-
-
The Groups
Pendulum Out
You know that pendulum I was talking about? How it swings out or swings in?
Right now it is out in happy land. I hope like hell its stays there for a good long while.
There is a positive pregnancy test in my house. From MY pee. At 11 days past ovulation (8 days past a 3 day transfer). I am hoping like hell this one decides to stay around. We all know that lots of shit can happen, but, unlike last time I am making the choice to be elated from the get go. Fuck angst and nerves. Nothing is in my control right now except how I process this fucking awesome step. The choice is mine: submit to the hallway of doom and bad memories or run for the hills to twirl and sing.
I’m twirling.
Holding of the breath
There is this thing that I do when I am scared. I literally stop breathing for a moment to quiet myself. Now before you start sending in paramedics I only do it for a literal moment. Just a quick instant to hush all of the noise that a body can make during all of that inhaling and exhaling stuff. Sometimes my heartbeat will become really loud. Sometimes the air-conditioner will clang to life. But usually it is just a pure, quiet, silence. And in that silence I am able to tell myself things: Calm down, it will all be OK, it is out of your control…
At this point in the trying game I am running from one breath holding moment to the next. I am rendered completely incapacitated by fear and hope: twin sisters that have taken over for the butterflies and are now braiding each other’s hair inside my rib cage.
There is no in between or half way outcome. The pendulum will either swing out and stay out in a land that is unknown to me, or it will swing back in and chop up my insides and a very familiar way. This is my least favorite part of waiting. There is no bullshit conversation that you can have with yourself that will con your body into working the way you want it to. It either will. Or it won’t.
And it doesn’t stop me from doing the stupid quantifying mind fucks. I light a candle in the morning and if it is still lit by evening I declare meaning in it. I am only human, and isn’t it in our nature to want there to be a reason for everything? Thunder in the sky- the gods must be angry. Lit candle on the kitchen counter- the gods must be giving me a baby.
Ew.
I can’t believe I typed that word. Pretend I didn’t. It gets in the way of my zen.
Sadly I don’t seem to be able to DO much other than hold my breath, gasp for breath, light candles, and watch marathons of Mad Men on demand. If you asked me to bet on an outcome I would not be hopeful.
Mixed Messages (with update)
Ah….I am now home in the southeast where it is freakishly cooler than it was in the northeast. Talula and Charlie where thrilled to see me, Mother too. But GM. Oh my dear, sweet, GM. Seeing the look of happiness on her face when I walked out of the baggage area was pure wonderful. It is amazing to be so wanted. She thinks I am just here for a visit but hopefully (once I don’t leave!) she will remember that I am here to stay.
Having some problems getting some answers from the Northeast Clinic in regards to the blood-work I had done yesterday morning. My estrogen was well over 1,100, but my progesterone was 30.1 and therefore “a little lower than we would like to see.” The crap part is that the nurse that left the message had no idea what meds I was currently on so her message went something like this, “If you are not on progesterone you need to be. And if you are then you should now be twice a day.” MMMMkay. But what do I do if I am already on progesterone twice a day AND 1cc of PIO? I went ahead and gave myself an extra PIO shot before I went to bed last night and a bit more this morning.
If I have to do Via Vagina THREE times a day I might never recover. Honestly I would rather inject myself 3 times a day than have any more medicine to shove down there. I am so not a fan of that lingering not so fresh, slip and slide feeling in my hot pocket. And I have to wonder if my body is just expelling the goop too much and that is why my #’s are low. Not to be too female technical but two days ago things were so in a state in that area that my liner actually gave up and retreated down my leg and landed on my shoe waving a white flag. Yeah. Not fun.
I have called the clinic twice now and am have been told to stand by. blah blah
So here is the part of my brain that I hate. I hate that when I hear things that indicate that I have underperformed I immediately start packing my bags for a trip to the dark place. It is such an irrational mental move. I mean 3 years of progesterone knowledge should be ingrained into my skull: progesterone numbers to not = pregnancy success or failure. But did that stop me from going instantly to the, “it didn’t work” place. I know. dumb. I am trying to force myself to quiet that negative voice. And really- progesterone is something that I can fix. But I’m being honest here. I admit to getting depressed about it.
