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Places to Go:
Fat Lady is Warming Up
Well my temperature went up and no, er, physical signs of a period. But shit do I feel like it is coming.
I just wonder when I get to wear the scarlet “i”. How many failed cycles does it take to declare yourself infertile? I dare anyone to not take this kind of stuff personally. With each failed attempt it seems like God, Mother Nature, Fate, Karma - everyone is sticking it to you. Deeming you unfit, unworthy,unable.
So much of my real life is on hold. Things that I joke about as being victims of my procrastinating ways. The reality: I am not really a procrastinator. I am a task doer fueled by Capricorn panache & Episcopal guilt. Give me a deadline & I will give you results before it is due. But subconsciously I am doing that barter thing.
I have neglected editing a documentary that I shot in Africa in MARCH. I expected to have it done before the end of Summer at the latest. I started the project, got sucked into the trying to get knocked up world, and have neglected it. Then I went sour on it. (This is a real, core, kind of reveal…so don’t judge me too harshly.) But part of me knows that I am holding out on working on this project b/c I feel bitter. I don’t want to look at video of children and babies all day until I know I have one safely brewing in my belly. I am very ashamed of that. But as much as I have sat down & readied myself to work I simply can’t do it. I have a mental and emotional road block up.
I am also so exhausted. It hit me that I have been holding my breath for at least 3 days. Every time I feel my brain go into crazy obsession world I try to ground it by reciting poems, the Lord’s Prayer, monologues from Shakespeare. But my soul, my heart, the fiber of my being as been in a suspended state of hope. I feel like I have been maniacally clapping to keep Tinker-bell alive and if I stop clapping then everything will crumble.
I need some help me through’s. Some good vibes. Prayers if you’ve got them.
& If I owe you a phone call or e-mail. I’m sorry. You really don’t want to play in the silly putty of my energy at the moment. I’m doing us a favor.
New Fionna Apple CD, etc.
It is perfect. Have it on repeat.
Bought a box of tampons at target this morning. Just in case. Also got pale yellow mums to take to my Grandfather’s grave.
I am convinced now that I am not pregnant and already trying to fluff the emotional support pillows I know I will need. I’m working through the checklist:
need to order more vials of sperm,
need to calculate potential R.E. appointments (will they coincide with J’s wedding??),
wondering if I should take another month off,
thinking about finding a shrink…
All the while the tears are on tap. They have been trickling since early last evening.
The weeping is more connected to missing my Grandfather. But then I get all twisted in the celephane of my head space & morph emotions of GF into emotions of the reality of another failed cycle. So it just becomes this big snot fest of every raw nerve I’ve got. Every possible thing sends my bottom lip to quiverland.
I hate having a heart some days.
Waiting Game
I am doing all that I can to be patient. Sipping on mint tea. Did some yoga this morning. Meditated outside listening to the early morning birds. Now I am trying to lull my mind away by listening to some Bach. (Prelude in C Sharp Minor from the Well-Tempered Clavier, Book 1… to be specific) All this is in a lame attempt to quiet the hopeful wench screaming inside of me, “Come on & pee on a stick!!”
The past couple of days I have been fucking with my head & psyching myself out. Every ’symptom’ is really not a ’symptom’ but a reaction to my anxiety. All my attempts to preoccupy my mind are futile. Yesterday I did shitloads of cleaning and deep conditioned my hair. I cleaned the litter box, readied the recycling, cleaned the fridge, read more of the new Jennifer Weiner book. Then, like an evil vortex, my laptop would call me over. Suddenly I am at amazon browsing children’s books. Seriously, 30 minutes drooling over The Chatterbox collection.
Then I woke from my coma and decided to crank up the tunes. Coldplay starting singing to me and I immediately thought of Gwenyth and the rumor that she is pregnant. Damn that Gwenyth! (actually, I take that back. I hear she is really nice. So way to go Gweny!)
I retreated to the den to see what the GM was up to. She was reading the front page of the paper over and over. (We have a new mayor and the change is very confusing for her. The old mayor is retiring after something like 4 terms in office. That’s right, M.B., Al Dupont is gone.) We decided to watch some t.v. Very excited about that as t.v. is a great mind suck and would certainly take my mind off…things. We tuned in to Martha Stewart’s new daytime show. (have you guys seen it? She’s baaaaaack & frankly, better than ever!)
Whoopi was on the show (LOVE the Whoopster!) Then I remembered that she was in that movie with Ted Danson. The one where she was an SMC and they thought the sperm bank mixed up her chosen sperm with Ted Danson’s. Remember? I shook my head (Ted Danson sperm mental picture: BE GONE!) & tried to focus. I was doing great until they did the promo for tomorrow’s show: Special guest, the very pregnant Jennifer Garner.
I need a daytime melatonin.
Another sucky thing going on is that b/c I am so anxious I have to pee like every 30 minutes. But each time I go to the bathroom I am terrified to see the sign that the jig is up. So I try to hold it as long as I can. I am most likely giving myself some sort of awful urinary tract infection.
Oh magic fairies of the Universe. Granters of Wishes and Creators of divine things such as crispy honey chicken from P.F. Chang’s. Hear my plaintive cry. Here before you sits a woman who is committed and ready to be the best Mother she can be. I have read the books, I have seen the shrinks, I have worked out my issues with my own Mother. I have learned that fertility is not something one should ever take for granted. I have left my partying ways in L.A. I have found the perfect God-Parents. I have found the perfect surrogate Aunts & Uncles. This child would be embraced, wanted, cherished and celebrated. Just thought you should know. & thank you for the miracle of febreeze.
Testing will begin tonight. I am not expecting results. & frankly, based on the way I feel this morning…I am no longer too hopeful.
UPDATE: Got a number…
Progesterone # is 52.
Now the rational side of my brain is saying, ‘Well that is a nice number, but it doesn’t confirm a pregnancy.” I hear you rational side of my brain, loud & clear.
However.
The hopeful side of my brain is going, “Holy fucking SHIT! That is a ginormous #! How could it not mean SOMETHING?”
Rational:Dude. chill out. Anything over 15 on a medicated cycle just proves that you ovulated. We know you ovulated b/c your Momma gave you a shot to force your body to do so.
Hopeful: I don’t care. 52 is a fabulous # & I want to feel good about it.
Rational: Ok. Feel good about it in the moment & then get back to worrying & being pragmatic.
Hopeful: But even the nurse that called remarked how excited she was over my #.
Rational: She is excited b/c it is Friday & she was about to go home. The world is not revolving around your vagina.
Hopeful: Can I just be hopeful for the rest of the night?
Rational: Fine. I’ll allow you that. First thing tomorrow tho you get back to obsessing & worrying.
**The part of Rational to be played by Bea Arthur. The part of Hopeful to be played by Betty White.
Progesterone
Leaving in 10 minutes to go to the Baby Making Clinic for some blood work. It seems early to get this blood work when I am only 5dpo…but heck, anything to get answers early. A # above 15 is what we are pulling for. Even tho’ a high # doesn’t = pregnancy…a low # certainly = NO pregnancy.
Everybody clap your hands for tinkerbell. You believe!! You believe I am knocked up!
Hush Mommy
Admiral barked at chipmunks all fucking night. I am in no condition to post. But yet here I am, unwilling to break this routine. At one point my Mother joined me outside trying to quiet the Admiral. In between screams of, “Be Quiet!” & “Hush Puppy!” she turned to me & grinned. “Just think. When you have a baby this is how it will be every night.”
Ok. Um. Hush Mommy!
Seriously I wish there was some sort of book or movie that dealt with the long list of things one shouldn’t say or do to a woman that is trying to get pregnant. A very special episode. My Mother (& I should note that I do love the woman immensely) is guilty of some off the wall comments and behavior. In no specific order:
1) As I was prepping for my trip to Africa my Mother tells me that she is going to build a playground in our backyard while I am gone. It took weeks, but I finally convinced her that looking at a playground in my backyard would not be a fun thing while dealing with infertility.
2) At my 1st IUI she told the doctor (as he was loading up the catheter), “So you are going to be the ‘Daddy’!” I nearly vomited on the table.
3) Around the time of my 2nd IUI I started getting ‘Fit Pregnancy” in the mail. A gift subscription from you know who…
4) At least 30 comments a week involving a variation of the following thought, “When you have a baby…”
5) After an IUI at least 100 comments of, “OH!! You are acting SO pregnant!”
I could go on, but I think you catch my drift. & I know the woman is acting out of ridiculous love for me. She is positively beside herself to become a Grandparent. And she will be a great one. But now. Until it is a reality. I need her to hush!
Hcg & Inconceivable
I was ready to do it. It took me about 15 minutes to make sure I was mixing the powder and getting the proper dosage. I was rubbing an ice cube at the freckle were I was planing on aiming. Then something wonderful happened. My Mother came home.
My Mother who has MS & at one point in her illness had to give herself an injection twice a day. She tossed her briefcase and rushed over. Before I could even say hello she stabbed me. She then gave me a twenty minute back rub, fed me a bowl of chubby hubby (note the irony) and then sent me off to bed. My Mother rocks.
I did an opk this morning & was happy to see a very obvious positive. Yeah- the stuff works!
This morning, after temp-ing & opk-ing, I watched Inconceivable on tivo. I am torn between feeling excited that a bit of ‘my’ life is being shown in mainstream media and baffled about how unrealistic it is. The plot lines involving the patients were dull and yet over the top. The show should really be called surrogacy since 97% of the story’s plot involved surrogacy. The other 3% involved IVF.
A surogate mother goes into labor and the excited parents rush to the hospital just in time to see the delivery of an adorable black baby. The only glitch: the parents and surrogate are white. So *obviously* the Doctor screwed up and implanted the wrong embryos. And of course after the child is born nobody wants it. Alfre Woodard (the clinic’s shrink) tracks down the surrogate and she reveals that she had unprotected sex before the embryo transfer. Now they have to find the father. & of course even tho he looks to be in high school he wants his son. blah blah blah
The other story line involved a returning soldier who wants to honor his deceased wife’s final wish: to be a mother. Before his wife, also a soldier, went to war they had some of her eggs retrieved and frozen. Now that she is dead her sister has stepped forward volunteering herself as the surrogate. This was a very creepy and icky plot line.
The third plot line is about another surrogate/parent relationship. This time the parents to be are a *wacky* gay couple. I think this was the most upsetting story line as it was such a farce: a pregnant woman is stalked by one of the parents to make sure she is eating right. Since this was the only portrayal of a gay couple it turned my stomach by making them a joke. No lesbian couples were represented at all.
One of the main characters, Ming Na from E.R., plays a doctor who is also a single Mother. We learn through out the course of the show that she is an SMC and conceived via donor sperm. Her son, now 7, has questions about his father and is upset that kids at school call him Frankenstein. “Because everybody knows I was born in a test tube, Mom.” What? The show ends with this creepy montage of Ming Na showing her son her sperm donor’s profile. As the kid gets into bed he places the Polaroid of the donor on his bed side table and stares at him.
And don’t get me started on the lab worker who reveals that, “Maybe God doesn’t want everyone to have a baby. Maybe what we are doing here is wrong.”
& also don’t get me started on the scorned lab assistant that starts doing switcheroos on sperm donations.
So will I watch it again. Shamefully, yes. There is a sense of power in being able to watch something & know that that is not how it is. My Mom feels this way when she watches lawyer shows. the 2nd half of law & Order is always peppered by her remarks of, “No WAY would the judge ever do that!” or “That would never happen.” I get that this is hollywood and tv-land. It is a heightened reality. But I also feel like this is a chance to show many people the grit of infertility and I am hoping the show can rise to it.
One More Day
Yes. It is time to be graphic & clear: the above pictured device will be up my poonani tomorrow morning.
I am feeling ridiculously giddy about tomorrow. I think it will be a little early for the HCG (ovulation trigger) shot, but I am hoping that I will have a good number of good sized follicles waiting to release some high quality eggs. At least this cycle I can relax and feel quasi empowered by the control of getting a trigger shot. It feels like I am now doing everything possible to get the timing nailed down.
In family news: The GM & I are doing fine. We watched jeopardy & the new Martha Stewart Apprentice show. (I tivo’d Lost & haven’t watched it yet. Don’t tell me anything!) About 5 minutes before the end of the Martha show I looked over & GM was fast asleep in her chair. In the dim light of the den she looked so young and peaceful. I felt this rush of love for her and then immediately felt so guilty for putting her through that emotional whirlwind of the Austria trip.
THIS IS A HAPPY FACE!
Hurrah. Woo Hoo! Victory Dance! My ovaries performed beautifully. (way to go, girls!) The technicican told me that everything was 90% clear. The 10% of stuff was described as, “just your basic hanging out little follicles.” Ok. I’m fine with them hanging out. As long as they don’t open a mini mall & create a political system we are cool. The tech griped a bit about my left ovary being high. Apparently this is very common in tall people. Great so being a giraffe means big ass feet & high ovaries. THAT’S how the weather is up here.
After the dildo cam exam (credit goes to Ova girl for coining it perfectly) I was sent to a smaller exam room to wait. In walked my favorite nurse with a tool box. She winked & tossed me a pair of surgical gloves. Interesting. This was not something I was expecting. She then opened the tool kit & revealed needles. Lots of ‘em. & those little bottles. I gulped.
Nurse: Ever wanted to play like you were on E.R.?
Me: Are you asking me if I ever wanted to fuck George Clooney?
Nurse: Besides that. (love her) I’m going to show you how to mix HCG & give yourself an injection.
We had about a 20 minute tutorial that ended with me finally figuring out where the old “lump in the boob” plastic breasts* go to die. They end up in being injected by nerds like me that want extra practice on giving a shot.
*To clarify - I am referring to this plastic boob that we had passed around my 9th grade biology class that we were instructed to “find the lumps”. I guess it was better than having us feel each other up.
After the tutorial my RE, Dr. W, popped his head in & said, “Just so you know I am insisting that you get pregnant this cycle.” Well good. Glad we are on the same page.
I got an RX for clomid - bumped up to 150mg. I start those bitch pills tonight.
Phew. Seriously, that is all I can say. Being on a break was hard emotionally for me, but it was a very good time off. I’m ready to play.
Against Doctor’s Orders
So I got busted by my doctor (RE). I called in to make my ultra sound appointment via the nurse & after some chit-chat she says, “Dr. W is looking over your chart right now and he would like to speak to you.”
I was glad - I had some questions about what just happened to my last cycle.
It began nice enough:
Him: How are you feeling?
Me: Fine. Except I am bummed that I have a zit on my chin.
Him: It could be worse.
Me: true dat
Him: So I see you are on cycle day one. This seems soon.
Me: I KNOW!! What the F??
Him: Is there anything that you did differently this cycle - besides NOT taking the clomid (fertility pills)?
pause
Me: Well, er, I have been taking some herbs.
Him: what?
Me: Herbs, sir.
Him: Who said you should be taking herbs? You are supposed to be taking a BREAK.
Me: Well I like to be proactive.
Him: We’ll talk when you come in on wednesday.
oooooooooooooooooh sh!t. I am so gonna get yelled at.
As far as what next the plan is:
1) Have an ultra sound wednesday to confirm that the cysts have been reabsorbed by my body
Assuming they have, go to step 2. If not it is another month off for me.
2) Take clomid (there was a brief discussion about whether or not Dr. W would have me try this *newish* drug called Femura, but he has decided not yet.)
3) Go crazy whacked out on step 2 drugs (they say crack is whack…dude you should try clomid. ugh)
4) In 10 days I can start over analyzing all of my bodily functions (bet you are looking forward to those entries, right??) I will also start using ovulation predictor kits (opk)
5) In 13 days I will go in for another ultra sound to see what shape my follicles are in.
6) On the evening of day 13 I will inject myself with the hormone HCG. This will cause me to ovulate in 36 hours.
7) On the morning of day 15 I will go in for an IUI
8 ) On day 26 I will get a positive pregnancy test. (positive thinking here, kids)
So now that everyone knows the plan I can officially welcome you to 2 weeks of mania.
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