It's starting already

My IVF cycle won't officially start for another 8 weeks, give or take, and I'm sitting here at my desk right now with a big knot in my stomach.

I start a new acupuncture treatment plan in about an hour, so I guess I'm feeling like all the madness starts NOW. Or in the next in 1 HOUR AND 11 MINUTES, anyway. Plus, the appointment is at the clinic, so I've got the walking-through-the-door thing to make myself do.

DH is funny. He emailed a little bit ago to ask if I was "all buttery" for the acupuncture (when the practitioner checks one of the inserted needles, she wants it to feel like it's moving in butter). I replied that I felt anxious. About a minute later he called to invite me out for dinner. But I had no idea what he was talking about:

DH: Do you want to go home right after or stay out?

Me: Stay out where?

DH: I could stay at work and get a few more things done.

Me: I have no place to go. But you can work late if you want.

DH: I just thought you might like to eat on the way home.

Me: By myself? Why? Do you need to work really late?

DH: No! I thought I could meet you somewhere since we'll both be on the same side of the bridge. We could eat an early dinner out and wait out rush-hour traffic. Both of us. At the same place.

Me: Oh, wow, I didn't catch your drift there at all. Sure!

Hope we both understand where we're meeting.

Baby pools and baby fools

It's cool and rainy today; in my neck of the woods, the hot, hot weather is probably gone for the season. The pic shows our doggie enjoying a refreshing dip in her baby pool as summer temps soared.

The pup is just 7 — still a baby to us! — but she is aging. For her breed and size she's on the cusp of senior status.

I can relate to that. My family tends to thrive into their 90s, and by that measure I am still a young woman. I feel young. But reproductively speaking, I am old. Who knows, maybe I never did fit into the "young" category, reproductively speaking.

DH and I have taken a little time to determine our next steps on the TTC front. Not too much time, though. We've stayed aware that my fertility is declining at the speed of dog years. (Don't get me wrong. DH's fertility ain't exactly on the upswing either, but mine is the more crucial factor at present.) As Dr. K told me, I'm on a hill going down; I'm not yet on a cliff about to get shoved off. So we're still in the game . . . for the NOW that keeps slipping away all too quickly.

One of our recent talks was sparked by a mutual noting of all the subtle age-related changes to the dog's features, gait, and demeanor. It's soooo painfully sweet to watch those changes evolve in contrast to her eternally youthful attitude. She's older, but she will never "grow up" all the way. She still trusts us to address all her basic needs, acts greedy for treats, takes joy from snatching bees from the air and finding squeakers in her toys, and — remarkably — keeps walking or running (best fun EVER!) through any pain from stray thorns, bloody scrapes, or arthritic joints. This creature lives in the moment. She seizes her chances. She enjoys current opportunity — and expects it in the future — regardless of past disappointments (read: never enough treats).

In that spirit, we've decided to do one more round of IVF with my eggs. It's what we want, and I'm done feeling guilty about it.

Hey, it has worked before. As DH says, "We were on our way." And Dr. K assures us it's NOT unreasonable to assume there's a golden egg for the hatching. We probably even had a good embryo last time, but chance and the many mysteries of life caused an abnormal one to implant.

We can't and won't try indefinitely. We do, however, feel strong enough for one more whirl.

I read this quote from Erica Jong the other day:

"No one ever found wisdom without also being a fool. Writers, alas, have to be fools in public, while the rest of the human race can cover its tracks."

I thought about just sharing the first sentence for this post. (I am a writer and relate to the second from that POV, but this blog's not about that.) But then I realized, no, the whole dang thing applies beautifully . . . all you have to do is switch out "writers" in favor of "couples seeking to conceive using ART." And/or, of course "bloggers."

The big to-do

I clearly remember the days WebMD (sort of) reported on today, when motherhood was not on my to-do list.

If you look at my sidebar's reproductively focused history, you might glean that the pursuit of motherhood failed to make my list until I was 38.

As a child I always assumed I'd be a mom. Frankly, I didn't think anyone could get out of it. Once I hit teenagerhood and heartily embraced my future as an Enjoli woman, I told myself "I will do this, but on MY modern-woman terms. I will wear Charlie instead!"

Let's pause for a word from our sponsor . . .



Later as a young adult, despite adoring children, motherhood got bumped to my eh-I'm-just-not-sure-I'll-do list. It stayed there for YEARS. My feeling was why think about it when I don't have that fire? Never mind that I didn't marry till age 30 (I was in nooooo rush on that front either). Surely I'd know when/if the time was right and just act on it then. No biggie.

I'll admit that throughout that ambivalent period some part of me still assumed I'd reproduce. But it was the same part that still thought conception basically just happened to everyone.

In those days I never heard one peep about anyone trying to conceive. (Maybe that was considered crass? Or, quite probably, maybe I didn't pay all that much attention to the details!) Every pregnancy was announced as having come as a BIG surprise to everyone involved. You know, birth control failed, glances were exchanged, towels were shared, coats were hung up next to each other. Of course, everyone I ever knew would, eventually, make their BIG announcement(s). That was fine for them. I wasn't there yet. And oh boy did I balk at anyone telling me I needed to get on the baby-making stick. (Three's Company–style double entendre intended.)

At just shy of 35 (and right before a second round of major abdominal surgery), starting a family made the pretty big jump to my to-probably-do list. Concerns for my future fertility were effectively scared into me, and I followed every last recommendation about ensuring proper uterine healing. I took it very seriously. Yet I still felt a surprisingly deep (er, stupid?) sense of "time on my side." And I deferred all serious family-planning talk — in favor of chasing a "better" career and a big stretch of settled alone time with DH — to age 38, at which point getting pregnant shot straight to the top of my to-do-and-do-NOW list.

The desire hits different people at different times and in different ways. When it finally hit me in the face, its impact got right to knocking me down at every turn. Luckily, I was blessed with stamina, so I keep getting up.

At 43, I know putting "create a healthy take-home baby with DH" on my to-do list (see how I've learned the art of specificity!) doesn't mean it's going to happen.

But man, oh man, that item IS on there. Crazy I might be. But ready to crawl away from the fight I am not.

How can I get this baby to my house?

You've probably seen this sweet whale baby on the news. It's separated from its mama and trying to suckle a yacht.

My heart positively aches to see the video (it hurts just to think about the poor scared sweetie).

I want to send for it. We have a couple extra rooms. I'm thinking we could knock down a wall or two and build a perfectly lovely tank.

Think DH would notice?

LIVE from the corner

Like my little corner? I took the photo to show faraway loved ones a close-up of how the new paint and carpeting on our main floor look with our furniture.

Looking at the pic right now makes me want to crawl into that space and live there. Just for a little while.

As a child, whenever I disappeared from view at home, you could bet I was actively escaping family frenzy by quietly hanging out in a tight spot that nobody else really thought about: the low crook of the massive oak out back; a sliver of plush green carpeting between the picture window and couch (we called it a "davenport" then); the small slab of countertop between the refrigerator and kitchen wall; the cave underneath the basement pool table; or — my favorite — the lighted corner of my tiny-but-packed bedroom closet (door tightly closed, please).

I craved the confinement. It helped me focus my thoughts.

I notice my house full of grown-ups fails to feature any cozy little retreats — with the notable (and terribly noticeable) exception of my piled-high-with-stuff office. That's where I'm sitting right now, taking one of my frequent stabs at thinking things through on the reproductive front. I'm refreshing my memory on treatment plans, giving my favorite search engine a workout, scanning a book with essays about choosing to live child-free, and looking at work calendars, finances, travel schedules, old journal entries . . .

I've had an absolute bear of a time keeping my office clutter-free ever since we began pursuing ART treatments. For a long time, I told myself the mess kept on top of ME (instead of the other way around) because I was so distracted, often harried, as we traversed the bumpy, medically assisted path to potential parenthood. But while moving piles around and definitely NOT making things appear any tidier this afternoon, I realized that I've created just the kind of hemmed-in retreat I used to need as a kid. I feel safe in my office. Wedged into the corner with my stuff. Comfortable, calm, protected, and in touch with my thoughts.

Eureka! An insight! I'd say that's progress, even if it's about the method to my madness.

I'm hoping to make the leap from insights to decisions very, very soon. Although I've obviously been taking strength from my little corner full of stacks 'n' stuff, I'm itching to raze the place.

Odds are . . .

I had my best-ever RE appointment exactly 2 weeks ago.

Since then I've been chewing and mulling. Ignoring and denying. Processing and calculating. Daydreaming and nightmaring. I sit here tonight wondering what the odds are that my best RE appointment was also my last.

My first RE appointment, ever, happened in 2005 — a year and a half after DH and I, at 38, had thrown caution (read: BCPs and condoms) to the wind. I was 40 at that appointment.

I am 3 years older than 40 now and, interestingly, my quoted odds for pregnancy from any method are higher than they were back then. Not because I'm such a graceful ager, mind you. It's just that my RE-calculated odds have improved with more data. We know more about my response to different drug protocols, how my uterus performs, what kind of ICSI-assisted fertilization rate we might expect, and lots of other junk.

At 43 I have an estimated 25% chance for a successful IVF with my eggs. At 40 my chances were quoted at 4%–8% for the same procedure. You'd think I'd be ecstatic to have "achieved" such a stunning gain. But I'm not. The numbers make me ill. No achievement here.

Those early odds came from an RE who wasted the second 18-month stretch of my tick-tocking clock of child-bearing viability. With him we did tests, tests, and more tests. Never any procedures, because he wanted all possible results before giving us the same odds he quoted from the start.

As that process unfolded, the constant activity of ultrasounds, blood draws, tube testing, and sperm studies made the whole approach seem thorough. But in hindsight, especially after switching to a clinic that actually wants to help us get a take-home baby, I believe that our association with the first RE was absolutely fruitless and downright damaging to our cause. I'd love to have that money back, but I'd pay five times what we shelled out to him to recover the time. And I harbor a secret feeling that stress from that time directly caused the shockingly rapid, out-of-nowhere recurrence of problematic fibroids that resulted in my need for yet another major uterine surgery. More lost time.

I just wonder, how can I come to terms with the realization that I must have had AT LEAST a 25% shot at success 3 years ago? (That RE intentionally stalled us, and it was no surprise to read the clinic's detailed SART statistics from 2005–2006: they cycled exactly 0 patients of my age.) Three years ago everything about me (DH too) was younger and any embryos DH and I might have created would potentially have been better suited for survival.

I guess I can come to terms with the realization. That's just a fact. The problem with looking back is that I'm gutted from knowing that we stuck with that RE so long, despite having a bad feeling about him at first handshake. Funny thing is, I know many women who've had wonderful experiences at his clinic. I'd still recommend it for non-AMA patients because their facilities are top-notch and their success rates are terrific.

Back to the questions I'm asking myself. How can I feel good about a 25% chance for success when that means odds are 3 in 4 that success won't come? (Odds for miscarriage after a "success"/confirmed pregnancy = a different set of odds altogether.) Granted, for this last IVF the odds going in were only 1 in 10 that we'd succeed. We accepted those, and a pregnancy occurred. But we lost it, and odds are excellent that not only were most of the perfect-looking embryos we made chromosomally abnormal, but that any success we might have with another try would end the same way. No baby.

I don't know. I left the hopeful, encouraging RE consult buoyed by the 1 in 4 chance that IVF could work. That's the best number I've ever heard about any option using my eggs, ever-ever-ever. Yet odds seem high that I can't keep traveling this road.

No idea what we'll do, that's for sure. Dr. K says it's fine to take a couple more months to decide. That I'm on a hill (going down) but not quite falling off a cliff. Her recommendations, knowing what she knows about our fertility profile and personal wishes as a couple, were to pursue the following options in order:

1. One more IVF with my eggs (25% odds for success; should do this soon)
2. DE-IVF (70% odds for success; can do this anytime in the next few years, so I don't feel as time pressured)
3. 3 or 4 IUIs (5% odds for success but a way to feel like we're doing "something")
4. TTC on our own for a while longer (lowest odds for success — couldn't really assign a figure, but, hey, nobody can tell me now that pregnancy is totally impossible)
5. Move on (she stressed that we could do that now with total confidence that we'd given this whole thing a proper whirl)

A year ago I didn't even want to attempt IVF with my eggs. I wanted DE-IVF, and I wanted it 2 years ago. Two years ago I wanted adoption or DE-IVF, and I wanted that 3 years ago.

Today? Tonight? I seem to want all my own eggs in the basket or nothing. Number 1 or number 5. And I want one or the other right this minute, whatever minute it happens to be.

What to do, what to do.

Good days, bad moments, and scary-accurate horoscopes

My days go pretty well. I'm past feeling burdened by every thought, sight, body movement, and interpersonal interaction. I've moved into a phase of feeling mostly like myself while still experiencing moments of ouchiness each day. (Surprise!)

Do you check your horoscope? I do, maybe two or three times a week. Today was one of those weird times when the babble actually seemed to fit. I checked it — as a quick way to shake off a bad moment — just after seeing a client email with the subject "How does January 23 sound for you?"

January 23 was the baby's due date.

The client, of course, was proposing a work deadline. One that I'll have no trouble meeting. So, I countered that bad moment by clicking on some fluff.

My Leo reading said:

"Sometimes it's hard for you to keep up the dance of daily life while you are processing your feelings. Nevertheless, you can do it, even if you are hurting inside. Keep in mind that your emotions are raw and tender now; they wouldn't survive in their present form if they were on public display. Don't judge yourself negatively; you'll know when to share your heart."

I thought that was pretty applicable! I am keeping up that dance. From the outside, all looks normal with me. (I think. I hope!) And I feel fairly normal — for good, long stretches of every day — from the inside. But inside is definitely where I'm keeping what remains of those raw, tender emotions. I've reached a point at which I don't feel better letting them out. Talking about them doesn't help, but hanging on a bit and nursing them does.

All in all, I'd say time is doing its thing.

Finally, the HMT is born!

Thought all the POAS'ers out there would like this little audio bit from the Onion:

"Procter & Gamble Introduces Home Menstruation Test"

DH just flew into the family room to see why I was crying. It took a triple take for him to realize I was laughing, all the way out loud.

Mother's Day turned 100 this year?

How did I miss that one? This year marked its 100th birthday. I realize this is old news. I spent that day in a bad state, then a slightly better one, all but certain that the IVF hadn't worked. But I find it odd that I would have missed news of such a milestone. I must have practiced lots of selective hearing around that time.

If I didn't know that tidbit before, I know it today. Now, this is not a rant about Mother's Day. It just happens to factor into my little anecdote.

You see I received some floral deliveries on Wednesday. (I aged this week!) One arrangement came from someone with whom I've had a difficult time communicating since the miscarriage. Said Someone (SS) found a bizarre way to make my experience all about SS. Quite a feat, that.

Anyway, SS's flowers withered, so I pitched 'em this morning and set about washing the decorative vase. My heart stopped when I noticed something I hadn't before — a painted-on seal that said something like* "Mother's Day 2008 — 100 Years of Celebrating Moms."

My thoughts ran like this:

• Did SS select this from the Mother's Day menu and just not notice?
• Did SS mean to communicate that I am in some way a mother?
• Well, I was pregnant on Mother's Day 2008 . . . is the Universe warning me to remember it because that's the only one I'll ever get?
• Why am I feeling sooo annoyed with SS when I'm sure SS had no idea about the seal?
• And why am I angry with myself for even having that got-kicked-in-the-gut feeling after feeling fairly decent all week?

I am thoroughly satisfied that this was just an unusual coincidence. Yet I can't quite get over feeling annoyed that the item came from SS. Probably, I'm annoyed that I can't justifiably be annoyed with SS about it. SS is totally innocent of malice here, but I'm still hanging on to some negative feelings about an earlier scenario we'll call "Your Miscarriage Is a Particular Hardship for Me — and, By the Way, I've Felt Much Worse Than You're Feeling Right Now."

Or, maybe the real source of my "annoyance" has nothing to do with SS or the vase and everything to do with losing a baby.

Hard to say. Just riding it out and writing it out . . .



*I threw that sucker into the trash, so I can't double-check.

9.82

My IVF nurse just called with my most recent HCG reading. It's 9.82 — low enough that the clinic doesn't need to check it again. I think it's hilarious that I'd hoped for a single-digit report today and, for the first time ever when giving me a beta reading, they tacked on some decimals.

No matter. I am free from the needles! All post-D&C bleeding stopped last Wednesday (this was also the day on which I regained a nice semblance of hormonal sanity), and the no-bleeding thing has been a huge relief.

This Thursday I'll see Dr. K for a cycle debriefing. It's a "complimentary" consult, but I plan to get more than my money's worth. I've started a list of questions, the answers to which should help (we hope) narrow the focus of our decision-making discussions at home.

The nurse asked if we knew what decision we're leaning toward. Funny!

I didn't tell her that recent very serious considerations have included my getting an elective hysterectomy and rescuing a few more dogs (that was my insane self talking early on, and really meaning it); ditching the careers and opening a coffee shop on Norman Island (Travel Channel trance-a-thon, anyone?); somehow ramping up the careers, selling the house and cars, and moving into a tiny no-kids-allowed condo in the city; and — brace yourself for the big swing — draining our retirement savings and pursuing ART until something sticks or we are homeless.

Luckily none of those options sound brilliant anymore. Calm, practical heads all around.

Still, I have no idea what we'll do.

Now is later

Here's something I haven't blogged about:

DH and I recently suffered a big blow in our lives separate from the miscarriage. Call it a personal family crisis. The kind that comes out of nowhere and cuts you off at the knees. But we didn't miss a day, and we are still here. Still committed to each other, certain that we love each other as much or more than ever, and positive that the last 18 years have been as great and as real and as worth it as they come.

Hope nobody minds that I won't be mentioning details. I realize bringing up a "big blow" without describing it opens the doors of speculation. But I can't help that, and probably whatever you're thinking is wrong, and worse. I just needed to (cryptically) post about it to free me from the feeling that I'm not addressing something that's occupying just as much of my energy as healing from the miscarriage right now.

I will say with complete confidence that, thank god, both DH and I are IN this life we created together, together. All the way. For better. For worse. So we will work through this spate of all-around life crap. It's hard, though.

We've been seeing a counselor that deals with IF and related marital issues. Some of her input has been helpful, lots of it hasn't. We'll see which way that table turns, but the act of talking with a third party has been beneficial in itself and may be the most valuable thing. We do talk at home on our own, too, but the therapist definitely asks questions that we aren't likely to voice ourselves. Our main concerns are (1) making sure we deal with our current grief/pain in a healthy way, and (2) making quick work (as quick as is reasonable) of figuring out what we're going to "be" as a family. Will we continue TTC on our own for a specified time? Will we pursue other ART options? Adopt? Live child free? We've made those decisions before, obviously — several times — but we have to do so again with nothing but a cold, hard, objective look at where we are NOW. What's done is done. What's failed has failed. What we can't achieve we can't achieve. I need a goal that we can attain . . . and one that we can both live with when we get it.

Of course I've gotten tons of advice from family — it's all related only to what we should/shouldn't feel, do, or say about the miscarriage and continuing or stopping the quest to start a family. (We don't discuss our personal marriage biz with the fam. We didn't used to discuss our family-planning efforts, either, but cluing people into the IVF kinda opened that can of worms.) Gotta love 'em anyway and screen more calls.

This brings up my urge to present a video moment. Haven't slapped one up in a while. Do you remember English Beat's "Save It for Later?" It's a current favorite on my iPod. I love the song but have never known or cared what it was about. Still not sure that I do, even after reading the lyrics. Hit play to take a gander.



I've been drawn to the snippet "Sooner or later / Your legs give way, you hit the ground / Save it for later." Mainly because I feel like I hit the ground twice in the past couple of months and have engaged in lots of saving "it" for later . . . for when I could handle it.

As my post title hints, now is later in my world. I've turned a corner and I'm standing, walking forward even. Funny how that always happens in life — if you're lucky, that is, which I know I am.

If I'm really lucky, I'll get to the next few laters after this one, too. Fingers crossed and heart open.



**********

So what do the lyrics actually mean? Songfacts.com will tell you!

English Beat singer/guitarist Dave Wakeling says of this song: "It was about being lost, about not really knowing your role in the world, trying to find your place in the world. So, you couldn't find your own way in the world, and you'd have all sorts of people telling you this, that, and the other, and advising you, and it didn't actually seem like they knew any better. So it was like keep your advice to yourself. Save it — for later."

Cool! Guess I could just feel some of that even though I still don't see it in the words or get the same sense from the video interpretation. Ha!

Limbo Land

Haven't had much to say recently. Actually, that's not true — I've had too much to say, so I've kept a proper lid on it!

I'm hanging in, still waiting for the post D&C bleeding to completely stop. My HCG levels aren't falling at the rate the RE likes to see, so I'm getting an ultrasound early next week to see what's what.

Limbo Land.

I've really had it up to here (picture my hand gesturing far above my head) with walking through those clinic doors. But it looks like I have at least three more visits to go.

All things considered, I'm doing okay. I think. I can and do still burst into tears out of nowhere (and just about anywhere), but I have more and more moments of feeling fine in between the tears. I'm not typically much for the crying, but letting it happen as it wants to seems best. I've gotten pretty good at keeping it discreet!

I'm guessing that I'll start making quicker progress when the bloodletting stops and I don't have to see a (several-times') daily reminder of the lost dream.

Today's headlines

These news-feed gems caught my eye today:

"Grandma, 70, Gives Birth to Twins, Wanted Male Heir"

"Pregnant Man Gives Birth"

"Having Kids Makes You Happy (FALSE)"

"Hollywood Actress Pregnant with Second Child Just 10 Months After Giving Birth"

The best news is that I successfully resisted the click!

Safe and happy 4th to all.

Such a beautiful day

It's good that I think so, right? It's 8:30 am and so sunny. I have windows open, and the house feels fresh and clean. Nice while I sip coffee, check email, and plan a second day of doing next to nothing.

The D&C went fine on Wednesday. The walking-into-the-clinic and waiting-30-minutes-to-get-called parts were hard. Everyone else in the waiting room seemed ultra cheery — and so damn chatty — that morning.

The staff was really sweet to us. And Dr. S was on special-good behavior. After he'd slipped out to see if the OR had opened up, DH replicated the robotic double pat Dr. S had bestowed upon my ankle. DH smiled, shook his head, and said, "He's so flawed." I said, "I know . . . and it just makes me love him." (It's true, that's how I felt.)

My pre- and post-op "room" was in the middle of the larger area, and there was an excited retrieval couple through the curtain wall to my right. An in-training nurse who kept double-checking things with the supervisor had trouble getting the point that she wasn't supposed to shout things like "Did they get 18 or 19 eggs?" and "Is the D&C next up?" across the space for all to hear. She'll learn.

Recovery is under way. The bleeding turned heavy today for some reason, but it's not enough to cause concern. Just annoyance. The cramping is there but not too bad. I don't tolerate most narcotics (good thing, probably), so I haven't taken much for the discomfort. I don't actually need anything most of the time, just maybe once during the day and something before bed.

I can't tell you how glad I am that I took the time off work — I can't imagine mustering up interest in the job today. Yet, emotionally, I feel fairly stable.

Not sure what to do today. As I write this, the day is just getting prettier. I waffle between keeping the feet up and getting outside for something. I'm sure I can incorporate both somehow. I have a stack of books and many DVD possibilities. I'd love to walk the dog but I'm hesitant with the bleeding. I'm positive it's safe. But she likes a long, vigorous stroll, and DH can do that after work. Maybe the pup would like to hang out on the deck with me for a while, before it gets hot.

One quick thing I can do while I'm thinking about it:

I can say thank you to everyone who has sent so much kindness and support my way. It has helped me more than I can say.

Willing away the hours

The D&C will finally happen tomorrow at 11:00 am. For a while it was scheduled for late in the day, so I was glad to have it moved up. Gotta tell ya, though, I spent a couple of days spittin' mad that there was NO room for it — and no way to make room — Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday . . .

It just seemed inhumane to give me the choice between waiting for a natural miscarriage and having the procedure — but then not providing me with that procedure quickly. It will happen 5 days after the confirmation of the loss and who knows how long after the actual end.

The nurse who's been following me since Friday was all but convinced that I'd m/c before the weekend was out. She implored me to pick up the pain meds prescribed for the procedure early. I did (she scared me into it), but I really don't think I'll need them.

I'm cramping all the time now. Mostly in spates of dull aches with occasional sharp pains that take me by surprise. Haven't started bleeding yet, a favor for which I'm so grateful. I took "the law" into my own hands with this and continued my progesterone until the surgery got scheduled once and for all. It doesn't hurt anything and won't affect the procedure, but it may be helping keep the bleeding at bay. I can tell, though, that I must not be producing much progesterone on my own. I can sort of feel it leave my system, and that's happened earlier and earlier each day.

I ended up taking today through the end of the week off from work. I worked over the weekend and was doing pretty well yesterday. My hormones are falling, I think, and I'd work, dissolve into sobs, then feel good and work some more before something assaulted my senses and made me lose it. I was happy with the system. Then I got a single normal/no-big-deal-at-all request to follow up on a project. Someone needed information that would typically take me, oh, an hour to provide. She knew about other stuff I'm working on and so wanted to know when I'd be able to get back to her.

I still can't quite believe my reaction to that, but it was not good. I didn't just lose it, I sent it speeding off a cliff inside a burning car so it could smash to bits and pieces on the rocks below. I'd been living, hour by hour, focusing on how I'd meet all work obligations without incident (read: w/o having to tell anyone anything was amiss). I'd work up until leaving for the procedure tomorrow, then be back at it right away Thursday. I could use the weekend to make up for lost time Wednesday and any time I spent weeping Thursday. And by next Monday, June 30, I'd be all caught up, on time with everything, and able to take a breather for a couple of days to, oh, do some stuff around the house and maybe start working out again. That one hour of extra work was NOT going to fit in anywhere.

I'm laughing a little bit at my crazy.

In any case, yesterday's afternoon breakdown was good for me. It made me see that I can't, in fact, act like nothing is wrong. I know I will get through it. But I have to give myself a break. And making a few schedule changes was the least I can do toward that end.

All I want right now is to get home from the clinic tomorrow and start the healing.

It wasn't meant to be

Less than 2 hours ago, DH and I learned that our baby has died. S/he measured today at just 6 weeks, 3 days. That's a little bit ahead of the measurements we had at our 7-week ultrasound (actually, it might even be behind; truthfully, I'm unclear on that) — today was officially supposed to mark 9 weeks of pregnancy — so we think everything stopped working just about a week ago.

DH's workday starts at 6:30, so we arrived separately for the appointment. Afterward, we spent some time clinging in the parking lot. I'm waiting for him to confirm that he made it back to the office. I saw him wiping away tears in his car as I pulled out of the lot . . . he quickly caught up to me on the road and we sort of drove in tandem until our paths diverged on the interstate. He looked stoic, so I think he was under control. (Okay, I just called. He's there. He sounded shaky.)

I assumed I'd make it home safely because my body's/brain's go-to reaction to trauma is to immediately enter a state of dead calm. My assumption was right. I'm "fine."

It's too early for gin (I kid; it's probably a fine hour for gin, but I have a writing deadline today), so I grabbed a three-shot latte on the drive home. I'd previously lost my taste for coffee, but this tastes not entirely bad. Not quite good, though. We'll see if my system experiences any shock from the out-of-the-blue caffeine jolt. Doubt it.

What's next? Today I have to work. I'm roughly 4 hours away from completing a project. I know my client would tell me to drop it if she knew what's going on. But I can't possibly tell her that today. I don't have it in me. And I know I can finish the work. Call me crazy. Or call me (sick) master coper. I'll break down soon enough.

I'm standing by for a call to see exactly when the RE's clinic can fit me in for a D&C. I would have done it today, on the spot, but of course that wasn't logistically possible. Monday or Tuesday seems possible at the clinic, but I'll just have to wait for the word.

Naturally, Dr. S — the good doctor who gave us all that good news at the first IVF retrieval — will be the on-call surgeon next week. Dr. K is gone for 2 days and booked solid the others, and the only way she thought she could do it was on a lunch break (which she was willing to do). But I said no, the sooner the better, and my opinion that Dr. S is a social boob has no bearing on this situation. I know he is an exceptionally qualified surgeon.

I don't think my family members are standing by waiting for news today like they were at 7 weeks. So I shouldn't be getting any calls asking for updates. For that small favor I thank something in the universe.

When I turned on the computer just now I noticed an early-morning email from my dad in which he described the gorgeous scene at their lake home 2,000 miles away (which he knows I dearly love): Sunny day, slight breeze, highs in the 70s with calm, smooth waters. He and my mom are golfing (him) and lunching (her) during the day, then boating to a "summer's here" party tonight.

Dad wrote: "Tough day ahead. Don't you wish you were here?" He will be crushed.

I dropped a sunrise shot of that special, peaceful lake into an earlier post. See below for one taken two summers ago during what DH and I thought was an amazing twilight. Too amazing to capture with our camera, but try to capture it we did. We'd watched the sun sink just below the horizon — yet the water and the sky were still so brightly illuminated. I look at that scene and wish I could teleport myself there now, just to sit in a lawn chair — or better yet, quietly drift along in the middle of the lake. One of my favorite things to do is take the boat out by myself, find a perfect spot, and just float.

Despite my numbness, this feels like a twilight time. The sun has just disappeared (I know that I'm no longer pregnant) yet the water and sky are illuminated (I feel just as pregnant as I did in the full sun). That's better than a sunset, right? So, for a momentary fun-is-relative kick I just looked up twilight's definition. I can't quite choose between these equally compelling shades of meaning:

1. A period or condition of decline following growth, glory, or success
2. A state of ambiguity or obscurity

But, I figure, nobody is going to make me.

Blogging it

You know, I'm just not sure how to handle this blog right now. I keep toying with the idea of switching to a pregnancy blog . . . one that the family can actually access for news. But then I think, Where will I write about what I'm really thinking? I can do that in a regular journal, of course. But that's a whole different kind of outlet. It is for me, anyway, and I do like certain aspects of blogging.

I'll keep the status quo for now. Probably until I'm out of the first trimester and start actually talking about the pregnancy in real life. Honestly, it's STILL not feeling altogether real to me. Our immediate families know, and so do several friends and a few of my colleagues, but we've mostly kept a lid on it. (Not that I'm not positive some people we've told have told others. But that doesn't directly affect us.)

Later, I'll likely start something for general public consumption but maybe keep blogging here about my take on being pregnant after years and years of thinking I never would be. That "take" isn't all somber and full of fear and doubt . . . but is reflective of my particular path, which I really don't discuss with very many real-life souls.

My 9-week ultrasound happens tomorrow. Hoping to see good growth and a nice solid heartbeat! If we do, that will be my last appointment with the RE.

I *almost* got another u/s today

But then I had to go and open my big mouth. I had my first appointment with my regular OB. She wanted to see me before I "graduate" from the RE. Why? 'Cause I'm old!!

Technically, I didn't get to see the OB . . . I saw a nurse practitioner. The whole thing started off poorly. I was the first patient through the clinic doors this morning, and I still had to wait 40 minutes to get started. I showed up with all the paperwork they'd mailed me, filled in. Handed it over. After the assistant escorted me to the exam room, she started asking me all the same questions from the forms. I answered a few, but soon I balked and said "Please, can't you get all this from the identical forms I already took the time to fill out?" Then she listed pregnancy symptoms and asked me to say yes or no. I almost laughed when she said "irritability" because I was fairly well irritated right then but still said no. What's she gonna do, challenge me? :)

The NP had me do — of all things — a urine pregnancy test. (They like to see it for themselves!) Then she did a cervix check and said, "Oh, yeah, you feel pregnant." I thought about asking what that felt like, but it seemed awkward with her hand all up in there. She did a blood draw, too, and sort of an all-around physical. Then — with me still on the table in the front-closing gown that had nothing better to do than keep falling off — we chatted about the upcoming appointment schedule, various screenings available, and classes offered by the hospital.

The NP asked about the 7-week ultrasound and then said "We usually do one at this appointment, regardless." I said, "Oh good, I can get a peek before next week's scan with the RE." And that ended that. She said it would be overkill and clearly wasn't budging. No scan for me! Stupid, stupid sharing instinct!

The one big difference between the atmosphere at the OB's and RE's offices: everyone today told me congrats and talked about the rest of the pregnancy as though it's a done deal. Very strange.

We have a heartbeat

The scan went well. We think it did, anyway!

Hard to believe, but there's an extra heart beating inside my body right now. It's flickering at 116 bpm, and the sight of it took my breath away. (DH squeezed my hand extra hard then too!)

Dr. K? Well, she played everything VERY close to the vest. We didn't expect a parade or anything, but we did expect some positive talk. Instead it was mostly neutral. Noncommittal, even. She clearly thought the baby was measuring on the smallish side and that the heart rate is on the low end of normal. We asked what concerns those possibilities raise, and she wouldn't give us any, citing nicely proportionate measurements and difficulty getting truly accurate readings this early. She wants to wait until the 9-week ultrasound to really register an opinion. She did utter the words "You're pregnant." So I know she thinks I am! But she said nothing remotely similar to "Things look good for now" or "Don't worry." Everything was a big, fat wait-and-see.

It was kinda strange, I must say. We weren't upset by it, and of course the doctor was perfectly friendly and professional, as always. But we did say "HUH?" the second we stepped outside the clinic's doors. I guess we'd expected a more upbeat vibe on what we felt was a milestone day. So it was a bit of a letdown.

I've decided that Dr. K has seen every outcome under the sun and simply has to maintain a bit of distance for this part of the process. Of course she is right — we will know more at 9 weeks. Then my OB will weigh in at 10 weeks and at every turn after that.

As DH said over breakfast afterward, "I guess we'll be biting our nails for a while."

I say heck with nail biting right now, though. I can't identify anything significant to fret about!

Countdown to 7-week u/s

Not much to report. Still seem to be pregnant.

My symptoms really wax and wane, but I've learned to ignore the waning days. My mom tells me that she had very few symptoms with my brother and sister (barely any to recall) and just some mild nausea with me. Two other female family members I've talked to were sick, sick, sick. I can tell that they'd feel better if I had more symptoms: one because she equates strong symptoms with a healthy pregnancy, the other because she'd like to know that I'm suffering. :)

Four days to go. The ultrasound is scheduled for Friday at 9:00 a.m. Pacific.

Looking for the Zen

You're not supposed to consciously try to achieve a Zen attitude. But I'm going for it today. On purpose.

The spotting stopped late last night, thank goodness. Yes, I stayed up to verify. I drank a literal bucketful of water throughout the evening and had a couple (4) creme-filled vanilla cookies for good measure.

DH was very good with me on the phone. He zeroed right in on the things that would logic (yes, I'm verb-ing that word) me out of unnecessary worry. When I said the disappearing symptoms and spotting could be nothing or everything bad, he gently ranted "You have no idea what they mean for you, right now, in this pregnancy. If it's not black-and-white, there is no reason for you to live in the worst possibility. And if the worst thing happens, we are prepared for that."

DH saying "we" are prepared got through to me. He's with me AND I can handle things. Then I said, only half-jokingly, "The spotting started right after I'd finally allowed myself to run out and buy a pregnancy book." DH replied, "Yeah. God hates that." Which made me laugh and shape up a little more.

The RE's office says there's nothing to worry about at present. It's good that the spotting was not serious, and it's good that it stopped. Plans for the 7-week ultrasound are still on. No need for me to go in unless something concerning happens. They don't really care about my disappearing symptoms, dang them. So I'm on my own for another 8 days. Knock on wood.

So, I'm doing my best to stay on task at work today (it hasn't been too hard) and to not think about the things I can't know. The dog helps. She just came into my office — for the third time — to sniff the new stack of library books I'm working with. That seems to be the main thing on her mind this morning. Her routine: Sleep a little, wake up and remember the new books, sniff them and think hard, grab a little water, settle back down on her bed, and do the whole thing over when next she wakes. She is very "of the moment," not thinking ahead and not thinking behind. I think she's onto something!

I was having such a good day

Yesterday I worried because some of my symptoms had faded. I've seen this happen to so many others — sometimes it's the beginning of the end, but many times it means nothing. Symptoms come and go. I persuaded myself to run with that explanation.

Today was a good day almost all the way through: Good energy. Clearest head I've had in a while. Productive workday. No pressing worries.

Then, after dinner, I started spotting. It's probably nothing. There's no pain, no cramping. It's very, very light. No red. So far I'm not freaking out, but I can't pretend to not be apprehensive. Vanishing symptoms PLUS spotting does not make me happy. It helps to know that it could be nothing. But that doesn't stop me from knowing it could be something.

I'll call Dr. K's nurse first thing tomorrow and let her tell me there's nothing to worry about. I'll also let her tell me to come right on in for a check-up.

Either way.

I'm IT

To be precise, I was it back on May 9, when Joonie "tagged" me to post the following meme. Didn't mean to ignore. I know I saw it, but it went in one eye and — poof — out who knows where!

Four things I did ten years ago (1998):
(1) Took a job I immediately wanted to quit. Stuck with it, though, due to the next item on the list.
(2) Bought my first house with DH.
(3) Interviewed a Bigfoot researcher who later donated his own skeleton to science.
(4) Assumed that — once we were ready, sometime in the future — conceiving a child might take a while. Like maybe a few months.

Four things I did five years ago (2003):
(1) Had my first fertility workup with an OB-GYN.
(2) Repainted the interior of our second house.
(3) Adopted a retired racing greyhound.
(4) Went off BCPs after 17 years.

Four things I did yesterday:
(1) Cleaned up doggie vomit. Poor pupper, but GAG!
(2) Placed holds on 10 library books I'll pick up later today.
(3) Found that the milk had gone bad.
(4) Confirmed my own pregnancy rumor for a good friend who lives 1,800 miles away. She'd overheard someone I don't technically even know describe an over-40, never-had-kids, IVF-doing Lisa MyLastName. When my friend butted in to say "Did you say Lisa MyLastName?", the non-acquaintance insisted that my friend couldn't know me. Hilarious!

Four shows I love to watch:
(1) Curb Your Enthusiasm. It is so uncomfortably funny.
(2) America's Test Kitchen. They have great recipes and good info about kitchen tools.
(3) The rotating Mystery series on PBS: Prime Suspect, Inspector Morse, Miss Marple, Poirot, you name it.
(4) The Mary Tyler Moore Show. Still makes me happy.

Four things I love to do:
(1) Write/read (sorry, cheating, but they are closely tied for me).
(2) Cook new things.
(3) Spend time with DH and the hound.
(4) Listen to jazz.

That does it. I'm supposed to tag a few new folks. I'm sure it's bad form, but instead of going out and finding bloggers who haven't participated, I am going to take the lazy route and invite interested readers to consider yourselves tagged! Just post the meme answers to YOUR blogs and then pass it on as you like. Easy!

No news has been good news

I've been a quiet blogger this week, probably because I'm all talked out about my "delicate condition" for the time being (I'm fielding daily phone calls from the family) — and also because right now I need to reserve the part of my brain that strings sentences together. Desperately need it for work.

It's been strange to have something cooking without DH here. We talk every night, but it's hard to really talk. So far he's missed my positive HPTs, two betas, constant nap cravings, first stretching-type pains, low-grade fever (short-lived), frequent trips to the loo, and the first losing of the lunch. (Technically, I lost my supper. All of it. That happened about an hour ago.) I saw a bit of trace spotting earlier, too, but I'm trying to put that one out of my mind. It was minuscule and can't be worried about. Everything, overall, seems to be going just fine.

My first ultrasound happens exactly 2 weeks from today. DH will be home then, thank goodness.

With a song in my heart . . .

. . . I borrow a line from Stevie Wonder to say, "Don't go baby, don't go baby; don't go baby, don't go baby."