UPDATE:
OK. You guys fixed my head. I am now way more chill about the number. I feel silly for even having a moment of freak-out flare-up. The clinic called back. They say they did not ask if I was on progesterone, but prometrium. I say toe may toe, tah mah tah- let’s call the whole thing off. Bleh.
Mother is now in the drivethru at the pharmacy picking up my new prescription. So now I will be getting the juice via the mouth, via the hoo ha and via the inject site on my hip. I should be a fun chick to hang around. This will make symptom gazing next to impossible.
It’s like a heat wave.
The alarm went off at 6:30am and I woke up realizing that I was grossly & stickily covered in sweat. Immediately I became disgruntled as the heat just fouls up any chance of a good mood. I got dressed rapidly, gave myself an injection while eating a banana (I have mad PIO skillz) and was in the car and on the way to the Northeast clinic by 7am. It was already a bazillion degrees outside but I worked hard (HARD!) to think the cool thoughts.
I had my bloods drawn swiftly but there was a billing issue so I had to wait. (You didn’t think I would escape this cycle without another adventure in billing, did you?) So I collapsed into a mismatched chair in the lobby and tried to find my quiet place. But I couldn’t.
It is a specific kind of hell to be trapped in a room with another persons gleeful parenting.
My hell was manifested in a polished looking European couple and their freakishly long toddler who was impishly adorable the first time she squeaked, “CRACKER!” and then quickly escalated to considerably annoying when she launched into a monologue of “Up! Mommy! Up! Up! Mommy! UP! UP! UP!”
Mommy was playing footsie with her husband and having, what I can only imagine, was some sort of, “Just because we are at a fertility clinic doesn’t mean we can’t pretend we are auditioning for a skinamax movie” fun. Yes. Footsie. In the lobby at the clinic. With a toddler.
And did I mention I was waiting for someone from billing to come talk to me? So we’ve got Billing angst x annoying groping couple x their loud/ignored child= h. e. l. l.
Occasionally the woman would acknowledge the child teetering around the lobby with a stern, “Victoria! Not a toy!” or “VicTORia! No touch!” Which is kind of what I wanted to say to her husband when I glimpsed his arm scooting up under her shirt.
When billing finally called me back I was beyond relieved. Beyond. And thankfully it took less than two minutes to sort out my financial issue (I was trying to pay for blood-work ala cart and they only had the price listed as an ultrasound combo so I had to wait for someone with authority to approve that yes, I can just pay for blood-work.)
And now I am back at Marta’s trying to cool off but not doing such a good job of it.
Yesterday I had a rare treat: an official Baltimore crab-cake brought to me by an official Baltimore hon! The sweet and adorable Gypsy Girl made a special little drive up to visit me as I lolled about in my plaid house-dress. She also brought these amazing hand dipped in fudge cookies that are so good I think I might need to marry them. Best of all- she brought herself. It is always so great to meet someone from our community face to face.
So now I am going to loll some more and watch the fantastic scene of handsome burley men from the water department fix a busted hydrant in front of Marta’s house. That might not cool me off, but what can you do…
BONUS: Newest JibJab for your Thursday political amusement:
Greetings from the lounger.
Today has been so nice and mellow. So quiet and sleepy. Sure there was that hour or two earlier this morning when I suddenly felt my gut churn with that you know what sensation (thank you progesterone) but that fun seems to have passed. Um. Literally.
Now I am embracing the lolling. So far I have watched some tv, watched a really depressing documentary about the original cast members of the Broadway show, Annie, and I have found myself guiltily submerged into Twilight. (& feeling like an old fart because the more I read the more I think I have a crush on Bella’s DAD.)
In a way I have sort of forgotten what a big day that yesterday was. I am wondering if I will leak with emotions soon. The big goal is obviously to have a successful pregnancy, but the most immediate goal was to actually get to the point where I could try. Being able to try is like getting sponsored to go to the Olympics. It is that chance. That just maybe. I mean you can’t get your mug on a Wheaties box if you don’t ever have a chance to do the pole vault.
