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Places to Go:
The News Is In.
The phone rang around 7pm last night from an unfamiliar number. GM was asleep and Mother was still at work and I was way too into watching Extra to deal with all of the political calls that had been coming in. (anyone else on speed dial for both political parties? It is annoying as hell) So I lazily answered the phone, all prepared to tell the person on the other end of the line to not ever call us again. The caller began with, “Mrs. _____?” First sign of an annoying phone call is when the caller can not pronounce your last name.
I cheekily replied, “Sorry, no one here by THAT name.”
The caller then used my first name. Oh. Um. Yes. That would be me. Then he apologized for not saying who he was. “Sorry to be bothering you so late, this is Dr. [Liver].”
BOING. He now had my attention. Instinctively I reached across the couch to the table where the box of anti-viral tissues perched. If a doctor is calling you at home, after the evening news, it is clearly going to be bad. Bad, bad, bad.
Here is what Dr. Liver had to say to me (& no, I am not making his line up), “I have good news and I have bad news. The good news is that you do not have Hep C, the bad news is that you will no longer be my patient.”
Ok, let’s bypass the cheesy delivery of his news and just go right for the meat of it: I DO NOT HAVE HEP C!!!!!
Dr. Liver explained that either I was a rare, rare, rare case of someone getting Hep C and then getting “over it like the flu” (not really possible) OR that I never had it in the first place. I have zero virus in my blood. None. Nada. Zip.
I got off the phone with him and immediately called Mom, who was on her way home. She screamed and I (as quietly as I could) screamed back and then we both started crying.
And I cried so much, I am still crying. It is a mess of crying. I am full of so many emotions: rage over a canceled cycle, sadness for the almost recipient, elation over not being sick, pissed off that I have to go through meds again, scared that I won’t respond at all, nervous that something else will find a way to get fucked up.
I haven’t even called the clinic yet. I was going to e-mail them, but I think with news like this I should deliver it over the phone. And so what if I cry, right? It was a shitty thing that happened. And an even scarier one to have to spend so much time on. And I find it horrific that this is the week that I most likely would have had my beta. I can get really chocked up on the “what might have been”.
But for now I am going to try and be optimistic. I get knocked down but I get up again.
I can never thank you all enough for being here for me as I go through all of this. Don’t ever doubt that leaving a person a comment or e-mail helps. It does. BIG TIME. Just knowing that all of you guys, and then all of your readers, were supporting me and offering advice and assistance- it was very healing. Thank you, thank you.
Time to get ready for the IVP’s IVF! 
And so the book closes, or is it the chapter?
Yesterday morning something rather unexpected happened. In a typical early morning trip to the bathroom I discovered that my body had decided to have a period a week early. I was so surprised by this early train to menstruationville that I barely had any absorbent apparatuses available. What was more surprising was that in the thick of the bathroom drama I remained positively nonplussed by everything. Blah, blah. No big whoop.
It was maybe an hour later that it hit me: there goes my almost IVF.
With that realization I became almost white cold with sadness. It’s over. All of the work and the saving and the stress and the medication and the traveling and the arranging and the hope- all of it flushing out of my body.
And I felt ashamed. I failed. I couldn’t even make it to retrieval without fucking something up.
Of course I sat with my shame and self flagellation for a while, marinated on all of those words that are the most cruel and hurtful, tortured my heart by having one last day dream of what might have been. And then there was peace.
Suddenly the realization hit me that I had faced one of my biggest fears and I had survived.
All of us stress and moan about all of the things that can go wrong in an IVF cycle. Will I stim ok? Will my lining be plush? Will my eggs be mature? Will they fertilize? And then there are those of us that tack on extraneous worries: what if they find a lump on my breast during one of the exams? What if I shit during a procedure? What if my eggs are alien life forms? What if my downstairs is so hairy and gross that they refuse to proceed?
I faced the “What if my bloodwork comes back positive for a scary disease/infectious virus” worry. Head on. It was something so crazy and absurd that I hadn’t even thought to worry about it in depth. But it happened. I had to live through the phone call, the hugs from clinic workers, the packing of the unused meds, the flight home, the explaining. Oh the explaining was the worst.
I walked through the valley of the shadow of a canceled IVF. And now I fear nothing else.
Seriously.
While I still wait for the quantitative results of my bloodwork, the results that will definitively tell me if I have this virus or not, I feel crazy strong. Picture me in my plaid boots with a matching plaid cape, shaking my fists at a stormy cloud and shouting, “Bring it!” And then the cloud booms, “Oh it has already been broughten!” And then I shout back, “Oh is that all???”
And lest you think I am taunting the Universe- well, I am not. I am merely acknowledging (to myself more than anyone) that I AM strong enough to do this. And once I am able to I will be going through IVF again. I can’t be broken with early periods and painful cramps. And I refuse to be bullied by my own negative thoughts. I faced the worst (thus far) and I made it through.
For now.
K.I.T. mode
Wednesday night I drove back to the clinic with a bag full of unused fertility medicine. I handed them off to a woman behind the desk and she, in turn, handed me a small envelope. I carried the envelope through the lobby as if it was all I needed. I was cool. I was calm. I had my envelope and all was right with the world.
Once I made it to the safety of M’s car in the parking lot I opened the envelope and realized that I was now the proud owner of two sets of lab results and a free packet of birth control pills. My consolation prize. How sweet. How not consoling.
Once back at M’s apartment I booked a flight back to Florida. Or maybe I booked it before I drove to the clinic, I honestly don’t remember. I just remember driving to the clinic and having a 3-way conversation on my cell phone with Bri and Charlotte. A conversation where I was so concerned with proving how fine I was that I was making jokes. Actual jokes about having hep C. You know- those wildly appropriate jokes where you tell someone that you are sure their baby will be fine as you didn’t give them a tattoo when you held them on Sunday.
But it is all about being in kit mode. Kit, of course, stands for keep it together. And that is all that I am able to do right now, but only just barely.
I flew home yesterday morning. Mother & GM were so glad to see me and I was not so glad to see them. Sure there is the bittersweetness of it all. The happy to be getting hugged by your family bit. But I wasn’t supposed to be home. I was supposed to be in the lobby of the clinic waiting for my name to be called for my final ultrasound. I was supposed to be getting instructions about giving myself the trigger shot and what to wear to my retrieval. Like I said- bittersweet, but with extra helpings of bitter. Tomorrow was supposed to be my retrieval.
I spent most of yesterday in a suspended state of kit. I was cool and calm as I called around town trying to find an infectious disease doctor that would not only take my insurance but also see me before December. And why are there 6 million doctors in my town with degrees from the Caribbean school of medicine? I am usually not a doctor snob. I have no qualms about my doctor speaking 15 languages and having a last name longer than my address. But for some reason I kept visualizing that particular med school as being on the 2nd level of a cruise ship. I am sure I am wrong, but I think now that I have this funky shit going on I get to be as picky as I want to be.
Of course what I really wanted was a Dr. House. There was a funny moment when I actually found a Dr. House in my insurance plan, but hopes were dashed when it was discovered that this particular Dr. House was an ear, nose, and throat guy.
I eventually found three doctors that looked aggressive enough and I called all three and secretly entered them into a contest. The first office that called me back won two points and the office that could see me the soonest won 500 points. No points where given for gender (usually something that gets oodles of points) and no points were given for distance (I would make the trip no matter how far). It was almost a two way tie, but the doctor that was able to see me on Monday morning won the game.
There is a giant part of me that is still in massive denial. I have entertained the following fantasy 6 million times: I go to the doctor’s office, they perform a series of tests, and it is ultimately realized that I do not have hep C, the lab in the northeast fucked up big time, and then Julia Sugarbaker opens up a can of whoop ass on the lab and they give us tons of money and then I set up a foundation and buy IVF’s for everyone.
I need to start realizing that I do have this. And I may never know how or why. But that just sucks ass. I want to BLAME someone or something. I want to have a specific thing upon which to unfurl my anger and rage. I am ready to be furious. I am seriously sitting on some major furious.
Now I am in some sort of trance. I have been sleeping and then waking and then roaming and then sleeping. And my gut hurts. And every time I go to the bathroom I see evidence of how many eggs I have. And I mourn them. Is that weird? I mean I have always been sad around ovulation when I know that nothing is going to happen. But here I am, ripe, with around 20 eggs, and there is not a damn fucking thing I can do about it. It is filling me with a sadnesss that is so deep that I worry that it might drown me.
No News Yet
I am really shit at waiting and the unknown and not being in control. So I am guessing you can imagine the specific kind of hell that I am in right now.
I went to the clinic early hoping that someone in the donor wing would have results for me. No one was there except the woman that deals with the recipients, a woman that up until this morning I had never interacted with. But still she was fully capable of handing me wads of tissue and letting me cry in her office.
In all of this drama I have yet to encounter an asshole, and for that I am truly grateful. Sometimes you aren’t so lucky to be asshole free. We spoke about the almost recipient and I asked her to please pass on my apologies. It is almost easier for me to be concerned about her than myself right now. It gets me out of my head and focusing on the sorrow of another person. I can do that, I can empathize like crazy, but I really suck at being concerned for myself. I am last on the list. (I am also not so secretly in denial that anything can possibly be wrong with me.)
So the wonderful recipient coordinator made some calls and saw that my results were not yet posted. Off I went, across the quad, to the bloodwork room and then to the lobby to wait for the ultrasound.
By the way, the closer I get to my (possible) retrieval the more swank the ultrasound rooms get. It’s like graduating up a notch with each wanding. Today I felt like I was in the poshest ultrasound room ever. And there is sadness as the tech counts the follicles and I still find myself reflexively dividing the count by two.
After the wanding I went back to the donor offices and the two coordinators that have been with me the longest came over and gave me hugs and and expressed their upsettedness over all that has happened. But still no answers. It seems that my blood did not make some sort of noon cut off time and that I should be in the afternoon postings.
But I am sucking at the waiting. My skin is about to peel off and my gut will not stop churning. I am frozen.
update from clinic
There is still so much up in the air, but it says a lot about this clinic that the donor coordinators are still trying to hold my hand. I just got a call from one of them who really went to bat for me. She has convinced my RE to allow me to continue stimming until we get my results back. And she has worked some kind of magic to get the results of the retest by wednesday morning.
If the results are positive then I will have to discontinue the stims and seek immediate treatment for hep C. If it is negative then I can proceed with the IVF and have a retrieval on Saturday.
We are still waiting to hear back from the clinic as far as how much a continued IVF will cost me. The clinic does not do financing so it will all just depend on how much of a discount/deal they can offer me. The coordinator, who we adore, basically told me that if I am negative she will move a mountain to make it happen for me.
I then asked how the potential recipient was doing, completely choking on the words. I was told that she was upset but more concerned about my health. Hearing that just made me so much sadder as I can see how well we would have been matched.
I am overwhelmed by the generosity of you guys. It is breathtaking to be this embraced. I am not bullshitting here, you guys are completely saving me. I feel like this is now everyone’s IVF, everyone is now a part of it.
Let’s just hope like fucking crazy that wednesday’s test is indeed negative.
and nothing else matters
This is going to be a very difficult post to write. I don’t even know how to begin as I am so confused and upset. I guess I should just start with the phone call. The one where the head coordinator called to tell me that I am no longer eligible to be a donor. The call where she explained that I tested positive for hepatitis C. The call where she said that they are in talks with legal to see if I am liable for any money that the recipient is out or pocket on. The call where it became completely clear that I will not be getting a baby out of this trip.
The call where I was cancelled.
The day started out pretty good. I got up super early for my blood work and ultrasound. I found out that I had three more follicles than last friday’s scan showed. I had a spring in my step. I was singing to the radio. I was getting ready for acupuncture. And then the phone rang.
Positive for hep c.
I immediately went back to the clinic to get another hep c test, but the results won’t be in until friday. The recipient has already been notified that I am no longer able to be a donor. I can only imagine how she is doing right now. I am in shock. I can not stop crying. I can not stop feeling like I am being punished. I am totally, 100% gutted.
The coordinator explained that maybe I could work out a deal and continue with the IVF, but I would some how have to come up with however many grand to do that. And that is just not something that I can do right now. Mother is home freaking out and volunteering to sell the cars and do whatever it takes. I am going to have to let her fight for me right now as I just don’t have the strength. I am done.
I would be completely comfortable swearing on a bible & telling you that I do not have hep c. I just don’t know how I could. And I know people that have had false positives. I just know I am one of those people. Right?
Fuck. Fuck FUCK.
It’s just fucking wrong for the Universe to do this to me. It is horrible and cruel to get me this fucking close to something this fucking huge and then take it all away. I don’t know how I will ever find faith again.
