Even when laughing is the whole point, it just won't happen every day.
Like when you find out that yes, you really are kind of pregnant, but no, you are not actually going to give birth to a baby as a result. I took a home pregnancy test yesterday and it was negative, and I knew that if my hormones were doing what they were supposed to, it should be positive (it had been positive the day before). So I went into the clinic, had my blood drawn, and discovered that while my HCG had risen somewhat, it was still way below where it should be. Low beta, slow to rise: there's no question it's not a viable pregnancy. (I'm not posting the actual numbers because I don't want to discourage women like me, who are avidly searching the internet to see if there is any hope. Suffice it to say that in my case, the answers is pretty clearly "no.") Although cruely, the clinic is making me wait 8 more days, to test again, even though the doctor isn't "very hopeful" and my nurse coordinator calls it a "bad pregnancy." We're kidding no one here, yet I still have to get those daily shots in the butt, and I still don't get to have a glass of wine with my dinner. Not supposed to exercise, either, but I have to do something to restore a little sanity.
Before I started this process, I was hopeful--even confident--that it would work. I was still imposing that "it happens because you deserve it to happen" value onto it. I don't know what it will take to get it through my thick head that it doesn't go that way. So will I ever get pregnant? Well, technically, I am. Will I ever have a baby? I really don't know.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Make That a Big Fat Probably Not
So of course, I haven't been able to keep myself out of the fertility forums and such, searching "low beta" or "low beta 8dpt5dt" (8 days past 5 day transfer) or "low beta and pregnant." And the verdict is--pray for a miracle. It seems most women with this problem either have a chemical pregnancy, a miscarriage, or an ectopic pregnancy.
So maybe, just pray that I don't have an ectopic pregnancy. That if it isn't going to stick, that it becomes clear quickly. I don't want to get false hope, I don't want to have to go through some traumatic surgery. So I hope I go in on Sunday and my numbers look textbook good, keep rising, keep me on the right track, suprise everyone so that the nurse will say something like, "it looks like you have a late bloomer!" or I go in Sunday and am told that I can stop the madness, the stress, the daily progesterone shots. I can go back to bed, and bawl my head off.
I did pee on a stick today, and it was faintly positive. Better than yesterday, when it was only positive if you held it in direct sunlight and squinted through one eye and stood on one foot. Today there is a line there, for sure, which means the level rose enough to make that beautiful pink dye bleed.
But still, we can't all expect to be the one for whom it goes unexpectedly and suprisingly right, because we deserve it. Because deserving it--the lesson I've been trying to learn for the past two years, trying to accept--deserving it has fuck all to do with actually getting pregnant.
It was so hard to call loved ones yesterday to say, "I'm pregnant but don't get excited." I mean, I had to call people, they all knew what was going on, but of course they're all excited. "Cautiously pregnant" means nothing to them. Pregnant is pregnant is pregnant. Or not.
So maybe, just pray that I don't have an ectopic pregnancy. That if it isn't going to stick, that it becomes clear quickly. I don't want to get false hope, I don't want to have to go through some traumatic surgery. So I hope I go in on Sunday and my numbers look textbook good, keep rising, keep me on the right track, suprise everyone so that the nurse will say something like, "it looks like you have a late bloomer!" or I go in Sunday and am told that I can stop the madness, the stress, the daily progesterone shots. I can go back to bed, and bawl my head off.
I did pee on a stick today, and it was faintly positive. Better than yesterday, when it was only positive if you held it in direct sunlight and squinted through one eye and stood on one foot. Today there is a line there, for sure, which means the level rose enough to make that beautiful pink dye bleed.
But still, we can't all expect to be the one for whom it goes unexpectedly and suprisingly right, because we deserve it. Because deserving it--the lesson I've been trying to learn for the past two years, trying to accept--deserving it has fuck all to do with actually getting pregnant.
It was so hard to call loved ones yesterday to say, "I'm pregnant but don't get excited." I mean, I had to call people, they all knew what was going on, but of course they're all excited. "Cautiously pregnant" means nothing to them. Pregnant is pregnant is pregnant. Or not.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Big Fat Maybe
So today was dra-muh. We went in for the test, then waited anxiously by the phone. Then stupidly, went online to the "patient portal" to see if our test results were posted, before getting a phone call. They were. But unsurprisingly, they don't just say "positive" or "negative," they give you numbers. Greek to me.
I could tell the numbers looked low, though, by a quick search online. So then I decided to pee on a stick. Well, two, really. Both negative. I started to get really hysterical. I started wailing and keening, I kid you not.
Then the nurse (finally!) called. And told me it was positive.
What the ?!
I guess you could call me cautiously pregnant. The test was positive, but my hormone levels are much lower than they "should" be. It could just mean I implanted late. I figured that would be no big surprise, since the doc told me on day 5 that my embies were basically done and to expect 2 or fewer to make it to day 6, and I had 6 on day 6. Maybe we just have some sloooooow babies. They get that from their daddy. That man does not like to hurry and apparently neither do his children.
So I'm pregnant. Maybe not for long, but I've never been able to say that before.
I could tell the numbers looked low, though, by a quick search online. So then I decided to pee on a stick. Well, two, really. Both negative. I started to get really hysterical. I started wailing and keening, I kid you not.
Then the nurse (finally!) called. And told me it was positive.
What the ?!
I guess you could call me cautiously pregnant. The test was positive, but my hormone levels are much lower than they "should" be. It could just mean I implanted late. I figured that would be no big surprise, since the doc told me on day 5 that my embies were basically done and to expect 2 or fewer to make it to day 6, and I had 6 on day 6. Maybe we just have some sloooooow babies. They get that from their daddy. That man does not like to hurry and apparently neither do his children.
So I'm pregnant. Maybe not for long, but I've never been able to say that before.
Another Valium, Please
So today is the big reveal. There's nothing secretly alluring about a pregnancy test when everyone knows your babies have been growing in a petri dish, so I'm going to be either sharing some joy or sharing some pain. And that's not a complaint--I'm so grateful for the support. It's just one of the benefits of a process that is so artificial. None of those "We're pregnant!" announcements other couples make at Christmas dinner. More like, "Here's a picture of our blastocysts. Aren't they cute?"
Anyway, I'm starting to wish I could get another valium, like the one they gave me for transfer. It made everything muted and happy and confused, and I'd love to feel like that now. Maybe this is just because everything else is over, but this feels like the most stressful part. Ironically, today is also the day our credit card payment was withdrawn from the account.
I had to go in two days ago and have my blood drawn, but they didn't test it. They'll test it today, so that even if it's positive, they can compare it to today's test and confirm my hormone level is rising appropriately. For some reason, having that blood draw freaked me out. I just recognized that what's done is done--it's positive or it's not, and the only difference is that I don't know.
Anyway, I'm starting to wish I could get another valium, like the one they gave me for transfer. It made everything muted and happy and confused, and I'd love to feel like that now. Maybe this is just because everything else is over, but this feels like the most stressful part. Ironically, today is also the day our credit card payment was withdrawn from the account.
I had to go in two days ago and have my blood drawn, but they didn't test it. They'll test it today, so that even if it's positive, they can compare it to today's test and confirm my hormone level is rising appropriately. For some reason, having that blood draw freaked me out. I just recognized that what's done is done--it's positive or it's not, and the only difference is that I don't know.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Snowbabies on Ice
You'd think that laying around for 3 days, I'd find time to blog. But it's hard to do laying down, on my side, so instead I'm watching a lot of bad TV and movies I picked up at the library. In this horrible repertoire, I must admit that I've watched a movie with Lindsey Lohan (Georgia Rule: horrible!) and a show I'd heard of on MTV but never seen called The Hills (an equal insult to the intelligence of the American public--but entertaining).
The good news is, transfer went smoothly on day 5. I have the world's smallest bladder, so I was seriously worried about having to fill it before going in and then dying and writhing on the table. But good news: valium really seems to help with that (I felt goooood). And my difficult cervix didn't put up a fight, either, which was amazing.
But for all that I waste time googling "lupron" and "morphology" and a bunch of other infertile words, I was completely unschooled in the codes of embryo grading. The doctor
who did the transfer, Dr. G, isn't my regular doc, though I'd seen him before. We had to consult with him before the actual transfer, to discuss how things had developed.
I'd read that only about 30% of day 3 embryos make it to day 5 blastocysts, but that the number is usually around 50% in younger women (at 32, I'm "younger" in the ivf world). So I was hoping that of my 9, there would be 4 that would stick around, 2 for now, 2 for freezing (now I hear they're called "snowbabies"). It seemed hopeful but realistic.
But Dr. G right away gave me the impression that just wasn't going to happen. I think part of it was, he clearly already had a plan and knew he just needed to get us to sign on to it. We had one blast that was fully expanded--only one--and good quality. There were 3 others that were expanding, and he suggested we implant our little golden ticket + one of these, letting the embryologist choose the best of the lot. A few more were morulas (where they usually are on day 4, I now know) and the rest, "eh" (translation--I can't remember what he actually said). He said expect 0-2 for freezing.
I was really disheartened by this and I have to admit I started crying a little in the transfer room (not while he was there, thank goodness). I feared it meant my eggs were no good, and I felt this added pressure, like this wasn't going to work and if it didn't I was going to have to start all over (no more crazy drugs, please!). While I was busy feeling sorry for myself and DH was trying to convince me things looked good and to stay in the present (the present? What's THAT about?!), the embryologist came in and told me that while I was being an obsessive loser, another blastocycst had expanded fully and they'd keep culturing the rest for another day--they weren't bad, just slow. Then she called me yesterday to tell me that 6 out of the 7 remaining made it to blastocysts and were frozen!
If I were on The Hills, I'd say something like, "OMG, Dr. G is such a liar!" but since I'm not, I'll just count my blessings, hope these little bryos inside me decide to stick around, and acknowledge how lucky I am that that I've got some snowbabies on ice.
The good news is, transfer went smoothly on day 5. I have the world's smallest bladder, so I was seriously worried about having to fill it before going in and then dying and writhing on the table. But good news: valium really seems to help with that (I felt goooood). And my difficult cervix didn't put up a fight, either, which was amazing.
But for all that I waste time googling "lupron" and "morphology" and a bunch of other infertile words, I was completely unschooled in the codes of embryo grading. The doctor
who did the transfer, Dr. G, isn't my regular doc, though I'd seen him before. We had to consult with him before the actual transfer, to discuss how things had developed.
I'd read that only about 30% of day 3 embryos make it to day 5 blastocysts, but that the number is usually around 50% in younger women (at 32, I'm "younger" in the ivf world). So I was hoping that of my 9, there would be 4 that would stick around, 2 for now, 2 for freezing (now I hear they're called "snowbabies"). It seemed hopeful but realistic.
But Dr. G right away gave me the impression that just wasn't going to happen. I think part of it was, he clearly already had a plan and knew he just needed to get us to sign on to it. We had one blast that was fully expanded--only one--and good quality. There were 3 others that were expanding, and he suggested we implant our little golden ticket + one of these, letting the embryologist choose the best of the lot. A few more were morulas (where they usually are on day 4, I now know) and the rest, "eh" (translation--I can't remember what he actually said). He said expect 0-2 for freezing.
I was really disheartened by this and I have to admit I started crying a little in the transfer room (not while he was there, thank goodness). I feared it meant my eggs were no good, and I felt this added pressure, like this wasn't going to work and if it didn't I was going to have to start all over (no more crazy drugs, please!). While I was busy feeling sorry for myself and DH was trying to convince me things looked good and to stay in the present (the present? What's THAT about?!), the embryologist came in and told me that while I was being an obsessive loser, another blastocycst had expanded fully and they'd keep culturing the rest for another day--they weren't bad, just slow. Then she called me yesterday to tell me that 6 out of the 7 remaining made it to blastocysts and were frozen!
If I were on The Hills, I'd say something like, "OMG, Dr. G is such a liar!" but since I'm not, I'll just count my blessings, hope these little bryos inside me decide to stick around, and acknowledge how lucky I am that that I've got some snowbabies on ice.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
If I Were Michael Phelps...
I would have won 8 gold medals and 1 silver.
At least that's how I felt today, when the clinic called to tell me that all 9 of our embryos are growing swimmingly, with 8 grade 1 (the best) and 1 grade 2 (still fine, she said). So we didn't do transfer today; it will be Tuesday.
Okay, so I'm not an Olympic champion, and I know no one is reading this and jumping out of her seat the way I did when I watched Mr. Phelps win the 100 fly through brutal, pained determination (and some really long monkey arms hitting the wall 1/100th of a second faster than the next guy). But for me, this feels like a huge triumph. I recognize not all the embryos will make it to Tuesday, but it's exciting to know we're starting from a big number and have a good amount of wiggle room.
Knock on wood. See, you can't say anything too positive, or God might punish you and not let you have what you want--in my case, a baby. No matter how many years have gone by, I can't beat some of the religious rhetoric out of my head (many thanks, Dr. James Dobson).
I'm pretty sure Michael Phelps doesn't think that, though. So it's time to put on my iPod and shake it loose. Go for the gold.
At least that's how I felt today, when the clinic called to tell me that all 9 of our embryos are growing swimmingly, with 8 grade 1 (the best) and 1 grade 2 (still fine, she said). So we didn't do transfer today; it will be Tuesday.
Okay, so I'm not an Olympic champion, and I know no one is reading this and jumping out of her seat the way I did when I watched Mr. Phelps win the 100 fly through brutal, pained determination (and some really long monkey arms hitting the wall 1/100th of a second faster than the next guy). But for me, this feels like a huge triumph. I recognize not all the embryos will make it to Tuesday, but it's exciting to know we're starting from a big number and have a good amount of wiggle room.
Knock on wood. See, you can't say anything too positive, or God might punish you and not let you have what you want--in my case, a baby. No matter how many years have gone by, I can't beat some of the religious rhetoric out of my head (many thanks, Dr. James Dobson).
I'm pretty sure Michael Phelps doesn't think that, though. So it's time to put on my iPod and shake it loose. Go for the gold.
Friday, August 15, 2008
And 12 become 9
As normal, we're dwindling...
The embryologist called to tell us that of our 12 eggs, 11 were mature and 9 fertilized. That's pretty good news, but certainly nothing to make you cry. Unless you're me. Just so relieved not to hear, "I'm sorry to say but it appears your eggs are mutants and if we try to use them your baby will be half human, half alien."
The other good news is I no longer feel like Dottie kicked me in the gut. The bad news is I can't think about anything but my embryos now--I'm hoping at least one of those 9 becomes a little person that grows inside me someday soon.That feels kinda crazy.
The embryologist called to tell us that of our 12 eggs, 11 were mature and 9 fertilized. That's pretty good news, but certainly nothing to make you cry. Unless you're me. Just so relieved not to hear, "I'm sorry to say but it appears your eggs are mutants and if we try to use them your baby will be half human, half alien."
The other good news is I no longer feel like Dottie kicked me in the gut. The bad news is I can't think about anything but my embryos now--I'm hoping at least one of those 9 becomes a little person that grows inside me someday soon.That feels kinda crazy.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Dottie Done Kicked Me in the Stomach
Today I got to see the underbelly of the fertility clinic...well, maybe not the underbelly, but a whole new area--the area where they do the egg retrievals. It felt like a spa instead of a doctor's office; we walked down a long hall and took off our shoes by the bamboo shoe stand and rock fountain and then I changed into a gown that was much nicer than a normal hospital gown, probably made of organic cotton or something.
My nurse, Dottie, was very nice and she gave us a bunch of instructions I forgot right away and also just kept us company. And then we took bets on how many eggs we were going to get, based on the # of follicles (15-17), using Price Is Right rules. DH said 13, Dottie said 14, another nurse said 17, and the embryologist said she'd be Bob Barker. So I bet one egg, to be the closest without going over. There was no prize but the embryologist did end up drawing a sort of "award certificate" for the winner.
It was all very comfortable except that there was another woman also having retrieval in the room before me and we could hear her get wheeled off and come back all f*#ked up and hear that she had 11 eggs. They said 12 is the average but 11 was great for her age. So this was making me nervous (Was I going to feel like she sounded? What if I had fewer eggs, and I'm young?)
Before I knew it (time stands still back there, especially if you don't have a watch), DH was sent off to collect his specimen and I was wheeled away. I felt like I was in one of the Jason Bourne movies (I love those movies!) because the last thing I remember is that everything was very, very white. I woke up as f*$ked up as that lady sounded. I asked Dottie if she kicked me in the stomach and she laughed but I didn't.
But the news was good: 12 eggs. A dirty dozen, good place to start. And I won the contest. And I'm totally average. I guess in a world where 10% of couples have fertility problems, and a smaller portion need IVF, ending up finally being average ain't too bad.
My nurse, Dottie, was very nice and she gave us a bunch of instructions I forgot right away and also just kept us company. And then we took bets on how many eggs we were going to get, based on the # of follicles (15-17), using Price Is Right rules. DH said 13, Dottie said 14, another nurse said 17, and the embryologist said she'd be Bob Barker. So I bet one egg, to be the closest without going over. There was no prize but the embryologist did end up drawing a sort of "award certificate" for the winner.
It was all very comfortable except that there was another woman also having retrieval in the room before me and we could hear her get wheeled off and come back all f*#ked up and hear that she had 11 eggs. They said 12 is the average but 11 was great for her age. So this was making me nervous (Was I going to feel like she sounded? What if I had fewer eggs, and I'm young?)
Before I knew it (time stands still back there, especially if you don't have a watch), DH was sent off to collect his specimen and I was wheeled away. I felt like I was in one of the Jason Bourne movies (I love those movies!) because the last thing I remember is that everything was very, very white. I woke up as f*$ked up as that lady sounded. I asked Dottie if she kicked me in the stomach and she laughed but I didn't.
But the news was good: 12 eggs. A dirty dozen, good place to start. And I won the contest. And I'm totally average. I guess in a world where 10% of couples have fertility problems, and a smaller portion need IVF, ending up finally being average ain't too bad.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Dreams of My Youth
Even though I finished all my schooling 6 years ago (yikes!), I still have these occassional dreams where I wake up and there's a final and I've missed it. Or I'm about to; I can't find the room, or I never took the class and didn't even know I was registered, and now everything rides on getting an A. In all these dreams, I'm running around panicked, wondering how I got into the mess. (You'd think that alone would clue me in to the fact that it's not actually happening, and yet I still wake up with my heart pounding furiously.)
This fear of forgetting also reminded me of a friend who is a deep sleeper. Several years ago when he was taking the MCAT to get into medical school, he had like four people call him to make sure he woke up in time to make ti to the test. I am tempted to do that tomorrow, which makes no sense. I won't forget, DH won't forget, and we're not deep sleepers. But last night I seriously woke up and thought, "What if I wake up and eat breakfast or drink in the middle of the night?" My retrieval will be cancelled! I'll waste all those good eggs! I'll have to take my crazy drugs all over again (which I might anyway)! All for a bowl of cereal!
Beyond being totally irrational, this strikes me as slightly pitiful. I mean--who forgets they have surgery?! Who can forget spending $20,000 to get to this point? I'm infertile, not senile, but you wouldn't know it, would you?
This fear of forgetting also reminded me of a friend who is a deep sleeper. Several years ago when he was taking the MCAT to get into medical school, he had like four people call him to make sure he woke up in time to make ti to the test. I am tempted to do that tomorrow, which makes no sense. I won't forget, DH won't forget, and we're not deep sleepers. But last night I seriously woke up and thought, "What if I wake up and eat breakfast or drink in the middle of the night?" My retrieval will be cancelled! I'll waste all those good eggs! I'll have to take my crazy drugs all over again (which I might anyway)! All for a bowl of cereal!
Beyond being totally irrational, this strikes me as slightly pitiful. I mean--who forgets they have surgery?! Who can forget spending $20,000 to get to this point? I'm infertile, not senile, but you wouldn't know it, would you?
Neurotic Freak
So now I'm turning on myself: I've always been proud of my thick endometrial lining, and one of the docs complimented me again this week on it. But this morning I started to worry. What if it's too thick now?
How do I think of this stuff? Can't I just leave well enough alone?!
Of course, go on line and search"endometrial lining too thick for IVF" and there will be results. Albeit some of them translations of German medical journals, and most saying that the real problem is too thin, and thick means a nice place for an embryo to attach and grow. In any case, I need to stop reading, because what good will it do me now?! It's as thick as the syrup on DH's pancakes (he does love his syrup!), my doctor's not complaining, and retrieval is scheduled. Full speed ahead!
How do I think of this stuff? Can't I just leave well enough alone?!
Of course, go on line and search"endometrial lining too thick for IVF" and there will be results. Albeit some of them translations of German medical journals, and most saying that the real problem is too thin, and thick means a nice place for an embryo to attach and grow. In any case, I need to stop reading, because what good will it do me now?! It's as thick as the syrup on DH's pancakes (he does love his syrup!), my doctor's not complaining, and retrieval is scheduled. Full speed ahead!
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
So Basically, I Don't Know What I'm Talking About
I was so upset on Saturday to hear I only had 3-4 follicles on the left and 6-8 on the right. "I'm only going to be able to get 12 eggs, maximum!" I wailed to DH, who kept saying, "The doctor said everything is going well. He doesn't seem worried. He didn't even change the dose on your medication." "But I'll only be able to get 12 eggs!" I repeated, hearbroken for all my undeveloped follicles, my lost eggs, my ungrown embryos.
It turns out that isn't true. It turns out on Monday, there were 5-6 on the left and 8-10 on the right. And today, there are 5 on the left and 10-12 on the right. So all this means what, exactly? That I am getting worked up over nothing, that I have no idea how many follicles I produce or when I produce them. I thought the 8 or so they saw on each side at the baseline appointment was IT, nothing more. Who knows? I'm not complaining.
But I'm nervous: my egg retrieval is Thursday. That is really soon.
It turns out that isn't true. It turns out on Monday, there were 5-6 on the left and 8-10 on the right. And today, there are 5 on the left and 10-12 on the right. So all this means what, exactly? That I am getting worked up over nothing, that I have no idea how many follicles I produce or when I produce them. I thought the 8 or so they saw on each side at the baseline appointment was IT, nothing more. Who knows? I'm not complaining.
But I'm nervous: my egg retrieval is Thursday. That is really soon.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Damn Left Ovary
I'm starting to get very uncomfortable now--bloated and tender. But what started to concern me is that it's mostly on my right side. In the 5 months I took Clomid, I only ovulated from the left once. Every other time was from the right, which made me nervous, and I asked one of the docs if that would affect the growth for IVF. He said it was possible.
Went in today and indeed, only 3-4 follicles maturing on the left, with 6-8 on the right. So 16 just became 12, at absolute best. I suppose I should be grateful. If both sides felt like the right, I'd be really grouchy and uncomfortable. Still, I give the left side a C-. At least it's eking something out.
Unfortunately, I'm not even ready to go, either. I don't go back until Monday, so the earliest I can relieve myself is Wednesday. Then, apparently, the follicles refill after being drained. So even after the eggs are gone, I'll feel like this. (Minus the daily infusion of the crazy drugs, at least.)
Oh joy.
Went in today and indeed, only 3-4 follicles maturing on the left, with 6-8 on the right. So 16 just became 12, at absolute best. I suppose I should be grateful. If both sides felt like the right, I'd be really grouchy and uncomfortable. Still, I give the left side a C-. At least it's eking something out.
Unfortunately, I'm not even ready to go, either. I don't go back until Monday, so the earliest I can relieve myself is Wednesday. Then, apparently, the follicles refill after being drained. So even after the eggs are gone, I'll feel like this. (Minus the daily infusion of the crazy drugs, at least.)
Oh joy.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Okay, the Drugs Are Making Me Insane
I doubted it the first few days, because of the whole "normally emotional plus infertile for two years thing," but as of today, I can officially say that the drugs are making me crazier than normal. I feel like crying hysterically, for absolutely no reason (I'm not even sad! It's so weird!), and the thought of working stresses me out, even though I have like the lowest stress job in the world. I really just want to clean my house and maybe prune the roses, which sounds horribly domestic, I know, but strikes me as relaxing--especially as I'm not allowed to exercise as of Wednesday. Grrrr...
DH told me on the phone he wishes he could come home. I think he thinks a hug will make it better, and of course because when I'm crazy I'm also not very nice, I told him, no, a hug will not squeeze the crazy drugs out of me. I've taken to marking a big "X" through each day on my little IVF calendar, to feel a little closer to the end. Only 4 more "X"s to make!
DH told me on the phone he wishes he could come home. I think he thinks a hug will make it better, and of course because when I'm crazy I'm also not very nice, I told him, no, a hug will not squeeze the crazy drugs out of me. I've taken to marking a big "X" through each day on my little IVF calendar, to feel a little closer to the end. Only 4 more "X"s to make!
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Free to be One Crazy Pregnant Lady
You know, I am absolutely certain that if I ever do get pregnant, I am going to rate higher than average on the neurotic-pregnant-lady scale. Because it's taken so much to get here, I'm really worried (already--I'm not even there! There's still a question whether it will happen!) that staying there will be more stressful for me than for the average pregnant lady. Not that losing a pregnancy is easy for anyone, by any means. But I do think there's probably an added layer to it when you know you might not get another shot at it, that even if you do it could take years and many procedures and lots of money.
One thing that's hard about listening to new parents discuss pregnant women is the level of judgment they can't keep from their voices. "Oh, she had an epidural?" "I ran a marathon while I was pregnant. Heavy exercise makes you feel great." "I didn't eat ham or sushi or ribs or drink any wine." This is usually from someone who had an easy pregnancy, never struggled to get pregnant and never lost one.
That won't be me. I'll be the woman on the other end, the woman who says, "I'll do whatever the hell I want if it makes me feel okay about this situation." I wouldn't consider a home birth, for example, not only because I wouldn't want to have to clean up that mess in my own house, but because if something goes wrong, I want a doctor right there. And I mean right there. I will exercise, but I'm not going to push myself too hard, just to be safe. Yes, I realize I can't shake an embryo loose, if one ever decides to attach and grow. But I'm not allowed to exercise starting today, a week prior to egg retrieval, and I guess if the experts are worried about not exercising too much, it doesn't hurt me to go easy on myself too.
Sometimes I wish the judgmental folks would just come out and say what they mean, though. "I don't think people should have epidurals, because there's an element of risk, and having a baby without drugs is natural, and natural is better." Or, "I don't want to take any risks with what I eat or drink, because I'm afraid it could harm the baby or if something went wrong I'd feel guilty about it, even if there was no direct link."
If people were more honest, then when they said to me, "You should exercise if you want to," or "the risks are shown to be higher among women who have their babies in hospitals versus at home," I could turn to them and serenely say, "Yes, but did you wait two horrible years and pay (at least) $20,000 to have your baby?" I think these things give me the right to be neurotic as I want to be. If someone (a new mom, most frequently) disagrees, I hope they at least have the guts to say so.
One thing that's hard about listening to new parents discuss pregnant women is the level of judgment they can't keep from their voices. "Oh, she had an epidural?" "I ran a marathon while I was pregnant. Heavy exercise makes you feel great." "I didn't eat ham or sushi or ribs or drink any wine." This is usually from someone who had an easy pregnancy, never struggled to get pregnant and never lost one.
That won't be me. I'll be the woman on the other end, the woman who says, "I'll do whatever the hell I want if it makes me feel okay about this situation." I wouldn't consider a home birth, for example, not only because I wouldn't want to have to clean up that mess in my own house, but because if something goes wrong, I want a doctor right there. And I mean right there. I will exercise, but I'm not going to push myself too hard, just to be safe. Yes, I realize I can't shake an embryo loose, if one ever decides to attach and grow. But I'm not allowed to exercise starting today, a week prior to egg retrieval, and I guess if the experts are worried about not exercising too much, it doesn't hurt me to go easy on myself too.
Sometimes I wish the judgmental folks would just come out and say what they mean, though. "I don't think people should have epidurals, because there's an element of risk, and having a baby without drugs is natural, and natural is better." Or, "I don't want to take any risks with what I eat or drink, because I'm afraid it could harm the baby or if something went wrong I'd feel guilty about it, even if there was no direct link."
If people were more honest, then when they said to me, "You should exercise if you want to," or "the risks are shown to be higher among women who have their babies in hospitals versus at home," I could turn to them and serenely say, "Yes, but did you wait two horrible years and pay (at least) $20,000 to have your baby?" I think these things give me the right to be neurotic as I want to be. If someone (a new mom, most frequently) disagrees, I hope they at least have the guts to say so.
Monday, August 4, 2008
What Happens if You Do the Shot Wrong? It Hurts
So DH is out of town for a couple days. We'd been trading off on who does the shots, and it was all going relatively smoothly. I know this sounds silly but for some reason the lack of moral support has made it tougher for me to sit there and stick myself. Especially because it had only been two days that I'd been giving myself the Gonal-F/Menopur stimulation cocktail, which is signficantly bigger than the lil ole Lupron on its own. And I'm not a very precise person by nature (DH is the baker in the house, I'm the cook, because I don't like to measure), so I had to read the damn directions like 4 times to make sure I wasn't going to give myself so much medicine that I'd make follicles grow out the side of my head or something.
I was made more nervous today when I discovered that I had a bruise from yesterday's shot. "Oh, this is going to hurt," I thought, which isn't logical either, because I'd been the one to give it to myself the day before, and it hadn't hurt. But who can reason with a drug-induced infertile woman? At first I tried to insert the needle timidly to avoid pain, which of course it didn't, so I gave it a perhaps overvigorous plunge. When I drew out the needle, I bled a little for the first time, and then immediately a bruise started to form, and now there's this hard little mass where the needle went in, and it hurts a little. And it's going to be a bigger bruise than yesterday's, all in attempt to avoid a bruise like yesterday's.
So big surprise--stab yourself too hard and it hurts.
I was made more nervous today when I discovered that I had a bruise from yesterday's shot. "Oh, this is going to hurt," I thought, which isn't logical either, because I'd been the one to give it to myself the day before, and it hadn't hurt. But who can reason with a drug-induced infertile woman? At first I tried to insert the needle timidly to avoid pain, which of course it didn't, so I gave it a perhaps overvigorous plunge. When I drew out the needle, I bled a little for the first time, and then immediately a bruise started to form, and now there's this hard little mass where the needle went in, and it hurts a little. And it's going to be a bigger bruise than yesterday's, all in attempt to avoid a bruise like yesterday's.
So big surprise--stab yourself too hard and it hurts.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Hey Girl, You Rock
If you are a friend of mine, and you have listened to me over the last months, listened to me cry and complain and worry, you rock.
If you raised your hands in the air and yelled, "yes!" when I told you how many follicles I had, you rock.
If you had a drink with me because I got a BFN, you rock.
If you ever had a conversation with me about how hard it is to read an OPK result, or how big my follices were for IUI, or whether my basal body temperatures are normal, you rock.
If you told me that Dr. Evil deserved to lose his job, you rock.
If you cried because I was crying, you rock.
If you called me to ask my how an appointment went, you rock.
If you offered to give me my IVF shots, you rock.
I could go on and on. Every single one of those was at least one friend. How lucky am I?
If you raised your hands in the air and yelled, "yes!" when I told you how many follicles I had, you rock.
If you had a drink with me because I got a BFN, you rock.
If you ever had a conversation with me about how hard it is to read an OPK result, or how big my follices were for IUI, or whether my basal body temperatures are normal, you rock.
If you told me that Dr. Evil deserved to lose his job, you rock.
If you cried because I was crying, you rock.
If you called me to ask my how an appointment went, you rock.
If you offered to give me my IVF shots, you rock.
I could go on and on. Every single one of those was at least one friend. How lucky am I?
Saturday, August 2, 2008
This Will Get You Pregnant
Isn't it funny how if a doctor says it, we believe it's true? It's kind of a silly phenomenon, especially considering that our bodies often tend to do whatever the heck they want. Still, I really appreciate Dr. Yoda telling me what I needed to hear. Again.
Yesterday at my baseline appointment, he came in and said, "Sorry I am that you must see me again." (At least I translated it into that, in Yoda speak.) I thanked him for understanding. And then he said, nonchalantly, "But now we're going to do what's going to get you pregnant."
I mean, I know it's not a promise or anything, but if I was a doctor, I would never say that to an infertile lady. For the aforementioned reason that we are all basically crazy. And I did go home and psychoanalyze that to death. "Does he say that to everyone?" I doubt it, because some people really don't stand much chance, and I can't imagine he'd want to give false hope. "He told me my chances were '60+%'--does he really think it's actually better than that?" Probably, but he's hedging his bets. "Is he laying awake thinking about this the way I am?" Hell no.
Yesterday at my baseline appointment, he came in and said, "Sorry I am that you must see me again." (At least I translated it into that, in Yoda speak.) I thanked him for understanding. And then he said, nonchalantly, "But now we're going to do what's going to get you pregnant."
I mean, I know it's not a promise or anything, but if I was a doctor, I would never say that to an infertile lady. For the aforementioned reason that we are all basically crazy. And I did go home and psychoanalyze that to death. "Does he say that to everyone?" I doubt it, because some people really don't stand much chance, and I can't imagine he'd want to give false hope. "He told me my chances were '60+%'--does he really think it's actually better than that?" Probably, but he's hedging his bets. "Is he laying awake thinking about this the way I am?" Hell no.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Sixteen Candles...I Mean Follicles
Today was my "baseline" appointment. I didn't really know what this meant, but yesterday my acupuncturist cleared it up for me: the doctor was going to look to see how many follicles I had. She told me that 15 would be a good number--not too many (overstimulation can apparently be a real bitch), but not too few, either.
I must admit I hadn't taken the time to learn all the details of IVF and IVF meds, and I'd assumed that the stimulation drugs caused me to produce more follicles than in a normal cycle. Since I haven't started those meds yet, I assumed I didn't have any follicles yet. But it turns out the number of follicles you get is determined by the whims of your own body, and then the drugs cause all those follicles to mature so you actually get ripe eggs. At least that's how I think it works.
In any case, I realized from talking to the acupuncturist that I was about to find out, more or less, the absolute maximum number of petri dish babies I am going to be able to get. Not all follicles will necessarily beget eggs, I realize, and not all fertilized eggs will grow into happy little, implantable embryos. But certainly I'm not going to have more embryos than the number of follicles, so it's nice to know the maximum I can hope for.
For some reason, this gave me performance anxiety. I actually had a stress dream about it, in which I didn't have enough follicles, and took the wrong doses of medication, and generally just acted like an idiot. But it came from somewhere real. If I didn't get enough, was it my fault? Again, that senseless attempt to control something beyond me.
Anyway, I went in and the doctor did the ultrasound and he said, "everything looks great." And while that should have been enough for me, of course it wasn't. So I had to ask, "How many follicles are there?" And he counted at least 8 on each side.
It's good when you remember to appreciate the small stuff. I swear I felt like it was my birthday today. Sixteen. Sixteen candles--that's a big deal. For me, sixteen follicles.
I must admit I hadn't taken the time to learn all the details of IVF and IVF meds, and I'd assumed that the stimulation drugs caused me to produce more follicles than in a normal cycle. Since I haven't started those meds yet, I assumed I didn't have any follicles yet. But it turns out the number of follicles you get is determined by the whims of your own body, and then the drugs cause all those follicles to mature so you actually get ripe eggs. At least that's how I think it works.
In any case, I realized from talking to the acupuncturist that I was about to find out, more or less, the absolute maximum number of petri dish babies I am going to be able to get. Not all follicles will necessarily beget eggs, I realize, and not all fertilized eggs will grow into happy little, implantable embryos. But certainly I'm not going to have more embryos than the number of follicles, so it's nice to know the maximum I can hope for.
For some reason, this gave me performance anxiety. I actually had a stress dream about it, in which I didn't have enough follicles, and took the wrong doses of medication, and generally just acted like an idiot. But it came from somewhere real. If I didn't get enough, was it my fault? Again, that senseless attempt to control something beyond me.
Anyway, I went in and the doctor did the ultrasound and he said, "everything looks great." And while that should have been enough for me, of course it wasn't. So I had to ask, "How many follicles are there?" And he counted at least 8 on each side.
It's good when you remember to appreciate the small stuff. I swear I felt like it was my birthday today. Sixteen. Sixteen candles--that's a big deal. For me, sixteen follicles.
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