Side Note: Yesterday’s doctor appointment went well for Mother & GM. Some new MS symptoms are rearing for Mother and she will have to get some testing done soon. She is being casual about it so I will be too. GM was not really present mentally for the exam and her weight has gone down more than I realized. Luckily the doctor does not think that she looks unwell, weight wise, but we have some new meds to try out.
It has been bittersweet to call home these past few days. Mother is, of course totally wanting to hear details and play by plays, but GM just breathes into the phone. Even when I say her name she barely answers me. I still feel the cord that connects us, but it makes me sad that when I am not with her I am a stranger. Used to be that I could get a chuckle out of her or get her to sing a song with me, but the last 3 times I have called she has fallen asleep while holding the phone.
It has me thinking a lot about connections. How connections with friends and family are always there, but if we don’t see each other or talk to each other it feels like the thread that ties us becomes slippery and loose. I often feel like friendships are slipping away because I crave closeness when proximity is usually not available. I appreciate all of the well wishing comments here so so much. You have to know that. I feel like I have free fallen into you and you all are carrying me safely in your outstretched hands. (sorry my ass is so big)
And as much as I love you all for crossing all the things that can be crossed I am beginning to worry that some of you might be dangerously cutting off vital circulation. I think we need to have a silly universal phrase that is unique to our corner of the blogosphere that conveys the same hopeful and wistful well wishing. Wishing baby dust is banned on this blog, obviously. So what have you got? The more outrageous and ridunkulous the better!
A quick* update for those standing by
(*warning. The name of this post is a lie.)
Thanks so much for all of the well wishing & good mojo being vibed towards my innermost lady parts. I was so blown away by the affection that I was rendered incapacitated by a deep and peaceful nap. mmmmm.
The transfer went well. I arrived to the clinic with the required full bladder and butterflies. They kept me waiting a ridiculously long time in the lobby. Well any amount of time with a full bladder is ridiculous. It was only made worse by the dumb fact that I had opted to sit in what turned out to be a high traffic area. Since I am an amazon girl with long legs I had to uncross them every 25 seconds to allow someone enough room to walk by. So every 25 seconds I was in bladder hell.
Finally I was called back and taken to an office to sign papers consenting to the transfer and then whisked back to the sterile area to prepare for the procedure. I looked to see if my favorite embryologist was in the lab, but since she worked all weekend she had today off. I was, however, able to leave her a little note thanking her for being so cool. I mean let’s be real, the chances that any music was played in the lab over the weekend just because I asked for it are pretty slim, but you have to adore any scientist that will placate me with good intentions.
So I stripped down to near nothing, donned the paper robe, booties, and lunch room lady hat. (bonus points go to the nurse that remarked that the paper hat made my “eyes look so blue”. Will now begin a new paper hat wearing phase.) I was handed a Valium and then we slowly made our way back to the transfer room.
Once in the room and loaded up onto the table an embryologist in a hazmat looking suit appeared with a clipboard. This would be the scientist with the stats that I had been holding my breath for all morning. And thank fucking lawd she had some good news. All four embryos were still alive and doing well. It wasn’t until I started to cry a bit that I realized just how afraid I was that they wouldn’t make it to today.
She handed me a little black and white photo and told me that the two blobs were grade A 8-celled embryos. She then let me know that the other two were grade A 7-celled and that they looked strong enough to re-freeze. (as she is explaining the re-freeze process my mind wanders to this weird visual of lasagna- something that also re-freezes well.) She leaves the room and I am left alone with this photograph. It looks so much like the photograph that they gave me in December that I begin to wonder if it is the same one.
I stare and stare at the photo and try to muster up some sort of emotion about the image, but nothing comes. I was just in a haze of relief. I try to look at the picture like one of those magic eye things from the early 90’s. You know- those pictures that look like a series of buildings except if you can get your eye to focus a certain way you can suddenly see the entire cast of the A-Team. So I am gazing at the blobs, trying to see a toddler in plaid, when the door bursts open with a Hungarian woman wheeling a traveling ultrasound machine and singing, “helloooooooooooo!”
Hello!
The RE is close behind and we get down to business. My feet are put in position and the table is turned almost upside down. My crotch is now eye level to the standing mid-sized RE. The paper sheet is pushed up and sort of tucked under my boobs and cold gel is squirted on my gut. The Hungarian woman pulls out the ultrasound mallet, or whatever you call it, and begins pressing down and rolling it around verifying that my bladder is full enough. I focus on not projectile pissing into the face of the RE.
Bladder is full (for reals, scientifically verified and everything) and they thread a small catheter into my uterus. The RE notifies the embryologists that she is ready and they load up this summer crop of iotas into me. I can watch the ultrasound machine monitor as liquid flushes into the uterus. Somewhere on that slip and slide were my embryos. Wheee!
They do a quick double check to make sure that the embryos are not stuck in the bottom of whatever device it is they have them in and then quickly the catheter comes out and I am lowered from my headstand position. I get a pat on my thigh and a thumbs up from the RE and then she and the Hungarian exit stage left.
I then am informed that I must remain on the table, resting, for twenty five minutes. Full bladder, people. Full. I am told that if I really need it I may employ the use of a bedpan in twenty minutes, but if I can make it to twenty then I might as well shoot for the full twenty five. I realize that this is me usurping control over a situation that will soon be way out of my control.
Twenty five minutes fly by, I think I even drifted off to sleep, and then I am allowed to relieve my bladder, get dressed, and go forth into the world. The amazing Marta was ready for me in the lobby with a chocolate bar and a banana and we made the drive back into town for my acupuncture session. (thank you Dr. Molly for making that possible!) Acupuncture was smooth and mellow and was followed by an epic nap that I have only just now stirred out of.
The next thing to count down to is blood work on thursday to make sure that the progesterone and estrogen levels are ok-very glad that I will still be up in the northeast to have that done. Beta is to be done on July 26th but ya’ll know I will be testing before then.
So now we wait. I am thrilled that some header art orders have come in as that will be a fantastic thing to submerge my brain into for the next two weeks. It’s hard to obsessively poke your boobs when photo-shop is being used. (not saying that I won’t try tho’)
Side Note: Right now Mother and GM are at the doctor’s in Florida. Mother is having her yearly done and GM is having her quarterly. I am worried about how fast GM has declined since her last exam. One of the questions I compiled for Mother to ask the doctor is what should we expect next. I mean we are firmly in the final stage of Alzheimer’s but that does not mean we are at the final stages of something larger. I know there is no way to know, but I just want to be prepared.
*I just glanced up at the title for this post and chuckled. “Quick”. Ha ha.
Dawning is The Day
It is currently 4:06am on Monday morning and all of a sudden I am wide awake and giddy. That’s right: giddy. I feel like it is a holiday. It is a day that I have literally been counting down to and suddenly it is here. It is now. It is today. It is four hours and 24 minutes from right this moment.
The flight to the Northeast yesterday was smooth but there was certainly a level of chaos on the plane. In the back 5 rows a gaggle of pre-teens in matching t-shirts and sparkle hair accessories passed the time between take off and landing by singing the entire soundtracks to Disney films. Even though you could hear their chaperone’s urging them to take it down a notch you just really can’t contain voices of that age. These girls were all elbows and insecurities in the check-in line, but being in the air gave them confidence. It was annoying for maybe 2 minutes and then it was as if my soul had some sort of phantom memory of being that age and then I couldn’t stop smiling about it.
Marta was waiting for me right outside of the baggage carousel and off we went to one of my favorite places of all time: trader joe’s. Sigh. Oh how I love TJ’s. I loaded up a basket with easy to prepare foods for today and tomorrow. OH! And I learned how to tell how ripe a pineapple is (in case you were wondering a pineapple is ripe if you can easily pull out a leaf from the head). We then went back to Marta’s house for some down time before heading back out for a pool party that was more about board games than swimming. Lovely.
I was in bed before 9pm. Which kind of sucked because I really wanted to see at least the opening number of the Miss Universe pageant. But I honestly wanted to hurry up and sleep because I knew that one more sleep was all that separated me from today.
While I was in the air yesterday morning an embryologist from the North East clinic called to update me on the state of things embryonic and to give me my call time for transfer day. This is the embryologist that I spoke to on Saturday and together we discussed what to thaw: 4 2pn’s: Three from “natural fertilization” and 1 fertilized by ICSI. (translated: 2pn embryos are ones that were frozen pretty much immediately after fertilization occurs. So “2pn” means that it has a nucleus from my egg and and a nucleus from the sperm: pro-nuclei) The lab informed me that 2pn’s have a better thaw rate due to their being less fragile but that they still recommended thawing four with the hope that at least two would survive.
The message from Donna was to inform me that all four survived the thaw on Saturday and that as of Sunday morning all four were still dividing. She also let me know that my specific lab requests had been carried out. That request was that Donna put my embryos in the most romantic corner of the lab and change the dial on the lab boom box to whatever station was most inclined to play Barry White. Might as well put some romance back into this process, right? I love a scientist that can play along…
And so now it is 4:29am and I am perched on the edge of my seat trying to keep the butterflies from exploding out of my navel. Doing a frozen cycle has been such a luxury. I am much more calm than I was in December. So much more ready. So not a giant ball of stimulated ovarian bloat and angst. Instead I am pure emotion. Jubilant and twitchy.
If you are up and reading please beam some good feelings up this way. I am already pretty high soaring on a magic carpet of optimism ( I made an executive decision to just go with the hope.), but there is that little itch on my pinkie toe that feels like fear. I am ignoring the itch right now, but I imagine it might spread a bit as the moment gets closer.
The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
-Emily Dickinson
Cleared for Take Off
Northeast clinic just called and I am officially on schedule for a Monday morning transfer. Sweet fucking happiness! The nurse had a butt-load of information to relay as far as what meds to take and when. Of course I didn’t manage to write down what she said about the estrogen and I am feeling like an idiot (oh smart internets, question for you: I don’t stop taking the estrogen once I begin the progesterone, do I? I know she said to stop with the via the vagina fun, but now I can’t remember if she said to continue the oral doses. I actually don’t think she said. Which pretty much means keep taking it, right? I know, I know…I’ll call them tomorrow. Unless someone wants to play IVF nurse with me now.)
The wonderful part about having a transfer on Monday morning is that I then have 2 days of bed rest and then the rest of the week to have a bit of a mini vacation. I can not tell you how thrilled I am about that bonus free time, although I am certain you can imagine.
Embryology will be calling on Sunday to discuss the important stuff. I don’t know what the percentage of survival is for thaws but I am wavering between wanting to transfer two or three. But there is a 90% chance that it will be 2. Oh God I feel so smug for even talking about it. Please forgive me.
I have to say that it feels very out of body to be at this point. I like being on this side of the pessimism/optimism pendulum.
Now a bit of bloggy news: If you look to the left you will see a swank new ad from Conceive Magazine. I will be running this ad from now until I return from my FET vacation. And just why am I directing you to click on the ad? Because the awesome people at Conceive just donated a pretty nice sum to the UTERUS brigade. Their donation goes into the pot to help the next member of our community that needs extra support. I am thrilled by their generosity and dedication.
I have a copy of The Fertility Journal that I would like to donate to one of my readers. If you are interested in a journal to chronicle your path to conception let me know here. I will do a random drawing when I return next week.
Get off of my cloud
This morning I went to the new local clinic for my cycle day 15 ultrasound and blood-work. I often wonder what it must be like for people that are just a short drive away from their clinic. For me, the forty-five bonus minutes in the car is kind of torture. Sure I have my radio, but I have a horrid problem of allocating the disc jockey with psychic powers. So, for example, if ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want‘ were to come on, even though it is my #2 favorite song of all time, I would be forced to quickly change the station. Don’t you tell me, Mick, that I can’t get what I fucking want. Sure I might get what I need, but is that enough??
So back to the clinic commute. It was typical for me: missing an exit, accidentally going across the river, getting lost in crazy downtown morning rush, nearly getting into 15 accidents in the parking garage. Good times.
I arrived to the clinic early and was rewarded with a quick scan and blood-work. The nurses were kind, full of caffeine and zest. I even had a nurse that canceled out the bad experience nurse I had at this clinic almost 2 years ago (the donor egg nurse that I overheard saying she wouldn’t treat me because of moral issues). Today’s nurse, upon seeing the “single” box checked on my form, said, “That is so great that you are doing this on your own. Good for you!” The verdict is still out on whether doing this on my own will, in fact, be ‘good for me’, but I appreciated the total lack of judgment. Rare in a southeastern state fertility nurse…
The crazy part is that all of the scans at this clinic are done by RE’s. I think, in all the scans I’ve met before, an RE has only performed a scan on me just once before and that was part of a special training moment at the teaching clinic I used to go to. Today’s RE was a fucking whisper wander. He was in and out before I had even said good morning. The lining looks ready (all I heard was “11, triple. looks good.”) so I am relieved for that. Of course that won’t stop me from looking for other uterus numbers from the peanut gallery for my own warped sense of comfort.
There was one little speed-bump at billing. It’s always effing billing, isn’t it? Just one of those, “You owe us ____.” and I say, “But I was told ____.” The wonderful thing was that it was only 5 minutes of explaining my case before the head honcho billing woman just shrugged and said, “fine.”
And with that, the shit billing experience I had from Rip Off Clinic has been cancelled out by the Universe.I really do feel like all things are balanced now. Om.
[Here is my little public service note for any other lady out there self paying her way through fertility treatments: keep talking. If you have a billing person trying to charge you for more than you were quoted you have every right to insist on the quoted rate. Trust me, I know that billing can be a bunch of tools, I mean someone has to be the heavy in getting the money. But stick to your guns. Don't be afraid to cry or share your story. Ok, PSA moment is over.]
On the way home I was back to my awful psychic radio dj session. The Stones were now shouting for people to get off of their cloud. How do you not sing along to that? It was a fantastic arena anthem moment for me, all alone in the car on the freeway. I demanded that everyone get off of my cloud because two’s a crowd.
And then the funny happened. Something so absurd and sit-com moment. Let me set the scene: Me, still on a Rolling Stones sort of high, stuck in a bit of traffic, and feeling totally relaxed. I have mentally told myself to stop fucking playing psychic friends with the radio and just have a good drive back home. The DJ comes on and announces that it is time for us to put a quarter into the “Flashback Jukebox” and see what comes out. And then I hear Paul Anka’s, “She’s having my baby.”
Now here is where you think I might go all, “OH! Psychic radio!!!!!” Except not. Because over two years ago I pulled into a fertility clinic and the same random song began to play on the car radio. And I TOTALLY went all swoon and special smiles. So hearing the song again today (only the 2nd time in my life, mind you) just made me laugh. It made me flashback to the 2006 version of myself.(totally forgot about the pants that turned my ass blue.) The gal that was still getting excited about post thaw sperm counts and wearing lucky underpants.
I’ve come a long way baby.
Yesterday some of my interweb friends were discussing their amazement over how much their children have grown in two years. A year ago that would have slayed me. I would have felt totally left out and sad. And sure, there is still that moment where I wished I had a toddler so that I could join in, but life is what it is. This is my now life. Who knows what is in my future life.
Frozen Embryos in the news…
Imagine my amusement/surprise/curiosity when I read within the pages of my favorite Hollywood Gossip Site a little tidbit about frozen embryos. Seriously. Tucked in between posts about Hulk Hogen’s daughter and Christie Brinkley’s divorce there was an actual blip about frozen embryos.
Now if a Hollywood Gossip site is including assisted reproduction information within their site you KNOW some Hollywood babies are conceived this way.
Yup.
This might make me more Hollywood than when I actually lived in Hollywood.
-
-
Great Hosting By:
