All triggered up and no place to go (just yet)

Took my HCG trigger shot at 8:00 tonight. I'd been feeling a smidge nervous about doing the IM injection myself, but last night I had an epiphany. It went something like this:

Why worry?

So I didn't. Just mixed and jabbed. No prob.

Now I finish getting ahead on work enough to leave it alone from Friday (ER at 7:30 am) through Tuesday. DH's flight tomorrow will get him home by noon. He is exhausted, so we need to get him a nice nap.

Today's appointment report for those who follow such deets:

7 follicles at 18–20 mm
2 follicles at 15 mm
3 follicles at 12–13 mm

Dr. L will do the retrieval. I'd hoped to get Dr. K (my RE), Dr. D, or Dr. L. So I'm happy.

I had a tough time not crying on the drive home. I kept having strong surges of happiness/hopefulness about where things stand, remembering the "sick" from how things went before, and generally feeling hopped up on hormones. One minute I'd laugh at a corny morning-radio bit, then I'd be angry at the cell-phone user slowing down traffic. Just about lost it when I heard a clinic ad stressing how most patients don't even need IVF. ("Hey, chances are you'll get pregnant just by MEETING our super-smart staff!" Yes, I exaggerate.) Then, while finally walking into the house, I caught myself whistling. I don't whistle, btw.

DH just may get his wish of witnessing some authentic drug-induced mood swings!

Moving right along

Had my now-daily clinic fix first thing. The follies are behaving themselves. We looked at 12 total: 9 possible egg-carrying vessels at 13–15 mm; 1 at 10.something mm; and 2 "cuties" (the NP's word) trying to get in on the fun at around 7 mm.

I had to slap myself (in my head) to keep from squealing.

Will get measured again tomorrow, give blood, and have an acupuncture session. Same thing minus the acu on Wednesday, to which all signs currently point as trigger day.

Diagnosis: Irritation

Added Cetrotide .25 mg to the injection cocktail yesterday and had a tee-errible night. Throughout the evening, my Cetrotide injection site was tender and rashy. Then I woke up at 12:30 feeling HOT (but not in any of the good ways) with an abdomen out-to-there and swelling/painful burning & itching in the nether-est of regions. Tried but just didn't need to use the restroom, so I drank a bottle of water and a glass of cranberry juice right away. I was able to start purging some fluid fairly soon, but it was another 3 hours before I was comfortable enough to even try lying down again. Nothing in the house to use for the nethers. Not enjoyable.

Turns out all that is just how some ducks react to mixing the Cetrotide with the stims the first time. Antagonist protocol? I'll say.

Day 8 bloodwork and ultrasound first thing tomorrow.

Follies on the brain

I had a sleepless night Tuesday, just counting the days until today's follicle and bloodwork check. Recovered with a great sleep Wednesday (partly because the acupuncturist gave me a special sleep needle, mostly because I was exhausted). Then I had a freakishly great day on Thursday: Highly productive at work; lots of energy; positive attitude; loving feelings toward all humankind; thinking it didn't matter how things went with the cycle because I was just so damn lucky to be alive and should be grateful to even have this experience. (WTH on that last part! Must be the drugs.)

Last night (still Thursday), I fell asleep fine, but then I awoke at 3:00 (stupid Friday) and resorted to counting the minutes until my 8:30 appointment. I lay there just tuning in to my ovarian sensations and trying to cheer on the 11 follies counted last week. "Come on, my pretties. All together, now, grow, follies, GROW!"

I tried visualizing them, but I didn't really like the true-to-life image. Sometimes I'm just better with the figurative, so after a bit of psychedelic drifting, er, clever word association, I began thinking of the perfectly symmetrical and synched-up chorus lines from old-time stage follies. I want my follies to behave like those pins, all crazy-in-step and full of vim. And you know, from the prominent, buzzy twinge-y feelings I have on both sides, I think they are.

The appointment went well from the "poor responder" POV. All 11 are still there, with 7 currently out in front, of fairly uniform size (10–12 mm), and on track for maturity by ER in another 6 or 7 days. The 4 lagging behind (6.5–8 mm) are close enough to surprise (yay) or drop off completely (boo, whatever). My lining looks good. Didn't write down the individual follie sizes/placements or ask about the E2 number because I'm leaving some details alone. I don't need to do the math, nor can I do anything to affect it.

The rest of the day? It sorta stunk: Spent my acupuncture session resenting the 4 hours out of this day I spent at/getting to and from the clinic; spent WAY too much time in the pm dealing with all things IVF (new appt schedules, meds reorders, trying to guess the ER date for an anxious DH); totally ignored my sister's perfectly well-intentioned phone message asking for an update — I felt inexplicably annoyed to get it; got very little quality work done; and wore a frownie face, mostly, while walking my just-happy-to-be-outside-and-sniffing dog in gorgeous weather at a picturesque state park.

"Must be the drugs again," I told myself tonight. I'm sure they're playing a part. But really, I know that even though I was indeed happy about today's monitoring appointment, deep down all I've been doing since is wondering if there's anything even in them thar follies.

We'll see soon enough.

Home alone

It's strange going through all the cycle motions with DH on the other side of the country (and only marginally in touch). He sent an email early this morning that just said "How's the pooch?" Didn't realize until later on the phone that he wasn't talking about the dog. He meant my injection "pooch." (Ha.) Which, by the way, is already markedly bloated on Day 2 of stims. Not complaining yet, though. I'm still in a state of active gratitude that I'm not on Lupron for this round. I know I feel better. Hoping that means I'll keep more of my sanity as things progress.

Game time

Wasting some time while acting as the go-between for DH and the clinic about the IVF and cryopreservation consent forms he faxed last Wednesday from the road. DH faxed and got a confirmation receipt, yet the clinic "can't put fingers on the forms." Grrr. Anyway, saw this time-waster a while back on Tracy's blog — now seems like the perfect time to propagate it.

my name is:


relationship status is:


favorite color is:


celebrity crush is:


favorite princess is:


favorite adult beverage is:


dream vacation is:


when I grow up I want to:

And this little piggy went, "Good luck!"

Today is CD 1, marking the official beginning of our second IVF cycle. I'd thought (and hoped), it would start on Wednesday. That would have meant not only that I'd had a normal-for-me natural cycle (this was only a 9-day LP!), but also that DH would have a better chance of getting to fly home for ER at the least inconvenient time for him.

But such goals were not to be. The body does what the body does, eh?

My stims phase starts Monday. My nervous-stomach phase starts now.

Like my good-luck pig?

With apologies to T. S. Eliot and those who enjoy good haiku

April is the month
that cruelly sprinkles dull roots
with hope for new life







The photo shows the cap from my vial of Cetrotide 3 mg. I chuckled at its message as I mixed the potion tonight, which — once injected — left me with an itchy red welt.

YES!

Just feeling good because my suppression check went smoothly today. Everything looks normal. The only "cyst" was this cycle's ovulation follicle. It's small and collapsing on itself as I live and breathe.