Edited to add/Change: Thank you all for your comments and for the donations. I am totally raw right now, but know that your actions and words are salve for the wound.
I am going out on a limb and un-protecting the post. I guess since there is no longer a recipient to protect that I can be more open.
I also wanted to clarify that I have had (in all of my epic ttc adventures) many blood tests and of those tests all of the the hep C results were negative. I am the definition of a low risk profile, so this test result is so shocking and freaky. This recent test was an FDA required test (part of a donor panel) that must be done X days before retrieval. So regardless of my negative status that I had when I was accepted as a donor, there was no way that the clinic could have known that this new test would show up positive. This just makes me feel very certain that the result was a false positive.
I have had a draw for a repeat test, but the soonest a result can be had is Friday. Friday is probably also the day that I would have had my egg retrieval.
I am just waiting for the clinic to call me and let me know what their financial people can do as far as me financing my own IVF. I am trying to cry out all of the tears so that I am unwavering on the phone.
But honestly, I can’t even talk on the phone without losing it. I keep thinking about the woman that was almost the recipient and what a shitty day she must be having now. I feel guilty and then immediately hate myself for feeling that way. I feel smited and cursed and vexed and ruined and damaged and destroyed and of course this is all beautifully heightened by the 5 million units of extra hormones that are in me.
I don’t really know if this IVF, my only chance, can be saved, but it means a hell of a lot that so many of you are taking on the cause. It just sucks like nothing else has ever sucked before.
Protected: Protected: Wham Bam…
Protected: Protected: Phase 3
Photo Friday: The Finger
It might be a little obvious that I am losing my mind. In the middle of getting the house ready for some company this weekend I paused to do a photo shoot with my left index finger in drag.
Fridays are tough in general as there is lots to be done around the house and there is the escorting GM to get her weekly hair wash & set. But today I also had to make up all of the guest beds and do some pre-cooking for some big family meals that will be had in a few days. The house now reeks of Clorox (bliss) and I wish that I could saran wrap everything to keep it pristine before our company arrives late this evening.
Oh & did I tell you that I have to arrange for my sperm to get from one clinic to another? & did I tell you that in order to do that it will cost me around $350 (I checked. It is cheaper to ship than to just buy another vial. My donor is pricey.) And did I tell you that the lupron arrived the other day and that I almost barfed from excitement? And did I tell you that I bought my fucking TICKET? I love forward movement.
Now go tart up your finger & take a photo. It will make you feel very accomplished. My finger now looks a little tragic as her makeup has smeared all over my keyboard (oops).
Trick or Treatment
I got a call from the NEC and they have my schedule. Shazam! I didn’t have to wait a week! I didn’t have to call back! Yay!
For those of you playing along at home I will begin Lupron some time next week (the pharmacy just called to verify my shipping address. How exciting is that?) and then later in October I will begin my stims. I have decided to travel to NEC the day I start my stims as the monitoring is insanely less expensive. I also need to have some blood work done there and it is literally hundreds of dollars cheaper to get it done at the clinic.
This means that I will be in the Northeast for around 2 weeks. I can’t think of a more perfect time to be in that part of the country. I am already daydreaming of tights and boots.
Mother has informed me that she will be taking 2 weeks off of work to be home with GM. I am in awe over this. I was really stressed about getting a sitter and arranging good care for GM but I was kindly informed that it was not my problem to solve. I can’t even begin to tell you how relieved that makes me. Of course I can’t say that I won’t be fretting about GM and whether or not things are going well, but I need to let go on this.
It is hard to believe that around this time last year I was planning a trip up to the Northeast to meet so many of you for the first time. Remember the us from a year ago? So much has happened since then: 1 baby born, 5 babies conceived, and all the rest of us are pretty actively trying or at least figuring out what the fuck to do next. Pretty amazing.
I guess I should also tell you guys now that once things get specific with my IVF I will be going into password stealth mode. This is not to shut anyone out, but really to protect the other parties involved with my IVF. I am pretty open about the process, but I am not alone in this journey.
Even though I don’t know anything about the woman on the other end of this cycle I feel very protective of her right to anonymity. I would hate for her to google my lab results and find all of us in mid conversation about them! Once I start protecting posts I will e-mail the password to unlock them. If you have commented in the past you will get a password. If you are a lurker you better start talking! heh.
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