such as PGS (as Denise so rightly pointed out)
4) we can see if there are any screenings for either of us to determine if our chromosomes are pre-disposed to nondisjunction (which is the cause of these abnormalities); and
5) again, this is not the end of the world. The Sky is Not Falling.

Once I had that good talk with my Inner DQ about these revelations, she quieted down. I think she has gone back into hiberation for a while. At least I hope so. I would hate to wake up one morning with Pinkey in my hands hitting curled-up hedgehogs through croquet hoops.

Lightning Strikes Twice

2008-04-22T11:41:00.000-07:00

For some reason, I recently have kept running into Ben Franklin's definition of insanity. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome. Oh, Ben (or Albert Einstein, depending upon which website you reference) how right you were.
image: Shivayanamahohm
If by trying to get pregnant, over and over again, and then getting pregnant and miscarrying over and over again we can be said to be insane, then today's karyotype result for this second miscarriage seals the deal: it was yet another monosomy. Two random chromosomal miscarriages in a row. If I had this luck in the lottery, I would be a rich woman.

We have an appointment with Dr. Uterus to discuss the results next Tuesday. I am particularly annoyed that he had told us numerous times before that it was highly unlikely that we would have another monosomy. I think he needs to just stop giving us predictions because each of them have not turned out in our favor. Sweetie will be with me, so he can keep me from being a harpie while trying to get answers out of our very nice RE who's optimism keeps smacking me upside the head.

I'm just afraid that I know the answer that Dr. Uterus will give us: it was completely random, there's nothing we can do about it and nothing we can do to prevent it in the future. I don't know how many more times I can stand having a miscarriage, let alone one for a random chromosomal event that isn't supposed to happen every time I get pregnant. How does lightening strike in the same place over and over again. Is it insane or are we for standing in the same location?

I haven't been able to find any real statistics on how common (or uncommon) it is to have it twice in a row. I know that it is the most common of all chromosomal abnormalities, but that alone is no longer particularly helpful. Has anyone had two monosomy miscarriages in a row or know someone who has?

Unraveling

2008-04-20T14:36:00.000-07:00

I thought I was doing pretty well last week. I had reached the point where my trip somewhere wasn't ruined by the sight of a lady with the tell-tale bulge. I was calm, serene - but the dam had to burst sometime.

Things started to unravel Friday afternoon. I hadn't slept well all week, I was working extremely hard on a project at work that is easily the most important of my career (no pressure!) that also happened to be extremely challenging, all while trying to make the most of my 'down time' at night with self-improvement and overall creativity. Needless to say, by the time Friday rolled around, I was exhausted - mentally and physically. I suspect that this set me up for being unable to handle all of the crap that was thrown at me.
First, on Friday I realized that come the beginning of next month, it will have been Three Long Years since we officially threw out the birth control and began planning who was going to take our new little urchin to day care. No matter how I looked at it, I could not see the positives - all I could see was that three years later, it's still just me, the guy and the furry beasts. Sure I can get pregnant! Sure my tubes are clear! So far, it hasn't done me a damn bit of good. I found this utterly depressing.

Friday night we went out with some friends to a local festival. Upon arriving, what is the first thing I see? Very pregnant ladies. Two of them, in fact. Couple that will all of the homeless kitties we saw in the park, and I was in a sad state.

Saturday, we go out to lunch and pick the restaurant mainly based on the fact that it has outdoor dining since it was a gorgeous day. This time, the hostess was pregnant and there was a very pregnant (and extmremely chic) lady there as well. Oh, and the hair salon has a very pregnant stylist (not mine) who had to walk back and forth in front of me. Am I destined to have this thrown in my face? I was officially getting discouraged and depressed.

Today, we went to the grocery store - the new one up the street that I hate with a passion reserved usually for the worst of the worst - and wouldn't you know it? Our checker was pregnant. And, I passed a woman talking to another woman about how she started to show immediately. Plus, one infant, and several six-ten month olds. I think I have officially reached my breaking point.

Talk about hitting you when you're down - I was already feeling depressed this weekend and then I just keep being reminded of the two babies I have lost and the fact that I can't even make it to the bulging stage. I want to be as big as a house! I don't want to be able to see my feet, I want to complain that I look like a whale because all of it means that I'm pregnant with a sentient being who kicks and sleeps and belches, all in my tummy - who will arrive with my eyes and his nose and look like all of the ancestors that we've ever had.

I know that there is an ebb and tide of grief - just like there are hills and valleys in life. I know that last week was the ebbing and this weekend was the tide. It just hurts so much, but there is no detour, no way around it. And, better out than in.

I still wish, though, that I could reach that point where it didn't bother me. I suspect, though, that it's like most things - some days you can and some days you can't. These just happened to be "can't" days.

Great Expectations

2008-04-19T11:44:00.000-07:00

Over the years, I have learned to scale back my expectations of what life has in store for me. When you are younger, of course, you expect that you will have the life that your friends or your parents have. You don't expect to have problems or grief or disappointment - at least not until you are old (which back then in my mind was 40).

I have also learned how to handle other people's expectations for my life. There isn't a person that I tell that we don't have children that I would wager wonders to themselves, why not? Luckily, very few are so deprived of manners to actually ask that question. I smile and know what they're thinking, but frankly don't care enough about their opinion to actually do or say anything. Let them think what they may - it is usually far more interesting than the truth.

And then there are those pernicious amorphous expectations that are exuded from society that we almost unconsciously take upon ourselves. For example, Sweetie's employer is building a day care center for its employees. We first heard about it about a year ago when they sent out a survey to employees to guage interest. Sweetie enthusiastically filled it out, indicating that we did indeed have plans to use the day care center. Typically, news of the progress of the day care center would filter down to us around the time that I was pregnant, so that we would begin to plan how we would utilize it. And, then, we would be smacked upside the head for having the temerity to actually make plans and would get a D&C for our hubris.

Now, the day care center is under construction and at first, I had that same feeling that I had to have a child and quickly to be able to use the day care center. After all, weren't they building it because we said we would use it? Luckily, I stepped back and realized that it didn't really matter if we used it or not. It was nice that it was there, but it wouldn't be the end of the world if we weren't able to use it now, soon or even ever. After all, it's just a building.

image: swamibu

A Dark Anniversary

2008-04-16T07:11:00.000-07:00

I was in the shower this morning when I remembered the date: April 16. Today, one year ago, I learned that our first pregnancy had ended while we were on vacation. I had gone to Dr. Uterus' office looking forward to seeing how much the little one had grown, hearing the heartbeat again - and maybe, just maybe, being released from his care and into the hands of an OB for the rest of the journey.

Instead, I got a stab of panic when he found that the baby was measuring small for the time frame. It was supposed to be my 11-week check-up and the baby was measuring at 9w2d. Then, I got abject terror when he couldn't find a heartbeat. Then, I got numbness when he said those two little words: "I'm sorry." It was a terrible, terrible day.

I know that today is not that day, but even a year hasn't dimmed the memory, the pain or the heartache. It is all still there, just under the surface.

image: Ashimjara

Vampira Tales

2008-04-15T19:34:00.001-07:00

Thanks to everyone for your lovely wishes on our anniversary and Big Red finally showing up. Only in this alternate universe of infertility would I be happy that my period showed up the day before my wedding anniversary. We had a wonderful dinner and talked about all of the wonderful times we have had together. Then we went home like the old married people we are and went to sleep at 10:30pm.

Yesterday, I had another date with Vampira at the blood lab to get my weekly HCG reading. The first time I went to the lab, the person was wonderfully efficient and I hardly felt a thing. The second time, I had Vampira - a different lady who was exceedingly nice (and dear Lord was she cheerful which is not compatible with me at 8am on a Monday) - but it was a terrible stick. My entire arm felt bruised for the rest of the week, and I swear I still had a slight bruise yesterday - a full week later.

Well, yesterday, when I went back for my weekly bloodletting, Vampira was there by herself, which meant I was at her mercy. I had her poke the right arm this time since the left one still hasn't completely healed and wouldn't you know, another terrible stick. I don't know what I'm going to do when I go back next week and she is still the only one there! Can you tell someone to poke you better next time? It seems like that would be like telling someone to brush their teeth differently after they had been brushing for 30 years.

Despite being poked to high heaven by Vampira and looking as if I am offically a junkie, there is good news. The quant is now in the triple, rather than quadruple digits. As of yesterday, it was 886 - a nice 63% drop from last week, in case you were wondering. It is 88% lower than my first post-D&C quant. I know, though, that it will probably take at least a full six weeks (or maybe even longer) like it did last time to get to the magic <5.>

I had the same flash of frustration that I had each prior Monday when I realized this and understood again that the frustration was due to my desire to feel like I was making some kind of progress in getting pregnant (rather than getting unpregnant). But, then I thought of the alternative. What if I was able to get pregnant next month? Frankly, that would suck. I would be wreck and would be pregnant in Paris. So, I will continue on my path to acceptance that a slow drop in the HCG means a long time to heal and actually be ready to try again.

We also haven't gotten the results from the karyotype. I looked back at my records from last year and saw that we had them at about 2.5 weeks after the D&C. It's now been 3 weeks. I mentioned it to the nurse and she is going to check. I'm not giving much thought as to what the results might show. This is one area where my predictions totally suck, so I'm just not going to waste my time.

Off to bed, and hopefully, tomorrow morning, I will not wake up freezing with a cat hogging the covers. This actually happened this morning. I haven't decided if I should forgive him.

Newsflash!

2008-04-12T14:45:00.000-07:00

We interrupt this regularly scheduled broadcast to bring you this important announcement:

"Mrs. X has FINALLY gotten her period. Film at 11."

Yes, finally, I have been cursed and I haven't been this happy about it since I was in college.
____________________________________________________________________
Thanks to everyone who chimed in on my friend John*. You are all absolutely right (as you were last time) that I should block his sorry ass to kingdom come. But, I have a confession: I am secretly hoping that he sees the errors of his ways and sends me a heartfelt email begging for forgiveness. This is probably as likely as a) hell freezing over; b) me winning the lottery; and, c) me winning Miss America - all at the same time. But, so far, it's what has held me back from blocking his email.

And, in the event he does send me another super-insensitive email after I asked him not to, I want to tell him point blank that I'm blocking him and why.
____________________________________________________________________ image: Sunfox
In other news, five years ago today, I went from being single to married. Yep, Sweetie and I tied the knot today five years ago in a beautiful ceremony with about 75 people. I'd post pics, but that would totally blow my cover. So, instead, I'll quote some language from the lovely note my mom sent us (which the Bad One just bit - little bastard!) which I think sums it up perfectly:

"Congratulations on the occasion of your 5th wedding anniversary! We're happy to know that yours is a good, strong marriage with lots of laughter in it. And our best wishes for happiness in the years to come. The first five have been adventuresome. What will the next five be like?"

We also treat our wedding anniversary as the kitties' birthday - since we got them eight weeks after our wedding and they were eight weeks old. So far, the Bad One is celebrating by being an extra nuisance. He has quite a knack for this.

I'm also happy to report that, on this auspicious day, I haven't really thought about how long we've been married and that we don't have children yet. I've just thought about what a wonderful time we've had with each other (and continue to have).

Little steps, always.

Encore!

2008-04-10T12:13:00.001-07:00

Oh my. Does everyone remember my friend John*?

No? You should read this brief little post before going forward. Go ahead. Take your time. I'll wait.

[Mrs. X looks out the window. Ooh! There's that lady who always walks in the neighborhood who desperately needs to wear a sports bra. Honey, if you have B's or bigger, they shouldn't be swinging - and yours are definitely doing to the two-step. Buy a freakin' bra!]

Finished? Ok, so yesterday morning before I went on my walk, I checked my email. Usually, this is pretty anti-climactic. Yesterday? Not so much. There was an email from John. I had long ago lost hope that he was finally getting back to me on my last email in which I shared with him the news of our first loss and our struggle with infertility.

I wasn't disappointed. Not only was it not an email finally acknowledging that we had a loss, it was pictures of the kid's christening, with the harpie wife thrown in for good measure. To make matters worse, there was no message, it was just a generic, 'come see my on-line album that I'm sharing with you' bullshit. Needless to say, I didn't look at the pictures. All I could think was "you have got to be freakin' kidding me."

So I spent the first 1.5 miles of my walk pondering how I should respond. Actually, I should re-phrase that. I knew exactly how I wanted to respond - I'll spare you the expletives - but I needed to figure out how to do in a nice way while also edumacating him as to what an insensitive ass he was being.

I finally settled on this: I sent him a response email, congratulated him for the umpteenth time (I swear I've congratulated him on this kid more times than I've congratulated anyone else on the birth of a child) and then .... I asked him to stop sending me baby pictures. I told him about our second loss in a row - after IVF, no less - and told him how hard it was for me to see baby pictures right now.
image: idsfa
What I didn't say was how insensitive I thought he was being by continuing to send me this crap when I've been so honest with him about all that we have been through. I realize that he's a guy and therefore, he's not necessarily blessed with the sensitivity gene, but we were really good friends in graduate school and I would think that general rules of friendship would mean you would AT LEAST RESPOND WHEN YOUR FRIEND TELLS YOU THAT SHE'S HAD TWO MISCARRIAGES! A simple 'I'm sorry' will do the trick.

As expected, I haven't heard anything back from him and frankly, don't expect to. But, I make this solemn pledge - if he sends me anymore freakin' baby pictures - after I've specifically asked him not to - he's getting blocked. No more Mrs. Nice X.
____________________________________________________________________
In other news, Spot Watch '08 continues. To paraphrase the immortal words of Rick Moranis as Dark Helmet in Spaceballs, "She's gone from brown to pink!" That's about as momentous as it gets. Still no flow. Thanks to everyone for their suggestions. If things continue on their current spotty trajectory, I will get serious about getting things moving.

I'm off to do more drunk quilting. Kids, don't try this at home.

With a Spot Spot Here and a Spot Spot There...

2008-04-08T15:02:00.001-07:00

Sing with me, ladies (and gents):

Mrs. X still has no period
E-I-E-I-O
And she has been spotting
For what seems like an eternity
E-I-E-I-O

With a spot spot here
And a spot spot there
Here a spot, there a spot
Everywhere a spot spot
Mrs. X still has no period
E-I-E-I-O

I know, I know, my talent is just devastating, isn't it?

In case the metaphors in the song were too subtle, I'll say it plainly: I haven't gotten my freakin' period yet. I am the Queen of the Spot. I can't even do my best Lady Macbeth impression because that would just encourage the damn spotting. My kingdom for a period!

And, contrary to last week's intelligence from Dr. Uterus' nurse, she told me yesterday that getting my period would speed up the decline in the HCG. Whatever. I can't make my body do it - just one of many things I can't seem to make my body do - so I've decided not to worry about it. But, that certainly doesn't mean I'm not going to complain about it.

The good news is that the latest number is definitely lower: yesterday's count was 2,427. Still a far cry from <5, but better than the previous number of 7,445.

In better news, I am officially off "pelvic rest"- although Sweetie decided to celebrate this momentous occasion by playing World of Warcraft for four hours instead of molesting me. I sewed - which is not really that newsworthy in and of itself except that I did it after I had a beer and well, let's just say it's a good thing I'm doing the free-motion quilting right now, with emphasis on the free-motion. I do have to admit that I also really haven't been in the mood. Hopefully that will change as well. Incessant spotting doesn't exactly make a girl rowdy, if you know what I mean.

That's all the news that fit to print - and sing.

image: bardsart

My Path

2008-04-06T14:18:00.000-07:00

I've never been one for the idea that each person has a destiny set out before them. How can someone be destined to be a prostitute or serial killer when someone else is destined to be a nun or social worker? It belies a certain amount of short-straw syndrome where some people are "destined" to have crappy luck while others get to live idyllic lives, and apparently the person with the crap luck has no say in it. At the same time, I don't buy into the idea that we make our own destiny. I had no hand in being born into an incredibly stable house with lots of opportunities for education, advancement and overall growth complete with loving and well-adjusted parents.
image: maverickapollo
I prefer to think of my life as a series of paths. I may follow the one tread by those before me, or I may veer off into other directions. I may have company on parts of the journey and others I go by myself. I may choose the direction sometimes and sometimes the direction may choose me, but there is always motion.

I've had to remind myself of this a lot lately, though, because I've been having a hard time with the fact that there are those who got pregnant around the same time that I did and they are still pregnant. I feel angry that I can't continue that journey, I feel embarrassed that I somehow failed the test, and I'm annoyed at that sneaking little voice that asks, "Why her and not me?"

I've answered this question before, but apparently I have forgotten the lesson because I still seem to be asking it. So, I'm trying a different tactic this time around. Whenever I feel that question coming on, I just remember that her path is not my path. I may not know where my path will take me, but I do know which one is mine.

And for better or worse, my path right now doesn't include being pregnant. It does include having a Diet Coke, eating bleu cheese at lunch, gardening this morning and looking forward to a glass of wine this evening. And, I'm getting better at enjoying these things for themselves and not dwelling on what being able to have them means. Because, dwelling on it doesn't change it and never will.

It also feels so good to give myself permission not to dwell on it either. It frees me up to think about other things, dream about other things, and actually enjoy life. And you know what I did today? I laughed, out loud. It seems like it's been so long since I did that - a genuine, joyful laugh.

And it felt really, really good.

Duly Noted

2008-04-03T17:10:00.000-07:00

image: Joe Shlabotnik
After graduating from high school, I attended and graduated from a fairly well-known, private mid-sized university. At the time, this school was one of my "safeties". Now, this school would certainly not offer me admission if I showed up with the STA scores that I had then. The farthest I'd probably get would be the waiting list. What a difference 14 years makes!

It took me a while to love my school - it was in a part of the country that I had never spent a lot of time in outside of childhood and the culture shock was pretty shocking. It also wasn't my first choice school and so I had to go through the arduous process of changing my admittedly unrealistic expectations about the right school for me. Nevertheless, I learned to love and fully embrace my school and I can easily report that I had a truly great time in college (and yes, I did get an education).

So, as I looked in the mail box, I saw the familiar logo. It was the school's quarterly magazine that is sent out to alumni. In the early years after I had graduated, I coveted this quarterly dose of school pride. As the years have passed - in May, it will have been 10 years since I graduated (dear Lord, I can't believe it) - I have grown less and less excited about receiving this particular tome in the mail. First it was because I no longer recognized anyone in the pictures. Now, as you have probably guessed, it's a more pernicious reason.

Inevitably, the Class Notes for my year and those immediately preceeding and following it now contain the same announcement over and over again: so and so is pleased to announce the birth of their first, second, even third child. My years-range has moved past the marriage stage (that was a few years ago - what the early aughts are now peppering their announcements with) and we've now moved into baby-land.

What's amazing is that if you go maybe a decade back in the classes (so those who are 20 years out from graduation), there are very few birth announcements and its all about what that person is doing for their career. I am stuck in that time frame where my fellow alum's only accomplishment has apparently been the fact that they were either knocked up or got someone knocked up and they had a baby. Are people not advancing in their careers so that their only news is this? We're talking 10 years since graduation!

You have also probably ventured a guess that part of my hostility comes from the fact that I'm jealous as hell. You are absolutely right. But, what I have realized is that in wanting to place that special birth announcement, I would just be adding to the clutter of announcements that, at their minimum, herald and celebrate someone's fecundity - something I can't even come close to boasting about, so far. (Can I send in an announcement that I have endured two years of medical intervention to get pregnant and two miscarriages?)

So, I'm not going to wait to place my announcement when we have a child - however and whenever that blessed event may occur. I'm going to find some other recent achievement that highlights my accomplishments since graduation and send that in. Once again, I will change my expectations of what I should be doing and do what I was really meant to do.

I Got Lurved On

2008-04-01T15:07:00.000-07:00

Well, kids, she's done it again. Shinejil has once again humbled me and made me blush at the same time. My eminently wise and sage friend has bestowed some love on me with a "less-than-three".
I must admit that I am a little behind the times when it comes to text abbreviations (I get stuck past about ROFLMAO) so I had to cheat and look it up on Urban Dictionary.com. I know, I know, I blog therefore I shouldn't be a luddite when it comes to other technological advances. But, I'll tell you I have texted fewer times than I've been pregnant. Such is the byproduct of having a Crackberry (yes, I know I can text from the Crackberry, but why when I can just send an email? And, have I mentioned how much I hate the damn thing?)

Anywho, with so much love, I have to share it with others. I choose one of my faves, Melanie who keeps me laughing with descriptions of llamas and other fashion tragedies while documenting her journey through the various rings of Hell that is infertility. I also choose a newer friend (who probably thinks that I stalk her daily, hence her name), Paranoid, who educates me daily on the difficulties of secondary infertility while also showing how to be a great parent. Mwah to you both.

7,558

2008-03-31T14:19:00.000-07:00

I wish I could say that this is how much we are getting in a tax refund (not even close since we aren't getting a refund at all and are actually providing a refund to the man), but instead I have to report that this is my HCG level as of this morning. I have to lose at least 7,553 more unit-thingys before I can be "pregnancy-free".* I did the math (well, I punched the numbers into a calculator which then did the math) and found that if the levels drop by half every 48 hours on the dot, it will take 22 days from today to get to baseline. Of course, nothing goes the way it is supposed to, so this is a wild guestimate.

I also made the mistake of looking at my records for my other D&C. A week after the procedure, my HCG was a whopping 350! Of course, the baby died about two weeks before we had the procedure, so during that time, I'm sure I did some serious dropping. In the end, it still took me 6 weeks to make it to below 5. Yikes.

Why does this bother me? Well, because even if we aren't going to see Dr. Uterus anytime soon, it would still be nice to think that there might be a chance for an oops. As long as the HCG is up there, the ovaries are not going to cooperate to make that happen. I know I shouldn't even be thinking about pregnancy, including an oops, but part of me just can't let go of the notion that I should be doing something to get knocked up even if that means just knowing that I might be fertile and having unprotected sex. Besides, part of me still dreams of being able to call up Dr. Uterus and say, "Guess what?! I'm pregnant and I didn't need you to get that way!" This is very indicative of how my day-dreams about pregnancy have changed over the years. I used to spend a great deal of time thinking of elaborate ways of telling my parents that I was pregnant. Now I fantasize about telling my RE that he's obsolete.

I did mention to the nurse that I haven't had a full-on period yet (just spotting) and she indicated that this usually equates to the levels going down faster. I won't read this as gospel, but it's encouraging. I go back next Monday morning for another draw. As a present to myself, I asked to be able to have all of my bloodwork after the D&C to be drawn at an off-site lab rather than going to the office each week and see all of the glum faces of the nurses who know what happened. So far, this has worked very well as the ladies at the lab don't know me, don't know my history and are extremely efficient. And, no glum faces. This and the Cadbury caramel egg I had after lunch totally made my day - well until finding out how high the level was. I think another caramel egg after dinner (which will also feature a nice Rioja from Spain) is definitely called for.

And, another benefit is that once the number goes down, maybe I can finally stop having hormonal rages (or "being pissy" as Sweetie calls it). Or maybe, I just won't be able to use that as an excuse for "being pissy".

*I won't bother to discuss how ironic this is. I'm at the point of just shaking my head.

Glutton for Punishment

2008-03-30T19:32:00.000-07:00

When it comes to living with infertility in a primarily fertile world, I am a glutton for punishment. Article about nesting during pregnancy? I read it. Read an on-line chat about working part-time or full-time after the birth of a baby (I would kill for this choice!!!)? Tempted. Watching the episode of House Hunters where the family is expanding (number-wise, not body-wise) so they have to find a new house? I watched the whole thing, including every single freakin' reference to the fact that she's pregnant. I couldn't tear my eyes away.
image: amortize
So, why do I do this to myself? What do I expect to gain? At first, I thought I was doing it because I may gain some valuable information that I can use down the line. So, the article on soothing your baby seemed like a good read. Then, as time went on and we had no baby to soothe, it seemed less and less helpful. I suspect that I do it now to see if I've reached that point of equanimity where I can read about (fill in the blank) getting knocked up and not feel that twinge of absolute envy. I never manage to do it, though.

And, it seems as if motherhood and fertility is everywhere now- celebrities are popping out enough children to populate a small island, there is not one but two blogs dedicated to parenting and family on Washingtonpost.com, and of course, there is my love/hate relationship with articles in the New York Times, which has been documented on this blog already. The point is, it's getting harder and harder to censor out this kind of stuff, which makes it easier to punish myself.

It is impossible to go to just about any website and not get assaulted at least once with something - even a headline - that brings that familiar ache. But, I am making progress. I have started to give myself permission to skip reading those articles. For example, the article on going back to work after the birth of a baby? Self: you are permitted to skip it. It won't do anything except upset you, so you have a free ride to look right past it. Instead, go look at Cuteoverload. Stick your nose in the middle of a fragrant bloom and breathe deeply. Kiss a kitty. You'll find the urge to look at those articles is gone and you've gotten a wonderful respite.

In the world of infertility where control is so fleeting, giving myself permission to skip the things that I know will just upset me is one little way I can have some control.

Graduation Day

2008-03-28T08:27:00.000-07:00

I should mention that Dr. Uterus, while having a solo practice as a reproductive endocronologist, shares office space with a high risk OB. If he wasn't Dr. Uterus, I would have abandoned him long ago in favor of someone who didn't routinely have very pregnant ladies in his waiting area. But, he is Dr. Uterus and he is wonderful (and did I ever mention that he's easy on the eyes?), so I put up with the pregnant ladies (and the pregnancy magazines and the fliers about maternity tours at the nearby hospital).

Anyway, on the day when I had the unexpected visit to his office because my beta was rising rather than declining after he had predicted the miscarriage, I saw a heavily pregnant woman walking ahead of me to his office. I knew why she was there and I was so angry that I was in my place and she was in hers. She was happy and practically bursting and I was already annoyed at having to cancel my trip and go visit him to see if I was going to have more drama (the theory was a possible ectopic). This was just karmic icing on the cake.

As Dr. Uterus' nurse called for me, she turned the husband of the Bursting Pregnant Lady and said "hi". It was at that point that I realized, they were former patients and had graduated to the high risk OB. Rather than feel hope, my heart sank. I was a double failure. It wasn't like she had just gotten knocked up the normal way - she was a Dr. Uterus Success Story and here I was, the misfit with rising betas and what are probably delicately referred to as "issues". To be sure, I had no idea what this lady had been through. She could have had five previous miscarriages for all I knew. Frankly, at that moment I didn't care.
image: Amigurumi Kingdom
All I cared about what that she had graduated and I hadn't. I was being held back. Again. I had to repeat Remedial Infertility 101 and Early Pregnancy Loss 102. This is particularly difficult for me since I am a Type A, Class A, Grade A Overachiever with delusions of perfection and immodesty. I was salutatorian of my high school class, I graduated with honors from college and was near the top of my class in grad school. I don't do failure.

So, not ever being able to even graduate from Dr. Uterus' care is another blow to my self-esteem which is obviously heavily dependent upon my ability to succeed in conventional situations. Now, my rational mind knows that a) I have no blame for my first miscarriage and probably no blame for the second and b) my inability to get or stay pregnant is not a reflection on my worth as a person. But, my rational mind is being put in a half-nelson by my irrational, emotional, hormone-fueled, addled and grief stricken psyche and it is not going to let go. Bad crazed psyche!

The next step is to wrest my rational mind away from the crazed psyche. Maybe I should add that to the list? I suspect that all that will help is time and healing. I have a lot of the former and need a lot of the latter. Or maybe, I just need to grieve for the loss of yet another "normal" milestone.

The Deluge

2008-03-27T11:53:00.000-07:00

Of the numerous terrible things about having a miscarriage, one of the worst is that even though you no longer have a baby or pregnancy, but you still have the hormones. They don't leave the body particularly fast and depending upon how far along you were, it can take an agonizing amount of time for the HCG to leave your system. I seem to recall from last time that it leaves the body in halves - so if it was 10,000 one day, it should be 5,000 a few days later and so forth. While you are waiting for it to eek out of your bloodstream, though, you are left to its mercy (and that of the progesterone) so that all of the emotions that you are already feeling are that more heightened. Talk about being hit while you're already down.
image: Earthwatcher
So, today when I felt the sadness just overwhelming me, I knew that in some part it was the damn hormones just making a bad situation worse. But, still. I'm sad. I'm sad that once again I don't have a baby to look forward to. I'm sad that we're coming up on our 5th wedding anniversary and it's still just the two of us. I'm sad because I feel like I have failed again and that we are running out of "it's-a-random-occurrence" excuses. I'm worried that there might really be something wrong with me or with our embryos.

And, I'm angry. I'm angry because I feel cheated (again). I'm angry that we had this happen again. I'm angry that I couldn't just have a normal miscarriage like last time and instead had that two week blip of hope that still left us with nothing. I'm angry that once again we've landed in that 2-10% who hear the heartbeat and still end up miscarrying (which I find particularly cruel). I'm angry that we're infertile and can't seem to make much progress. I'm angry that Dr. Uterus has had so many successes and yet I can't seem to be in that win column yet despite our Herculean efforts. I want to add my picture to the books in his waiting area holding my baby with that grin of success and satisfaction. I'm angry that he is so confident that it is yet another random occurrence which makes the whole thing doubly worse.

And, I'm particularly angry that everyday irresponsible people who have no business reproducing have perfectly healthy children who they then abuse and kill. If I wasn't already an atheist, I think this would have sent me over the edge toward the religion-free lifestyle. It makes me want to bang my head against a wall.

But then I realize that these are all feelings that are part of the process. For as ugly as they are and as ugly as they make me feel, I know that they are natural and I probably would have real problems if I wasn't having them. We like to think that we are going to handle situations with grace and aplomb at all times, but frankly, that's impossible. The most we can strive for is to have enough introspection to recognize the feelings for what they are, have them and then move on.

It helps if you don't read the article in the New York Times about nesting during pregnancy, too. I will not bother linking to it here since it will probably just cause more misery for everyone else. I already made the mistake - no need to compound it for all you fine ladies.
___________________________________________________________________

In other news, we finally received the results of the chromosomal analysis that we had run on each of us. We are both chromosomally normal, although, as Sweetie sagely pointed out, we are in every other respect probably off-the-charts abnormal. This is encouraging news (yay! we have no translocations!) but it's also frustrating (boo! we still don't have that smoking gun!). Shinejil - please chime in at any time here to remind me to be grateful. I think it's my turn.

I'm also able to resume bathing - that is taking long, luxurious bubble baths lit by candlelight while Wine Boy plies me with alcohol and tries to molest me as I read Madame Bovary and other scintillating fiction. Unfortunately for Wine Boy, we are on "pelvic rest" (I just love that phrase. Who on earth thought of that to denote no sex?) for two weeks. Ouch. Well, more for him. My ovaries are screaming at the moment as they regroup back into their normal size and I have no doubt that they would be extremely disapproving if there were extracurricular activities going on in their general area.

Also, I'm slowly beginning the transition over to temporarily making my new blog my more regular blog. So, continue to check over at A Year of Inconceivable Living for new posts. It's been rather quiet because of the drama of the last few weeks, but I hope to get more prolific. I will continue to post here about infertility, post-miscarriage travails and other related topics, but I want to begin focusing on our break which I plan to do exclusively at this other blog.

And, to my dear friends in the computer who are pregnant, I must beg a favor - I'm having a hard time reading your blogs right now, so I wish you the absolute best but please forgive me for not stopping by for a while. Be well and I hope I will be able to give you the same wonderful encouragement down the line that you have given me.

bath image: amishah

Perfect Timing

2008-03-25T12:21:00.000-07:00

The New York Times today had a wonderful article on trying again after recurrent miscarriage.

In more sucky perfect timing, the woman sitting next to me at Subway today was a) very pregnant and b) reading What to Expect When You Are Expecting while sucking down Cheetos. Thanks for that. Knowing that I could drink caffeine and eat deli meats when she couldn't didn't make me feel one bit better about not being pregnant (again).

The Ride is Finally Over

2008-03-24T14:31:00.000-07:00

image: nic0
It is with great relief that I report that I have finally been allowed to get off the pregnancy rollercoaster.

Everything went fine this morning. I had my Sweetie, my family's love and all of your good thoughts with me as I went through the familiar routine of the D&C. I had the same anaesthesiologist who I saw not eight weeks ago for my egg retrieval, and I told him that I really did not want to run into him again - except at the mall or something. He wholeheartedly agreed.

The nursing staff were wonderful, as usual. This is the third time I've been to this center - not a statistic I enjoy to be sure - first for my lap in October 2006, then my D&C in April of last year and now this year's booby prize. The only mild annoyance was the intake nurse going over my medical history and saw my last D&C and very sympathetically called me a "poor thing" for having to do this twice. She was very nice, but I just wanted to be treated like anyone else there.

Now a little recap of the ride, shall we? It started out with an optimistic turn in the Positive and Doubling Beta Loop followed by some twists through Anxiety Canyon. Then there was the dive down Spotting and Cramping Hill bottoming out in No Baby Ravine. The slow climb up Imminent Miscarriage Mountain began, complete with the ominous clicking as the car slowly makes it way against gravity. Instead of being released into the torrent after reaching the top, we were sent into the Loop of Disbelief following by the ups and downs of Hope and Despair Canyon. Next, it was through the Loop of Guardedly Optimistic followed by the ups and down of Hope and Despair Canyon again. And then, we were unceremoniously plunged into Heartbreak Ridge, after which we were directed to D&C Station.

My ticket's been punched, I got my souvenirs and I never, ever want to go on that kind of ride again.

We are officially leaving the Amusement Park of Infertility for a while, taking a break to remember what we have, find what we have lost, discover new things, make new friends, reconnect with old ones, go to Paris, live decadently, and step away from tests, needles, Dr. Uterus, embryos, eggs, sperm, and everything else that has ruled for the past three years.

Ready, Set, Go...

2008-03-23T12:33:00.000-07:00

Before my last D&C, I was just lost. I learned on a Monday that our baby had died and had my D&C on a Thursday (of course, this time I learned on a Thursday and I'm having my D&C on a Monday - it's almost like the eerie conincidences between JFK and Lincoln).

I had three days (since I found out Monday morning) to get used to the idea that I was no longer pregnant and we weren't having a baby. During those intervening days, I was in a fog of grief, I was just overwhelmed.

After the procedure, I remember waking up from crying - literally crying - that I had lost my baby. I remember Dr. Uterus was there, but I don't remember what he said. I never told Sweetie because it would just upset him. The days and weeks afterwards were so hard. But, eventually, I got better.

This time around, I had a lot longer to get used to the idea of a miscarriage and I knew fully well that it could happen, regardless of how many times we heard the heartbeat. So, while there is still much grief, I haven't been lost these past few days.

I have a friend who lost his father a few years ago and it was terribly hard for him (as it would be for most of us). Several years after that, his youngest brother committed suicide. I asked him how he was doing and he said something that surprised me. He said he knew how to grieve this time, that it was easier because he knew how to do it and he knew what it entailed. I hoped that I wouldn't ever had to know this as well, but now I do.

I know how to grieve, I know how it works.

I also know what to expect tomorrow. In anticipation, I have done some preparation. I hate that I will have no control over my body and who looks at it, touches it, etc, so I have done my best to make it presentable . I shaved my legs and armpits as well as tidied up "down there". As India.Arie says, "depending upon how the wind blows/I might even paint my toes", while watching the next scintillating episode of John Adams on HBO with Sweetie.

[I should state that the people at the center we go to are absolutely wonderful and I've never had an issue - it's that I won't be in a position to know what's going on so this is my one real way of retaining some control of the situation. If I'm going to be naked in front a bunch of strangers, at least I'll look good.]

I'm also on Gremlins restrictions as of midnight. Sweetie and I will probably get up at the un-Godly hour of 5:30am to be at the center by 6. I should have my cocktail by 7 and the whole nasty thing should be over relatively quickly. The wounds, of course, will take much longer to heal.

designwallah

I'll Take a D&C for $2,000, Alex!

2008-03-21T10:54:00.000-07:00

Alex: You have chosen the category "D&C" for $2,000. Here's your clue: this is the procedure you will be having on Monday at 7am, but for which you must show up at 6am.

[brrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeepppp! Mrs. X rings in]

Alex: Mrs. X

Mrs. X: What is my D&C?

Alex [in best Canadian accent]: No. I'm so-rry. The question we were looking for is "What is my second D&C in a row that sucks beyond belief and imagination."

[brrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeppppp! Mrs. X rings in again]

Alex: Yes, Mrs. X?

Mrs. X: I think you looked much better with the mustache. And frankly, I find Will Ferrell's impression of you far more entertaining than you. So-rry.

Alex: That's ok. I liked you better when you hadn't become hardened and embittered by three years of infertility.

Mrs. X: So I guess we're even then?

Alex: Yep.
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Thanks to everyone for your beautiful comments. I'm actually doing pretty ok today. I'm sure the grief will come in fits and starts - little things that I have no idea are coming up will trigger it. I already had one such moment this morning when the hospital called to do the usual medical history workup prior to Monday. Once again, I was reminded of all that we have lost. She asked how many pregnancies, including this one, I had had and I answered "two". Any deliveries? No. Ugh, how is it that one question can make you feel so incredibly wretched?

I was really hoping that this would turn into the ultimate phoenix situation, but it wasn't meant to be. Like last time, we are having a karyotype done on the fetus to see what may have gone wrong. Last time, we learned that it was a monosomy - or Turner's syndrome - a 94% fatal chromosomal anomoly. This time, who knows. It may come out completely normal.

There is some good in my world, though. It is a beautiful spring day, my Sweetie and I have the day off, the house is clean since the maid came this morning, I have lots of wonderful friends and family who care enough about me to check up on me and make sure I'm doing ok, I have wonderful friends inside the computer who without even knowing me send their most heartfelt condolences, and I no longer have to worry about when the shoe is going to drop. I'll take what I can get right now.

And, as always, I have Cuteoverload.com:

Now Entering Town of Heartache, Population: 2

2008-03-20T08:44:00.000-07:00

For the second year in a row, Easter, that Judeo-Christian celebration of Christ's resurrection will be the season of miscarriage and D&C for me.

Our little phoenix is gone. There was lots of growth, but Dr. Uterus could find no heartbeat. We knew that this was a distinct possibility, but it is still so hard.

There's not much else to say.

image: Hanadi Traifeh

Raising the Stakes

2008-03-18T19:30:00.000-07:00

Oh, my friends, thanks for continuing to follow the week-by-week saga that is my life. Thank you for all of your good thoughts, encouragement and general love. And, thanks for indulging me in the wild mood swings that accompany this particular rollercoaster. As you can tell, I'm pretty focused on one topic so I apologize in advance for the monotony that has become this blog. But, then again, like many of you, I started this blog to have an outlet for my feelings about one subject, so I guess this is completely in keeping with the MO of this blog. And, the rest of my life is extremely boring compared to this, so you probably wouldn't really want to hear about it anyway.

We go back on Thursday to get the latest look at how this pregnancy is progressing. It's been much harder this week to expect the worst given that last week had relatively encouraging news. I wasn't even expecting there to be a heart beat and we got that and a week's worth of growth.

An unintended consequence of this has been that now the stakes have been raised. Not only did we get another week, but hearing the heartbeat again gives (possibly false) hope that we might make it further. And what if there still is a heartbeat, but the growth has slowed this week? For as agonizing as last week was, I had the luxury of assuming that there were only two paths forward. It has now become more complex.

It's also hard not to begin to stop thinking of it as a pregnancy and start thinking of a little being. I had such a hard time when I learned that I was having a miscarriage last year in part because we had thought of the pregnancy as a baby. We had our special name for it and I indulged in reading the week-by-week updates from various pregnancy sites about its development. I've avoided this - I think that by thinking about it as a pregnancy, not as a baby, it may be easier if things go south (as we are still anticipating). Whether this will work is a totally different story.

Each week that we get development and relatively encouraging news, it gets harder and harder to make our negative assumptions about the outcome. In the end, I just try not to think about it, but inevitably, it sneaks and creeps in.
image: tadekk

Listeria Hysteria

2008-03-17T15:45:00.000-07:00

image: Sakurako Kitsa
During the Week When I Thought I Wasn't Pregnant But I Really Was (WWITIWPBIRW), I committed multiple no-no's:

I ate feta cheese and deli meats.
I drank Diet Coke.
I took hot baths (two!)
I drank booze (beer and wine, oh my!)
I lifted heavy things.
I petted neighborhood cats.

I was just an all around bad girl.

So, when I found out that I still was pregnant, some of my first thoughts ran to all of the no-no's that I had committed thinking I was in the clear. I even started listing them to Dr. Utuerus, who was still shaking his head at the screen, as I was still on the exam table. I quickly forgave myself since I legitimately thought that it was over. And oh, how I enjoyed that Diet Coke.

Now I have settled into the restriction routine again and have not had any problems or temptations. Of course, this also limits my lunching-out options. See, I work from home, so going out for lunch is my time to literally get away, otherwise I'm in the house all day. With the places I can go limited, I feel more isolated.

I'm normally a pretty frequent Subway go-er. I get my Weight Watchers special with lots of spinach, tomato, cucumber, green pepper and onion and either turkey or roast beef on wheat with mustard. I sit and enjoy my lunch, unmolested and bothered, while reading. With deli meats securely off the table, though, my options for a healthy, nutritious yet inexpensive lunch out where I can sit and eat in peace are limited.

There are still a few places, though, including one that I went to today. It's an Italian buffet-style place with really, really good food. And they had the most delicious looking spinach salad with walnuts ... and feta. I knew I couldn't eat the feta, but surely, I could pick it out and eat the rest, right? What I didn't count on was when he added the dressing and my feta crumbles crumbled into specks. I had alraedy committed to the salad, so I accepted the plate and began to strategize how I was going to have my salad and eat it too. Quickly, I realized it was a losing battle. The crumbled feta turned into specks of feta that were everywhere and I kept having to remove feta from the spinach and my utensils.

In the end, I ate like five pieces of spinach and boxed up the rest of the salad for Sweetie. When I got home, I quickly googled everything I could about listeria. I've decided not to worry about the feta I may have ingested, just like I'm not worrying about everything else I did during WWITIWPBIRW.

Just to be sure, next time, I will get the non-feta salad.

You've Come A Long Way, Baby

2008-03-14T08:44:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning as I do every morning to the classical music station here in town. This morning's selection with which I was destined to wake up was rather inauspicious - a variation on Taps.

I headed to the shower, half-listening to the news on NPR, trying to prepare myself for what was to come. I shaved my legs and didn't give much thought to the loofah swipes over my stomach. I put on a favorite skirt, heels and a pretty green top. I always feel better when I look good, no matter what happens, and I was determined to do it right today.

Sweetie arrived around 8:45am to squire me to the appointment and we were kept waiting about 30 minutes after our appointed time to see Dr. Uterus. I skimmed through the new O magazine and could barely focus.

Finally, we got back to the room - the same room where almost a year ago he told me the terrible news of our first pregnancy - and in came Dr. Uterus. We dispensed with the pleasantries and (literally) got down to business.

The magical dildocam did its thing and there, right where we had left it, was our little phoenix.

Bigger. Growing. Little heart still beating away.

It is still measuring small for the time of the transfer. But, it has grown the appropriate amount since the last scan. It is now measuring 7w5d and I'm supposed to be around 8w1d. Phrases like "late implantation" were bandied about, but we still don't have a clue. It could also still be an abnormal pregnancy, which we are still accutely aware.

No celebrations yet, no partying in the streets. For now, we are looking at it this way: we've bought another week. I go back on Thursday, March 20.

Thanks to everyone for their wonderful thoughts - each one has touched me and brought me great comfort. No matter what happens in the end, I have been very much buoyed by all of you.

And, my, what an incredible story.

Tiptoeing Through Dangerous Territory

2008-03-13T13:06:00.000-07:00

image: ®oberto
Gentle Reader, I have a confession to make.

I am guilty of allowing hope to creep into my heart. I'm afraid that I have managed to subconscioulsy convince myself that we are going to still see a heartbeat tomorrow. Sure, I'm toeing the line of saying, "expecting the worst, the other shoe to drop, etc" but I find that I lack that conviction. Maybe it's because I haven't had any bright red spotting, maybe it's because the nausea and sore boobs continue. Maybe it's because I still feel pregnant (and bloated).

I haven't told Sweetie (who gives our chances at about 15% that things will work out) because I know what he will say (which is what I say to myself already): you are setting yourself up for disappointment.

I try to visualize the appointment I had with Dr. Uterus when he found that I was going to miscarry the first time. I try to remind myself of the utter shock and pain that I felt at the suckerpunch I had received after the weeks of blissful innocence and lack of drama.

Or maybe, I'm just giddy at knowing that by this time tomorrow we will have an answer and mistaking it for hope. Maybe I'm so exhausted of the back and forth that I'm drunk on not worrying about it. Whatever it is, I'm surprisingly calm and collected. Peaceful, in fact. These are not the emotions of a girl who is supposedly expecting for the other shoe to drop.

You may ask what is wrong with a little hope? Absolutely nothing. What is wrong is what I do with hope - I magnify it, extrapolate it and turn it into all kinds of balloon animals. In other words, I just take and take and take like a freshman at their first keg stand. I can't have some hope. It's either hope or no hope. Just the way I'm made.

But, still, I prefer just not to think about tomorrow, not think about the big P, not think about anything.

Would You Like to Talk to My Uterus?

2008-03-12T08:55:00.000-07:00

This is the conversation I had with Sweetie this morning:

Mrs. X: I had more of that brownish-red spotting again this morning. I was expecting it, though, because I had those cramps again last night.

Sweetie: I wish I knew what was going on.

Mrs. X: Do you want to talk to my uterus when you get home?

Sweetie: Yea. I'd like that.

He's going to have to do it through my stomach since the other entrance is strictly off-limits (per Dr. Uterus' orders). I hope this "talk" gives us some answers, although, so far my uterus has been awfully deceptive. Bad uterus!

All or Nothing

2008-03-11T09:23:00.000-07:00

I've always been an all or nothing kind of gal. Either I get all of it, or I don't want any of it. For the boyfriends I didn't marry (which would be all but one), I wanted nothing more to do with them. Either I'm working or I'm not, I'm doing infertility treatment or I'm not,

Either I'm pregnant or I'm not.

Spare me this in-between bull. It offends my sense of order, and more importantly, it is seriously cramping my ability to make plans in the future or to even think of the future in anyway other than with anxiety and fear.

I either want to be on the train with a first class ticket or get off of it entirely. I don't want to be a passenger just sitting there watching other people get on and off. I want to go on my own adventure, far away from the train if need be.

And then, when I'm ready to get back on the train, I will have amassed a wealth of courage, patience, and everything else required to make the journey a truly meaningful one.

Right now, I'm in the baggage car and they can't decide whether to let me forward or kick me off.
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These past few weeks have certainly been an exercise in learning that finality is a fleeting concept. I thought it was pretty open and closed, but as Dr. Uterus kept muttering at my last appointment, "I'm reminded that I don't know everything." He really did look annoyed by that.
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I also won't know my latest status until Friday now. Dr. Uterus is a busy surgeon on Thursday and definitely would not be able to do the morning appointment we had scheduled. I had the option of going in tomorrow, but I'm much rather receive bad news on a Friday and have the weekend to really get over it than deal with it on a Wednesday and still be expected to function.
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As far as the symptom watch goes, still nauseous (although it's better if I eat regularly), boobs are still sore and inflated, still having mild cramping, and since Sunday, I've just had some brown spotting.

If there was ever a time for distraction, this would be it. Any suggestions since all alcohol and baths are completely snatched out of my grasp (again)? Short of hibernation, I think I'm just going to have to get through it.

Which End is Up?

2008-03-09T17:05:00.000-07:00

image: dominocat
I seriously still don't know if I'm coming or going. All of this, "you're pregnant, you're not pregnant, you're pregnant" business is just so confusing at a very basic level. What was good last week - booze, baths and brie - has once again become verboten this week. What was a sign of progress - spotting and cramping - has once again become a sign of terror (today's thrill was dark reddish brown. Whee!)

I also have to keep track of who knows of the latest development - and who still thinks that we miscarried. My parents - yes. His parents - no. My boss and most co-workers - yes. Semi-new employee - no. Friends - yes. Aunt and uncle - no. I almost have to start a list. We are waiting to tell some of these outlying people until next week's scan. No reason to get everyone worked up in a tizzy. Although, it certainly would be par for the course these days if I'm lying to at least one person about the state of my uterus.

There has been some good news, if you can call it that. The nausea that last week felt like just really bad indigestion has come roaring on like gangbusters. Although, I'm not treating this as the Sign of Signs since I had nasty nausea right up until Dr. Utuerus pronounced that the pregnancy had ended about 10 days earlier during our first miscarriage.

I feel like I've been spun around a few hundred times and I don't know where the sky ends and land begins.

I May Just Surprise You

2008-03-07T19:44:00.000-08:00

First, a very heartfelt thanks to everyone who commented on our amazing news yesterday. All of you have been on the rollercoaster with me (anyone puked yet?) and you have experienced the wild ride. If anyone would like to get off, please feel free at any time. As the conductor, I don't have that luxury.
image: Thomas Milne
During my appointment with Dr. Uterus yesterday, he kept apologizing for the rollercoaster that I was on. At the time, I really didn't see the need for him to apologize - after all, I had just been told that the pregnancy that I thought was over actually wasn't.

After the shock and awe settled, though, I saw his point. This is either a new beginning or just another chapter in the longest drawn out nightmare of my life. For purposes of self-preservation, I am choosing to think about it this way:

I am still expecting to miscarry. I have to, otherwise, I will be knocked around harder than a ball in a pinball machine. I don't want to give anyone the impression that I am hoping to miscarry - I'm absolutely not. I'm just not expecting that this will have a happy ending. Dr. Uterus said that he has only seen this twice (me being the second) and the first time the fetus developed for about a week before the pregnancy ended.

I know that I am not her and she is not me. But, nothing in pregnancy is certain - not until you have that infant in your arms and he or she is declared to be perfect with ten fingers and ten toes.

You may be surprised that I am not more excited. I simply can't afford to be. I've done the excitement thing and I got bitch-slapped for my trouble. And, it is the only way I can manage to function day-to-day.

image: cobalt123

What. The. F*ck.

2008-03-06T14:37:00.001-08:00

image: JPhilipson
The parable of the phoenix is pretty straightforward. The phoenix dies in flames and is reborn out of the ashes. What does this have to do with me? Well, it would seem we have a little phoenix.

Where to start. I was just about to head out the door to catch my flight when the phone rang. I had blood drawn this morning to see how much my HCG had gone down since last Thursday (which was 10480). Rather than going down, the nurse told me it had actually gone up to about 28,000. That was the first WTF moment. She said that Dr. Uterus wanted to see me for an ultrasound as that was the protocol when the HCG goes up rather than down. I explained that I was just about to head out of town until the middle of next week. She put me on the line with Dr. Uterus and he started talking "ectopic." Well, he had me at ectopic. I so did not want to have some ectopic rupture away from home.

So, I called the boss, mentioned the word "ectopic", cancelled the first leg of the trip and headed in to Dr. Uterus' office fully desiring some type of answer to this very strange question. But, it just got weirder.

He starts wielding the dildocam and makes confused noises. I can't see anything since the monitor was turned away (and hey, I wasn't that eager to see). I asked him what was going on and he said:

"You're sac has gotten bigger, and you have a fetal pole and a heartbeat." WTF Moment #2.

I asked him if was kidding. And then he showed me. Sure as shit, there it was. He turned on the sound thing-y and there was a heartbeat, at about 124bpm. The fetus is measuring small for this time frame - 6w5d rather than 7w1d, but it was there and beating away.

I go back for another scan on Thursday, March 13. I'm also once again off booze, caffeine, etc. One small blessing is that I do not have to re-start the progesterone shots since my ovaries are apparently progesterone machines (the lab was still diluting the sample as of the call, so it was above 80 at least).

My main emotion is disbelief, followed by a close second of confusion and bewilderment. I'm also not getting excited either since we heard a heartbeat last time and it didn't work out.

Needless to say, given my history of travel and pregnancy, I cancelled the rest of my trip.

Hiatus

2008-03-06T07:51:00.000-08:00

********Update************

My trip has been cancelled. I'll explain above.

Gentle Reader, the Powers that Be have decided that Mrs. X needs to actually go out and earn her living, so she is being sent on the dreaded business travel for seven days, six nights and in two different cities. To be sure, I will be treated to dinners at fancy restaurants and scintillating conversation, but I will be away from those I love most, Sweetie and my furry beasties.

I leave this afternoon and won't be back until the middle of next week. In the mean time, I will be on hiatus from my blogs and from reading other people's blogs. I don't know how the world will move on without me, but I suppose that it must.

As my main man Jerry says, "Be good to yourself and to each other."
image: Bob Milsom

Surprise, Surprise

2008-03-05T11:45:00.000-08:00

I think this is most fitting for my 100th post.

The UPS man is a fairly frequent visitor to our house since Sweetie has been working on a project that involves lots of stuff from other places. So, when I got home from lunch and saw a box on the front porch, I was expecting that it was one of the numerous items that he is waiting for.

But, the box wasn't for him. It was for me. I still wasn't that surprised because sometimes he buys stuff in my name. And then I saw it was from 1-800 Flowers. He didn't order anything from there.

No, my best friend (the pregnant one) sent me a beautiful flowering plant (I still haven't figured out what kind of plant, but I am no horticulturist). It's green and lovely (which is really all I need). Her timing was impeccable, too. I'm having a down day (it was a real effort to drag myself to lunch) and this was just such a sweet thing. So unexpected.

Apparently, there are still good things in life and I am still allowed to have them. That's nice to know.

Gratitude

2008-03-04T10:29:00.000-08:00

I have been rather remiss in recognizing and thanking everyone for their wonderful support and comments while I wallow in the mire of self-pity and despair over What Happened Last Week. Well, maybe it's not full-blown wallowing, but I am also not my usual snarky self. I certainly feel sad (and sometimes outright depressed) but each day, there are tiny moments of sun.

One such moment was when I learned that Farm Wife nominated me for a "You Make My Day" award. Frankly, I should be giving it to her, not the other way around. But, she's already (deservedly) received one. So I will humbly accept my award, clutching it to my still inflated bosom, and get out of dodge.

As with most of these things, there are rules. You must re-gift it to 10 people whose blogs bring you happiness and inspiration and make you feel happy about blog land. Let them know through email or by posting a comment on their blog so they can pass it on. With all due respect to the rules, I can barely get through the day without staring into space for large swaths, so the higher math of picking and notifying is pretty much beyond me.

I will do a modified version, though. I would like to present this award goes to each and everyone of you - commenters and lurkers - who has sent me a kind thought, posted a kind word or sent me a virtual bottle of wine during these past few weeks. This one's for you:

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In other news, today's theme, boys and girls, is "what can brown do for you?" Well, for me, it can drive me crazy and make me think that things just might be starting. Or not, since it's been going on for two days now. Oh, joy.

Now Is The Spring of My Discontent

2008-03-02T18:33:00.000-08:00

I feel as though I have been channeling Greta Garbo today: I vant to be alone. All by myself. Left to my own devices. Footloose and fancy free.

I can feel myself going through the first of many waves of discontent over our remarkably and especially bad luck (on a good day) or just plain cruelty in the world (on a bad day) that has left us with the Second Strike, Scarlet Letter B, second run around the miscarriage loop. Small things usually set it off - seeing someone who is pregnant, etc. But once it gets going, I consistently and faithfully go back to the same questions: "why did it have to be us? Why can't it work just once? Why have been at this almost three years and have no baby to show for it?"

To be sure, it's an exhausting set of questions that often leaves me doubting my goodness, worth and whether I deserve to have a child. After all, without some other explanation, the inclination is to turn the analysis inward and introspect as to what flaw, what deficiency of mine could possibly explain all of the unbelievable crap that we have been through. Because, as I have hashed about so many times before, it is not satisfying to say that there is no reason (although that is likely the truth). It's the eternal question of why bad things happen to good people (don't get me started on this one) or why good things happen to bad people.

Rationally and dispassionately, I know that it is not this simple. Good things happen to good people and bad things happen to bad people. Life is the good and bad. Wouldn't it be awfully boring if nothing bad happened? Wouldn't we be unable to really appreciate what we have in life if we never were faced with not having them? I understand and accept that bad things have to happen to you in life for you to be a well-rounded, grounded and otherwise well-functioning person. I just wish those bad things weren't this bad.

Being an atheist also means that I am without a very significant source to turn to for help and guidance, namely god and religion. This doesn't bother me, because I'm an atheist for a reason and I ground myself in secular thought. This also requires me, though, to accept that there is no defined path, no preordained way in which this is supposed to work, no plan. It also requires me to accept that one precept that I just have such a hard time with: there is no rhyme or reason to what happens to us. I just happened to get the short end of the stick (again). I liken this to eating rice cakes - you know it's good for you but it is just so damn unsatisfying.

I will be continue to be angry and discontented and sad and all of it about this and probably will be for a while. And, like last time, I will just have to taste each one and pay it its due before I'm allowed to move on.

I just didn't want to be in this place again ever. Or at least not this soon.

A Letter to My Lady Parts

2008-03-01T15:48:00.000-08:00

Dear Lady Parts:

I know all of you are sad and disappointed at what happened. I am too. We just need to be strong and try to move on. A few of you, though, seem to be having some difficulty with that and so I wanted to talk with each of you about my expectations.

To my boobs: I know you are kind of the new kids on the block here since you didn't come onto the scene until I was about 13 (and no, there is no reason for you two to tell the story about how I wanted a training bra when I was still flat as a pancake), but can you please start deflating now? Sweetie gets very amourous whenever he sees you and I have to beat him away because I am so not in the mood for that right now. Also, you can stop being sore. Seriously.

To my ovaries: I know you are unhappy and bloated. Dr. Uterus said you were probably the size of golfballs but I swear you looked ginormous on the scan (maybe it was the magnification). Please quiet down, though. I don't need sharp pains all of the time and I certainly don't need you to protest everytime I get up.

To my uterus: we've been through so much together and I know that you are very good at your job of keeping whatever needs to be in there in its place. But, I guess you weren't paying attention on Thursday when Dr. Uterus said that things aren't going to work out because you still haven't let go. It's time. Please just let it go. It's the only way to start the healing process and frankly, your delay is really making it difficult for me to move on. You can cramp up as much as you want (yes, free pass) just please get started.

To my naughty cervix: see the above direction to the uterus. I expect you two to work together and get this show on the road. Anytime now.

Thanks everyone for reading this. Please get started as quickly as possible on your tasks and we will all be happier.

Sincerely,
Mrs. X

image: Laineys Repertoire

Remembrance

2008-02-29T14:18:00.000-08:00

image: mamabrarian
Calliope over at Creating Motherhood has a beautiful post today making today a day of remembrance for all of us who have lost in life. Her timing is unfortunately perfect as I wait for what would have been our baby to leave the inner sanctum.

Here is my remembrance.

I should have a beautiful four month-old baby right now. It would probably have been a boy if there had been no Turner's. Maybe I would have gotten the hang of breast-feeding by now and we would be settling into a nice routine. Maybe I would have started back at work, if only part-time. Instead, the room where the nursery should be is still filled with boxes that have no where else to go and the guest bed. The room is dark, unused and neglected.

I should be celebrating a second pregnancy right now, too. Instead, I'm waiting for a natural miscarriage and feeling particularly crampy and cranky.

I cannot verbalize my thoughts to the babies that we have lost here. They are kept locked away, deep inside where they are safe and looked after. But, I do remember them in a tangible way.

Shortly after my first miscarriage, I looked for a piece of jewlery that I could wear that would remind me of our little one. At La Belle Dame, I found the perfect necklace. It brought me a great deal of comfort as I knew that whenever I wore it, our little one would be close to my heart. I wore it a lot after my first miscarriage, but gradually the need to wear it lessened as my heart healed. I brought it out again yesterday because I wanted our first little one close to me as I confirmed that we were losing our second. Unfortunately, my necklace is now for two babies, not one.

I try not to think about the life that could have been. I try not to guess how old babies I see are and calculate how old our little one would have been now. I try to move on.

Gone, Gone, Gone.

2008-02-28T11:47:00.000-08:00

It was as we suspected. The gestational sac hadn't grown and the yolk sac had actually disappeared. A miscarriage is imminent. No D&C this time, though, as it was so early on - this also means no karyotype. I did talk with Dr. Uterus about why this keeps happening and as I suspected, we just keep getting the bad draw as my first miscarriage was most certainly a random chromosomal event and this was one was likely the same. I told him if he used the "bad draw of the hand" analogy again I would hit him.

Sweetie and I will probably have chromosomal analyses run on our selves just to rule out some weird problems. We don't anticipate that they will find anything, but it will be worth it to know anyway since that is likely the only testing we can do. I am very lucky that I don't have uterine abnormalities, luteal phase issues or other problems that are usual causes of miscarriage. I just keep getting smacked upside the head by the roll of the dice.

We will definitely take a minimum three month break. Part of me is sad as it seems like we are giving up, but I know that it is the right thing to do. I actually feel incredibly relieved at the idea of just living for a while. Unfortunately, I haven't managed to completely extricate myself from Dr. Uterus' grasp since I have to go back for the repeated bloodwork to make sure the HCG quant goes down. Hopefully it won't take the six weeks it took like time since this pregnancy wasn't that far along. And, I hope I don't have a period for 45 freakin' days straight.

I cried some at his office and I will probably cry some more, but I also was able to have a nice lunch with my friend who came with me. I had prepared for this (although it still hurts).

I am now a member of the even more unenviable club for women with two miscarriages in a row. And still, no baby. It's unfair and sucky, but I have led an otherwise charmed life. I'm married to a wonderful man, have wonderful friends, wonderful parents, the fluffiest and sweetest animals, a good job, a beautiful home and unlimited access to a pied-a-terre in Paris.

I just also happen to have sucky luck when it comes to reproducing. Just once, I would like to work. Is that too much to ask?

Maybe I should just ask for someone to pass the vino.

Packing It In

2008-02-27T18:43:00.000-08:00

In anticipation of tomorrow's likely bad news, I've begun the process of packing things away. The progesterone and accoutrements have been packed into a box and safely ensconsed on a shelf in the corner of the closet. I shut off the daily alarm on my phone for my PIO shot. I'll take back my (very full) sharps container to Dr. Uterus' office for disposal tomorrow.

This time, though, there will be no pictures to deal with, no scans, no notes on heartbeats or calculations of due dates. All of that makes this easier. There will be only small notations in the calendar of dates for tests and procedures. It won't be like last time.

Last time, I made Sweetie immediately remove the baby name book that we had borrowed from his co-worker. I hid the scan pictures and whited out the weekly notations on how far along I would be for the next month. I wanted no reminder of the bitch slap that I had gotten.

Through these past few days, I've been reminded of the poem by W.H. Auden that I am embarrassed to admit I didn't actually ever read until Four Weddings and a Funeral:

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

I feel a certain peace now. As far as I'm concerned, tomorrow is just confirmation of the bad news and the time for starting to move on. I've already been through the initial freak out (which always sucks) and am now moving on to the deeper process of grieving another failed pregnancy.

I emailed my dad today to ask him how we move forward. His advice? Take a full year off from trying to conceive, infertility treatments, the works and focus on us, our life outside of infertility (there is such a thing?) and basically recuperating. Initially, a year seemed rather draconian to me, but the idea of time away from Dr. Uterus and the shots, the expense, the inconvenience, the heartache, the waiting, everything IF-related is so tempting and ... liberating.

I mentioned it to Sweetie during his daily call and he said that ultimately, it was my call. I don't think I can wait a whole year. I thought about six months and then three months. I decided that I could do three months and Sweetie was cool with it. So, we decided that if things are as we expect them to be tomorrow, we will take three months off and then re-evaluate. Our little totscicles will wait for us.

In the mean time, we plan to go to Paris in the spring and just enjoy each other. I will continue making the baby quilt for my friend (and learn to quilt at the same time). I will also try to finish a certification process for my job that I have been putting off.

And, we will grieve our second baby. That is all we can do right now.
image: R.I.Pienaar

Hopes vs. Expectations

2008-02-27T07:28:00.001-08:00

image: herby_fr
I've been trotting out the line, "I'm hoping for the best, but expecting the worst" since yesterday, but I have to admit that I'm a bit of a poser on this issue. For me, hoping for the best and expecting the worst is like trying to pat my head and rub my tummy at the same time. It's impossible. I feel the pull of one of the tasks to the detriment of the other. I either hope or I expect. I can't do both.

What's worse is that I have these bipolar vacillations between hope and despair. It's the worst possible roller coaster. I have already consulted Dr. Google and doped up on stories of women who had small gestational sacs and went on to have normal pregnancies.

But, when I start hoping I swing back to expecting the worst.

A River Runs Through, who took this picture above, had a wonderful comment in her notes to the picture: "I knew what to expect, but sometimes expecting the worst, doesn't prepare one to accept the worst." Truer words were never spoken.

I am working today (well, trying to) in an attempt at maximum distraction. I also had a lovely dinner last night with my neighbor who went with me yesterday and her husband. I got to snorgle multiple poochies which definitely helped. Sweetie has been calling regularly and will be home tomorrow night. My therapist is on call and my parents are wishing themselves to be magically transported here. I also turned to my best friend who is pregnant (which amazingly so doesn't bother me right now) and she has been a wonderful source of encouragement and love. My other best friend has been equally supportive. And of course, all of you have provided such wonderful support.

And yet. I still have to get through this on my own because otherwise, I will never be myself again. I know that peace will come because it finally came after my last miscarriage (although the pain will always be there). Grieving, though, is hard work and not particularly fun. To their credit, my beasties have been very loving and have snuggled up with me in bed for purr support.

I'm also looking at adoption ... of a furry animal, that is. There is a huge adoption fair this weekend not far from our house. I feel the need for more fur in the house to make up for the lack of the at least one baby we would have had.

I will also fight the urge to once again shake my fist at the sky and scream "why me?". I know there is no answer. I will also go through all of the reminders of this IVF cycle, like the insurance bills and other documents that will strike me as particularly cruel. I will hear dates in the future and automatically calculate how far along I would have been. I will have to go through the hell all over again.

Not Looking Good.

2008-02-26T09:01:00.000-08:00

I had my appointment with Dr. Uterus and there's not much good news to report. There is a gestational sac, but it measuring small based upon the date of the embryo transfer. There is also a yolk sac which is measuring on target. And, he couldn't find the fetal pole. Unfortunately, this isn't the end of the nightmare. I have to go back on Thursday to confirm things because it was such an early scan, but it's not looking good.

I don't know how many more times I can have my heart stomped on.

Analogies

2008-02-26T06:37:00.000-08:00

I haven't been to the appointment yet. No new news. I just need to blow off some of these thoughts.

** Spotting Watch - nothing really overnight, dark brown this morning. **

image: dieselbug2007I totally rocked the verbal portion of the SATs when I was in high school (math, not so much). I was particularly good at the analogies. I had a particular gift for the subtleties that are involved in these. With this scare and the memories of my last miscarriage resurfacing, I was struck by my own SAT-esque analogy about trying to get pregnant:

Trying to have a baby is like dating.

Here's the thing. You meet someone for the first time, you're interested and you think, this is going to be pretty easy. You begin to reveal yourself and slowly open your heart to the person. Sometimes, this happens with little drama and the person accepts your heart as it is with all of its flaws and quirks. Other times, you aren't so lucky. The person stomps on your heart, and makes you generally wish you hadn't even started the whole process.

If you are one of the legions to suffer infertility, it would certainly seem like you are already destined to start heading down the second road. That road is cemented when subsequent pregnancies have complications, or worse, ends in miscarriage or still birth (with or without infertility preceeding it). As much as infertility, experiencing a pregnancy that does not end happily is, as far as I'm concerned, the equivalent of getting your heart stomped on.

But, as humans have realized and written about for millenia, you have to put it out there, you have to try, otherwise, you will never even have a chance at the happiness that could result.

There is the inclination, however, to retain some of your heart the next time around to try to prevent the full effect of a subsequent stomping. I have definitely tried to do that here, but I can't help but miss the full effect of letting go with the innocent assumption that you will be caught while you are falling.

image: Vicki's Pics

Very Scared.

2008-02-25T06:49:00.000-08:00

Vacations are supposed to be relaxing, but this one has not turned out that way. I started spotting yesterday (very light brown) which stopped and then started again (this time pink) then stopped and started again (this time darker brownish red) and then it stopped again and the last wipe revealed light brown. To say that I am freaking out would be an understatement. I never had spotting of any kind with my last pregnancy (which was why the Ultrasound of Doom was such a shock). So, even though it is very common, it's not common for me. I now dread going to the bathroom.

To make matters worse, I won't be able to see Dr. Uterus until tomorrow morning. I was able to talk to him this morning and he was quite reassuring, but nothing short of an ultrasound showing everything as fine and the spotting as just some random event that will I finally be able to take a breath.

(He also knows me very well which was illustrated by his comment, "Don't jump to conclusions." This is like telling me not to think, but I will do my best.)

Please, please, please send me good thoughts and help me get through the wait until I can get some answers. I am terrified.

Wherefore Art Thou, Mrs. X?

2008-02-22T17:57:00.000-08:00

image: notanartist
I have felt very much out to lunch these past few days. Between distractions and complete exhaustion, the best I could muster the other day was a paraphrasing of Sweetie. His man-musings are good filler, but let's face it, he's not the one writing this blog. I am. So, I'll see if I can step up to the plate.

I think I have turned the corner on my anxiety, no doubt in part to just being plain tired of being anxious. It takes so much out of you that unless you are prepared to really expend a lot of energy, it's not sustainable. Since I can't abuse alcohol, drugs or caffeine (yes, I include chocolate in this category), I had to address my anxiety head-on or continue to suffer anxiety and the utter exhaustion that it brings. Sweetie, and one of his man-musings actually got me over the hump. I asked him if he was worried about the scan next week and he very quickly and decisively said, "no." His theory: there's not much we can do about it and so worrying isn't very productive. This is the lesson that I have spent the last 32 years trying to learn (and obviously, still haven't completely internalized).

I realized that a lot of my anxiety is trying to avoid another suckerpunch like the one I got last time. I figured if I prepared myself that it wouldn't hurt as much. I've tried this in the work context and it doesn't work, so I don't know why I suddenly had delusions that it would work in this situation (actually it is yet another manifestation of my need to control EVERYTHING that happens to me). I've prepared the best way I know how and now I will just sit back and enjoy the weekend.

Speaking of the weekend, the man and I are hitting the road, taking a jetliner, getting out of dodge, etc for the weekend. We had this trip planned for about a month now and it turns out to be spectactularly timed for purposes of maximum distraction. We will be seeing his family (who I lurve) and enjoying that mellow feeling you get when you are at someone else's house and they don't expect you to do a damn thing other than sit with them and talk. I plan to catch up on my magazine reading (back issues of numerous magazines are strewn about my office and staring accusingly at me that I haven't molested their pages at least once since they arrived), work on my cross-stitch (the project I was going to finish in November), and avoid thinking the big P word at all. It helps that the rels don't know and we won't be telling them. image: rah77az

I'm also going to use this weekend as the opportunity to take a minor and short hiatus from the blogosphere. I will return when I have news. In the mean time, remember to play nicely with everyone, don't run with scissors and whatever you do, make sure you do something I wouldn't do.

Kisses, Mrs.X

The Silly Boy Award

2008-02-20T11:38:00.000-08:00

Sweetie earned the title of Silly Boy today in a phone conversation we had about my PIO injections. Ever since I have been doing them, he keeps me company in the bedroom. Originally, he was there in case of some dire emergency where I was unable or unwilling to go through with the final poke. Now he's just there because it's nice to have him with me and we get to catch up on things while I poke myself. He also helps me keep track of which side's night it is - left or right?

Here's how the conversation went:

Me: I can't remember if it's a left night or a right night.

Sweetie: Well, obviously neither side can be hurting that much anymore if you can't remember which side it is.

Me: They both hurt! That's why I can't remember!

Sweetie: Oh.

Oh, indeed.

"You Made My Mascara Run!"

2008-02-18T18:40:00.000-08:00

image: tanakawho
Thanks to everyone for their lovely comments to my last post. (PJ - I inadvertently rejected your comment when I meant to accept it. Sorry!) You are all correct that I need to just focus on the present and practice some mammoth distraction techniques. It's a shame, really, though, that I need to use mammoth distraction techniques rather than allowing myself to be joyful. I just don't think I have reached that point yet. Frankly, I don't know if I will ever reach it. I do know that I miss the innocence that I had last time. I knew the statistics, but I was fairly confident that we would be in the 90% who go on to a successful delivery after hearing the heartbeat. We heard it twice and still lost our baby. That experience taught me a very important lesson about odds: they don't mean shit. Statistics are a crude way of giving clinical meaning to important events. The insurance industry is built upon statistical chances, but it's no way to live in real life. If I only looked at the statistics, would I have still done IVF? Would I have tried to get pregnant again? I don't know. I made both of those decisions based upon how I felt, not what numbers told me.

So now, the odds that a woman who miscarries once will go on to have a successful pregnancy 85% of the time doesn't really mean much to me because I have been on the winning and losing end of the stats. I know in my heart of hearts that what will be will be and the control freak in me can't do anything to change it at this point, so there is no purpose in worrying about the heartache that might come. Worrying about it doesn't make it any easier than if you are completely taken by surprise with bad news.

While I don't think I can be joyful yet (or as my friend put it, we haven't reached "woo!"), I can actively not worry either. I can just exist. And visit Cuteoverload.com to see adorable pictures like this:

If this can't make things all right, nothing can.
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My zen attitude has already been put to the test, though. I realized this weekend that Sweetie will be out of town the week I have my first OB scan. He's on a business trip that has been scheduled for some time and he can't reschedule. Dr. Uterus' office gave me the option of waiting until the next week, but my need to know sooner is greater than my need to have him there. That may sound harsh, but I prefer to get my news (good or bad) as quickly as possible.

This of course left me with a Class A Dilemma. Should I go by myself? I went to my Last OB Scan of Doom by myself because we didn't think there was going to be much drama and it was right after vacation (so Sweetie needed to show his cherubic face at the office). Of course, it turned into the OB Scan of Doom. It was horrible. It was up there in the top 3 worst days of my life and I went through it by myself. By the way, I have no ill-will toward Sweetie about this. Neither of us had a clue and if we had, he would have certainly been there.

All this past weekend I vacillated between "yes, I can do this by myself" to "no, there is no way I can do this by myself." I hinted to my mom that it I wanted her to fly here for the appointment but she's not available. I asked my neighbor down the street who went through IVF, but she's working. I had one option left: my other neighbor (no, not nosy lady) who I'm still becoming good friends with.

I had told her briefly that we were going through IVF and bless her, she didn't really ask for details. It was one of those, if you want to, you'll tell me, otherwise we'll talk about how adorable my dogs are (and they are). I was kind of afraid to ask her to go with me because it's a very private moment and we haven't known each other for more than 10 months or so.

I finally decided today that I really wanted someone there with me who cared about me and could handle the good and the bad. I called her and told her that I need to ask for a really big favor. I told her that I was pregnant and asked if she would go with me to the scan since Sweetie will be out of town. Her immediate response: "Absolutely!". I was so relieved and grateful that I had someone who was willing to do this for me and be there with me. I thanked her profusely and she told me, "You're making my mascara run!"

I'm not nearly as worried now because no matter what happens, I have a really good friend with me. And, I'm even luckier since I have all of you as well. Now my mascara is beginning to run.

image: DanAllison

Getting Back on the Horse

2008-02-15T13:24:00.001-08:00

image: yark64
The one and only time that I broke a major bone (you know, not like a toe) was when I was thrown off a horse when I was about 7 or 8. I knew it was going to happen from the moment I got on the horse. I loved horses and I took lots of horseback riding lessons. I was extremely fortunate that the school I attended had horseback riding (no, it was not a public school - that hell came later) and I was able to spend many afternoons grooming the horses or perfecting my posting. I hadn't made it to cantering or jumps yet, but I was getting there.

The horse that threw me was named "Johnnie" and I remember exactly what he looked like. He was a chestnut with a white diamond on his forehead and he had what my husband would classify as 'tude. I didn't want to ride him that day because he was being particularly ornery. And, I knew even at that tender age that you don't mess with a horse that's ornery. But, they said, "oh no, it'll be fine."

They had set him up on a lead line - they tie the reins on the pummel of the saddle, put attach a lead to the horse's bridle and then direct the horse in circles with you on the horse. I seem to recall that the purpose was to begin me on cantering with a little "let's-get-to-trust-the-horse" thrown in for good measure. While I had no problem trusting horses in general, I had a major problem trusting this horse. We started off fine but it went down hill when they decided to give him a little whack to move into a canter. He didn't like the whack, bucked and so off I went (since of course, I had NO REINS!). I landed on my right arm and remembered that it hurt. Turns out I had a hairline fracture right below my shoulder and didn't even get a cast for my trouble. I had a sling and had to learn how to write lefty-style which so didn't go well.

What's my point in telling this sob story? It's that I knew even then that the only way for me to overcome my fear of being thrown again was to literally get back on a horse (although, not that horse, please). And I did. It was not a triumphant return and I don't think that I handled it well, but I did it. Did it magically erase my terror? No, and I learned that I will probably always have a little bit with me since I have had that experience. But, I learned that I could do it. image: Big Grey Mare

I feel the same way about being pregnant again. You would think that doing it again would give you some sense of power and achievement when in reality I am terrified. I know first hand what can happen and how awful it is. I'm practically in denial that I'm pregnant because I am so afraid of getting excited again and getting smacked up side the head. I haven't really looked at due dates (late September? eh?), I certainly have not pulled out the name list we started last time, and we haven't even told Sweetie's parents (who also didn't know about the IVF). It's just like when I was going through the IVF - one day at a time. Otherwise, I will look forward to each milestone as the time when the fairy tale will come crashing down. I know that I am trying to assume that it won't work out because I can't bear to let myself begin to hope. Not yet.

The good news is that my beta today was 191. So, in 48 hours, it *almost* completely doubled from 98 on Wednesday. A true double would be 196. I have decided that I'm not going to be concerned about those 5 little whatevers and take comfort that Dr. Uterus is so far not concerned. And my progesterone is still apparently quite astronomical.

Next hurdle: first OB scan (OMG, OMG, OMG) the week of Feb. 25. It was at my last OB scan that things went south so this will be hard to say the least. I hope I don't have flashbacks. I also hope that Sweetie will be with me this time.

For now the lesson is to just breathe. Deeply. As often as necessary.
image: gratiella
ps: Ironically, I haven't ridden a horse since the time I got back on the horse, but I'm not afraid of them and I still love to pet their wonderfully soft schnozzles (read = noses).

Mrs. X Muses. Pay Attention.

2008-02-14T14:14:00.000-08:00

image: CTaylor
When I was a kid, I hated Valentine's Day with a passion. As early as elementary school, I learned that the holiday was really about who has and who doesn't. I hated the ritual of giving out little Valentine's day cards because I knew when I was in school, it was not required that you give them to everyone else in the class. That egalitarian advance was after my time. The whole day was an exercise in self-esteem depending upon how many you got. In high school, my negative opinion of the day was further solidified when some club or another that was trying to raise money would sell candy-grams or other romantic items that you could give to your sweetheart and they would be delievered in class. In front of everyone. Meaning that if you didn't get one, it was obvious. I don't think I got one all of my time in high school.

In college, I was never in a relationship over Valentine's Day (I was more a spring relationship kind of gal), so no organized frivolity, but at least now there wasn't deliveries of goodies in class. Sure, the girl down the hall would get roses, but I was cynical and told myself that the guy was probably just trying to get somewhere.

When I met Sweetie, again it was about a month after V-day so it wasn't until we had been dating for almost a year that we hit Valentine's Day. Now I had someone to go out to dinner with and do the usual 'couple' things. And you know what? I still didn't like it because it felt like we were celebrating a non-holiday. And, I felt bad for all of other girls who were still at home without a date on Valentine's Day. We did the dinner at a restaurant thing a few years and it just seemed so trite and ... expected. The hearts all over the wall, the roses on the table, it was just so "ugh". I'd much rather go out to dinner to celebrate some important event that is of significance to us rather than buy into the craze to be 'romantic'. Romantic to me is not Sweetie getting me roses on Valentine's Day. It's Sweetie getting me roses on a day just because. It's him giving me an extra snuggle after a hard day. It's him laughing at my many malapproprisms ("I'm going to go hare krishna on you!").

As you can guess, we aren't doing anything special for the big V. In fact, we didn't even do cards this year. I didn't want to buy into the commercial-industrial complex and I can find 50 better ways to tell him that I love him.

So, what I'm trying to say? It's that the spirit of Valentine's Day is a wonderful thing, but it has been so corrupted and used for commercial purposes that it is a tarted up shell of its former self. And I think everyone, no matter their current situation in life, should know on national "Someone-Gave-Me-Flowers-What-Did-You-Get?-Day" that it really doesn't matter if you have a significant other. If you love someone or if you are loved (pets are most certainly included) then you are doing just fine. So sayeth Mrs.X.
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In other news, my name today is Little Miss Cranky image: _elspeth
Pants. Apparently, my off-the-handle trigger has been set very low. This happened last time I was pregnant and it felt like violent thunderstorms that kind of pop up and then go away. On the bright side, it definitely confirms that there is HCG in my system.

My progesterone is also in the 200s so I've been told I can roll back the dosage. Luckily, there is no such thing as too much progesterone. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
image: psd
Thanks also to lori , jellybelly, farmwife, schatzi, loribeth, e, jj, peesticksandstones, paranoid, shinejil, pamela jeanne, kaaron, deathstar, Denise, TABI, Kelley and Lesley for your wonderful congratulations. All of you have provided so much wonderful support and I'm looking forward to showing all of you the same love.

Mwwwahh!

I Can't Freakin' Believe It.

2008-02-13T12:36:00.000-08:00

This picture sums up how I feel now:

It would seem that I am knocked up, in a family way, with a bun in the oven, in other words, for only the second time in my life I am able to say that I am pregnant. Whew.

Beta is 98 and I go in for another blood draw on Friday. Right now, I am fighting mightily to enjoy this moment that Sweetie and I have worked so hard for and not think about everything that could happen (including what happened already). I will not worry about my beta doubling and I will so not begin to worry about the scan.

Oh, and I have to continue shooting myself in the ass. I have never been happier to agree to continue to stick large needles in my butt.

Thank you, each and everyone, commenters and lurkers alike for your best wishes and continuing good thoughts.

This is My Mantra, This is My Crutch

2008-02-12T12:37:00.000-08:00

This so sums up how I'm feeling right now:

image: Mr. T in DC
I live in a fantasy world that I could be pregnant. Cramps? Check. Weepies? Check. ADD? Check. A really bad case of the crankies? Check. Boobs a little tender? Check. More peeing than usual? Check. Random sneezing? Check (that is so a symptom, people!).

To counteract this fantasy, I have been repeating the following mantra: I'm probably not pregnant, it's just the progesterone. Or allergies. Or annoyance with the job that is my life. Or my period on its way. Or. Or. Anything but that which I want the most.

This is my mantra! / This is my crutch! / This is for coping! / This is too much!

I bet you saucy minxes are asking, "Mrs. X, why don't you just go POAS?" Ah, were it that easy. See, I have a pathological aversion to taking an HPT. Part of it stems from my very real concern of a false positive as a result of the HCG trigger. That would just totally and absolutely suck. I also don't have any HPTs in the house and I don't feel like getting The Look at CVS or Walgreens when I surreptitiously slide the test across the counter. And I have always equated HPTs to that shameful feeling you have as a teenager when you think you're pregnant and the only way to find out is to go and pee on the stick of doom. So, the answer would be "no". I will not POAS.

Instead, I will continue my current practice of distraction which now includes trying to think of all of the things that I can do should the test be negative. Bath? Check. Wine? Check, check. Gardening? Check. Heavy lifting? Check. Diet Coke? Check please.

We're in total self-preservation time, people. It's going to get ugly.

Buying The Myth & Getting Disillusionment Free

2008-02-10T14:39:00.001-08:00

images: NMCIL ortiz domney
I went to Tar-gét today to buy a hair straightener (ooh! hair gadget!) and a present for my mom who is retiring soon. Once I had found my perfect $20 number that promises me untold riches of hair straightening, I went in search of mom's present. During the search, I found myself in the gift-wrap aisle and saw all of the baby gift wrap and gift bags.

I was struck by a) how adorable they are; b) how much I desperately want someone to give me one; and c) how much I wanted to be pregnant to justify B. Pretty quickly, though, I recognized that there was a myth in this gift wrap with its baby ducks and pastel colors. Not everyone has a happy ending with their pregnancy. Not everyone who wants to receive gifts in this precious wrapping is going to. And that made me angry that what we see as 'reality' really isn't for everyone.

Not surprisingly, myth versus reality has been one of the themes discussed during my many hours spent on the couch opposite my therapist. To me, myth is what you replace reality with when you have no information or knowledge to make your own reality. Until I started trying to get pregnant when I was 29 (oh, so long ago) the only thing I could remember from high school biology about reproduction was when the teacher brought in diaphragms (not her's!) to show us the various methods of contraception. I didn't have the slightest memory about anything other than sperm + egg = baby and that this combination was very, very bad.

Unfortunately, when it comes to something as momentous and significant as the decision to have a child, you are very tempted to sit back and rely on the myths about family building that are perpetuated everyday. Myths such as, we should have children because that's what people who get married do, we won't have any problems getting pregnant, we won't have any problems staying pregnant, childbirth will be a breeze and motherhood will be the most fulfilling thing we can do with our lives. After all, don't we all know someone who embodies each and everyone of these myths? We know that they are based in someway on reality, it's just not our reality.

We began to feel the cold smack of our reality when we learned that my tubes were both completely blocked. It was compounded when I miscarried. But, these events have proven to be an important, if incredibly trying and painful, lesson: myths, especially myths about family building, can only be vanquished with your reality and what you realistically expect and want. Of course, that requires some difficult soul-searching and introspection coupled with frank discussions with your significant other. We realistically expect that some way, somehow, we will have a child. Whether the child inherits its traits from us or belonged to someone else entirely, I don't know. And that's actually ok because the end goal is to have a child.

When I find myself leaning like a branch in the wind of the myth, I step back and right myself in the reality that is our quest. We don't know how we will be successful, but we will be.

He Ain't A Brute, He's My Sweetie

2008-02-09T08:30:00.000-08:00

image: ulv gullskeggr
Gentle Reader, in looking over some of my past posts, it occurred to me that they may have given you the impresion that my man, Sweetie/Mr. X is somewhat rude, crude and unrefined. In reality, he is all of those things but so much more as well. I wanted to take this opportunity to list some of his better qualities to make sure that he is seen in his complete glory.

First, I should mention that he is much smarter and funnier than yours truly - driving today on the highway I almost crashed because he had me laughing so hard, providing dialogue for the white-haired old lady that kept getting in front of me. He is much better travelled and more worldly having lived overseas for several years growing up. He totally did better in college (although, we both agree that I had more fun) and he makes a great deal more moolah than I do.

He's incredibly handsome and has that certain boyish charm. He tans while I burn. He can explain how just about anything works while I can just point and say, "what does that thingy do?" He is extremely good natured while I tend to be moody (even without the aid of hormones). And, he loves animals. Awwww.

Now, just as he is all of these things, he also loves watching cop chase shows on cable and he seriously talked about getting a giant inflatible pig for our front yard (um, no). He whines that I don't have any new reading material for him in the bedroom while I'm doing my PIO injection, and he makes me deal with all of the customer service people on the phone, health care issues and vendors that come to the house ("because you're better at it than I am"). He hates talking on the phone so much so that I am the one who has to call to order the pizza and he will go pick it up. He plays World of Warcraft (WoW). And, after almost 5 years of marriage, he still leaves the *&Ying seat up on the toilet.

He's the ying to my yang (you're so right Lori!), the ivory to my ebony, the jelly to my peanut butter. He is all of these things and he's my Sweetie.

The Post In Which Mrs. X Is Chatty

2008-02-07T17:53:00.000-08:00

image: Lovely Day
First off, thanks to everyone who commented on my last post and helped me see that there really isn't a whole I can do right now to ensure a positive outcome (short of like, sleeping with Kevin Federline - ick, yuck and barf), Instead, I should watch a Golden Girls marathon (fabulous idea Matthew M.F. Miller), do my taxes or play on-line games (I choose on-line games Deathstar), go shoe shopping (mmm, shoes thanks Melanie) and basking in the additional waves of good vibes coming from shinejil, schatzi, tabi, peesticksandstones, kidlicious (welcome!), and lori). If nothing else, I can't say that I was depressed during the 2WW. So thanks and I can only hope to provide similar excellent advice should you ever find yourselves in such need. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We can also now have our own Disney On Ice special: Embryos on Ice! Yep, our six little blasts that were left after the transfer made it safely into the thaw just like Han Solo. Sweetie was concerned that they, too, would have carbon-freezing sickness upon being thawed. I assured him that this probably won't happen. We also discussed the very real possibility that they are all skating around right now in the liquid nitrogen or maybe having one helluva kegger. One can only hope. They can survive in this state for eternity (assuming of course someone keeps paying the electric bill). We're just glad to have six back up options.

I also got an answer on my question about the Day 3 v. Day 5 transfer. The missing piece of the puzzle that Dr. Google selfishly withheld is that to reach Day 5, the blasts are put in a rather challenging environment in the lab and those that make it to Day 5 are truly the "best". Total survival of the fittest, infertility style. He only uses this for where there are many embryos and you can afford to lose some that don't make it to Day 5. We had 9 embryos and I would have been supremely pissed if we lost some before transfer because of the Day 5 Challenge. Dr. Uterus would much rather see how the Day 3 embryos do where they want to be rather than in a lab. I was very pleased with this explanation. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
image: The Pack
It appears that I've been tagged by Lori in some out-quirk-ing contest. Well, let's see what Mrs. X can come up with, shall we? But first, the rules.

1) Link to the person who tagged you.
2) Post the rules.
3) Share six non-important things / habits / quirks about yourself.
4) Tag at least three people.
5) Make sure the people you tagged KNOW you tagged them by commenting what you did.

Quirk No. 1: I had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch every single day in high school. Yes, I still eat them sometimes. But maybe once or twice a month.

Habit No. 2: If I can't find something, I automatically think someone stole it. It doesn't matter that there might have not been anyone in the house. I am not above accusing my cats ("Kitty, what did you do with mommy's keys?")

Important Thing No. 3: I have been to Mardi Gras and flashed balconies with hundreds of people. One time (yes, there were multiple times) I was a little drunk and forgot to lift my bra in addition to my shirt so the crowd got a lovely view of my lace bra. I was roundly booed.

Quirk No. 4: I love even numbers and hate odd numbers passionately. Luckily, I was born on an even day, in an even month in an even year. Sweetie was born in an odd month, on an odd day in an odd year. I married him anyway (on an even day in an even month but in an odd year).

Habit No. 5: Everytime I walk into my kitchen I mentally curse my ugly, ugly countertops. Die Corian Die!

Important Thing No. 6: I have been in Newsweek and Time.

Well, Lori, Ms. Lord of the L? Quirky enough for you?

For my three tags I throw down the gauntlet to shinejil, melanie, and jellybelly. Who among you can out-quirk me? Hmmm?

The Post In Which Mrs. X Has Deep Thoughts

2008-02-05T09:43:00.000-08:00

Now that the hoopla and busy-ness of ovary monitoring, egg retrievals, embryo reports and embryo transfers has gone away, I'm left to wait. When I wait, I dwell. When I dwell, I inevitably think un-positive thoughts. Let's face it, you usually don't dwell on positive thoughts - its the negative ones that sneak in and begin to mulitply. (image: wani abdullah )

I am just getting that feeling as if the die is finally set and what will be will be. Normally, I actually find a lot of relief in that thought because it means that worrying can't do anything and therefore, I shouldn't worry. But this time, unlike all of the other steps that we have gone through with IVF, there is no next step, there is no chance to pull things out. Either the embryo(s) implant or they don't and all that stands between me and that test is a lot of time.

It is hard not to place a crushing amount of weight on the outcome of that test. You want to be positive so that you aren't harming your body with negative thoughts, but you don't want to think too positive lest you get horribly crushed should things go wrong. This is the seventh time I have been in the medicated 2ww and I have still not found that perfect balance, that alchemy between hope and caution that allows me to live through the 2ww without driving myself crazy while not getting my hopes up so high that I fall to the ground faster than you can say "infertility sucks". Inevitably, my positive thoughts turn to that wonderful delusion that I could be pregnant. And I always, always feel lilke an idiot for thinking it when the test comes back negative.

I would like to say that I'm preparing myself for a negative. That's probably partly true. I think, though, which each negative result, I'm learning how to shrink my hope that much more to prevent further heartache. Yet, I also feel guilty that I'm buying into a self-fulfilling prophecy if I prepare myself for a negative.

In the end, I am once again reminded that I can't really control anything and I have done the absolute best that I can. I'm eating well, not drinking, no chugging the Diet Coke, and am faithfully doing the PIO injections (which are actually getting less painful - yay!). But, it just doesn't seem enough. Can I just hibernate until next week?

Take Hand. Smack Forehead. Repeat.

2008-02-03T15:07:00.000-08:00

Mrs. X thinks she's normally pretty savvy. She's manuevered through the gauntlet of serious infertility treatments for over a year now and only twitches occasionally. Sure, she's grown a third eye in her forehead from all of the hormones (kidding), but she has survived the slings and arrows of insurance issues, repeated encounters with the speculum, and butt shots. But for all her savvy, her moxie and yes, her hard-won infertility wisdom, she has not absorbed one simple, yet elegant lesson:

Do not under any circumstances share your infertility details with your next door neighbor.

When we moved into this house a few years ago, I was not here for more than three hours when she came over and introduced herself while trying to find out how much we paid for the house. Nice. Back then, we were still in the honeymoon phase of trying meaning we hadn't figured out that something was wrong and it was just a matter of time before I would be sporting a pooch. Back then, I still told people that we were trying - although I don't remember if she found out because she asked if we had kids. That would be the most likely scenario.

Anywho, she has a mind like a steel trap and has asked for updates as the months (and now years) have gone by. She knew about our IF treatments and about my miscarriage and was very nice. I have been avoiding her ever since my miscarriage because I knew she would ask whether things had gotten back on track. Well, last weekend, she cornered me and in her oh, so point blank manner asked how "things" were going. There was no point in playing dumb and I told her that we were doing IVF. She oohed and aahed and vaguely mentioned wanting more details. Luckily, she had to go before she could extract the details.

Today, I took over some cake because they helped us out last weekend on some stuff and of course, I had to spill the beans.

Nosy Neighbor: So, tell me how things went!
Me: Fine. (blah, blah, details, details). We had the transfer on Friday.
Nosy Neighbor: So they're in you right now?!
Me. Um. Yea.
Nosy Neighbor: You're with child? You're with embryo?
Me: [seriously uncomfortable now, making non-committal noises]. Uh.
Nosy Neighbor: When do you find out?
Me: In two weeks (I fudged the date - no one knows except me and Sweetie).
Nosy Neighbor: Oh, I have to put it on my calendar!
Me: No! Don't do that! I don't want everyone in the universe tracking the date. [She thankfully steps away from her calendar]
Nosy Neighbor: I hope you have twins. I can't wait till my kids have grandchildren and then I can cuddle a baby and give it back.

WTF?! Ok, I will try to have twins just for you because you requested. Any other requests? Boy/girl twins? Girl/girl? Triplets, perhaps? Do you have any names you would like to request now before the list gets started? Un-freakin'-believable.

I was able to impose the "don't call me, I'll call you" rule on the results. If it is negative, the last thing I need is to have her calling me and me having to repeat it.

She also told me that the neighbors up the street (the wife is a teacher at the local school) are going to start trying next month. I have no doubt that she got this intelligence straight from the wife's mouth, probably through some form of interrogation. I will not try to dwell on the fact that they will likely get pregnant pretty easily with few problems and sail through. I will try to be thankful that the wife may siphon some of Nosy Neighbor's attention from away from me. I won't swing by and warn the wife that she's guaranteed herself requests for monthly updates on the state of her uterus.

Nope, I will just practice learning how not to share with her. Either that, or I will declare that I have decided to stop seeing people and to become a hermit. I don't think she'll accept either. image: aynne

Turning the Other Cheek

2008-02-02T17:50:00.000-08:00

Warning: if you haven't done the progesterone shot yet, you may not want to read this since all I do is complain about how much it hurts.

I have never had the misfortune to be shot in the ass by any projectile or bullet, but I imagine that I now know how it feels. It H-U-R-T-S like H-E-L-L. I did my first progesterone injection last night (more on how I did it a little later) and dutifully rubbed the site for 20 seconds. That didn't do squat to ameliorate the already substantial ache that was beginning to build. Nada. Niente. Rien. As my right ass cheek gets progressively sorer (is that a word?) I use the heating pad - being careful to keep it on my ass, not near the midsection - which also does nothing. I go to bed slowly turning around trying to find that one perfect position where nothing hurts. It's not happening. Only this afternoon is the soreness subsiding enough that the initial ass plant on a chair or seat hurts, but it gradually dies down. This of course, was just in time for injection number 2 on the left. The stick hurt like a mo-fo but that cheek so far has given nary a twinge. I suspect the right side will calm down just in time for the next injection.

Now, Melanie has asked for some tips on the pretzel twist method of giving one's self progesterone injections.
Image: z e n
I should clarify that I was instructed to give them closer to the hip than toward the crack, so I don't have to do a full 180° twist. It's more like a 120° twist. I tend to stretch out the leg that corresponds to the Cheek O' the Night but not tense it so that the leg kind of makes half the journey. Being a righty, it was much easier to stick the right side last night because it was right there (no pun intended). This evening's injection on the left proved to be a little more difficult, but if you anchor your non-cheek leg and swing the cheek-leg you have good traction and can twist more easily. I was also given the option of doing it in the thigh, but that is so not an attractive option. I'm a butt girl, through and through. Hope that helps, Melanie!
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In other news, I have been guilty of playing on Dr. Google again. This time, I've been researching the pregnancy rates of day 3 vs. day 5 blast transfers. I had a day 3 transfer and there seems to be a lot of discussion out there that this is not the way to go anymore. However, I trust Dr. Uterus implicitly, so I am pretty certain he had a reason for doing a day 3 transfer rather than a day 5 (and it wasn't because the day 5 would have landed on a Sunday - I saw him last Sunday for a scan). I will ask about it, but there really isn't a whole lot I can do about it now and fretting certainly won't help.
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Lastly, I should share something that I have been keeping to myself. Today is my birthday. On this day, 32 years ago Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow fortelling six more weeks of winter and in a now rather famous hospital, Mrs. X made her debut with a full head of hair, frosted at the ends in white blonde (that so didn't last) without the benefit of drugs (at my mom's choice, crazy woman). I cried out at the injustice of leaving a great free home and then kind of looked around (Actually, I don't remember anything - I just heard this from my parents).

32 years later I'm still my parents' baby girl and I genuinely and most fervently wish that I will have a baby (or two) in my arms by my 33rd birthday (or at least firmly in the oven).

Uh, Houston? We, Uh, Have a Transfer

2008-02-01T15:30:00.000-08:00

Around 1:30pm this afternoon, I was strapped into the gurney of death, legs firmly velcroed into the cushy stirrups (so much better than the ones at Dr. Uterus' office!) and our three little A grade embryos made the final journey through the catheter back to the mothership. They are now pinging around my uterus where hopefully at least one (but not three, please!) will implant for the next nine months.

The mock transfer was a lot easier than this one was, though. I had some cramping as he was inserting the catheter, which I told him about. Once the catheter was in, he gave me the time to wait for the cramping to subside before he inserted the embryos. I did some deep breathing and held onto Sweetie's hand (he was in the Bunny Suit and he looked like a giant Smurf with a blue cap rather than a white one) waiting for everything to subside. It did and he went ahead with the transfer. He removed the catheter and Dr. Freak Out looked at the entire thing under the microscope to make sure none were still in there. She gave the all clear and he released me from the jaws of the speculum. All in all not horrible, but not the most pleasant experience either.

I had to remain lying down for another 30 minutes during which time we talked with Dr. Uterus about the procedure and what to expect from now on. I had to ask the obvious question of whether the minute I went to the bathroom I would expel the little guys which Dr. Uterus informed me was "outlandish" bordering on "impossible" (there's that hyperbole kick again). I'm not on bed rest, but I am on restricted duty - so no raking (no chance of that anyway), but most sedentery activity is ok. I'm not the super high impact kind of gal anyway, so I am perfectly content to read, blog, sew, snorgle animals, and just plain be boring which is exactly what the doctor ordered.

I also start the progesterone shots this evening. I'll be on my own this time since I can't call my neighbor every night to come down and help. Sweetie has promised to be just outside in case I find that I need reinforcements. I'm going to try not to dread them as that will make them that much more painful.

Ah, what I won't do for a child.

Image: Saffanna

Did I Mention I Don't Want Triplets?!

2008-01-31T15:47:00.000-08:00

The latest blast report continues to have good news. They are growing just like they are supposed to and all 9 are dividing and multiplying. 7 are rated Grade A and 2 are rated Grade B+. The breakdown also reminds me of my report cards from school. Weird.

Knowing the genes that make them up, I am certain the two "B+" blasts are getting teased mercilessly by the 7 "A" blasts. We are very pleased so far, but we are still cautious about getting too excited.

Dr. Uterus and Dr. Freak Out are apparently in agreement that our best shot at a pregnancy is to transfer three blasts, rather than the two that Sweetie and I have discussed. I hadn't talked with Dr. Uterus yet about how many blasts I wanted to transfer, but I had mentioned to his nurse that we were looking for two since WE DON'T FREAKIN' WANT TRIPLETS. She mentioned this to him and he is still of the opinion that our best shot is with 3. This is consistent with the average number of blasts that he has transferred before in my age group according to the CDC reports.

Sweetie and I discussed it and are very hesitant not to follow their advice. The assumption has always been that if you transfer three, all three will implant and poof, we have triplets. The reality is that statistically, it's not a sure bet that even one will implant let alone three. So, we are willing to accept the risk of triplets in order to get a viable pregnancy.

I also need to stop turning to Dr. Google. Curiousity killed the cat and it sure as hell makes IVF a lot harder when you read all kinds of random studies about what does and does not make for a successful cycle.

For now, I'm going to focus on being really relaxed tomorrow since I read in an actual book (Dr. Silber's boringly-titled tome How to Get Pregnant) that women who were über-relaxed during the transfer had a much higher rate of pregnancy. Dr. Uterus also mentioned this, so it must be fact! Right?

Doin' the Old Lady Shuffle

2008-01-30T13:24:00.000-08:00

Image: smileygeekgirl
I am doing the Old Lady Shuffle today. That is the hunched over, put one foot in front of the other shuffle due to extremely sensitive body parts and still (unfortunately) lingering 'airs'. I'm counting down the minutes for the work day to end so that I can pop a Vicodin and curl up on the couch. I have been putting the heating pad to good use, though, having it firmly strapped to my mid-section to dull the ache during the day. Thankfully my job does not require me to move around a lot, so I've been able to sit around and play on the computer (isn't that what I do every day?)

In better news, we got the Fert Report: 9 eggs out of 12 fertilized! 8 out of 9 fertilized using ICSI and 1 out of 3 fertilized au naturale (well as natural as you can get in a petri dish). I am really happy since it means 75% of the eggs fertilized. We'll get more info tomorrow on which ones are growing and we should have a tentative discussion on how many will get transferred. We're looking at a transfer on Friday. Hopefully I will be feeling much better by then.

I've also told everyone and their mother from Dr. Uterus to his nurse to the nurses at the IVF lab that I do not want the blastshots. Dr. Uterus declared that I was his first patient to make this request (that's me, always the trailblazer) but he will respect my wishes. I have no problem with them keeping them in the file but as I explained earlier, I would be too tempted to lob onto them as our future children and suffer the consequences should the cycle fail.

Otherwise, it is embarrassingly quiet on the Mrs. X front. Till tomorrow!

Things That Come in a Dozen

2008-01-29T17:17:00.001-08:00

Here is a random listing of things that come in denominations or measurements of 12: one cycle in Chinese astrology, golf balls, roses, the Dirty Dozen, the rumored length of John Holmes' "member", hot dogs, and, the number of Mrs. X's eggs retrieved today!!

That's right, ladies, 12 beautiful eggs. I am very happy with the number and apparantly Dr. Freak Out could find nothing initially wrong with them. According to Dr. Uterus' nurse, if the eggs initially appear immature or otherwise 'oeuf', she makes "noises". There were no noises. That of course, doesn't mean that we are going to have 12 beautifully fertilized eggs, but it is a good start.

The retrieval itself was pretty uneventful for me. Although, tell me, Schatzi, how do you do this without pain medication!? Unfortunately, my recovery has been a little ... bumpier than I would have liked. Bumpy how? I have terrible, awful, horrible, excruciating ... gas. The kind of gas that doesn't come out unless you walk around. As Sweetie so eloquently put it, "You're just going to have to fart and belch your way out of this one." It's so bad that I have a hard time taking a deep breath. It totally sucks.

Tomorrow we get the fertilization report. Sweetie spoke with Dr. Freak Out while I was in la la land and she told him that they had decided to do 75% ICSI and 25% natural. So, 9 eggs will be fertilized with ICSI and 3 will be left to their own devices. I wonder if they will pipe in some Barry White, lower the lights, leave some wine to move things along?

It's going to be hard not to focus and fret about how many will fertilize, but I know that it won't help matters at all. It it is literally out of my hands, my body and my ovaries at this point.

Thanks also to Shinejil, Lori, Peesticks, Jellybelly, jill_986, and Schatzi for your wonderful words of encouragement!

(Lori- I reformated the post and managed to lose your comment. Sorry!)

In Black and White

2008-01-28T13:49:00.000-08:00

(image: FSSE-INFO) Today's event was that Sweetie and I met up at the IVF lab to sign le paperwork for the retrieval tomorrow. I had copies of all of the forms ahead of time, but didn't bother to read them until last night. I was pretty familiar with the doom and gloom in them (if your children turn out to be freaks, you can't sue us) since it was similar to the papers that we had to sign at Dr. Uterus' office, but it was still sobering to read it all.

Last night, Sweetie and I went through the multiple choice maze of options for any embryos that we manage to get to freeze in the event of an unpleasant contingency. What do we do with the embryos if I die? If he dies? If we both die? If we get divorced? If I have a hysterectomy? We had choices like disposal in an ethical manner (I don't even want to contemplate what that actually entails), continue to store, or donate to an infertile couple. It was a no-brainer if either one of us died (the other would get them). If we both died, we directed that they be donated to an infertile couple. But, if we got divorced, we elected to have them disposed of - I would have a very hard time knowing that my child could be out there without me (or their siblings) knowing it. The hysterectomy scenario would result in continue to freeze the embryos, on the assumption that we would want to use a gestational surrogate, assuming we didn't have the brood that we wanted.

I was just struck by how weird it is to be discussing the fate of your potential future embryos while you're making dinner. Most people will never even have to think of that scenario much less fill out of page of multiple choices as to what to do in various depressing situations. Another uniquely infertility experience.

Sweetie, apparently, was very freaked out by the consent forms for the egg retrieval and IVF because of all of the terrible things that could happen which were enumerated in exacting detail. He is apparently quite worried about genetic abnormalities and was still slightly convinced that Dr. Freak Out had it right that our prior miscarriage was his fault. I disabused him of that notion by explaining that Turner's is caused during the meiosis stage, or when the cells start to divide, not at the moment of conception and not in the wonky sperm.

We also talked about the statistics that show that IVF births have no substantial increase in genetic defects than the normal population. I reminded him that we could have a genetic problem even if we got pregnant without ART. And, we had already discussed with Dr. Uterus the issue of whether ICSI caused greater numbers of birth defects. Personally, I suspect that the higher numbers of genetic problems resulting from ICSI can be correlated to the fact that the procedure is used for men who have severe morphology problems and incredibly wonky sperm to begin with. Sweetie is not one of those men.

I did ask him if he didn't want to continue and he immediately responded "Nooooo! I want to continue!" I was glad that we talked about his concerns since it seems that a lot of time we discuss my concerns rather than his.

I also took my four antibiotics this evening and promptly felt like I was going to barf, hurl. ralph, and whatever other adjective you want to use for vomit (which I always thought was an ugly word). I think Zithromax should now have this label because it is exactly how I felt:

Mr. Yuck indeed. I am feeling much better now. Especially after I stopped watching Celebrity Rehab with B-, C- and D-listers barfing everywhere and generally moaning as they detox.

I don't know how coherent I will be tomorrow so all of you lovely ladies who still continue to read this saga may have to wait until Wednesday for an update. Till then, so long, farewell.

"The Cake is Baked"

2008-01-27T11:40:00.001-08:00

So sayeth Dr. Uterus. He was still on his hyperbole kick, this time declaring that my ovaries were quite possibly the most beautiful of all of 2007 and 2008. For a man who sees a lot of eggs, that was very nice to hear.

We are scheduled for a retrieval on Tuesday. Now the only thing standing between me and mature eggs is the HCG injection:

I wasn't that worried about it until I saw the needle that I'm supposed to use (me: "is that the mixing needle?" Nurse: "no, that's the mixing needle. This is the needle you inject. All 1.5 inches") and when they told me the cautionary tale of the Woman Who Didn't Follow Instructions. This woman had 10 follicles, but 0 eggs retrieved. Why? Because she decided that the intramuscular needle was "too big" and used the subcutaneous needle instead. Since the HCG didn't get absorbed, it could not trigger the eggs to mature. Since the eggs didn't mature, none could be retrieved. Ouch.

I always follow their instructions (yay OCD), but I didn't realize until I heard this tale just how critical the HCG trigger is. I got so paranoid about it and where to inject that they ended up drawing a giant target on my ass for me to use when the time comes. I've also called my neighbor who is in the medical profession and has done multiple IVF cycles to see if she is willing to help since Sweetie just about passed out at the notion of sticking me with a needle (so I guess that would be a no on helping me with the progesterone injections, huh?).

I have resigned myself to the fact that my ass is a giant pincushion and this shot is going to H-U-R-T.

Update: the shot did indeed H-U-R-T and we had some trouble getting all of the medicine into the syringe, but I managed to take it only 5 minutes late. Hopefully that 5 minutes won't make much of a difference.

The State of My Ovaries and Other News

2008-01-26T11:41:00.000-08:00

In keeping with the January plethora of State of the State, Union, City, etc addresses, it is only appropriate that I give an update on all things having to do with Mrs.X.

Concerned Citizens of the Blogosphere, you have asked (well, actually not) how my formerly sleepy ovaries are doing on the nuke 'em method of egg production. Good news from Dr. Uterus: he has declared my ovaries to be 'beautiful', 'gorgeous' and humming along on their journey of egg production. My estrogen is apparently doing quite well and was also called 'gorgeous'.

I would not be exaggerating to say that he has a thing for hyperbole.

For my part, I feel as if I have swallowed a balloon that has lodged itself in my midsection and moves everytime I try to sit comfortably. Instead of the pinging and twinging earlier this week, we have moved into dull ache territory. And, I learned the obvious lesson the other night that intercourse (as Dr. Uterus put it) is not advisable. Ouch and ouch. But, Sweetie is now on conservation measures in anticipation of providing a specimen early next week, so I don't feel too bad completely turning him away.

I go back in for another scan tomorrow, Sunday.
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I finished Wuthering Heights and I have to say, I wasn't that impressed. Sorry, Emily dear, but I think Charlotte was the better writer. I haven't read Agnes Grey yet to see if Anne trumps either of you.

Sweetie now wants to get the Laurence Olivier version of the movie on DVD. I'm having trouble picturing him as a brooding Heathcliff.

Next on the reading list is Villette and The Boleyn Inheritance (I love trashy fiction!) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I found the quilt pattern that I want to use for my friend's baby quilt. I sent a picture to her and she is thrilled. I'm going to use some wonderful vintage children's fabrics. Hopefully, it will turn out as beautifully as I am picturing seeing as how it is my first quilt and all.

She also absolved me of any guilt about not being able to handle details about her pregnancy. I am so grateful and happy that she is willing to forgive me this one thing. She is a truly wonderful friend.
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I got a new iPod but I'm still trying to figure out how to switch the library from my work computer to my home computer. I am searching for the elusive "iPod control" folder and so far have been disappointed. Damn you search dog!
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Sweetie and I are meeting friends for a movie date tonight. On the marquee: Rambo. I'm in it just to see if Sylvester Stallone is using a walker yet.
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Well, as you can plainly see, Concerned Citizens of the Blogosphere, Mrs. X is doing pretty well. She has shown much economy in her prudence, wisdom in her interactions and bloating in her ovaries (not to mention snark in her general direction). Go about your business knowing that Mrs. X, for one, has things well in hand.

Good night and Dog Bless.

A Wand By Any Other Name....

2008-01-24T15:00:00.000-08:00

I have a wonderful (or terrible, depending upon who you ask) habit of naming things. I got it from my parents who gave names to all of the neighbors that weren't their real names (and weren't necessarily nice names). They realized that this probably wasn't a good idea when we ran into said neighbors at the doctor's office and I, being the mischevious little 6-year old that I was, called them by the name that my parents used. Much embarassment (for my parents) ensued. Ah, youth.

This habit has followed me through my adult life and Sweetie practices it as well (as do many of my fellow IFers). Obviously, infertility treatments are a gold mine for people like me so that you can think up fabulous names for things that have otherwise very boring names. One particular item whose name has always bothered me is the transvaginal transducer that is used during follicle scans. Not only is it a mouthful, but frankly, it doesn't begin to give people an idea of what it really is.

Personally, I call it the 'Condom Wand' because, it is a wand and they put a little condom on it everytime. Kind of boring, but it stuck.

Ms. Heathen over at Reproductively Challenged gave it the deliciously wonderful name of 'Dildo Cam' which I swear makes me giggle everytime I hear it.

Yet another name, provided by Dr. Uterus gleaned from another patient, was the "Penis that Sees All".

I know that my girls who have had the unfortunate circumstance to become intimately acquainted with this particular piece of equipment have also given it wonderful, if somewhat irreverent names. So, what do you call it?

Bigmouth Strikes Again

2008-01-24T09:15:00.000-08:00

I was reminded yesterday of the lyrics to that seminal Smith's song, "Bigmouth Strikes Again" off of their album, The Queen is Dead. They came to me as I was having a phone call with the embryologist going over Sweetie's SA results.

Bigmouth oh ho ho ho ah la/ Big mouth, oh ho la la/ Bigmouth strikes again/ And I've got no right to take my place/With the human race

What, you ask could she have said that would earn these lyrics in particular? This woman put me through the wringer.

We have lots of information about Sweetie's counts from our six IUIs with Dr. Uterus, but the embryologist, Dr. Freak Out, had to have her own to review. So, Sweetie went to her office and "produced" the specimen. (He also reported that her "collection room" wasn't as nice as that of Dr. Uterus, which I call the Spooge Closet, but he was happy to have some new, er, literature.)

She called me with the results and prefaced them with a question as to whether Sweetie has been sick recently. Apparently, his motility was down from his prior IUI counts and it was in her "poor" range. As we were talking, she became convinced that something must be up since his motility was down (although the volume and viability were both in the normal range) from his prior counts. She warmed to her topic of poor motility and began to talk about the troubles of low motility while throwing ICSI around (which we were going to do at 50% of the fertilizations with anyway) and then prefacing that it also depended upon how many eggs I produced. Essentially, she spouted gloom and doom.

She also asked about our previous history and I told her of the one pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage. We had a karyotype performed and determined that there was a chromosomal abnormality, specifically a monosomy or Turner's Syndrome. Dr. Uterus assured us that this was a random occurrence and it was just a luck of the draw. There was nothing that either Sweetie or I contributed that caused it. Dr. Freak Out, on the other hand, started musing as to how strange it was that the one sperm that managed to fertilize the egg was able to produce a monosomy.

As if that wasn't enough, then she starts going on about how she has seen a correlation in her experience between low motility and abnormalities in resulting babies. Finally, she reminded me that since I had tubal surgery (mind you over a year ago), my chance of an ectopic increased. Thanks. So, to recap: according to Dr. Freak Out, my husband has abnormal sperm, we are doomed if he gets me pregnant again and we might as well just turn to donor sperm. That's essentially what we got out of the conversation.

And now I know how Joan of Arc felt/Now I know how Joan of Arc felt/As the flames rose to her roman nose/And her walkman started to melt

Not surprisingly, I called Sweetie as soon as I hung up with Dr. Freak Out and he freaked out. We had a tense conversation about what it means and how to go forward. He even asked if I wanted to cancel the cycle, to which I said no. The second call I made was to Dr. Uterus' office to see if he knew what this crackpot was talking about. I didn't end up talking with Dr. Uterus until today and I learned some very important facts.

1) Dr. Freak Out is not a medical doctor. She has a PhD, hence the doctor but she is certainly not a doctor who can dispense advice and genetic counseling. She was way out of line.

2) Sweetie's sperm are very likely just fine and Turner's is not caused by a pre-existing chromosomal abnormality in the sperm. It happens when the cells start to divide.

3) His motility is also not something to worry about, even if it was lower than his prior numbers.

Dr. Uterus is going to have a chat with Dr. Freak Out and remind her that this is not the kind of thing that you discuss with IVF patients. But, the freak out did give Sweetie and I a chance to discuss what we are comfortable with in terms of donor gametes. At this point, I told him, I am still very invested in having my own pregnancy, so I would go for donor sperm before adoption. He was ok with that.

Luckily, it looks as if we don't have to have that conversation again. And, hopefully, Dr. Freak Out has learned a valuable lesson on filtering.

Dear John*

2008-01-22T06:19:00.000-08:00

*Name has been changed to protect the insensitive.

Dear John, Friend from Grad School:

I got your mass email yesterday announcing your new email and wanted to let you know that you are flirting dangerously with being on my Shit List. In case you have forgotten, I will outline your previous sins that have gotten you to this point:

1) You emailed me that your harpie wife was expecting on the exact day that I found out that my baby had died and I had been carrying a dead fetus around for a week. I responded with my congratulations and didn't mention any of my incredible sadness. You never responded.

2) You included me on the mass email with pictures of the new baby when the harpie wife delivered and again, I said the right things and congratulated you. You never responded.

3) You emailed me again to tell me of the new baby and sent more pictures because you couldn't remember if you had emailed me before. I guess you didn't remember that I congratulated you before. This time you deigned to ask how we were doing.

4) I responded again with congratulations (because that's what friends do) and agreed that your baby was the cutest thing on the planet. I also told you of our struggle with infertility and the miscarriage in April. You Never. Wrote. Back. Not one lousy word. A simple "I'm sorry" would have sufficed to let me know that you are at least interested after asking how we were.

5) Now you have sent me a new email address assuming that I want to keep in touch with you. I have no reason to keep in touch. You have obviously just left this one hanging and it will take a lot of groveling for you to get back into my good graces.

So, that's where we stand. Assuming you don't send any more emails blithley ignorning what I shared with you, you will not be banished to having your email blocked. One more "I have the cutest baby on the block" email without any acknowledgment that we had a loss and you will officially be out of my life.

Sincerely,

Mrs. X

ps- the addition of the information in the email that you are changing emails so that it will sync with your Blackberry landed you squarely in the tool column. Just thought you should know that.

Why Can't You?

2008-01-21T19:13:00.000-08:00

I can just hear what my dad would say: "Why can't you just be happy for her?" Why, indeed. Why can't I share my best friend's pregnancy with her? Why can't I be stronger? Bigger? Nicer? Why did I send her an email begging her forgiveness that I couldn't really bear to hear about her pregnancy (I couldn't even type of the dreaded "p" word) and that I needed to be selfish right now?

I would have to explain the feeling of utter sadness that I feel everytime I think about how she is having a nice uneventful pregnancy after a relatively uneventful period of trying to conceive. I would have to discuss how difficult it is for me to think about how she's probably feeling movement now and I'm feeling the condom wand three times a week to see how my follicles are doing. I would have to explain how it still pains me that we lost our baby that we worked so hard to conceive.

I know what I would say to me if I heard that. "Suck it up and get over it." Were it that easy. The thing is that it's not something you just get over. It's actually easy when it's someone you don't know that well. Unless you see them often, you probably won't get many updates until the blessed event arrives. But with best friends, your obligations are a lot more involved. I feel incredibly guilty that I am asking to be let out of this particular obligation.

I sometimes think I should be stronger. And I feel guilty for not being strong. I feel guilty for being selfish and not sharing this with her. But I also know that right now, I would not be a very good friend, no matter how hard I would try. I would be the Debbie Downer in the room. And, I will tell myself that it is better not to be there than to be a Debbie Downer.

I just hope that I can forgive myself while simunltaneously giving myself permission not to feel guilty anymore that this is one thing I can't do and that's ok.

Just Passing Through

2008-01-21T17:51:00.000-08:00

Even though it is all-consuming and can take years to play out, I think infertility (as a condition - not as a mindset) is actually temporary. We will always carry its scars, but the active treatment phase will be over at some point, either as a result of a pregnancy, adoption, or choosing to remain childfree.

But the time that we are in treatment, that transitionary stage during which you endure the rigors of infertility is, as far as I am concerned, purgatory. In Roman Catholicism, purgatory is the third state, between heaven and hell in which souls that are not sufficiently free from sin are unable to enter heaven. They are also not sinful enough (is that like being the Diet Coke of Evil?") to warrant going to hell.

Purgatory is the state of purification for these souls to free them of sin, usually through pain and fire, so that they can ascend to heaven. (Back in the day, you could also buy indulgences to stave off some of the pain of purgatory. I think there is a good argument that infertility clinics are the new indulgences to buy our way out of the purgatory of infertility. They certainly charge enough. But where is our Martin Luther?)

It is always difficult, though, to see those that you came in with leave before you. Even though all of us dealing with infertility have infertility in common, we do not have outcomes in common. I browse through other people's blogrolls and see all of the new positives and discussions of ultrasounds in the first trimester for girls who have struggled for years. It is wonderful to see those who have struggled get to where they want to be, but it also illustrates how transitory this state is. One month could be the difference between being on the infertile side of the coin to being on the pregnant side of the coin. It is also difficult, though, because when you are still on the infertile side, you feel as if you are once again missing the boat. You're not invited to prom. In other words, you're still not pregnant.

I think Tertia put it very succinctly: "those who have succeeded ... know that there is a (happy) ending to their journey. Their journey is finite. Those still trying don't know. They don't know if they will ever succeed." In other words, we don't know when we will get to move on from purgatory to our next destination.

Anyone have some indulgences I can buy to move things along?

The Things Husbands Say

2008-01-19T12:06:00.000-08:00

We're lying in bed this morning and hubby says:

"I need to knock you up again soon. I miss the big jugs you had when you were pregnant."

Ah, it's good to know that one of us is focused on the important things.

Babymaking 101

2008-01-18T14:37:00.000-08:00

I absolutely lurve these kind of posters that seek to condense incredibly complex biological procedures into four easy steps:

It's like the people at the top are saying, "why yes, I do think I will try IVF! Aren't those needles just darling?!"

There is a large version of this in the exam rooms at Dr. Uterus' office and it cracks me up everytime I see it. There is no way you can make such an invasive, expensive and time-consuming process seem more benign and easy than this poster.

At the same time, it serves to remind me that IVF is in effect babymaking dumbed down. I don't mean that the people who turn to IVF are dumb - no, I mean that all guess work is taken out of the process of conception. The eggs are perfectly matured and harvested. The sperm is introduced at the exact right moment - and some are even inserted into the egg. The resulting blastocysts are incubated at the exact temperature and implanted at the perfect time. The beauty of IVF is that it does make something that is so mysterious and left up to chance as controlled as possible. If only the process were a little less ... everything.

Shhhh! Sleeping Ovaries!

2008-01-17T19:10:00.000-08:00

I went in for my baseline scan today as Big Red showed up right on time on Tuesday. Normally the baseline scan I have done is for an IUI to see if the roiding from the last cycle had sufficiently quieted down. This time it was to see if my ovaries were in nice Lupron-induced hibernation.

And you know what? They were.

They are happy sleeping ovaries that are about to woken up to the banging on the door with the fiercest round of Menopur they have ever seen. I can only imagine what kind of noise they are going to make. They make enough racket on two vials, Lord only knows what four starting out of the gate is going to do. I have a feeling that there will be enough twinging that I will feel like there is a pinball pinging around my mid-section. Oh, the joys of screwing with the reproductive cycle.

On a sad note, I also had my last glass of wine and bath this evening since I start on the Menopur tomorrow. I can live without the booze, but in the winter, there is nothing better than sinking into a tub of hot water with bubbles and good book. Like all things we give up for IF treatments, however, I will certainly live.

Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't

2008-01-16T19:35:00.000-08:00

It never ceases to amaze me the phenomenon of conflicting public opinion. It is well documented in politics where people state that they want one thing and vote for the exact opposite and there is no clear reason as to why. In the complex arena of family planning, women are given mixed messages everywhere they turn, doctors, society, their friends, their family.

Mixed Message No. 1: don't wait too long to have babies! You never know when your eggs are going to go kaput! And, remember society begins to lose empathy with women who put off child bearing until their late 30s because - oh the horror - they wanted a career and end up having trouble getting pregnant. (Need to rent a uterus? You shouldn't have waited!)

Mixed Message No. 2: what do you mean you're 25 and trying to get pregnant?! You should get your career started or you'll be stuck at home with wailing babies and the entire workforce will pass you by! This mixed message was amply demonstrated in a Washington Post article yesterday about women who have careers but are having their children in their 20's. The girls were being villified by their friends and society in general.

In the end, the only message to listen to is your own. Women should start trying to have a baby when they are ready, not when society tells them that they should. And it is nothing more than Monday morning quarterbacking to say that someone should have done things differently.

Lupron Symptom Watch: Day 7

2008-01-16T08:40:00.000-08:00

Newest random symptom: acne in strange places.

Weird and unpleasant.

Yes, You Get a Gold Star.

2008-01-15T12:47:00.001-08:00

Warning: ugly infertility thoughts about maternity fashionwear to be liberally spewed. Stand back. Flow is toxic, but amusing nonetheless.

Early this morning, I found myself in a waiting room other than that belonging to Dr. Uterus to get an X-ray of my elbow. It's been bothering me for the past month, although I didn't have any particular trauma, just poor elbow posture while cross-stitching and sewing. I finally got fed up and made an appointment at an orthopedist's office. I was directed to first go to the imaging center on the ground floor for x-rays and then up to their office with my x-rays. Sounds simple enough.

I'm constantly surprised when I am in waiting rooms other than for Dr. Uterus, that there are people other than us infertility girls. There was such a diverse cross-section of people. Old people, young people, really old people, people in wheelchairs, people with broken limbs. You just don't see that where I usually go. It's the same parade - well-dressed, well-coiffed, slightly self-concious and very obviously not pregnant. That's what I see at his office. And the occasional husband.

Unfortunately, there were quite a few people ahead of me at the imaging center, and even though I got there on the dot, I got to wait about 35 minutes. During that time, I was treated to not one but three forms of exquisite torture:

1) They had the TV tuned to some daytime talk show. No offense to those who find day time programming scintillating, but I wanted to gouge my eyes out, rupture my ear drums and turn into Helen Keller, it was that vapid, wasting, and truly godawful.

2) There was a woman whose phone constantly kept ringing with a ringtone that was set on nauseatingly loud and it sounded like an infant shrieking. She actually thought it was cute. I swear. And it ringed many, many times.

3) And then there was the real torture. One of the nurses who was calling people into the back was probably about 5 months pregnant. How did I know? Gee. Two things. First, she had the tell-tale bump, and two, she was wearing a t-shirt that declared "Oh Baby!" across the front, which as far as I'm concerned says, "I'm pregnant!" WTF?! Isn't this a doctor's office? Aren't you supposed to wear scrubs on top and bottom? I know that they have invented maternity scrubs. Could you just not find a pair? Are they as scarce as underwear at Britney's house?

More importantly, do you just have to announce to the entire freakin' world what is already obvious?! I really just wanted to say, "yes, we all know that you're pregnant, you don't need to announce it on your shirt as well. Go put on a nice drab olive green top and get back to work." It's one thing to have the obvious bump which makes it pretty clear. It's another to have it and then remind everyone (meaning those of us who are infertile) that you have it by wearing an announcement as well.

Luckily, she wasn't the one who called me back. Keeping my mouth shut would have been even more exquisite torture.

Pictures

2008-01-15T11:46:00.001-08:00

I still have the sonogram pictures from our first few scans when I was pregnant. They are tucked away in a little journal in the third dresser drawer to the back left under my shawl collection along with the hospital bracelet from when I had the D & C. One picture even has the little baby with the word "baby" written next to it by the sonogram tech and the printout of the heartbeat. I still can't really look at them. It just makes me feel cheated all over again. At the same time, I cannot bring myself to get rid of them as that is the only tangible measure of success that we have right now.

Soon, though, we may have new pictures. Assuming we make it to the embryo transfer, we will have pictures of our embryos. I know that many couples who go through IVF keep pictures of the embryos, perhaps as momentos to show their children. (I'm trying to imagine what I would feel looking at a picture of myself in the embryonic stage. It would probably be just as creepy to see myself at 5 weeks looking like a blob)

When we decided to go to IVF, I knew immediately that I couldn't keep the pictures of our embryos that are transferred. When I told Sweetie, he was completely behind me. We both know how tempting it would be to give those pictures life that they may not get and how much harder it would make it if things didn't work. It also takes a lot of pressure off during the 2WW. I like to practice visualization and I know I would be picturing those little blastocysts popping around looking for that perfect place to burrow. If they didn't implant, I know that I would feel even more devastated than with a plain negative pregnancy test.

So, we'll know how many embryos are being transferred and we'll know their quality, but that will be all that we want to know (or see).

Realism and Fatalism

2008-01-13T19:01:00.001-08:00

I was never one for philosophy. I did have to read the usual tomes of Socrates and Plato and I found them excessively boring and long-winded. Give me a good bodice-ripper any day over those. Frankly, I think Socrates (or So-crates as Bill and Ted immortalized) would probably have prefered a good bodice-ripper to waxing eloquently about the foundations of modern Western philosophical thought. Who knows, maybe he drank the hemlock because there were no good bodice-rippers coming out that year.

Unfortunately, I had to dust off my philosophy the other day to ponder the difference between realism and fatalism. I had to dust it off because Sweetie accused me of being fatalistic about our upcoming IVF cycle when I was expressing to him my concern that the more money we put into this, the harder the fall will be should the cycle fail. Note I said, "should" not "will". First a refresher:

re·al·ism (n): concern for fact or reality and rejection of the impractical and visionary;

fa·tal·ism (n): a doctrine that events are fixed in advance so that human beings are powerless to change them; also: a belief in or attitude determined by this doctrine.

I've always felt that I approach our infertility and treatments with realism. I understand that treatments are not always successful and that it may take quite a few trys. And, despite the very optimistic odds that Dr. Uterus gave us for IVF, I don't expect that this cycle will fail, but I also don't expect that it will work. Is that fatalistic? I don't think so. I think it's realistic. We know the odds and even though they may be on our side, that doesn't really mean squat. We thought the odds were on our side when we heard that amazing strong heartbeat on the monitor and then four weeks later, it was gone. So, we ended up in the 10% who get a D & C and karyotype despite hearing a heartbeat instead of being in the 90% who hear a heartbeat and go on to have normal, healthy babies. If that is not getting the short end of the stick, I don't know what is.

I am also realistic as a means of fighting off the tyranny of hope. Hope is such a loaded concept in infertility. You hope that this cycle will be the one, or that next procedure will finally do it. I firmly believe that it is possible to get addicted to hope. At the same time, though, I also think that a small amount of hope is absolutely required if you go down this road otherwise, you are just kind of blowing in the breeze.

In the end, I just take it one day at a time because I can't do anything about what might happen in the future. I hope that I can be realistic, though, when things do happen.

Thar Be Thinking

2008-01-13T13:04:00.000-08:00

I have to admit that as much as infertility sucks, blogging about infertility has made it a lot more tolerable. Now, it's even more tolerable because Wilma, that hysterical Canadian cat lady over at Death Bed Moment has nominated me for a Thinking Blogger Award!

Wilma, who is much, much wiser than I could ever hope to be, nominated me with the following statement: "~ her writings about her struggle with infertility make me pause in my carefree childfree world & think of the effect my careless words may have on others around me. She has kitties, too!" (For the record, the cat nip that I sent did not in any way influence my nomination for this honor. )

Fortunately, I don't have go the Susan Lucci route and be constantly nominated but not win until hell freezes over. All I have to do is:

1) write a post with links to 5 blogs that make me think.
2) Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme.
3) Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn't fit your blog).

And now, for my 5. Drumroll please.

1) Christina who is writing about her quest to live in a new way, meet new people and do new things. And she has gorgeous photos!
2) Pamela Jeanne who writes about Coming 2 Terms with her decision to remain childfree after infertility, but with grace, snark and humor.
3) Schatzi/Sassy who is a comrade in the fight and presents lessons on how to be infertile and still be happy everyday.
4) Seraphimcharm who is chronicling the life that is New York through four lines everyday. Quite a lot gets packed into those four little lines.
5) Heather who practices living thoughtfully and with reflection.

Whether you know it or not, each of you makes the days that much brighter with your humor, wit and thoughts. Onward and upward!

The Eternal, Infernal Question

2008-01-12T21:28:00.000-08:00

I remember reading an article a few months back on-line which was very aptly titled, "The Struggle to Move Beyond 'Why Me'"? The author had been diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer and was trying to find the answer as to that eternal, infernal question: why me? If I had a dime for everytime I asked myself that, I would be able to pay for my entire IVF out of my own pocket. I asked the question because I wanted a real, solid, understandable answer like, you breathed wrong in 1992 or you did too well in college or you drank too much. In the end, I came to understand that there is no answer. And man, does that suck.

But, realizing this is also freeing. It's freeing because I don't have to keep asking the same question and not getting an answer. I also don't have to be concerned with why other people seem to have no problems. Maybe I thought by asking these questions over and over, that somehow something would finally hit and I would understand.

The author of the article determined that her answer was that bad things happen to good people. I don't really like that answer because it implies that there is still some reason. The truth is there is no reason for why some people are hit with bad things and others aren't. Concluding this, believing this means that there is no actor involved in determining what happens to people. It's just life.

One thing I did like in the story, though, was when she met a woman with Stage 4 ovarian cancer. The worst of the worst. It is probably a death sentence. And yet, she said something amazing when asked "How do you do it? How do you live each day with cancer hanging over your head?”:

“I treat every day as an adventure, and I refuse to let anything make me sad, angry or worried,” she replied. “I live for the day, which is something I never did before. Believe it or not, I’m happier now than I was before I was diagnosed.” She wasn’t spending her time tracking down studies and agonizing over statistics. She wasn’t sitting with her head in her hands, asking why, why, why. No, she didn’t know why she got cancer, but she realized that nothing would be different even if she did.

Amen, sister. You are my new hero.

The 100

2008-01-11T17:01:00.000-08:00

I've seen in a few blogs where the blogger writes down 100 things about them. I'm always one for shameless self-promotion, so here's mine.

1. I HATE cold weather.
2. I'm always cold.
3. I have an irrational fear of anthropomorphic animals
4. I don't like going to zoos.
5. I have weak ankles.
6. I own a t-shirt that says "Go Fuck Yourself" but I don't wear it in public.
7. I have heckled a baseball team's mascot.
8. I enjoy spying on my neighbors.
9. I work from home which makes No. 8 much easier.
10. I do get completely dressed for work. I do not work in my PJs.
11. Peanut butter and jelly is one of my favorite foods.
12. I eat to live, not live to eat.
13. When I was a kid, I wanted to be on Saturday Night Live.
14. I can do a fabulous Church Lady impression.
15. I am very active in recycling. I would recycle everything if I could.
16. I buy most of my clothes at designer consignment stores.
17. I didn't learn how to do my laundry until I went away for school.
18. I had to take calculus in college (after 2 years in high school) and complained about the textbook to my professor, who it turns out was one of the authors.
19. I wrote a paper in high school on the book Of Human Bondage and started my presentation by saying that I thought the book was about actual bondage.
20. I have been on the cover of Time.
21. I played the flute for 5 years, including private lessons.
22. I have obsessive compulsive disorder (not like Monk)
23. I volunteered at a senior center reading bingo numbers and was heckled by the harpies playing.
24. I have one living grandparent left and she's a harpie.
25. I live 3.5 hours from her, but I've only visited her once.
26. I think I have known more sadness than my parents.
27. I do not feel as if I am home.
28. I floss six days a week. I get Fridays off.
29. I eat at Subway at least two times a week.
30. My weight has fluctuated only 15 pounds since I was in high school.
31. My top size is different than my bottom size.
32. I have a shoe fetish.
33. I have beginnings of bunions as a result of No. 32.
34. I'm branching out into accessories like scarves and necklaces.
35. I don't wear a watch. Ever.
36. I have no tattoos.
37. My only piercings are on my ear lobes.
38. I lost my wedding venue 5 weeks before the wedding.
39. I found a new venue within 3 days.
40. I did not have a traditional wedding cake and there was no DJ.
41. I love watching people's wedding videos and critiquing the fashion choices.
42. I have a Sno-Globe collection (how on earth did someone think it was a good idea to have a Sno-Globe of Gettysburg?)
43. I have Sno-Globes from four countries (including Tasmania!) and 13 cities/states.
44. I can trace my ancestry back to the Mayflower.
45. My parents told me that I was related to Ben Franklin (complete truth) when we were at a Burger King.
46. I can drive a manual transmission.
47. I have been mistaken for a Jehovah's Witness.
48. I ran indoor and outdoor track in high school.
49. I lost my arches in the process.
50. I have personalized license plates. They are not my first pair.
51. I actually enjoyed square dancing in elementary school.
52. I wore glasses from when I was in elementary school until 2004 when I had Lasik.
53. I met my husband on-line.
54. I asked him prior to us meeting if he was an axe murderer. He said no.
55. I know how to paint in watercolors and oils.
56. I got to draw from nude subjects in high school (I have never, ever seen a hairier man)
57. I refused to give in when my social studies teacher tried to blackmail me in return for a letter of recommendation for college applications.
58. I did not become a serious drinker until grad school.
59. I like O'Douls non-alcoholic beer.
60. I don't like the rind on soft cheese and cut it off before eating the cheese.
61. I had my first taste of champagne when I was several months old. I reportedly slept like the dead that night.
62. I have emotional and sentimental attachments to cars, but I do not name them.
63. I can't stand liquer in desserts.
64. I loosely follow Weight Watchers.
65. I have smoked approximately two packs of cigarettes in my entire life.
66. I have never smoked marijuana (and I certainly didn't inhale).
67. I judge Mexican restaurants by how many and what kind of flashy colors they use on the outside.
68. I have used an outhouse complete with a moon in the door. In West Virginia. Seriously.
69. I am not an outdoors-y type.
70. I don't do camping.
71. I know a little about a lot of things.
72. I have been called the Veritable Fount of Useless Knowledge.
73. I still can't beat my husband at Trivial Pursuit.
74. I used to be addicted to Tetris.
75. In my youth, I flashed.
76. I have mild hypoglycemia and have to have protein at lunch or else I will crash in the afternoon.
77. I don't drink coffee, but I love the smell.
78. I don't drink iced tea. I don't like the smell either.
79. I love Diet Coke with lime.
80. I have broken only one bone in my entire body.
81. I broke it when I was thrown from a horse.
82. I haven't done much horse-back riding since.
83. I'm much better with people who are older than I am than with people who are younger.
84. I didn't learn until I was in my 20s that you are supposed to shave the hair on your big toe.
85. I had my first eyebrow wax when I was in college.
86. I had my first pedicure when I was in grad school.
87. I think I'm getting a wart on my left foot.
88. When I was a kid, I had warts removed with liquid nitrogen. It was really cool.
89. I got my first job when I was 16. It was working in a craft store.
90. When I turned 10, I moaned that I was turning the big 1-oh.
91. When I turned 30, I moaned that I was turning the big 3-oh.
92. Even though I am Athiest, I love gospel music, but not Christian rock.
93. I live in a different time zone than my parents.
94. I have visited or lived on three different continents.
95. I have not crossed the international date line.
96. I have walked the Golden Gate Bridge (twice!).
97. As a wedding favor, we gave away tree saplings.
98. I used to like the song "88 Lines About 44 Women." Now it just sounds sexist.
99. I am all of these things and I am infertile.
100. I'm doing my absolute best to overcome No. 99.

Lupron Symptom Watch: Day 2

2008-01-10T11:47:00.000-08:00

I've been on the Werewolf Drug for two days now at a dosage of 0.1cc and so far the only real symptom has been extreme weepiness. I am crying at every little sad thing like Ricky from Project Runway (he should be his own drinking game - everytime he tears up, drink. You'll be sloshed by the 30 minute mark). Friend having to put sick kitty down? Yep. Trying to decide about whether to adopt dog? Yep (they all need homes!).

So, I am restricting my TV watching from now on. No Lifetime Movie Network, the Hallmark Channel, WE, Animal Planet, or anything else that might trigger teariness. No commercials for AT&T, Werther's Originals or Hallmark. From here on out, it's Die Hard and other testosterone-fueled non-weep fests.

I need to be able to keep my mascara on, people!

Further Strange Symptom: I have been unable to leave my kitties alone and have been snorgling them with abandon at every opportunity. More often than not, I am left with a) a squirming cat, b) a top covered in fur and c) fur stuck to my newly-Chapsticked lips. I am undaunted.