It was Dr. L's day to see patients. He measured the cyst/follie, poked it from every which-way to see whether it hurt (nope!), and said, "That is a nothing. Everything looks exactly right for where you are in your cycle." He counted 11 small resting follicles, all of similar size (!!!!!!!!!!!).

When I said, "This is starting off so much better than last time," he smiled, clenched his jaw, and gave me a firm fingers-crossed sign. Then he said, "There are no guarantees." I told him to shut it and let me enjoy the difference 2 months make for a moment. All in good fun, of course!

Had a great acupuncture appointment afterward. My liver qi was especially good, said J. I was glad because I took a teetotaling break over the weekend. I didn't drink much at all, but it was more than the nothing I've been having per my own set of rules (the clinic says moderation is fine right now). It's just that DH and I went to a professional baseball game, and I don't think they sell soda pop at the stadium. They didn't at the bar we went to afterward, either. I am choosing not to punish me for disobeying me (and not thoroughly checking out the soda option)!

I'll give myself a 3-mg Cetrotide antagonist shot tonight. Stims start 1 week from today. And I will be visualizing, meditating, praying, and mostly muttering my brains out from here on out.

Suppression check in 5 hours

Will I be cyst-free? Will I get the go-ahead to do a Cetrotide injection tonight? Will my cycle calendar start to firm up? Will I need to explain the billing mix-up again in order to pay the amount originally quoted and NOT the one that's $2K higher? Will my wait time for this appointment make me late for my acupuncture appointment afterward?

I'd be okay with a yes on all fronts.

Pretty sure boys freak out when girls cry

. . . during, uh, you know, a bit of the ole "wink wink, nudge, nudge."

Actually, my boy doesn't realize I choked back tears for the whole during last night. Apparently there was no way for me to pick the ideal time, place, or situation to finally have a nice breakdown. It was a while a-coming.

My eyes leaked hot, stinging tears. I held my breath and bit my lip to try to stay quiet. I repositioned myself to keep from choking. And DH, god love him, had no idea.

That cry started with me deciding I'd had my FILL of On-Demand Hanky-Panky. I've been fine with ODHP for most its 4.5-year reign at our house. But I hit a big wall after the February IVF and since then have NOT been on task with it. It seems ludicrous to even try that approach anymore, because doing so implies some expectation that sex with your husband might result in conception. More proof that that scenario is never going to play out for us, I do not need.

I also cried . . .

• Because I hadn't yet had a real cry about the dismal ER. I wondered, "What is wrong with me that I haven't managed a proper fit about THAT?"
  
• Because we're not allowed to TTC this cycle and I'd gotten a positive OPK stick, making it the so-called perfect time to get busy for procreational purposes. I'd also had some ovulation spotting, which — according to popular TTC lore — means you might just be "extra fertile" that cycle. (Riiiiiigggghhhhhht.) We're not allowed to take advantage of any dropping egg because if we got pregnant, the Cetrotide I'll shoot up with next week would kill the fetus. And neither of us wants to be a baby killer.
• Because as I focused on hating the "protective" condom, I couldn't help bitterly thinking how absurd it was to even imagine we'd get to the fetus part under any circumstances . . . and also how even more absurd-er it was that I wanted to say to heck with the love glove to see if we could beat all odds by getting pregnant on our own and watching our miracle bean survive the baby-killing drug. Wowie, wouldn't that be a swell story!
  
• Because the only reason we DTD in the first place was to prepare DH's pipes for making a sperm bank deposit — just in case his plane goes down while he's trying to get home for a fresh deposit on ER day.
  
• Because DH — who never pulls this crap under normal circumstances — tried to "forget," and clearly hoped I would forget, that we needed to DTD last night to accommodate HIS work issues and all the complications they've added to this project for the last, uh, entire time we've been working on it.
  
• Because I admitted to myself that it sometimes makes me mad that all DH ever has to do to further this whole ride is ejaculate. (Yes, I DID just say that!) For crying out loud, the very serious Rx for his severe MFI is frequent ejaculation. Boo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo.
  
• Because I pictured my life if DH's plane goes down — and for a moment, I didn't hate it.
• Because I tried to focus my thoughts elsewhere, but my mind refused to take me anywhere I wanted to go.

It's true, I covered ALL that in my secret-but-right-in-front-of DH's face cry. Impressive, yes? :)

Then I pulled myself together. I felt perfectly calm and composed, ready to stake out some personal space for the night, until DH snuggled close and sweetly said, "I do love you, you know." His simple show of affection knocked my composure back down on its arse.

It reminded me that we're among the lucky ones. And THAT'S when my sobbing really began. DH asked what he could do, I said nothing, and he just stroked my hair while I let it out.

It was a good night for both of us, I think.


******
POST SCRIPT: By its very nature, this whole blog is based upon personal issues. Even so, I still keep lots of things to myself. I almost didn't publish this entry because it's stuff I would typically send to my personal journal. I waited two and a half days before coming back to decide for sure. I figure the experience couldn't be more IF-specific. So I'm posting it for anyone out there who might have had a similar experience and is wondering whether anyone else out there can relate. To you I say, "I can relate. I do relate. And I know that we are totally normal."

Friday, April 11, 2008, 6:00 pm
******

Breathe with me, people!

I took the day off today, mostly, and as lovely as that sounds, I almost wish I hadn't. I do so much better with the IVF process (even just the gearing-up part) when I have pressing work.

This morning, I got through to all the people I wanted to talk to yesterday. Which is great because it solidified plans. But it also made everything Real, and left me with nothing to do but

• answer 3 short work emails
• seriously consider but not follow through with doing laundry, running errands, mopping the kitchen floor, actually working anyway, cleaning my office, and mopping the kitchen floor (yes, considered that twice — you would too if you could see it)
• FREAK myself right on out

Ah, well. Had to happen sooner or later. Guess it's time to breathe.

Ring, dang it all, ring!

I'm 10 days away from my estimated suppression check — so the real flurry has not yet begun — but I'm already needing to stick close to the phone just to stay on top of things.

Nobody involved on the other side of my IVF process EVER picks up the phone when I call. I spend what seems like a lot of time sitting through very long voicemail announcements leading up to the beep. Sometimes I pass out a little and miss the beep. Other times I suffer a minor blank out and hear the beep but forget whose voicemail I've dialed in to. Today, though, I was fresh enough to get all my messages recorded and, presumably, deposited at the back of a long queue.

People who hold small bits of my future in their hands that I would like to but won't hear from before the day is out:

My acupuncturist, J. I need to set up this week's 2 appointments. I wanted to do this Friday with J's assistant M, but M wanted to touch base with J on the weekend, call me herself on the weekend, and then have me call J on Monday. Okay. Convoluted, but I can adapt. Now I just need J to call me back, which always seems to take 2 days.

My RE, Dr. K. I want more information from her about the timing of my upcoming Cetrotide shot. I am not satisfied with the nurse's assertion that my ovulation date doesn't matter and that we only need to go by my typical cycle length. Especially since Dr. K initially described the protocol as starting at 7 DPO. I could press the issue with the nurse, but I just want to cut to the chase for an explanation better than "it doesn't matter." If it doesn't matter, I want to hear it from Dr. K because she will at least give me a why.

I also want Dr. K to okay the banking of an, ahem, sample from DH before he flies away to the opposite coast next weekend. DH has planned to fly back as soon as it's time for me to trigger. He WILL be here for ER and fresh-sample donation. But a popsicle in the freezer would help us both let go of niggling worries that his flight will be delayed or WHATEVER.

My financial counselor at the clinic, C. She and I thoroughly discussed costs before DH and I got the cycle balls rolling. But I received — from a different financial counselor — a bill that does not reflect the credit amount we have with the clinic, the base fee C and I used to calculate costs on the phone, or the 10% discount I get for being a repeat customer. The bill is about $2K higher. And I'm not having that. I don't anticipate a problem, really. Just a "Sorry for the error," which is all I think it was. But still, it took me 2 weeks and 5 phone calls to get the first cycle total in the first place.

My fertility-meds pharmacy rep, A. We discussed everything from the giant Rx order before the ship date, but I received a couple of things I asked them not to send. Nothing big, just a second sharps container ($30 is $30, and I told her I didn't need it) — oh, and narcotics I'm allergic to and don't intend to pay for.

Everything is going fine right now, really. Despite this maybe sounding like a bunch of complaints, I don't have any big ones at the moment. Just the one where I say WHY IS THIS PHONE-TAG GAME SO CONSISTENTLY ONE-SIDED?

Ring, dang it all, RING!

Remarkably, I had not heard this one

Will I be able to overcome my lifelong distaste for clowns (don't even get me started on the song "Send in the Clowns"; CAN'T stand it!) in order to sway the IVF odds in my favor??????

Not bloody likely!

DH plans to pick up the necessary supplies on his way home. You know, just to be safe 'n' stuff.

For some of life's interludes, love is the drugS

Opening my second shipment of "love drugs" made me nostalgic for the days when DH and I thought love WAS the drug that would turn us into a family someday. This Roxy Music video takes me back to a night in April 1990 — 18 years ago! — when DH walked me to his place (a teeny-tiny wreck of an efficiency) to call me a cab.

It was very late — past closing time at the pub where a group of us met Tuesdays for burgers, brews, and boisterous fun. The weather that day had been unseasonably gorgeous, making it possible for us to be the first group of "summer" to hold court in the bar's iron-fenced, cobblestoned beer garden. (At least until we started freezing and had to go inside.) All of us were either out of college and high on the first blush of total independence, or in graduate school, excitedly nabbing fellowships and grants and talking about changing the world through scientific research. Everybody in the bunch was happy, carefree, and eager to explore the seemingly wide-open field of possibilities ahead.

That particular Tuesday party broke up much later than usual. (It was a weeknight, we did have places to be the next morning, and we weren't the kids we used to be!) Under such circumstances the boys typically made sure the girls had safe passage home, and DH volunteered to look after me that night. We were 23/24 then and wouldn't start dating for another couple of months. Back at his place, I started getting to know him on a more personal level than I had before. We talked and laughed, then we talked and laughed some more. DH showed me, hilariously, how he functioned in that 10' x 10' box of a living space. I got to hear the feral cat living outside his window, screeching and moaning, just the way DH had actually NOT exaggerated at the bar. We discussed families, big plans, all the usual stuff.

And then DH showed me his entire album collection, one by a hundred and one. I teased him about drawing out the exhibit to spend more time with me. He didn't deny it. He just forged ahead, tossing aside "an old girlfriend's" Belinda Carlisle album, and then stopping to lovingly present his prized Roxy Music LPs.

Seems I was the first girl he knew that had ever heard of 'em. It's such a small thing, but I swear that silly shared moment of "I like Roxy Music, too!" helped seal our fates. Things started feeling awkward, so it was time for me to go. We listened to "Love Is the Drug" as I waited for my cab.

Over the next several weeks, I frequently asked whether he'd invited any other girls in to see his "etchings." He remained adamant that I was the only one who'd EVER fallen for that one. We regularly saw each other for group activities (of which there were many) and even a few one-on-one "friends" outings. We were already in love. But it wasn't until June of that year, just after our first real date, that DH would officially take charge of my safe passage home — from any location or life situation — for good.

I picked a recent performance video of the song because it looks like we're all still going strong.

These probably won't go in the photo album

DING-DONG! Next-Day-Air Drug Supplier Calling!

Pup thinks return address looks legit. Box stinks like the last one. Recommends opening parcel at once, as Big Red Sticker instructs.




Additional BRS advice inside.





Message to DH: "Honey, if Joe stops by while I'm out, please shut the guest room door. I left a big mess on the bed."



"And if you offer him a beverage, DON'T let him help himself."

It may not be all good, but it's not all bad, either

Right from the beginning I wanted to keep this blog on topic. To stick to infertility and, more specifically for the time being, my last-gasp attempts at ART. It's a little depressing to read, though, isn't it?

Well of course it is! IF sucks old dirty rotten donkey eggs. (No offense to donkeys. Really, I don't know where that came from.) There's nothing bright and sunny about the topic. If I'm not whining — er, blogging — about my inability to do the ONE thing my body was uniquely created to do, I'm worrying about the emotional and financial tolls 4.5 years of failed TTC efforts have exacted. Or I'm venting about my state's lack of mandated coverage for medically necessary fertility care. OR, I'm reminding myself that it's illegal for me to snatch that tiny, helpless, perfect, crying infant I saw today in the park — the one whose mother kept slamming down her book so she could lean over the stroller and say "SHUT UP."

All that stuff is honest and comes with the experience. It helps for me to express some of it. But I often find myself looking for positive things to write, on topic, too. It's hard to pull off, though, because most of my happy thoughts and news have nothing to do with my theme here. I want to add a different dimension, but I kinda can't and sorta won't. While every day looks like a bad day when viewed through the IF lens, I think writing about that life angle every day is not the best thing for me. So I don't. Except when I hit a streak where I do.

The point to all this? Good question. Let's see if I can work out an answer.

IF takes up a ton of space in my life, to be sure, but I work on staying rooted in the reality of my WHOLE life, both what's going on now and what the future may hold. I'm grateful that IF hasn't erased the rest of me, and I guess maybe that's where I'm going with this today:

I don't know how this IVF will go. I don't know what we'll do if it fails. I can't predict exactly how the pain from these "infertile years" will color the rest of my life. What I do know is that, no matter what happens, I won't be denied a life. Because I already have one. And it's a good one, at that.

Holding pattern

Very little topical-to-the-blog business going on this week. Waiting for the new cycle to start, which could happen anytime from NOW (nope, not yet) . . . to NOW? (psych! another false alarm) . . . to early next week.

I wish someone would name that Aunt Flo fake-out feeling, don't you? Wonder what Braxton & Hicks are working on these days. Ah, well, Wikipedia tells me I had it wrong. BH is NOT a researching duo and not nearly as contemporary as I'd imagined — it's just one guy who is 200 years' worth of dead.

Dang, that was such a logical condition-naming choice, too:

"Oh, my dear young girl, you're not really getting AF right now — that's just what we experienced ladies know is Braxton Hicks AF. Don't worry, you'll KNOW when the real AF shows up. Why, soon you'll be looking back on all these Braxton Hicks AF feelings you're having, and you'll just LAUGH . . ."

I'd submit corporate heavyweight Procter & Gamble as a good second choice, but I fear their only interest in raising awareness about this widespread (yet largely misunderstood) thang would be financial gain. I can imagine them leveraging the sponsorship into a bid to get women to use some form of feminine protection every single day of the year for the rest of their natural lives. Oh wait, they already do that.

So, since Masters (dead) & Johnson (not dead yet but likely still mad at Masters) no longer work together and Ashford & Simpson appear to be busy running and performing at their NYC club, I WILL JUST HAVE TO HANDLE THIS SITUATION MYSELF.

From here on out, I officially capitalize the Aunt Flo Fake-Out Feeling and, thus, will freely and easily acronym-ize it as AFFOF. To be pronounced, by me, with an accented first syllable, as in AFF-uhv.

Back to work I go.

Easter with the DINKs

Say it with me: "April stimsies bring May eggsies"

Catchy, huh!

We concluded on Friday that this IVF process will begin with my next natural cycle. Originally, I thought we'd get going with a progesterone test as early as tomorrow. I didn't realize that the first antagonist shot would occur then or that the appointment would serve as my suppression check. A bit clueless about the workings of the new protocol, I was.

I told the nurse coordinator that DH and I had TTC'd this cycle. Actually, to back up, I was questioning why she wanted to do the progesterone test "4 or 5 days" before my next AF instead of doing it at 7 DPO. Her response was that it was just easier. I disagreed, as my cycle length can vary by as much as 6 days and my LP by 3. Going by my ovulation date sounds much simpler to me. She said, "Yes, but then you'd have to know when it happened."

HA!

I told her I was already 4 DPO, and she said "What makes you think that?"

What makes me think that. Seriously? I guess women who don't track their cycles do end up at the Fertility Clinic. They must. But really, would you expect a 42-year-old woman TTC #1 for 4.5 years to NOT be testing for every last dang ovulation she has left?

"Fertility monitor, OPKs, typical signs, you name it."

"Ohhhh," she said, "Did you guys try to conceive this month?"

Sure did. Had I understood ahead of time that the first antagonist shot was given during my LP (when some might argue there is a minute-but-there chance that I could be pg), I might not have. But I did not and so we did. It.

That's why we're waiting. The suppression check will be about 4 weeks from now, give or take some unknown number of days for this LP to ride itself out and my next ovulation to occur. (I'm still gonna tell the nurse when that happens, whether or not she wants to know.)

DH is a little disappointed that we aren't starting right away. But I'm not. I feel better about having more of a break before stimming it up again. I can get in a few more acupuncture sessions, let my body regulate itself, and do whatever I can to encourage healthy May eggies.

Punny P.S. The nurse warned against engaging in further, um, activities (you know, the type that get other girls pregnant) "without protection" from here on out. I shared that with DH, who has promised to go out and buy a gun.

Choices

Today I'm grappling with an issue of work, finances, energy, and emotional health. How do all those things affect an IVF cycle? And me?

I'm a freelancer, so I'm constantly hustling to keep a steady workload. Work begets work, and all that.

Well, a major project of mine was slated to finish up by the end of March. Now, though, it has been extended by 3 months and the client just offered me the job of seeing the thing through to the end. The pay is good. It amounts to, naturally, the exact cost of our IVF cycle. (Why does it have to be that very amount? What does that MEAN, mighty Universe?)

I want to say yes, because that is how you keep your business going. It can be feast or famine, and you never know when the next dead period might hit. If it's a good deal and you know you can pull it off (even if that means you put in long, long days), you say yes.

On the other hand, I want to say no. I had a TERRIBLE time keeping it together during the last cycle attempt. I wasn't overly emotional or stressed, but I was impossibly distracted. That Lupron messed me up. Somehow I accomplished all work goals, but it was rough going. Should I really set myself up for that a second time?

Here's the part where I talk myself through it.

Possible reasons to accept the job:

• I won't be on Lupron this time.
• I've done this before and might be better at it a second time.
• The money on top of other expected income would make those 3 months particularly lucrative for this or any year.
• This would be extra money that we weren't factoring in when we decided to go ahead.
• Taking it keeps me in good with a client I want to keep happy.
• I think being super busy helped me not obsess too much over the last cycle.
• If things don't go well with the cycle, having the extra work may help me cope.
• Work may indeed be the only thing I have to keep me busy in my old age, so I should focus on that.

Possible reasons to decline the job:

• I will still be on drugs, one of them new. I don't know how I'll feel.
  
• This would be a heavier workload than I had during the last cycle. It's really too much, and my list should stop here.
• I should create breathing room where I can, and not be the catalyst for my own suffocation.
• I have enough other work lined up anyway.
• This would be extra money that we weren't factoring in when we decided to go ahead.
• I've already made this client happy.
• I can't do everything just because it's there.
• I can't do something just because the client wants me to. (This is a different concept than the one above.)
• After 15 years in the business and 6 working for myself with maybe 2 too-short-for-my-liking dead times, I need to acknowledge that I am not in a feast-or-famine situation. I can get more work.
• What kind of crap attitude is that last point under "reasons to accept"?

The Universe (or its minions) is toying with me by dangling that exact cycle fee in my face. If it was any other amount, it wouldn't stand out as anything but extra work I don't need. But because it equals the cost of IVF, I'm in the position of choosing money and meaningless pursuits over sanity and my best shot at getting my heart's desire. Something Else over Me.

I'm calling the Universe's bluff and choosing Me for a change. Now is as good a time as any to mix things up.

Back to the blog, back to the IVF life

Technically it's been 10 days since my last post, but I've interacted with the blog since then. Gave it some special one-on-one time. My Blogger dashboard shows 3 half-finished posts and 1 over-finished manifesto. I'm moving that to my private journal before somebody gets hurt. The other bits originated under the influence of flu and probably weren't going anywhere anyway.

Guess what? As my title suggests, we've decided to try IVF one more time. The decision-making process was complicated, but we're doing it, for better or "we'll be okay." Good result, bad result, we want one good try on the books before turning the page.

We're working through whether to start right away or wait one more cycle. Timing-wise for DH's job happenings, it would be better for us to get going asap. But biology (mine) will trump convenience (sorry, Giant Aerospace Company). Dr. K wants a confirmed natural ovulation as the cycle go-ahead, so I'll get a 7 DPO progesterone check next week. Not sure if we check for cysts then or wait for Day 3.

I'll follow the antagon protocol this time: no BCPs, no Lupron (amen!); Ganirelix to stop the LH surge; Follistim and Menopur for stimulation; HCG trigger; Medrol for assisted hatching; PIO for progesterone support.

Here we go!

Baggage: What dreams are made of

So, I've been pestering the clinic for a detailed accounting of where our up-front IVF cycle money went, and most important, EXACTLY HOW MUCH WE GET BACK. The money is an issue and does affect our next steps. Because we went no further than ER, we should at least get money back for things like ICSI, AH, embryo coddling/fertilization reports, transfer, and the beta finale. That's my position, anyway. Nobody did any of that stuff. The clinic is happy to help but is taking its time getting me the info.

Yesterday's mail brought a note from the finance department, so we thought "Finally, here it is." Wrong-o, it's a BILL. For $20. Due upon receipt. It's strange because it's listed as a copay x 2 for a date neither of us went in. It looks like they successfully submitted a charge to insurance after the fact, though. We'll see, more money back for us, perhaps. I expect to know where we stand early this week.

For old time's sake last night I dreamed about the doctor who wanted to treat me to a hysterectomy for the "leaky faucet" he so expertly diagnosed 22+ years ago. I said no to the uterus removal and got a godsend of a second opinion (chronic hemorhagging clearly due to removable fibroids), but not before I'd let him spend a year pursuing myriad ineffective procedures while my life, health, college career, and relationships suffered. I was young and desperately trying to make everything work, and I just kept taking that doctor's "medicine" for too long.

The dream started with me sitting in my home office. My phone rang: Dr. Leaky calling. He wanted me to stop into his office, which was — conveniently enough — suddenly located in my laundry room. I trotted right on over to talk $$$. Oh no, sorry, no refunds for the IVF, he quickly explained. He then handed me a plain white envelope (clearly from my own stash). He encouraged me to put the $20 right on in there; he figured that was easiest since I had the cash in my purse. I said, "What exactly is this charge for?" And he told me it was for the extra unplanned hour he'd recently spent thinking about my case and concluding that he'd been right all those years ago . . .

Turns out I have money issues, lingering emotional baggage, AND the subconscious of a simpleton. Nice!

I happen to know that Dr. Leaky is long dead. I woke up rolling my eyes at him for taking time out of his afterlife to rattle some of my rusty old chains.

Friday funny

This Onion headline made me laugh this morning:

"New Blog Gives Much-Needed Look Into the World of Geoff"

It sums up what I was thinking about this blog just yesterday. I mean, who cares?

Not that I'm stopping yet. But I've been a little sick of myself lately.

Here's the hilarious audio. Hoping other bloggers/readers enjoy it too.

Catch you on the flip side, Bloat!

Yesterday marked 2 weeks since stopping my IVF stims, and it was the first time since my October 2007 myomectomy that I felt totally comfortable in an unforgiving waistband. (Can you say "persistent BLOAT"?) It was also the first time since then that DH and I managed a typical weekend, with no medical stuff to think about/react to . . . and no work previously derailed by medical stuff to catch up on.

The weekend was good: Relaxed-yet-productive days with cozy nights. The dog even got some special attention — 4 neighborhood walks! freshly laundered bed covers! surprise trip to the off-leash dog park! raw lamb patties! tooth brushing & ear cleaning! hooray!!!!!

DH will be home soon, and we'll have a typical Monday leftovers dinner. I'll probably mention something about Bloat taking flight (I will save it for AFTER dinner), and then we have a date to look at his travel calendar to make our TTC/we-think-DH-must-be-home-on-these-dates plans for the next 2 or 3 months.

I purposely avoided the whole "What the heck are we doing" topic over the weekend. That in itself is a little bit hard to believe, but what's even harder to believe — if, like me, you are privy to the way things work around our house — is that DH brought up the topic. Twice that I permitted myself to notice.

Time is not our friend, so we have to keep moving till it's time to stop. But I'm not sorry that I took 2 measly days to live a normal life, NOT think/talk about all things we're-never-getting-pregnant-but-what-else-is-left-to-try, and wear jeans that fit. I feel stronger for the break. And a lot less bloated.

Sick of my houseguest

You know the BenFranklinism about company and fish, I presume. Auntie F has been here just 3 days, but I have already grown tired of organizing my life around her needs. And they are many. I understand that the poor old bitter girl (I'm referring to F) can't help it. And I do know just how much she loves spending time with me. She practically lives for these visits. But I need some breathing room. It's time for her to get back home to her snaggle-toothed cat, 5,000-piece solid-color jigsaw puzzles, and medicinal nips of blackberry brandy. Family or no, she's got to go.

Breakout

I woke up singing this song today. I mean that literally. My foot hit the floor, and I sang at my wagging pup's face, "Lay down the law, shout out for more, breakout and shout day in/day out, BREAKOUT!"

I don't know when I heard it last, and I didn't realize that I knew any lyrics. I do know that last night I said "Swing out, sister" to the dog (I'm alone, 'member?). She was twirling around the room in joyful anticipation of a beefy dental bone, and it just seemed to fit. I also know that as I drifted off last night, I thought back to the first time I was told that a hysterectomy was in my best interest. That was in 1987. The same year the song came out in the U.S., I see! FREAKY, no?

I almost took that uterus-removal advice. Obviously, though, I didn't, and all that is a story I'm not telling today. What I AM telling is that I went to bed thinking I wouldn't change the past. And today I woke up to a new attitude and a new cycle. (Howdy, Auntie F!) Where yesterday I was wallow-y, today I am ready to go.

I called my assigned nurse this a.m. and asked for more deets about the antagonist protocol Dr. K recommended. IFFY we try IVF again, this is my sketchy understanding of what we'll do (I didn't take notes or search the protocol, so I may be missing something):

I'd monitor for ovulation this cycle, go in for a 7 dpo progesterone test, and then take an antagonist shot at some appropriate time after that to suppress ovulation for the next cycle. No BCPs (it's part of their SOP, but she let me say no to it w/no fuss) and no Lupron. Minimal suppression all around. A week after the shot, I would start Follistim and Menopur (not sure about dosages). Once the follicles grew to 11–12 mm, I'd do another antagonist shot to prevent a natural O. Trigger to follow when things look ready. If all went okay, we'd hope to at least get as far as finding an egg or two at retrieval.

Just to be clear, DH and I have not made a decision. But I can tell you that as of today, I want to try again. The thing I keep coming back to is that had we canceled at anytime prior to the attempted retrieval, our plan was to eat the costs of the first part of the cycle and try again. IVF is supposed to be our best-possible shot at conceiving. Statistically speaking, it's supposed to be our only shot. So how can we say we tried if we don't go through a full cycle? If we come up empty at ER again or we get eggs but no fertilization and thus no transfer, well, that's another ball of wax. I wouldn't feel compelled to do another trial. But those are MY feelings. Today.

DH gets a say, for sure. I know he knows I know what I want to do. I know this because I described the basic protocol the other day and saw his knowing "I know you know what you want to do" look.

All he said then was, "When does Finance tell us what portion of the cycle fee we're getting back?"

"As soon as I ask them," I replied. Now would be a good time to do that.

******
Other things that inspired me this morning —

Quote of the day from my planner:

"There's as much risk in doing nothing as in doing something." —Trammell Crow

Today's literary quote on my home page:

"Gardens are not made by singing, 'Oh, how beautiful,' and sitting in the shade." —Rudyard Kipling

Home alone

It's only 9:00 pm, but I am ready for bed. I think I'm having exaggerated PMS symptoms from all that chemical manipulation. Today I went from crushing fatigue at noon to sick headache by late afternoon to nausea in the evening. Fortunately the head and tum-tum got better when I ate something.

Dr. K predicts that I'll get AF early (hey, might as well), and that's seeming likely to me. Strangely, though, I'm feeling rushed by that. The sooner it comes, the sooner I need to go in and talk turkey about what comes next.

THAT prospect has just gotten more complicated because . . .

DH is working 2,8oo miles away at the moment. He flew out today. I am too tired to properly express my feelings about this travel turn. This week's trip is not a problem. But, if successful, it signals the relaunching of a project that might regularly have DH there and not here.

I don't like it.

Can't talk now, but I heard from my RE

How's that for a teaser? I've got a lot to say, BUT I'M NOT GOING TO SAY IT RIGHT NOW! Thanks for clicking.

I just got off the phone with Dr. K. We had a productive chat that covered everything I wanted to. I will go in soon to confirm that my cyst has gone away and discuss whichever treatment scenario DH and I decide to pursue. And that comes with a big "if any."

Wish I could stay and post away, but — just as Dr. K is trying to catch up on her work after vacation — I am still frantically trying to catch up on work that got the short shrift while I put making it through the IVF cycle first on my to-dos. (Well, it's not "just like" it.)

I should finish my current project tomorrow at the latest. My client has been an absolute gem about accommodating me these last several weeks. She doesn't even know why I had to renegotiate our schedule, but she just said, "Do what you need to do."

I dearly want to experience my normal feeling of slight control over my days before thinking of anything else TTCwise. A rash of evenings and maybe one whole weekend off would be cool, too.

Tagged with a meme

Ms. Heathen, who blogs at Reproductively Challenged, tagged me a while ago to carry on this meme.

Rules of the game:

1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules.
3. Share 6 non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
4. Tag at least 3 people.
5. Make sure the people you tagged KNOW you tagged them by commenting on what you did.

My list:

(1) I can't sleep with someone breathing on — or in the general direction of — my face. No way, no how.

(2) I like to move. As in, change domiciles. The project-organization, new-digs, and fresh-start aspects appeal to me. Discounting a few too-brief-to-really-count stopovers and 3 summers in 3 different towns with my parents, I tally 19 lifetime moves within 9 cities. DH and I aren't planning to pull up stakes, or hoping to. But if the need arose, I'd have little trouble embracing it.

(3) I was a Secret Shopper for 3 years in the early 1990s. My beat was the local Jiffy Lube circuit, and I got reimbursed for mileage, oil changes, and any car maintenance the JL folks hawked. The reimbursement made the gig worth it, but the scripted dialogue I had to throw in and ultra-long evaluation forms were annoying.

(4) I doused my junior high basketball coach's clothes with perfume. He wasn't in them at the time. But perhaps I should back up a bit. I had a mad crush on Mr. M (not his real initial; let's pretend it stands for "Mine"). And no other earthly reason to be involved with the team. One afternoon I overheard Mr. M arranging to meet a date after practice. Panic! No way did I want him seeing other people. Soon, a friend played lookout as I stole into Mr. M's dark office. I spritzed his date-night street clothes with Jontue borrowed from another girl's gym bag. Got his crisp yellow oxford and brown leather jacket but good.

This was so out of character that nobody even suspected me. I totally got away with it. I did feel guilty, though. Quite! But that was tempered by knowing that I'd helped Mr. M see that his date was all wrong for him. Turns out that she'd had not one flicker of a sense of humor about the situation. So, although Mr. M stressed to the team that he was NOT happy about the stink or invasion of his space, he chuckled about things working out for the best. Teenage heart crimes pay!

(5) Sometimes I have a teeny-tiny touch of that phobic urge to hurl myself down a long flight of stairs or, say, off a cliff. The feeling isn't so much "I want to jump" as "Gee, I hope I don't jump." It's very fleeting but there.

(6) Junior year of college, a good friend and I went clubbing every night for a month. We thought of it as a sociological experiment. We'd noticed during normal social habits (weekends & occasional random weeknights out; pretty typical) that certain people were out — and seemingly everywhere — every single night of the year. We wondered, "How do they manage it? How do they go to school/work/come up with the cash?" The only way to truly study it, was to try it. We set ground rules: Keep up with homework, stick together, drink very little, and spend as little as possible. We didn't start with a 30-night run in mind, but along the way we just kept going 'cause we needed more "data" . . . and it was a blast. We got in good with all the local bouncers/bartenders and learned a heap about the "regulars" we tracked. It was a pretty good lesson in not judging books by their covers — and in the clear benefits of balancing work and fun. My grades actually got a boost that semester. But, oh, the relief when we stopped the madness.

That made 6. The meme rules require me to tag other bloggers, so I say "You're it!" to Opus #6, Sarah at SarahMania, and my parallel-universe buddy Lisa. No pressure whatsoever, though. Do it if you want, please don't if you don't!

Back tomorrow or the next day with a topical post.

Is this weird?

Don't answer that. But here's something I did on Wednesday: I used a FRER. For those of you unfamiliar with the lingo, that is a home pregnancy test (HPT).

No, no, no, I wasn't using it for its normal purpose. I just wanted to confirm that I had HCG in my system. It hit me that I didn't yet know whether they'd tested for HCG on Sunday. And that taking a test might be the only way I'd know for sure that the hormone had successfully made the rounds in my body. (Turns out I haven't been glued to others' tales of testing out the trigger for bupkes.) So as soon as the idea popped into my head, I got to work on hitting that wick. I thought I might be too late to see anything because by then I was 5 days past the trigger. Never mind that I was using something like 5th MU. But that second pink line popped up right away. Mission accomplished!

One perk of that little exercise was the depletion of my HPT stock. I've never been a BIG tester — quick pause to say, "BIG testers, you know who you are" — but I do like to have something in the cupboard for those rare occasions that I make it to 13 dpo. I like to celebrate such uncommonly normal-ish LPs by wasting a perfectly good test or two. Right now, though, I just don't need to have them things around.

Another bonus was to see the pretty pink develop. I've only ever seen that happen one other time. (I'll have to write about that sometime.) For whatever reason on Wednesday, it had a calming effect. For a moment I felt that maybe my body would produce that line-making chemical on its own sometime soon, while it still remembers what it's like to have it swirling about in detectable levels.

Today, I tossed the test in the trash. It served its purpose, and my mind's eye can still see the pink.

Let's limbo some more

It's Friday, already, huh. I finally heard from one of the clinic's IVF nurses late yesterday. She told me that Dr. K was out of town (and had been) and had "just seen in her email" what happened with us on Sunday. Dr. K wanted the nurse to call right away to express concern, see if I needed anything, let me know she was sorry and that "this was not expected at all."

The nurse said, "So how are you doing?"

Long pause from me as I thought about how all of the "expected" words capture squat. "Life goes on, right?" I said.

That Dr. K didn't even know the result until yesterday deviates from what Doctor clearly told us on Sunday. But, her reaction is totally in line with the rest of my experience with her. And DH and I both think that if there's a weak communication link in this scenario, it is the Sunday boob. He must have been mistaken that Dr. K was home watching the procedure. Maybe that's what she'd normally be doing on a Sunday off, when she's not on vacation. I didn't mention this to the nurse. It's not her issue.

I did say that I was stunned and disappointed that it took so many days to hear from anyone. She apologized, profusely, and said that the cycle nurse I've been working with is also on vacation. I just fell off the radar. She asked about my reaction to the anesthesia, lingering pain/ovarian discomfort, etc., and I just had to say, "You know, I do appreciate your asking, but by now I obviously know that I have no need for medical assistance."

Am I still a bit bloated? Do I need a stretchy-cushy bra? Am I getting daily HCG-induced foot and leg cramps? Is my skin falling off from the doxycycline? Am I still spotting a little? Yes. But all of that is normal. None of it is unexpected.

The nurse gave me her direct line and a sincere invitation to call anytime. My cycle nurse will be back before Dr. K (end of next week) and will call pronto. Or relatively so. Then I'll schedule something with the doc, who "REALLY wants to discuss options" with me. I'm not being sarcastic here. It's what the nurse said, and I believe it.

Problem is, I already know the options. There are other protocols out there. Much better ones for me, most likely. But we just did the one IVF we felt we could afford to do with my eggs. And we have paid for it.

We felt somewhat steeled for coping with a failed cycle. In many respects, I'd already grieved my fertility and come out the other side. Hope was there, yes. Otherwise we wouldn't have done it. But we hadn't given serious consideration to this particular possibility.

Wednesday night I said, "This was supposed to be transfer day." DH squeezed me and said, "I know. It's actually the first day I thought we could get really bad news."

It feels to me like we didn't really do a cycle. Like we were just pulled out of the game. To paraphrase a local ad we used to mock, "The whole experience was anticlimax."

Pity party done. It is sunny here, I'm caught up on work (for the morning, anyway), and I think it would be fun to wake my office-buddy dog with an unexpectedly early invitation to walkies. She will go pazzo for it.

Processing, second-guessing, waiting, fuming, aching, coping

The good news about yesterday, as Doctor would no doubt concur, is that nobody needed anything tangible from me. I floated through the workday, focusing on the simplest of tasks (filing, invoicing, outlining, staring at a boxelder bug for an hour) and saving any important client communications I felt like initiating for another day. I also managed to cancel the Darvocet Rx we never picked up and ask the clinic (using their online contact form) to be sure to tell the acupuncturist that the transfer was off.

During the day I avoided the guest bathroom, where my Injection Station still exists (cycle meds, syringes, alcohol prep pads, extra needles, biohazardous waste receptacle, injection instructions) and my now-absurd-seeming TCM foot-soaking ritual took place. I also turned a blind eye to the stack of IVF-related propaganda on the coffee table and shoved my detailed cycle calendar into the recycling bin. It was a good grab-and-shove. Barely had to look.

I took no vitamins. Not even a PNV. Nor did I consider the fertility- or cycle-supporting value of any foods I took in.

During an after-work Costco date, I winced at the sight of the fresh pineapple I'd planned to pick up on transfer day. Longtime TTC'ers, you know why. We veered left and snagged an inexpensive bottle of shiraz-cabernet instead. For another time.

I fell asleep at around 8:30 watching Paris When It Sizzles. Haven't heard of it? I know why. (Even so, a bad Audrey Hepburn–William Holden film is still not terrible.)

Now it is midafternoon on Tuesday. Two days after the failed retrieval. No word from my RE. If that trend continues, I will call her (to leave a message to call me, what else?) tomorrow. In the meantime, I am free to continue speculating about what may or may not have happened. Although on-call Doctor was unable (or unwilling?) to even suggest possible reasons ZERO eggs were found, I have had no trouble assembling a fairly straightforward list of my own.

Let me preface my info rundown info with an anecdote from the wee hours of Sunday.

******

At 4:30 I woke up feeling a subtle chemical shift in my body. Something changed, I don't know what. But I know that I feel certain shifts at predictable times during a natural cycle (just before O time, at mid LP, just before AF, etc.). With no previous IVFs or medicated cycles to compare it to, I hoped what I'd felt had to do with the HCG doing its thing and/or my body adjusting to not getting its Follistim/Menopur/Lupron fix.

When the alarm went off at 5:15, I sat straight up and said, "I have a sick feeling that I've ovulated. What if that was the biggest/best follicle releasing its egg?"

"Can that happen?" DH said. "I think so," I said. "But it didn't," we said.

I honestly put that out of my mind — completely — until the car ride home. Can't stop thinking about it now.

*****

Below are up-for-debate tidbits I found about what some call Empty Follicle Syndrome. I gleaned it from sources such as INCIID, "name" clinics, and RE blogs/forums.

• Some REs say that all mature follicles contain eggs. In other words, there is no such thing as an empty follicle or Empty Follicle Syndrome. Eggs may not be good, but they are there and either not ready to come out (immature) or too sticky (damaged) to come out.

• Two common explanations: old eggs; unexplained.

• User error when administering the trigger shot can cause a problem. If you don't do it correctly (wrong time; SubQ instead of IM, maybe?), the eggs might not reach maturity.

• Problem with the drug itself. Some REs have patients take two HCG triggers from different batches at the same time to allow for the possibility of a random bad batch.

• Some women have problems metabolizing certain brands of HCG formulations. Some REs do bloodwork to test for beta HCG before the procedure. If there's a problem, they send you home with a different formulation and schedule the retrieval for 24 hours later.

• Some women ovulate slightly before the scheduled procedure. This, of course, would be next to impossible to detect. To account for this possibility (or, often, during a subsequent attempt), some RE's retrieve at 34 hours instead of 36.
  

• Some REs think that a high-stims protocol damages eggs, particularly in women over 40. This could cause the stickiness problem.

• Some think that the high-stims protocol can recruit follicles that would have been in line for the next natural cycle. In other words, this was not their time but they were hustled to the front. The eggs have been rushed and are of poor quality and/or just aren't ready for any type of action.

No logical post ending. It's just back to work and waiting for I-don't-know-what.

News from the "retrieval"

Might as well share it as we heard it from on-call Doctor.

"The good news is that the procedure went well. There were no eggs, but the procedure itself went very well. We flushed the 4 follicles and blah—I'm sharing a dozen fascinating details about the super-cool method we use to look for the cells in the fluid, and we did it this way and that today, but, nope, 4 follicles, 0 eggs—blah, blah. This almost never happens. It's been several years since I've seen it. We usually get an average of 8 mature eggs. This is disappointing."

Pause for DH and me to ask a few questions, to which Doctor supplied only marginally topical answers. For example, I asked, given this finding, whether it's possible that I really haven't been ovulating on my own for a while, or all the time, but still producing what mimic ovulatory indicators — positive OPKs, measurable follicles that follow an ovulation pattern, appropriate hormone readings, etc.

Doctor's exact reply (after pulling a classic "I'm not actually listening to your words but am waiting for your lips to stop moving so I can insert what I most want to say next"):

"Would I try again? No. I wouldn't. You might talk to Dr. K about donor eggs.* I don't know what she'd recommend about that just now."

DH and I couldn't end our "conversation" fast enough.

Doctor wasn't quite finished though. "Oh, and you'll be glad to know that you can stop the progesterone. No more shots tra-la.** Just take your doxycycline as though you had the procedure.*** But not with dairy, because the calcium acts as a binder. Call me anytime today or this evening if you have more questions."

"I won't be calling," I said.

"Yes, talk to Dr. K. She watched the procedure in real-time at home. It's really remarkable, she could see the whole thing on a flat-screen TV."

Doctor left the area. DH and I breathed and said, "Let's go."

I dressed, fast, in the bathroom. I cried a little but sucked it up and said no . . . later.

When I came out, the nurse shared her surprise that I was up and around and ready to leave. Most people need a bit more rest, it seems. But my adrenaline had rushed at hearing "no eggs," (BP skyrocketed, too, says DH) and I would not experience any pain or feel like I'd even been anesthetized until fairly late in the evening.

As DH bundled me into my coat, the young nurse trainee came over to say good-bye. She was sweet. She really was. And when she enthusiastically said, "It's really nice out there — have a great Sunday," DH and I shared a bittersweet smile and strode out the way we'd come in 3 hours earlier: hand in hand, heart in heart.




*Guess what, dude, we already did. At length. We took the entire holiday season to weigh whether we should use donor eggs or take one shot with mine. It was a close call. But with eyes open we chose to do what has just freshly failed. Failed so much that none of DH's sperm even get to meet my eggs today. Today, we have learned my eggs are so bad that they don't even exist. So you might want to give us a minute.

**To be fair, he actually ended that sentence at "shots." And in the moment I assume he knows that I don't have to STOP progesterone, because that is not started until after a successful retrieval as defined by a harvest of more than ZERO eggs.

***Uh, I did have the procedure.

Not what Jackson Browne had in mind, I know

But I'm feeling my own interpretation of the lyrics today. It's not a bad feeling. It just is.

My Pal Trigger

At exactly 8:00 pm last night, DH pointed the HCG syringe at a purple-markered bull's-eye on my backside and said, "Sorry."

My only noticeable s/e was persistent gas bubbles that joined forces overnight to form a big, painful, wake-me-up abdominal balloon this morning. I walked it off, though, and all is fine.

Yesterday's monitoring showed follies-of-interest at 23, 17.5, 14, 13, and 9.5 mm. I was the only one in the room interested in the 9.5 one. Sure seems possible that it might make it to 12 mm, which is where Dr. K said she wanted to see them (she wasn't in the room, btw). When I gave a "Hey, maybe," on that the sonographer chirped, "Oh, I don't even expect to find a mature egg in that 13 mm follicle." Hokay. I opted to continue happy thoughts of having 4 over 12 mm — at that moment — and a little bit of time for them to grow.

Really, who knows what they'll find. If it's pudding, DH hopes it's butterscotch. And if it's rocks, I hope they are diamonds. I'll sell 'em on eBay.

My E2 was 1,545. Not sure where that's supposed to be, but the result meant the difference between triggering last night or tonight. They don't want the 23 mm follie to overmature and do us no good.

The cyst was bigger, but not by too much. I am eager for that sucker's aspiration so it will stop stabbing me.

Retrieval is at 7:15 am tomorrow!

Day 7 and still in the game

Stayed off the Internets most of yesterday. I had to catch up with work. And now I am good for at least a couple of days. Hope my client can't tell that I did what normally takes me 3–5 full workdays in about 10 hours, ending at 3:15 am. Who knows, maybe it's my best work ever.

DH did not believe me the other day when I emailed to say that I was unable to track a thought for more than a minute. I asked if he was calling me a LIAR, and he said no, just a HYPERBOLIST. He hasn't even noticed that since last week I regularly have almost no idea what we're discussing . . . or if we're discussing. I do know when he's talking, of course. And if I ask a question I care about, I can pay attention long enough to take in the answer. But only if I squint.

Today's info:

I got lots of attention and was fine with it. I arrived at 7:22 as they were turning on the main lights, and I was whisked off for bloodwork before I could even fully focus on People's side-by-side comparison of Jessica Simpson's lips from 2005 and 2007. If I am lucky, I will get to read the captions tomorrow.

Four people attended this wanding. (Verbed it!) Sonographer, nurse, Dr. D (today's normal procedure doc), and Dr. K, who came in early to try to see me. She joined Dr. D and me as he was giving his opinion. She missed the part where he brought up my Tuesday appointment and said he did not like that I'd received conflicting messages from the team. I told him I was over it but that, yes, I considered Tuesday's communication with me to be poor.

Sorry for going on and on, but I'm running on drugs and less than 3 hours' sleep and don't have the mental strength to type anything but my thoughts as they come. That's why I will now type that I didn't know it was Valentine's Day until the phlebotomist said the embryology lab was swimming in black balloons. And, did I mention that I walked on a "sidewalk" the other day during the lunchtime rush that was actually the newly paved 4th lane of a very busy thoroughfare? I won't give further details. They make me shudder.

Yes, the report! Feel free to start here:

(1) The 4 decent follicles are hanging in at 19mm, 14 mm, 14mm, and 13 mm. The sonographer went ahead and measured 2 others — 8 mm and 6.5 mm — and called the other 2 "less thans." They did not take umbrage. But the 19 mm one was told to not get too far ahead of the other 3 good ones.

(2) My cyst is still growing. And again, I am to stop thinking about that.

(3) Day 5 E2 was 545, and Dr. K said that was great and expects today's to be great too.

(4) Both Dr. D and Dr. K think we should go ahead but were careful to say that my odds have lowered since the cycle outset based on my response to the meds. They were already low, maybe 15%. But it is so much higher than 0%, which has been our actual success rate since 2003 and our RE-predicted-odds for trying naturally since 2005. I purposely bit my tongue to stop myself from asking for a new percentage. It doesn't matter anymore, because we are either making it to retrieval and taking what we get then or converting to IUI if things look worse just before retrieval. (A few minutes before? The day before? I did not clarify that one.)

Starting here works too:

(5) Current thinking is that I will trigger tomorrow or Saturday, for a Sunday or Monday retrieval.

The rest of my day will include a dog walk, a nap, some kind of takeout, a foot soaking (you are right, Polly!), and maybe the positive meditation CD that tells me my body knows what to do right now. I have acupuncture right after my ultrasound tomorrow, and I'm hoping I can get in for that on the weekend, too.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.