Today's beta result is 559. That gives me a doubling time of 46.7 hours. My guarded reaction as I tried to do the math kinda disappointed the nurse coordinator who called. She'd clearly hoped to hear some serious whooping.

What can I say — it is HARD to switch gears from keeping my hopes tamped down and perfectly categorized under the heading "Ain't Gonna Happen." Elation is still a bit out of my reach, but I have jumped on the just-plain-happy wagon and will work on ramping things up after the shock wears off.

Tonight I send a message to my little cell blob:

"Tomorrow marks 18 days since you first started growing. Good luck forming your neural groove with pretty brain bulge on one end (assuming the wiki author actually got that right). I just know it will go well. In the meantime, this song is for you."

Beta result near end of rambling post

"Your insurance will pay for this one."

Today was the first time I'd ever heard that as I checked out at the clinic. It was an all-around strange experience because I saw all-new-to-me staff. The whole thing felt totally impersonal, but what are you going to do.

I got in and out of there in just a few minutes. Back in my car, I turned emotional fast. I just wanted to KNOW. I wanted to know today's result, and Monday's, and Wednesday's. And I wanted to see a sac during one ultrasound and a heartbeat during the one after that. I wanted to make it past 6 weeks, 8 weeks, 10 weeks, 12 weeks, 17 weeks, 22 weeks, and all the way through. I wanted to hear that first cry at delivery and be told "S/he's perfect." I wanted to proudly watch my child grow and learn and work and live.

I wanted all of that OR for everything to end with this afternoon's phone call. I wanted all or nothing, and I wanted it before sundown.

I didn't cry in the car, but I thought about it. I just felt robbed of getting to hope for things and also silly for thinking about all the things that can go wrong. Of course today's news wouldn't tell me anything beyond today's news. And I had to live with that. It's out of my hands. Still.

So I reminded myself that we'd come this far. That's despite one well-respected RE telling us he wouldn't treat us, another pointedly and pooh-pooh-ing-ly saying "I wouldn't" when referring to whether we should try again after our failed cycle, and the other — our primary RE — stressing to us (as she should have) that our chances for a pregnancy from this cycle were only 10% and odds that we'd get a take-home baby, if something stuck in the first place, were just 1 in 5. This far is good.

Despite all the grim possibilities that haunt me, this day, in the churning sea of wary, weary days leading up to it, has ended on a positive note:

At 14dpo/11dp3dt, my beta came back at 192.

That is real. That is solid. That is really solid. Of course it has to be monitored, along with many things to come. But right now things are good, and I can work on making it to the next benchmark.

Tonight, though, I will relax.

8 hours till I'm on the road to beta

Yikes, I thought it was 10 pm, but I was wrong. I need to be in my car at 7 am tomorrow to ensure that I make it to my 7:45 beta draw on time. I'll be there. Then I'll have to drive back home, still in rush-hour traffic, and get ready to teach a class at noon. I tried doing the prep work for the class this evening, but that didn't work out. Instead I talked DH to sleep on a different coast, fielded a couple of calls from people wanting to know how I'm holding up (fine today, thanks), and ate a very large artichoke for dinner while watching The Office.

My brain is mush. I did a bunch of work and interacted with several colleagues today. But darned if I can tell you what I really accomplished. I'm a list maker by nature, but my lists usually fade into the background once I finish them. Today, though, I relied on a list to keep me going and, more important, to serve as a record of what I actually did. 'Cause without it, I was unable to reliably track anything. Guess my mind was otherwise engaged.

Breathing, chasing off the crazy

Wellllllll, the FRERs that had been in my bathroom cabinet for a while were the Early Result type. These are the ones that can, in some cases, give you a positive several days before your missed period.

The FRERs I recently purchased are called Rapid Result. Have you seen those? I'd noticed the title difference but didn't think much of it. I assumed it just meant the results came up faster. I had no idea — didn't read the box, too cool for that — that they are recommended for use on the first day of your MISSED period or "thereafter." They are less sensitive than the others. Apples and tangelos!

Good grief. Different tests + highly dilute urine + POAS victim who's not used to working with positives = bring on the crazy.

The Rapids are all I have left now. Saw a hint of something later last night, enough to settle me down. This morning's test is darker than yesterday morning's and also dark as my lovely Answer tests, which are of the "early result" variety.

Heaven help me. I've hung an "Out to Lunch" sign on my testing lab.

Is it already over?

This is essentially the same text as a post I just did on my regular discussion forum:

I know I shouldn't be testing so much. I. Know. It. But I wanted comparisons for all 3 brands from yesterday. Then I was going to just maybe do one a day till Friday.

My Answer test from earlier this afternoon is ever so slightly lighter than yesterday's (the one I pictured). It's really almost identical, just a tiny hair lighter. I thought this was no big deal due to differences in dilution. In person it is very pink and very there.

BUT, something possessed me 2 hours later to do another FRER. It is a total BFN. No color, no line, no nothing. This morning's FRER was measurably darker than yesterday's. But this is as white as white can be.

Surely I should be able to see SOMETHING.

Is it now just over?

Why did I do this to myself?

Why can't anything be clear one day and clear again the next day?

A horse is a horse, of course, of course

And a line is a line — look at mine, look at mine!

This is from yesterday, aka 10dpo/7dp3dt:



I've frankly never understood why many in the POAS Club invert their HPT images; seeing it always kinda makes me chuckle. If you can see the line one way, you can see it the other way. Right? (That's why I used an inverted image of a negative test for the blog. My thinking was "no line is no line.") But I am determined to milk this new frontier for all it's worth, for as long as I have the privilege. So here's my same damn test inverted:


It is so, so, SO early. My beta test is still 4 days away, and I know anything can happen in the meantime. But right now I am pregnant. HPT lines darkened slightly today. For apples-to-apples's sake, I used both EPT and FRER each morning. I trust FRER the most — lines are pink and absolutely there but still too faint for a good photo. The pictures are from yesterday's late-afternoon Answer test, the most photogenic of the bunch.

I didn't post yesterday because I needed time to wrap my brain around things. Plus, I wanted to tell DH first! He's on the road, and I didn't get to talk to him until last night at 8:45. That was 15 hours after I'd hopped out of bed to just test already. I crawled back into bed at exactly 4:55, and I missed DH as I listened to a meditation CD and drifted back to sleep for a while. I dreamed that I was in a retail complex, looking for a drugstore so I could buy backup HPTs. No pants, no wallet. I ran back to the car because I remembered DH had wedged some cash into the console after paying for parking on transfer day. Would it be enough? Let's see, 2 ones (that won't help) and 1 $17 bill (yes!). And, oh good, I am wearing pants, they're just down around my ankles.

As I did my PIO shot later, with pj pants pulled down, I laughed at the dream and wondered what the deal was with the $17 bill. True, the 4-test FRER box I'd recently bought was $18.99, so the car-cash combo would have covered that (assuming no sales tax in Dreamland). But something about the number 17 was sticking with me. Then I remembered the work-related interview I'd given last week. It was a Q&A about how I got started in my business and when/how I made the leap to self-employment. I told the story of wanting to make the leap and waiting for the "right time." Of course I wanted to do so under sensible circumstances, which included having built up a body of solo work to point to.

One day, while doing my regular job, a potential freelance client called wanting to know how many of a particular type of project I'd done. "Quite a few, but let me put together a list and get back to you," I said. I was thinking 6 or 7. I hoped it would seem like enough to the client. Well, my final tally was 17. And I was stunned. When had I done all that? The answer was whenever I could, all the time, for several years. I remember that day because a switch flipped in my brain. I looked around my office, which I so deeply wanted to leave behind to pursue the type of work this client was offering, and I thought "Why am I still here? I'm already doing what I want. It's real. Time to admit it and act on it."

I liked that the dream helped change my initial reaction to an honest-to-goodness positive test: False positive. Faulty test. Tests done this early in the morning don't count. Figuring out that 17 connection made me refocus. There comes a point at which you have to believe what you see. If I see something else later, I'll believe that then. But a line is a line is a line is a line is a line. (One "line" for each test on my bathroom counter.)

Which reminds me — to Possibility, I must say, "Okay, then. Color me both surprised and corrected. PLEASE don't let me find out you've been messing with my head."

P.S. My FAVORITE part of yesterday was when I logged on to my email account and saw a note from DH with the subject line "Good morning, baby." He'd sent it at 4:51, my time — that's while I was watching the lines come up. So I felt like he'd been with me after all. His reaction to the news? A simply succinct "This is good."

Shaking it off

It's been 3 hours since my most recent IVF-2ww meltdown. I've cried. Stared at Meet the Press. Breakfasted. Showered. Injected. Hugged the doggie hard. Now I'm just waiting for the mall to open. Can't think of anything I need, but I'm willing to look around.

I'm not the least bit worried about seeing Mother's Day shoppers/brunchers/mothers, btw. My sincere feeling is that someone else's mommy-ness does not affect my fertility or failure to conceive. One thing has nothing to do with the other. In a funny way, I think being out among the living, and life-giving, will make me feel more normal today.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, no, I haven't given up hope. I will keep shooting up the PIO, prayingfor/visualizing success, and behaving as though I just might be pregnant until AF or seriously negative betas tell me otherwise.

BUT, I will not pretend that I don't *think* all my typical markers for an imminent AF aren't going to lead to AF. I'd just be lying. And throwing logic out the window.

Of course I know that anything is possible. It's possible that 1 + 2 will not = 3 this time. Perhaps what I always thought was 1 + 2 was actually always, say, 1.5 + 1.5 . . . or maybe what's really going on here is 1 + 2 for now and another + 1 will join the equation in the coming days, totally throwing evil 3 for a loop. (Still with me?)

So, cheers to you, Possibility. I will stand happily surprised and corrected should you make yourself known.

Why today? Well, why not.

I'm at 9 dpo, sort of, I guess. Since the whole cycle was "staged," the correct phrasing is that I'm 6dp3dt. What I know is that by either 9 dpo or 10 dpo in a natural cycle, my body clearly tells me that AF is on its way: I have a restless night; my chest deflates and any soreness goes away; my basal body temperature starts falling; and I feel a sensation I can only describe as uterine gurgling (I've come to decide it's the endometrium starting to break down).

All I can say to those tell-tale signs this Mother's Day at 5:30 a.m. is check, check, check, and check.

I don't write this to solicit a flurry of "don't give ups." I'd prefer not to get any. I just write what I know. I know it on the surface. I know it from years of cold, hard experience. And I know it in my heart.

Friday dance break

I'm hanging in, doing my best to keep hope floating near the top of my well of emotions. As a quick distraction, I searched YouTube for a couple of mood-lifting songs I associate with this cycle.

Every time I drove to the clinic this time, I played "I Don't Feel Like Dancing" by the Scissor Sisters. Kept it on Repeat. The upbeat music paired with world-weary lyrics just worked for me. This fun video features a series of Stephen Colbert dance clips set to the music. Try NOT to smile from the pinata scene forward.




On ER day, the Michael Buble version of "The Best Is Yet to Come" played as I got my sleepy-time IV. My parents had just mentioned seeing Buble's opening act perform. This was in the same call where they passed along all kinds of good hopes, wishes, and prayers for the retrieval, the cycle, and beyond. Hearing the song made me feel all those good vibes — from them, other family and friends, my online peeps. And that's as good a theme song as any. I honestly do believe that the "best" is out there for us, regardless of what happens in the next week or so. Check out Gene Kelly's moves in the video. I find them hypnotic this Friday afternoon.

No totsicles

Heard today that our 2 "extra" embryos didn't make it to freeze. My immediate thought was that their demise reflects poorly on the quality of the ones we put back. But no good can come from mulling that.

My 4 embies

We were shocked to learn that we still had 6 embryos chugging along yesterday. We chose to put back 4. The other 2 were of lesser quality but not bad. We'll find out tomorrow whether they make it to the blastocyst stage and can be frozen for a future cycle.

I'll have to do a later post about both the ER and transfer experiences, but I'm not up for that today. (They were good.) Although I'm supposed to be on bedrest, I've just spent the morning dealing with "emergency" work issues. The non-emergent kind that come up only when some people remember you've taken a couple days off. The work wasn't physically taxing, just annoying. I need to get back to my feet-up/nothing-else-on-my-mind state for the rest of the day.

Here's yesterday's photo of our 4 little 8-celled wonders. Behold the miracles!

Transfer set for Monday at noon Pacific

Quick facts:

• 7 of the 9 eggs were mature
• 6 of the 7 fertilized with ICSI (I am VERY pleased with that number)
• I've started PIO, Doxycycline, and Medrol (the latter helps with assisted hatching)
  

We're not getting a fertilization report today — just waiting till we go in tomorrow for a 3-day transfer. Dr. K feels that all 6 will survive and we will select the best-quality embryos from the group. She wants to put back 4 if possible. Again, no telling how many really will survive or what quality we'll be dealing with. But we have every expectation that we will at least get a 2ww out of this.

So, tomorrow I do my regular meds first thing, take Prometrium at 10:00, work on filling up my bladder as directed, have an acupuncture session at 11:15, meet DH and Dr. K at 11:45 for decision-time, have the transfer at 12:00, do another acu session right afterward (hoping there is a potty break involved), and then head home to hang out for the rest of the day.

Thanks for all the sweet good vibes — I have felt them!

9 eggs retrieved

Happy relief!

It's not over yet, of course. We'll get the first fertilization report late tomorrow afternoon. Another one sometime Sunday. Then, we dearly hope, we'll have a transfer on Monday.

More later. Back to resting I go.

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: