Move along...

Nothing to see here.

It's been a crazy journey. I still have choices, and well- they all suck. I resent having to make these choices. Mom says I am so lucky to have these options, and I really wish I could see it that way. I don't feel lucky. I feel cheated. I feel fucked over. I feel bludgeoned.

I don't want to be defined by the chances I didn't take, but things are looking pretty bleak to me right now. And I am heartily sick of sending negative crap out into the internet.

So- yeah. I don't know if I will keep updating this. I have good days, and I have bad days, and that's just the way it is. I am sick of people asking if I am OK. I'm not OK, but I can hold it together only as long as nobody shows me sympathy.

I don't want to be stuck with this. I don't want to feel trapped. But I just am. And maybe there's just some kind of spin I can put on it that makes me feel better about my situation, but I don't think this is something that can be lessened by talking to someone. Therapy isn't the answer, and neither are pills. The only thing that seems to blunt the edge is anything that can distract me to the point I can't think about anything else. Maybe time will do the trick, but I have been at this for ten years. TEN YEARS. and it just hurts more, the longer it goes on.

I hate crying in front of people. I hate crying by myself, and actually, I hate crying, period. It's supposed to be some kind of release, and an expression of grief, but it just keeps coming like some kind of bottomless well. And the deeper I get into the well, the darker and murkier everything becomes. I am so overcome with anger and frustration and grief. Right now, I feel like throwing up, and I am convinced that my insides would be black, like tar.
I hate the person I am becoming. I am flaky. I am weepy. I Cannot Deal. I have always been someone who tried to be strong and supportive of everyone else, and I can't seem to be that for myself. I have spent the last couple of months being forced to face every single one of my demons, repeatedly. And I am battered, scarred, and heartsick, but I am still here. I can't exactly call it a victory, but I get out of bed every morning and try to address what needs to be addressed. I would say that is successful maybe 60% of the time.

I am second-guessing myself.  A big part of my anger is directed at that. Which crappy decision can I make? What will make me happy?

Discussions and repercussions

The Man and I were talking last night.

I somehow married someone who has very different political beliefs than I do: which means that, every election year, things get a little heated. Luckily, over time, we both have learned there are just some things neither of us will change our minds about, and there are some things that we are able to compromise about.Going through election season on top of an impending move, business craziness, and all this infertility stuff has been...stressful. And now the holidays are coming! I think our theme song should be "I Will Survive."

Prop 37 was an unexpected shared crusade in our home this year. I was surprised at The Man's vehemence about it, but he explained that he thinks messing with the food supply may be the root of some of our current struggles. Watching my ongoing battles with food sensitivities has convinced him that the Standard American Diet is hurting the U.S. as a country. It's true that undiagnosed gluten intolerance affects fertility. Who knows? Maybe if I had known sooner, we would have changed things up in enough time for me to prevent damage?

And if things as innocuous as wheat and sugar could have that effect, what could GMO's be capable of?

That is the reasoning. And really- why would you take that risk, to feed your family something that isn't absolutely known to be safe? Unless you didn't know it was there.Which most Americans don't.

Anyway. He's convinced, somehow, that all of this will work out. He was talking about how he wants me to teach any kids that we have how to knit, and cook, and sew- regardless of gender. That he wants to raise kids who are able to think for themselves, and are self-sufficient. How he's glad we have figured out how to live healthfully and sustainably- that it is important to him, and any kids we would have would benefit from that too. And this, folks, is why I married him. <3

The fact that he's still worrying about the self-sufficiency of kids we may never be able to have is so inspiring- and frustrating too. I wish I had his faith. All I can think about is my mother, filling our Christmas stockings for one more year: all three of my siblings, still childless in their thirties. I need to get past this, because as I have found in the past, having a meltdown on Christmas morning really freaks everyone out.  

Stayin' Alive

Evidently, I made it through Halloween, Election day, and a bunch of other stuff. It's been a strange, long, teary blur. I haven't had a lot to say about it. What on earth can I say, that hasn't been said already?

I called my sister, and said she should do this for herself, but I didn't feel comfortable putting her in the middle of this mess I am in.  All I want is to get off this roller coaster, and if my sister is involved, who knows if it will ever end? Maybe I will change my mind eventually. But right now, it's just how I feel.

I called the other clinic for a second opinion, and was told that Dr. Charming's diagnosis is correct- I would probably need donor eggs to get pregnant. Oh, and if I want a better chance, I might try losing some weight. Would weight loss lower my AMH or change any of my lab values? I asked. Well- no. But statistically, heavier ladies have a harder time getting pregnant. Maybe I should try eating less fast food.

Thanks, asshole. The last time I ate fast food was...over a year ago? Maybe? I have gotten to the point where I don't even bother trying to explain- it all sounds like lies and excuses to them.  Luckily it was a phone interview, or I would have had to set something on fire.

So now, I am basically stuck. My last hopes of doing this on my own are gone. I am out of options, at least any that I want to consider.  I suppose all I have in the world is time. Even women who are post-menopausal can get pregnant with donor eggs.

I am 37 right now, I'll be 38 in a little over a week, and I just feel like an empty husk.

Break

I just...don't even know what to say.

I've had two weeks to come to terms with things. If a loved one dies, you have what: three days off work? A week? I suppose, depending on your work situation, you could take compassionate leave for longer than that.

I basically spent the first week of post retrieval taking compassionate leave from my life, and spent the second half in denial, and here we are again, at Day One. I am so NOT ready for Day One.

I still don't have an answer back from my sister. At this point, my gut reaction is that she has had three weeks, and if she is still not sure, then it's not a decision she should make: and she therefore has no business getting caught up in this nightmare.I called today, and left a message: basically saying that we were holding up the process for an answer, but if she still wasn't sure, we would need to know ASAP, as a lot of huge decisions hinge on this.

This presents a problem. Do I move forward? With what? I have two months left in the Bay Area. I have called another clinic for a second opinion: while I love my current clinic, I feel like it's a disservice to not at least consider input from someone else. I spent most of the day making phone calls- to see if someone can move up my consult at the new place (no: or not much) , to alert them that it's Day One at my current clinic, to my acupuncturist asking what I should do herb-wise, the aforementioned call to my sister, a few calls to my husband, and another question to my new clinic when they didn't initially call me back within a few hours.

I am now exhausted, and a giant ball of emotion, because of the answers I needed, I got few. I did talk to my doc at the current clinic. I explained that on the basis of one retrieval with no egg, I felt like I wasn't quite ready to accept that the rest of the batch was crappy. I explained that The Man doesn't want to adopt, and refuses any other donor than my sister. We only have two months left in the Bay Area. W have to do this now.

He doesn't want me to cycle this month. He wants me to talk to someone else. He doesn't think I am ready to handle another round- that decisions made under the stress I am under aren't ideal. His contention is that both doctors I mentioned are good, guys he knows, and he wants me to be sure before I move forward. He also made the point that if we go with donor eggs, this buys us time.

I tried explaining that donor eggs from anyone other than my sister are not an option for us, and that going through this process again, with a new clinic, in a new town, was something I really didn't want to do. And if she says no, if it's between my potentially crappy eggs or nothing, I choose my crappy eggs. That we had come here, to this HORRIBLE place, for the express purpose of doing this, and that I didn't think waiting was going to change anything in any positive way.

He doesn't see it the same way. So I guess my decision has been made for me. It doesn't make me feel better. In fact, it makes me feel worse. I won't be able to start up at the new clinic in time to "use" this cycle- and that's if they think I can even manage on my own. It also means that I'll potentially be going through either my last round of IVF or a donor transfer at Christmas time, which is pretty much guaranteed to be extra stressful, if not a total trainwreck, no matter how you slice it.

At this point, my only option is to wait, and/or call the acupuncturist and see what he says: he alluded to some ideas of his, but was unwilling to share his ideas. I guess it's time to get aggressive.

Gratitude

They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Tomorrow will mark getting through one week. I feel like my entire perception and worldview has shifted since last Thursday.

While it's been awful, it has also shown me that the last ten years have not been wasted. There are so many wonderful people out there- who have reached out to me and shared their own experiences, and commiserated with me about my personal situation. You ladies rock. 

I may be poor in eggs, but I am rich in friends. ;) That certainly can't be overlooked.

Whew.

I am not kidding when I say that yesterday was awful. I should also clarify that last (horrible) post- While my feelings are valid, this is from my point of view. So all that horrible secret crap that generally lives in your head got spewed out. It is strangely cathartic, to be honest.

And reading it made me realize- I don't want to go through with this without some assurance that I am doing this for the right reasons. And the primary source of a lot of that stress was, of course, that conversation with my husband.

So I printed out the blog entry, and put it on his desk, and when he got home, I asked him to read it. And I asked him to give me an answer. And he said he couldn't. And I said, "Well, if you can't answer this question, then I will no longer be moving forward with starting a family with you."

Cue a long, fraught, awful discussion. The air is now clear. I know where he is coming from, he knows where I am coming from, and I think we both are clear about what sacrifices we are willing to make, and which ones we aren't. The big question: "What if we proceed with this? What if it doesn't work?"

His stance; this is his limit. He doesn't want to move forward with anonymous donor eggs, and doesn't want to adopt. Either we have his biological children, or he doesn't want to have any.

Well- fine. I am not happy with this, but I can hope that if our options run out, he may change his mind. and I do still have options.

Granted, I spoke with my sister last night, and she's now having second thoughts. Understandable, but frustrating. I don't underestimate what she offered.  She is worried that things will be weird (they might be, we would hopefully have a plan in place) and also that she would be jealous: she's not dating anyone, not married, and wouldn't have children outside of marriage. She's also worried that I would be jealous, if she wanted a relationship with any children we would have.

I've thought about it, and honestly, I don't think it would bother me. I expect my brother and my sister to have a close relationship with any children I would have- whether she helped us out or not. The Man and I agreed that we would name her as godmother at the baptism, if that were appropriate- honestly, the same (once again) as I would do if she wasn't involved.

If she takes awhile to make up her mind, we will just do another IVF cycle. Beyond that, if I can find an anonymous donor, maybe I can get The Man to consider it. We're not going to stop trying to have children, even if the donor cycle is successful.  We're lucky: as horrible as this situation is, we both have parents who are in a position to help us shoulder what is looking like an ever-growing financial burden.No it's not ideal, but it's still possible.  I'm 37, for heaven's sake. THIRTY SEVEN. It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings. Or you know, goes through "the change".

I spent most of the weekend grieving, and most of yesterday alternating between hysteria and anger. I feel strangely calm now- probably because there's now a plan, and I have accepted the terms. I didn't cry ONCE today- considering that I spend Thursday on pretty much in a vale of tears, that's definitely a good sign. I finally feel like myself again.

I just wish my sister hadn't offered to help before she thought about the potential repercussions. I certainly understand it: it's some seriously weird, sci-fi style stuff. If she were married and had children of her own, I am sure it would be a different story. All I can do is pray about it and hope for the best- a process that I honestly no longer have much faith in, but hey, I could get lucky.

Promises made, promises broken

I hesitate to post this. It is raw, and awful. I honestly wrote it for my own edification: and knowing there are people who know me IRL who read this: it's some deeply personal stuff, which gives me pause. So. *deep breath*

I am wrestling with acceptance. 

On the surface, this seems so easy. Why am I mourning about it so deeply? And then I probe down in to the heart of it, and it is so twisted and ugly. I know I am shrinking away from the truth: at least how I see it.

I guess I didn’t realize the scope of this until I talked to my BFF on Saturday.  My sister offered her eggs. I honestly wouldn’t want to do this unless that was an option.  I would rather have a baby who is genetically related to me. I am not ready to let go of the idea that I want a baby who looks like me: who is genetically close to me. And I am so touched and humbled that she offered.

What I am wrestling with: I don’t want to go through another horrible disappointment. Is that the only reason I am ready to get so drastic so soon?  I hear my heart quicken with anger every time the doctor brings up donor eggs. I am not emotionally ready for it. But I can’t help thinking that it may be the only chance to have a child of my own. 

But then there is the other option: there was a lot that was “wrong” with this last cycle. The doctor triggered me sooner than usual.  If my age and AMH factors are something he tried to drive home, the thing that he DIDN’T bother to mention: he could have screwed up. OR that mistiming the trigger shot is considered one of the primary contributors to “Empty follicle syndrome”.  And I triggered a few hours late, to avoid the potential for another wasted cycle- since I ovulated early last time, and there was nothing there.

So there’s the feeling that my eggs may not be as old and leathery and haggard as the doc is making out. How would he know? We’ve never managed to get our hands on one. If my egg quality could actually be established as crappy, I would be a lot more likely to move forward with the more extreme alternative. 

The next issue: My parents. God help me, I am so angry with them, because of what happened last time. I got the rug jerked out from under me big time.  Mom keeps saying I can ask for money- whatever it takes.  And a horrible cynical (and probably correct) part of me blows up with fury every time she says this. I know she means well.  I know they want me to be happy. I also know that when we went through this 5-6 years ago: when we didn’t have the money to do this ourselves, but plenty of eggs , I went through 6 IUI’s. When it got to the point of IVF, I asked, and they refused to help.  When I bring this up now, it is presented as a “misunderstanding”, which is the biggest bundle of bullshit I have ever heard. 

At that point, my brother was married. His beautiful, ideal wife turned out to be a raving slut, and they are now divorced.  I feel that my parents thought A. Hey, Jen’s still young, they don’t know WHAT’s wrong: let it ride.  B. Well, there’s no way perfect daughter-in-law will be infertile. We’ll have grandchildren from them in a few years.  And C.  at this point, nobody in their circle of friends had become grandparents yet. They weren’t in a hurry to “keep up with the Joneses.” In the interim of course, their friends (actually named The Joneses) have had five grandchildren.

I am now their only option. So now they want to help me: to throw the lady a rope after I have already drowned, after bloodlessly  watching me sorrowing about this for years and years. Now they want to bet on the dark horse. Yes, I am angry. And you know what? I have every fucking right to be.  I am angry, and resentful. 

 And that brings me to The Man.  I love my husband so much.  If he wasn’t so dead set against it, we would have adopted long ago.  Now of course, we are in this hellhole, so that is not an option.  But even if it were (it should be, hopefully soon), he’s not OK with it. He wants a child that is genetically his. And of course, there is nothing wrong with him, fertility-wise.  I feel like I am robbing him of that chance. And so I am going through this horrible process, again, and again, and every time we come up empty, I see him get more hopeless.  I can understand:  I also want a child who is genetically related to me. But if there were something “wrong” with him, he has explicitly stated that he wouldn’t want the tables turned. He wouldn’t want me to use donor sperm. 

Compound that with the fact that a few months ago: before we jumped back into this: he said that if we couldn’t have a biological child of his together, he would leave me and find someone who could.  He assured me that he would still love me, but that is how badly he wanted this. He couldn’t understand why I found that so devastating.  Wouldn’t I want him to be happy? He told me that his grandfather had done something similar: left his first wife when she couldn’t , or didn’t want to, have children. 

And now he says that I “forced” him to say that. And when pressed, that he "regrets saying it" (but not that he didn't mean it.) Anyone who knows him would be aware that The Man can’t be forced to do anything, and that his entire stance about this is beyond hypocritical.  He would happily subject me to things that he would outright refuse to do. And then rationalize leaving me if they didn’t work. And every time I think of that, I want to hit him with a bat.  Because he knows how much I want this, and how gutted I am each time I fail. The last IVF procedure, I told him on the ride home that he should leave me.  I was so shattered.  And while he comforted me, he didn’t tell me that he wouldn’t leave, either. All he said was, "We're not finished".

 And I have to think that someone who would say something like that to me:  doesn’t deserve me. Because that is not what I would do. I made vows. If it were him, I would stick by his side no matter what.  If that meant living a childless life, so be it: although I would never stop trying to convince him to adopt or take in foster children. Yes, it would kill me, but that would be my approach to it. And knowing he is not willing to make that level of commitment or sacrifice for me sticks in my craw. It twists at my guts, like a knife. 

 I asked him last night, “What if we do donor eggs and it doesn’t work?” and he said we would cross that bridge when we came to it.  And by that he could mean he wanted to stay positive, or that he actually would leave me.  So, right or wrong, I feel like my marriage is contingent upon this procedure.  His words haunt me- they are like a threat, hanging over my head, if I should fail. Do I really want a marriage on those terms? If I am honest with myself, no.  I don’t.  I think he knows, if he came out and said anything point blank, I would tell him to go fuck himself and be gone. 

And then, there’s my sister.  This is where my messed up brain comes into it. I think, “Maybe my kids would have it easier if their biological material came from her. She’s driven in a way I never was. She never had to battle with her weight.  She always took the right path, while I always chose some zig-zag, meandering way.  And this is nothing to do with my sister, whom I love. It has everything to do with sibling rivalry, which is strong in our family.  I hate having to “resort” to my sister’s DNA. But is my nearsighted, slightly obese, occasionally zitty DNA really so wonderful?  I know the odds are that any children I had from her eggs could resemble me as much as they resemble her: or they could look like Mom, or Dad, or someone on The Man’s side of the family. But I feel like it’s just another way in which I am not good enough: the way I have felt about myself as soon as I started to put on weight as a kid. I am in my thirties, almost forty, and still. That horrible feeling of being Not Good Enough is still there, and it’s not going anywhere anytime soon.  This obviously compounds that. 

I know I have enough love in my heart for a child I adopted- any child, honestly. My little kindergarteners knew that: every time they asked me to take them home, or said wistfully that I should have babies, because they would be so lucky to have me for a mom...  

I know I am meant to be a mother.  But the lengths I have to go to, and the sacrifices I am having to make are so convoluted, and awful.  I don’t know if I can accept those terms. And it still might not work.

God, this is like torture.

Nope.

I finally got to sleep last night, and we went in early this morning.

While we were in the waiting room this morning, The Man was reading the paper, and there was a quote I could see from where I sat.

 “To share your weakness is to make yourself vulnerable; to make yourself vulnerable is to show your strength.” -Criss Jami

The ultrasound looked good: the follicle was a. still there, and b. just over 18, so ready to go. We went in, there was a new anaesthesiologist. I had an entertaining conversation with him, the gist of which is that he could tell I wasn't from around here. He made me solemnly swear not to turn into some entitled Marin Mom in a silver SUV. Like I could! So we laughed about that. Insertion of the IV was effortless this time.

Then, BAM! I was awake. Probably before I was supposed to be. Awake, and coherent. They were confident, they had gotten the follicle. The Man came in to wait with me. We joked back and forth a little with the nurses.

Then Dr. C came in. They couldn't find an egg. He suspected the follicle had been empty- my low AMH would be an indicator, although it's also possible that they missed it or the retrieval was botched. (He didn't mention that possibility, however, Google let me know.) Evidently it happens more with women who are older, and in conjunction with fertility drugs. I've never heard of it before. It was almost worse: having that tiny space of hope- that 15 minutes of joy, before it was snatched away.

Dr. C wants me to move on to donor eggs. He also wanted to leave, but I had so many questions, and managed to get out 5 or six before I got overwhelmed. I am supposed to meet with him next week.

I swear, when he said "donor eggs"- I was still attached to the heart monitor, and I could hear the beat speed up appreciably as I struggled to control my emotions. Fuck! What a waste. What a fucking waste.  Those are the words that keep going through my head, in an endless shifting parade of emphasis and capitalization and exclamation points.

He left, and one of the nurses, Judy: she made sure I had Kleenex, helped me sit up, and released me from all my wires, and then she said, "I have been in this line of work for 25 years, and it's torture to see these things- the worst things- happen to the nicest people. Don't give up."

Then she left, and I got up. The Man grabbed me to help me off the bench onto the floor, and we just held each other. I could feel him shaking while I cried. He just patted my back and said he loved me, while I basically dissolved and saturated the front of his shirt.

I gave myself most of today to break down: to mourn the disappearing likelihood of having a child that is all our own. We simply cannot afford to do this over and over again: I am not referring to money- not to dismiss that either, but this process is breaking my heart. I know we have done everything possible, so far, to enhance our chances of success with this. The knowledge that crack whores get pregnant every day still rankles, but I have accepted that for me, this is just not going to be easy, and in fact, is pretty soul-shatteringly difficult.

I have two weeks, more or less, before day one.  So about a week for me to decide what the next move is.

And panic sets in

Today has been fairly uneventful. Well, you know. no shots, no doctors visit. I got the news from Dr. C that my lh surge had already started when I took the trigger shot. So- that's good, and yet not- I am worried that there will be nothing there tomorrow when they check.

I did get to have a long talk with an old friend. It's funny how life works to throw people together, especially in this age of Facebook! *waves*

Anyway. I was doing FINE, although not particularly hungry for dinner. I made myself eat my leftovers from lunch, because I won't be able to eat until tomorrow afternoon. I took my pills religiously. I cleaned the kitchen. I did my nails, applied a face mask and did a hot oil treatment, and  picked out some sassy "stirrup socks" to wear tomorrow. And then I sat down to drink tea and watch tv.

The Man came in, and sat in his chair beside me, and I couldn't even tell you what movie we were watching. I was just suddenly so overwhelmed, with fear and anxiety. The Man saw a tear roll down my face, and gestured to me to get into his lap, and I made a token protest: "I'm all oily and gross!" But he insisted, and held me close. And all I could say was, "I am so scared. What if it happens again? What if there's nothing?!" And I hung onto him for dear life while we both cried.

Everything I have ever done that scared the hell out of me has been more than worth it, in the end. I haven't done many of those things: I was disinterested, I was careful, I was ambivalent. This is something else. No risk, no reward.

I have to go to bed. We need to be at the office early tomorrow- I will have my answer at 8AM or so.

It's GO time.

The call finally came, and the news wasn't great: low estradiol, etc. So We decided to let me "coast" without medication for a few days, and come in again on Monday.

The Man and I took a much-needed weekend away- we spent the time relaxing in Carmel, trying to plan as much of our future as we could, and gathering up strength for the crazy months ahead. A lot of talking happened, and I feel like we are ready- no matter what happens as much of this is still up in the air. I feel strangely calm.

I took one more shot of Gonal on Sunday night, and headed in to see Dr. Charming on Monday. 

BAM! Evidently, it was a busy weekend for me. The follicle on the left doubled in size. Righty is, once again off in space somewhere. So I could have 1-3 follicles: most likely one.

So. Medication does little or no good to me. My body is slow to start, but once it gets going, things go into overdrive. Good to know.

I came in again today. The ladies in the office always come out to see what I am wearing, which I think is adorable- although I dread having an off day, as I wouldn't want to disappoint them by resorting to yoga pants! It's part of my plan: it is so easy to lose yourself when you are going through this. To live in sweats and eat junk food and generally slide into survival mode. I am trying to look as good as I can, to eat as healthily as possible, and in general, keep up appearances. It does seem to be a good way to cope. And the good news is, everything is supposedly "ideal."  Per the acupuncurist, I am the healthiest I have ever been. Per Dr. C, Endometrium is "ideal.

I trigger tonight, then go in for retrieval on Thursday morning. Fingers crossed.

Don't Panic

I am waiting for the call from Dr. C's office. I am waiting on the results of my bloodwork, which will dictate how we are going to proceed.

Lefty still has the follicle, which is slowly growing- just below 5 Monday, now at 8 today. Righty is, once again, orbiting Pluto. We got a glimpse of it off in the distance, but it was honestly so painful that I was relieved when Dr. C gave up. Usually there are follicles when it behaves like this, however. And we saw two when it came in for a close-up on Monday. So I guess I will just have to hope, and wait, and see.

We're supposed to go to Carmel this weekend, but I may need to come in to the office on Sunday. In which case, we will cancel our trip. Ugh.

Just Go With It

My appointment on Thursday told the same story. Nada. Zip. Zero. On Day 14.One of the awesome office ladies informed me that per doctor's orders, I was coming back in on Monday, and if there was still nothing brewing, we would be calling Freedom Pharmacy with another whopping order. Dr. Charming is going out of town on a three day weekend, at what could potentially be a crucial time- and he wants all his IVF patients to be taken care of beforehand. So my recalcitrant ovaries were posing a problem.

"Let me get this straight", I said. "So: this three day vacation of his could end up costing us another few thousand dollars? For drugs that don't work on me?"

Sympathetic silence from the other end of the phone. Crap. 

So: the next call I made, in desperation, was to my acupuncturist. Was there anything "Chinese" I could do?  He advised that I take some of the herbs I usually take at mid-cycle- the aptly named "Mobilize". He said he had no clue if they would work, but it was worth a shot.

I also had: I don’t know how to describe it. Maybe an epiphany? I was lying in bed Sunday night, (the night before the appointment)  and The Man was snoring away, and I was just overcome. As awful as all of this is, I am so lucky to have what I have. There are people all over the world who have so much less.  I was just so grateful to be moving forward, and to still have options.  And I thanked God for my blessings, and I thought, “Well, this is it- I will know tomorrow. If there’s nothing, maybe I should just see it as a sign that this is not the time. But if there is something, then I am going to take it and run with it. And be thankful either way that I have the resources to handle whatever happens."

And then I went in yesterday and got the news that things were finally starting to happen. I had one follicle coming along on the left, and two on the right. "Mobilize" evidently did the trick. We agreed that I would take small doses of injectables- just Gonal, no Menopur this time- and hope that I get three shots at it this cycle. Which seems almost too good to be true.

And upon leaving the doctor’s office, walking on air,  I came within inches of being backed over by a delivery van.  One more step, and it would have flattened me. And instead of being infuriated at their negligence, I am just awed at my luck, and grateful that they missed. I can’t help seeing it as a sign, even though that’s a little “woo woo”- I’ve become superstitious after years of dealing with this, what can I say?

Blown away.

Today was also a big, fat goose egg. Nada. My body has pretty much closed up ship, as evidenced by zero follicular growth and blood work that showed no hormonal surge. I have to wonder if Clomid did this. Googling shows that it has this effect on some women.

To make matters much more irritating, my doc wants me to start gonaditropins from last time if I don't show any signs of follicle development on Monday. Because he is going out of town at a crucial point. So Dr. Charming's 3 day weekend may end up costing us a few thousand more dollars, on top of everything else.

The good news: I spoke with my sister yesterday, about freezing eggs. I have been worried about her- she's 35, not in a long-term relationship, I know she wants children. She called me to check in, and we ended up discussing what egg freezing would probably entail. I told her the truth: That I wouldn't want anyone- ANYONE to have to struggle with this. And to think of it like insurance- something she hopefully doesn't need, but a backup, just in case.

She called me back later that night, and said, "You know- I was thinking, but I don't want to offend you- if it turns out that you need donor eggs down the line and it's OK with you- you're welcome to use mine right? I know how hard this is for you, and if there's any way I can help, I will be happy to do whatever I can. I know how much you want this."

I cried. She cried. Mom called later that night, and I told her, and we both cried some more. All in all, it's been a pretty weepy week. 

Holding pattern

It looks like it is going to be a frustrating month.

Per wand and blood results, my cycle has stalled out. I am probably looking at a 40 day cycle- or more, as opposed to my usual 28. I am sure that the crazy drugs I took last month have something to do with this, since I am usually like clockwork.

I've been moody, and occasionally weepy, but not crazy- trying to get as organized as I can until we move.  Trying to ignore the babies everywhere. Someone brought their new bundle of joy into Dr. Charming's office for him to see- one of "his" babies. I walked into the waiting room and encountered them, right after I got the news that none of the drugs were working on me. My reaction was not good.

I am trying desperately not to panic. My time in the Bay Area- and thus with this doctor- is running out. The Man hasn't found a job, and is defensive and angry when the subject comes up. All can think is that hopefully there will be some kind of last-second miracle. This situation included. If I could afford to wait on IVF, I would, but it's clear that we can't afford to put it off any longer.

Evidently, stress can mess up your cycle too. Good to know.

I go in again on Thursday. Hopefully something will be percolating soon. Both in my interior regions and in other aspects of my life. 

Alllrighty then.

I had another appointment with The Wand today.

It's kind of a set thing, now. I go in, have a seat, get summoned, disrobe from the waist down, enrobe my nether regions in a paper tablecloth, and perch gingerly on the table until Dr. Charming and a nurse come in.

Then there's a minute of smalltalk, and then I have to steel myself for the ultrasound.

I had one teeny antral follicle on the left today- not big enough to be worth measuring. The same as the ultrasound on Monday. I think we caught a glimpse of righty at one point, but not close enough to see follicles. Even that required a lot of jabbing and teeth gritting from me.

I just wish I were normal. With a right ovary that didn't wander off, and a life that didn't include getting 2-3 ultrasounds a week and, well, the ability to have children on my own. 

Dr. Charming assures me that it's still early, he has a few other ideas, and that I should come in on Monday. On Monday, it will be Day 10 of my cycle, and if I don't have any follicles worth noting, the cycle will be cancelled.

All I can think about is eating junk food. 
 ________________________

Updated to add: I had a mini-meltdown instead. This post is evidently brought to you by Clomid, because BAM! Super emo came out of nowhere. I was sobbing uncontrollably, and then promptly got a hot flash: another Clomid side-effect I have experienced before. And then I was fine. I still want junk food, though, albeit the Paleo kind. I think I have earned it.

I take my last dose tonight. Not that it appears to have done much besides providing definitive proof that my new hippie mascara is definitely not waterproof. The Man noted that I was like this for the duration of my Clomid treatment several years ago- with the addition that I was unable to cope with anything and pretty much confined myself to my bed whenever possible, crying and eating cookies. We are hoping that this was just a one-shot deal.

Reboot

Here we go again!

Another 28 day cycle. Another Saturday start. At least some things are predictable. ;)

I went in today for the baseline ultrasound. We saw a follicle getting started (on the left, of course) and then discussed the plan. This time, some Clomid, a small amount of Gonal-F the week prior to ovulation, and then the trigger shot- plus some kind of drug that is supposed to serve as "backup" in case my body doesn't want to wait until the appointed time. It locks the egg in the follicle somehow.

I was appalled to see that the drug that serves as "backup" was about $5 out of pocket at the pharmacy.  I realize that my situation is rare but knowing that a $5 prescription could have saved us thousands of dollars, a lot of blood sweat and tears, a month's time, and a few acres of frustration is...well. Infuriating. 

So- Clomid was a doozy for me last time. We will see what we get out of it. I got great results last time: tons of follicles, along with The Crazy. So I will be really careful to avoid any movies containing babies....actually, animals or babies, since both made me cry hysterically last time around. Do Not Want.

The fridge is stocked, the yoga DVD is out, I went to the RE, then acupuncture, then took my first dose of Clomid tonight...so it should be all systems go. Fingers crossed.

The Man said he was looking at SUV's online today, "just in case". It melted my stony, frozen heart. Granted, he was very excited about one that seats 9. I think he may be getting way ahead of me, here. He tried to make the excuse that it was because the back seats could fold down so we would have room for kids and dogs. Uh-huh. 

And the waiting begins.

I woke up promptly this morning. Someone down the street was screaming frantically and banging on something metal- over and over again. Our dogs both started going berserk.  

The Man leapt out of bed, threw on some pants and went charging out the door and down the sidewalk.

Unfortunately, it was a tourist from some Germanic place. She had somehow locked herself in the public bathroom down the street, and started panicking- screaming for her husband at the top of her lungs and banging on the metal door. The Man strode up to see her befuddled husband standing, gaping, outside the door.

I got the story when he returned- he evidently let her out, then went inside the bathroom, and easily opened the door twice.

As a female who has traveled extensively, you do dumb things occasionally. Granted- hopefully they are not at 6AM. At this point, my adrenaline levels were through the roof, thinking that someone had been assaulted, or was being eaten by a giant space whale. I will attribute that last theory to being groggy, and to having watched too much Dr. Who in the past week.

So The Man and I snuggled up for a bit, and then he went to work. I crashed again soon after he left. It's been a quiet day- I have been cooking and stuff, and at some point was reading a book, petting one of the dogs with my feet, until I realized that it was not in fact a dog. It was a furry black Ugg boot, which I left under the coffee table last night.

So yeah. I am still somewhat woozy. Back to taking my acupuncture herbs, and doing my best to stay upbeat and not worry.

The good, and bad, and the really crappy.

Today was- well, basically, horrible. Just an FYI.

I went in. I met my anesthesiologist, made polite small talk, and tried not to freak out when he couldn't get the IV into my hand- it hurt like a mo-fo. He ended up using the site I had initially suggested- The "magical blue dot" on the inside of my right elbow hasn't failed me yet.

That's basically the last thing I remember- getting the IV situated, Dr. Charming coming in...and then I woke up, to see The Man and Dr. C, and knowing from the facial expressions that something was wrong.

I ovulated early. I went through anesthesia and the whole crapload, only to have them go in, and my egg had already flown the coop. Follicles on the right were too small to retrieve. So it was all a bust.

Dr. C had immediate suggestions, because of course, tears.

We could wait this cycle out, I could do an IUI...because after all, my husband's sample was really good. At which point I blurted out, "Because the problem is ME. I am the weak link here, right? I have had six medicated IUI's- none of them worked!" The worst part was seeing my husband's face, while he tried to hold on to my left hand- which wasn't swathed in gauze. And Dr. C said, "Well, we discussed donor eggs too. Maybe we should talk about that. What do you want to do?

And I, tear streaked and groggy on the table, nasal cannula still in, just started repeating, "I just want to go home. I just want to go home. I can't talk about this right now."

And Dr. C left the room, and my husband's face was so full of sorrow, and it was awful. While I processed all the money that had been wasted, in the form of drugs that didn't do what they were supposed to do, and the anesthesia which I went through for absolutely no reason. Which we will also have to pay for. And I was filled with such- loss. And fury. And incredible frustration.

The nurse came in, detached my cannula,  and looked horrified when I ripped off the multiple layers of tape and bloody gauze from the initial IV site on my hand.  It was obvious that I was developing a big purple swelling which would turn into a bruise the diameter of a silver dollar. She suggested that The Man would need to help me get dressed, as I would be wobbly. I waited until she was gone until I hopped off the table, fueled with adrenaline, and managed to get dressed with no assistance. Yet another indicator that I'm an alien- coming out of anesthesia  like that is typical, for me.

I asked to speak with the doctor again. He said early ovulation is really rare. I asked why we hadn't done an ultrasound before surgery. I think he said that would be a good idea next time. We ended up deciding to just do an IUI, and hopefully catch the egg. I made a reference to sending in "Seal Team Six", which would mean that my uterus is Pakistan, and the egg is Osama Bin Laden, which really isn't as funny. And not accurate, as it is most likely "Seal Team 100 Million."

They told us that we should come back in 30 minutes for my IUI. All I could think of wanting to eat was a Chai Frappuccino- which isn't Paleo, but I think on a day like this, I am entitled.

So yeah. We got Frappuccinos and did our seventh medicated IUI. The Man held my hand. I have pretty much been ok and resting quietly in bed today, aside from a few bouts of teariness and the requisite update calls to Mom.  And my acupuncturist. I am taking herbs that should improve the likelihood of fertilization and implantation. We will see.

I did some online research. That trigger shot is supposed to work in 36-48 hours, but some women ovulate up to 12 hours earlier. I just got lucky, I guess.

So, against all our plans, the 2ww is upon me. I am trying to be hopeful, but the odds are definitely against me.

Home stretch

Sunday, 3 day weekend. 9AM. I was expecting a nurse to show up for my ultrasound. But no: There was Dr. Charming, in his scrubs.

Things are pretty good: Lefty's follicle is now up to 19 plus, Righty is still cooking along: but I was so uncomfortable and it is so far out there, all we could detect is a far-off ovary with a shadowy "something" inside. (Narnia!) We decided that when I am under anesthesia, he will take another look, and move forward accordingly.I am hoping to get more than one follicle out of this, so I guess we will be in suspense until the last possible minute.

Soo- last shot of Cetritide was this morning, trigger shot tonight. It will be the first of three. I have done so many IUI's, but never a retrieval, so this is all new territory for me. I am scheduled for 9:30 AM on Tuesday. Incredibly nervous, and excited.   The Man has been briefed, I think we are ready.

We talked about baby names last night- something we haven't done for years now. This is such a big deal for us both- I hope the gamble pays off, this time.

I need to talk to my acupuncturist- since I will no longer be on any kind of medication, I need to see if there is anything I can do or take on my end, that will naturally help my body do what it needs to do. That should be an interesting conversation...  

Who's Who

OK. After today's appointment, it is looking like Option C.  I still really only have one dominant follicle on the left.

Righty is still ticking along though. The follicle that was at 7 Wednesday is up to 10 today- and it has a teeny, tiny friend, as well. Maybe I will end up with a bonus, as opposed to "too little, too late."  Fingers crossed! Lefty is hanging tough with a 15.

So: Operation Carbonite is launching. I talked to Dr. Charming, and got financial info today. Honestly, it's not that much more expensive....actually less expensive, without the whopping drug order from Freedom Pharmacy. We signed up for a three month tour. Natural Cycle IVF.  Here we go!

I am keeping up with my Cetritide, but tonight is my last Menopur dose- and Gonal-F has been slashed, down to 150 IU's. I go in for yet another ultrasound on Sunday, and then the big retrieval is on Tuesday. Hopefully we can get an embryo out of this. If we do- that will be the closest I have ever knowingly gotten to getting pregnant. Fingers crossed.

In the meantime, I have gotten addicted to Dr. Who. Which is good, because it's very "fluffy" sci-fi- entertaining and distracting, both qualities I require in a TV show at this point. And I can knit AND watch at the same time!

Today is a good day. I want to be out and about- I may actually go out in public and do some shopping!

All in all it's just- another shot in the gut.

Oh Cetritide! It burns us, my precious.

Just got back from my ultrasound.  Lefty came up with a 14, and Righty actually coughed up something: a teensy 7, but I will take it. I may have uttered a tiny "Gooo Righty!" when it popped up on the ultrasound monitor. Which, of course, everyone finds amusing.

So, now we are trying to decide what to do.  I just gave myself the burny Cetritide shot, so I will impede ovulation, and give the follies a few days to get their act together. Dr. Charming said he saw several smaller follicles as well, which may be noteworthy later, but didn't want to poke around any further. (Getting a peek at that follicle on Righty was stressful for all of us.) So right now, it's still all about that one follicle on the left.

We had a little chat, and my options are as follows.

A. Go ahead with this cycle, in the understanding that it's got to be "The Little Ovum That Could". Be prepared for many Highlander quotes. "There can be ONLY ONE!!!"

B. Quit. Cancel cycle, start over next month.

C. Pursue a Natural Cycle IVF approach. Get me off drugs, collect the egg or two I make on my own every month, and put them on ice (flash vitrification!) until we have a few of them.  Then do IVF. I asked about risk to egg quality, and he said it's about 10%.

D. Donor eggs. Still not ready to accept that one.

E. Killing spree. Wait to see how things look on Friday. If I have two viable follicles, go with option A. If I just have one, Option C.

Based on personal feelings and discussions with The Man, it's looking like E- "Some of the Above" is the answer, at least right now.  Actually, The Man REALLY likes Option C. Possibly because Dr. Charming used the words: "Flash vitrification is like Star Wars- you know, when Han Solo gets frozen in Carbonite?" I guess he knows his audience.

Holy Toledo

Of course, after I wrote my obligatory, "You know what? I am fine!" post yesterday and signed off....there was the unmistakable rumble of thunder on the not-so distant horizon. The kind where you know that soon the music is going to start, and the funny guy (or the stupid girl, or both) is going to die.

By the end of the day, Hurricane Hormones was in full effect, and woe betide anyone who got in my way. Luckily, I recognized the signs, and forced myself to leave my cocoon/nest/fortress to get provisions before things got really, really bad.

I somehow managed to make it through without bludgeoning the Trader Joe's cashier to death with a can of coconut milk while screaming, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? ARE YOU HIGH!!!!!!!!?"

I seriously don't know how I did it, because generally, a. everyone around here IS high 75% of the time, and b. by the time I got home, I was apoplectic about the way my groceries were bagged. Something that I would typically roll my eyes over and maybe merit a sigh, became a SUPER HUGE DEAL.  The Man listened to me spew crazy profanity while I alternately vented, laughed about how insanely I was behaving, and then started venting again. I've turned into some kind of obsessive-compulsive bipolar lunatic, seemingly overnight. I think that KNOWING you're carrying on like a psycho, but being unable to help yourself, may be one of life's more frustrating experiences.

Mom called to ask how I was doing. I said, "I am getting a divorce and running away from home!" and then burst into hysterical laughter. I am sure she found it really reassuring.

God it's hot in here. Is anyone else hot? Just me? I am wearing pajama shorts and a tank top and the a/c is on and all the fans are maxed out. I look at The Man, and he is wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt- layered OVER another shirt. My face is all red, I am all sticky and gross. I am ready to strip down and run screaming through the streets, bludgeoning any potentially doobie-smoking members of the populace with my handbag, and spewing profanity at douchebag cyclists- identifiable by their spandex outfits- at random.

This can't be good. Luckily The Man has promised to restrain me if I get really wacky. At this point, I don't know if he can stop me. Demon hormones are more powerful than- really powerful stuff. Also, if I leave him, who can be relied upon to build me a bed of ice? Did I mention how effing hot it is?! RARGH!

That's another thing. I tend to rely on my wits somewhat, and they have completely deserted me. DAMN YOU HORMONES!!!!! You made me crazy, hot, AND stupid. I hate you! Unless you prove to actually work, in which case, hormones, I may forgive you. Eventually.

My doctor's appointment is tomorrow afternoon. I talked to Dr. Charming today, and he basically said that I am right- depending on what we see tomorrow, we will move forward. If there's still only one follicle, we can still do that, but the chances aren't great. Or we can cancel the cycle, and try again next month.

I was all good, until he mentioned donor eggs, and then I got all emo. (BECAUSE MY EGGS ARE OBVS ALL OLD AND REPTILIAN IN THEIR BARREN LEATHERINESS.) <----see that? Those are the hormones talking. Bastards!

Have I mentioned that I SUCK at waiting? Because that would not be an inaccurate statement.

Hope springs eternal

I got a call on Friday evening. It was Dr. Charming. Uh Oh.

Essentially he said my ovaries are lazy "sleepy", and that he wanted me to give them a little extra time. My estradiol was at a measly 15 when they checked it.  Instead of ramping up the drugs, they asked me to take a break. So I took a few days off of my Gonal-F/Menopur thrill ride. So I spent Friday and Saturday drug-free, then started up again last night.

Aside from getting some crazy rises and dips in my morning temps, I haven't felt much of a difference. The Man and I were out at lunch yesterday. I am trying not to get my hopes up. I know there's a very good chance this cycle might be cancelled. Still...I keep telling myself, it only takes one. I know I have one. 

Acupuncture was fairly routine today. I told my acupuncturist what was going on, and I think he is worried, but agreed that I can't afford to waste any more time. Next Monday is Labor day (OMG! 3-day weekend!) but he insisted that he will be there for me if I need a session post retrieval.  I talked to The Man about it, and he will drive me to Sonoma, if necessary.

It's strange. I feel like this is happening to someone else. I was so completely out of my mind last time around. This time- I am craving sweets a little- trying to address that with fruit and dark chocolate. And I am irritable at times, or occasionally inexplicably weepy for a minute or two. But no existential despair, no cookie binging, no psychotic outbursts. So, that's something. I feel strangely calm. Honestly, that is freaking me out more than anything else is.  

I asked The Man about it, and he agreed. "You're definitely not psycho," he said. "It's kind of a relief, except I am constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. But this far in, I don't think that it's going to." 

Wednesday, I go in for another ultrasound and blood draw. Hopefully, there is something percolating by then.

Let's go follies, let's go! *clap*clap*clap*

So far, things are par for the course, follicle-wise. Four days of injectables have produced nothing out of the ordinary. I am trying not to panic.

I have one good-sized follicle on the left (where else) and as usual, righty is actually off the reservation. We caught a glimpse of it reclining somewhere, but a close-up didn't happen. Lazy bitch! I am trying not to panic. Today is only day 7. I have another week for the girls to get it in gear.I thought I glimpsed a tiny secondary follicle on the left, but Dr. Charming didn't measure it or say anything- the jury is out. I can feel crazy twinges on the left, so maybe. I am hoping it shows up on my next check-in on Sunday, and maybe brings some cute friends. 8:45 AM, baby.  So much for sleeping in! Come on follies! There'll be punch and pie.....

I should get my bloodwork results later on tonight- they may be upping my dose of Gonal. That giant sucking sound you hear is from the enormous hole in our bank account.

I am doing OK: still upbeat, although I have been super tired and irrationally angry at The Man for "no reason". It's been so bad: I have been sitting on the couch hating his guts, and then I consider asking him if he knows why I am mad at him. Surely he must have done something, and I just forgot what it was, because OMG!!! ANGRY!!!!

Then I realize it is the hormones. The Crazy is locked and loaded.

It comes in handy when I find out things like the drama with my medical records. Kaiser, you stink. As it turns out, they decided not to run my HIV 1&2 tests, and just didn't tell me: and since Kaiser's policy is that they don't send you a printout, they just say, "You know those confidential tests you took? Alllll negative!" Well. I guess they were just talking about the Hep series. So I had to get another blood draw and have it rushed through my clinic. And my clinic also had to send three separate faxes to their medical records department: plus four or five calls from me, with me racheting up the hysteria each time- for them to finally send proof of my negative Hep results. Sheesh. But the good news is, that is finally all squared away.

I love my clinic. I may have already said this, but I seriously can't believe my luck. And it seems so....anti-climactic. I have been waiting for this for so long, and I am sure that is why. The crew thanked me for being so upbeat and fun today. Hopefully it will keep being anti-climactic. A BFP would be a fantastic first, for me.

Needled

I don't know how much I have said about Dr. Charming, but I am a fan.

That's right! I have an R.E. that I LIKE! Which is...well, if someone's going to be all up in your business, liking them should be a prerequisite.

Cycle day one was Saturday, which was basically a timing disaster. Some of my meds needed to be refrigerated, so they couldn't be shipped for Monday Delivery, and I needed to start shots on Monday: and have my baseline ultrasound.

So I called the pharmacy and the doc's office. I was worried about the pharmacy, and I finally got them to agree (after much wrangling) to ship a partial order of just the drugs I would need for Monday- which didn't need to be refrigerated, thank goodness. The culprit (Bad Cetritide!)  will be arriving with the rest of the shipment today. Whew!

The doc's office: I figured I would get a call from a service, or a nurse. what I got was a phone call from my R.E. himself, at 7PM on a Saturday night, to set up my Monday appointment. He performs every procedure in the office. Color me impressed! In the old days, Dr. Combover never deigned to see me himself,  I would always get a nurse or a lackey. Which is probably a good thing (because I didn't like him anyway), but STILL. Dr. Charming also gave me the results of my Counsyl test: I tested negative for all genetic issues that could be passed on, which is amazing news. The Man is on notice that if any potential kid we have is weird, he is to blame. ;)

I spent Sunday napping, getting things in order, and planning how to spend the next month. Taking it easy, distracting myself, avoiding stress, and generally make this as likely as possible to work. I downloaded funny books for my Kindle. I put the scale away. I am considering getting a Netflix membership, so I can watch lots of comedies. The bedroom has been somewhat revamped. I have a plan for lots of fertility yoga, meditation, and knitting. My nails and toes are painted with sparkly polish, and I am doing my utmost to feel attractive, distract myself, stay positive, and stay active- all things that are challenging during IF treatment.
 
So yesterday was crazy. I needed to pay for my cycle. We have had the requisite dinero set aside in cash for a long time, and I had to go deposit it in my bank account.  I went in, thinking, "OK, this is going to be weird, I have a banded sheaf of $100 bills, the teller will look at me like I am a drug dealer."  However, it actually ended up being more awkward, because evidently, if it's quiet at the bank branch, security will usher you over to one of the cubicle guys who usually sets up new accounts or looks over loan docs.

And of course- guess what happened to me?

So I made polite small talk, and commented on the luscious  aroma wafting over from the guy's coffee (Peet's!) and finally just decided "The hell with it." And I whomped that wad of cash on his desk and said, "I need to deposit this."

He did a triple take and asked, "Did you just win in Vegas?" Which of course, reminded me of this. I am a gambler. Hopefully, a good one. 

The actual doctor's appointment went well. I wrote checks on about 90% of the money I had just deposited. I submitted all the paperwork and signatures. I got checked out and my blood was drawn. I was told to stop taking any supplements except for prenatals. Bye Bye, testosterone cream! I won't miss you, Hopefully, you did your job. They did a "mock retrieval" (Or was it a "mock insemination"? Something like that) and said it should be a piece of cake and I had drunk the correct amount of water. Two "venti" Starbucks cups worth, an hour before I showed up. Duly noted. I was pleased to note that I have less padding on my stomach area, as they could see what they needed to see with just a regular ultrasound. Everything was pronounced A-OK, and I am supposed to go in again on Friday for a look-see.

When I got home, my box from Freedom Pharmacy had arrived. I did a quick review of the contents, and then got ready for more adventure- acupuncture.  I am usually awful about relaxing while I am supposed to be, but this time, I forced myself to leave my phone in my pourse, so web surfing was not an option. I actually did fall asleep.

I took my first shots last night- 375 IU Gonal-F, 75 IU Menopur. Holy Mackerel. I forgot the stress of making sure you get the mix right, or you can waste 700 bucks with one wrong move. I seem to have a ridiculous amount of syringes. So there was a lot of fiddling before I finally got it right. And about an hour later, I swear, I was feeling strange effects: I was hot. HOT! And had a crazy heaviness through my pelvic region. Bam. 40 lb. ovaries are coming down the pipeline. I also kept sighing. The Man seems to be getting more and more nervous with each and every sigh. "Are you OK?!" he keeps asking me, anxiety in his eyes. Concern for my welfare? Terror that The Crazy is coming down the pipeline? I probably don't want to know!

My refrigerated box showed up today: a 12" cube stuffed solid with syringes, sharps containers, a plethora of drugs, and a refrigerated packet. So that's all set.

My parents and in-laws are on board. I am sending out texts and emails with updates- something I never thought I would find myself doing the last time around. I got another text last night from Dad that said, "Good Luck: fingers crossed. We are praying for you.  Mom says she will come if you need help. Tell The Man that if he needs help, he's on his own." Bhahaha!

Mom called this morning. She keeps offering to come and visit, which is lovely, but really, there's not a lot she can do! I told her we would keep it in mind, on the off chance that I go completely nuts and The Man needs help restraining me.

She has been very impressed with her realization that so many people are struggling with this. She saw something in the comics today about two tiny birds sitting on a nest with a dozen giant eggs in it, and the father bird was talking to a friend on a nearby branch. The caption said "Just say no to fertility drugs!" She was hesitant telling me about it, as she was afraid I wouldn't think it was funny, and was obviously relieved when I laughed. Then she said," We are so excited for you honey. Just don't turn into OctoMom." I was a little horrified, and tried to explain the difference between what I was doing, and what the limitations were, and she she explained that she was only kidding. (Thank God.)

So I am getting very literal. Also, zitty. Freaking hormones.

Confucious Say...

  Infertility makes you weird.

No really, it does. In some good ways, and some bad ways. One day, you're a completely sane and rational woman, who agrees it would be a good idea to go off the pill and "see what happens", and then: over time, with no positive test, things change.

You assume ridiculous post-coital positions, because, you know, gravity. GRAVITY. It's SCIENCE! You go to the health food store and spend your food budget on bee pollen. You research on the internet. And it escalates, and escalates, until you're wandering down a dark alley at the stroke of midnight with your grandmother's emerald ring to exchange with a crone for some baby potion. 

OK, I am exaggerating, but not by much. If you'd told me 10 years ago that I would be taking 50 thousand herbal supplements and cutting out wheat and obsessing about eating organic, doing acupuncture and yoga and meditation and trying not to step on sidewalk cracks: or that I would be ponying up insane amounts of money for IVF- I would have laughed. Merrily. And probably said you were insane. Yet, here we are!

The fortune cookie in the photo is a replica of the fortune I got a few months ago: the day after we decided to do this again. As The Man says, "Crappy fortunes are a sure way to put a cookie company out of business"- yes, yes, I know.  It's not like you're going to get one saying, "You are mentally unhinged, have dubious fashion sense, and this will all end in tears." (Hopefully.) But I am holding onto this anyway. Because I am CRAZY, and willing to cling to any tiny shred of hope that comes my way. Or you know: because I am optimistic. I am fighting the urge to put a question mark at the end of that last sentence.

 I have been floundering a little this week: dutifully applying my gel to my shoulders, filling out paperwork, and trying not to get overwhelmed. I bought a meditation game for the Wii, which sounds ridiculous, yet it seems to be helping me to feel calm and centered, so why knock it? I have definitely done crazier things. I took a closer look at my meds, and realized that I am not going to be put on hormonal birth control for my IVF cycle- something I am thrilled about. I am trying to focus on the positives.

The weird thing is this: after a lot of soul searching, one of the things I am afraid of, is that this is it. This is something that I have been working my way up to, and focusing on, for so long. It's a big part of my psyche_ IF is the big Chimera I have to slay: or nurse my wounds and walk away from.

 Whether it works, or it doesn't, I will have to change. It will be easier to change if I have a consolation prize (read: baby), but if it doesn't work: well, that's it. it's the end of a dream and a long journey, and the beginning of something else, whatever that might be.

I can't regret going through this. It's been awful. I would never wish this on anyone else. But it made me a better, stronger, healthier, more resilient person. It's definitely taught me who my friends were. I have learned more about my body and how it works than I ever dreamed was possible.

I can't regret that I have had ten years with The Man: taking some amazing vacations, and having each other pretty much all to ourselves. 

Also, I don't know if it's the testosterone, the meditation, or I got a really good batch of organic herbal tea, but I dreamed about Matthew McConaughey last night. I can't really regret that, either!

The Gambler

Freedom Fertility Pharmacy called me today.

Actually, a robot called me, technically.

"Hello, this is FFP, we got a call from your doctor ordering your medication! Please hold for a specialist!"

Then some helpful tips, then ringing. And then the robot again.

"We're sorry, all of our specialists are busy right now. Please call us at (number) at a later time of your convenience. Thank you!" *click*

WTF?!!!!

So I called back, and talked (as I always do when dealing with Freedom) to a very nice woman, who read a bewildering list of medications off to me. Some of these I have dealt with before, but most of them, I haven't. Cetritide! Doxycycline! Gonal-F! MenoPur! Novarel! Endometrin!!!! (Please don't make me go crazy, hormones, PLEASE.)

My mother, bless her, had told me to put the meds on her credit card. I have done this before, so I was expecting a big number. I think my last round (an IUI) it was close to $2000.

"OK- let me add this all up!" said the nice woman on the phone with the MA accent (an accent that I, strangely, love).

"That will be $4372.30."

That sound you just heard was my brain exploding. She helpfully told me I could go onto their website and get a web quote, which would save us $100. I asked her to freeze the order. I had to call Mom and let her know what was coming- and also call The Man, to see if we could subsidize some of this.

While saving $100 is better than a sharp stick in the eye, it seemed almost ridiculously meager, in the grand scheme of things. I called my mom, and explained, I called The Man and explained. Mom still wants me to use her card. What she said is: "Well, people take money like that to Vegas, and they gamble, and lose it all- for nothing That's not what you're doing here. You have a goal. I want you to be able to achieve your goal."   I still  feel amazingly guilty.

I forgot what this was like. Costs add up in excruciating fashion, and our insurance covers none of it. So far, we are out doctor and exam fees at two clinics, the cost of my testing, the cost of The Man's testing, and we haven't even gotten to the stuff covered in the outline that the R.E.'s office gives you, which explains what you will be billed for. That's another hefty chunk, but at least is something we budgeted for. Of course, medication is not included.

Getting stressed out is supposed to be counter-productive to this process working. So I got off the phone, clicked around on the website, got my $100 off, and called back.

As fate would have it, I got Sandy, who was super-talkative. She heard my parrot in the background, and started asking all kinds of questions. She applied my credit, postponed my shipment (we still have a slim chance this month- if I do manage to do this on my own, being stuck with $4372.30 worth of unnecessary meds would not be fun), made sure I was getting a rebate on my Gonal-F, and closed with, "Well, what's your birdie's name?"

"Vegas," I said.

"Well, you enjoy your day hon- good luck to you, and have fun gambling with Vegas!" she teased.

I guess you can look at it that way- I am gambling.   As someone who is not a gambler by nature, this is terrifying. I really hope I don't lose it all.

Mischief Managed

Would you believe that it took three stops to try to get my Counsyl test dropped off yesterday?

The first one was my fault, as I was convinced it was RiteAid that had the FedEx drop-off. Nope. It was CVS. So then I drove over there, and they evidently have not been taking FedEx packages since March- and Fed Ex had not seen fit to update their website. I was directed to go to the FedEx/Kinko's in San Rafael. "Right across from the KFC!"

Maybe it is a testament to my abdication from fast food that I had no freaking clue where the KFC was. I drove around lost for a little while (I had foolishly left my Phablet/The Precious at home, so had no GPS- which effectively made me helpless) and finally returned home to ask The Man.

"Oh, I know right where that is!" exclaimed my junk food devotee. "It's right by a KFC and Taco Bell Combo drive through." Hmph.

So he drove me over there, and I dropped my vial of saliva (inside a bag inside a box inside another bag) into the FedEx receptacle- albeit, after a temporary waffling on whether my spit could be considered "hazardous substances"- which are strictly prohibited by the signage on the drop-off box. Sadly, the conclusion was that I didn't care, and just wanted to be rid of the thing, but I did at least make the crucial distinction that nobody who has come into contact with my saliva has ever died (to my knowledge), and that I don't wear a green spandex outfit and call myself "Poison Ivy". So it would probably be fine.  

After being so close to forbidden food and not being allowed to acknowledge it, The Man decided that leftover roasted chicken at home wasn't going to be his thing, so we went to Max's. Ribeye (what else) for him, and salmon for me. They do have gluten-free cheesecake there, and The Man looked at me pleadingly, but I was just not in the mood. After wearing me down for a bit, I said I would order a scoop of ice cream and a gluten-free cookie. To keep him company. Yes, I am occasionally stupid.

When the scoop got there, it was in a giant sundae glass, and contained nearly a pint of actual ice cream. The cookie, it had been previously explained, was in a package of six. "But they're small!" said the waitress, reassuringly, making a round shape between her thumb and forefinger. "Roughly the size of a silver dollar." 

FYI: the cookies were at least twice that size- i.e., completely normal sized cookies. I ate one, and about 5 spoonfuls of ice cream- I couldn't even get down close to the top of the giant sundae glass. I had to take the rest home in a tupperware, along with the other 5 cookies. Never again.

I may be happy to have a stash, because things are percolating along. I finally got the second line on the OPK kit, which means I should be right on track for my usual Day 14. The Man is on notice, and I am trying to get the house cleaned up, as I was out of commission with excruciating back pain the entire last half of my last cycle- REALLY hoping that doesn't happen again!!

Meditations on a To-Do List

#1 is, I shit you not, "Drop spit off at the Rite Aid."

I should probably explain this.

My R.E. handed me a blue box when I was there, and explained that I needed to take a saliva sample and send it in. The company name is Counsyl, and it offers preventive genetic testing for- well, actually, a pretty amazing rate. It's $350 or so with no insurance, but hopefully Kaiser will absorb $250 of it or so.

I mean: let's face it, they have samples of pretty much every other bodily fluid I can produce. Why not saliva too?! So I have a vial of spit- inside a bag, inside a box, inside a FexEx medical sample pouch. Evidently asking FexEx to pick something up requires credit card info, so I will be schlepping it to the drop-off center at the Rite Aid down the street.

In other news, I haven't grown those furry epaulettes I worried about yet. However, I am only administering 1 pump of the gel, which (now that I can bring myself to look at the bottle) is only 25% of the usual minimum manly dose. And this kind of makes me wonder- the guy instructions are to apply to the shoulders and: I think, the sides of the body? One pump handily douses both my shoulders.  The thought of having to find enough surface area to accommodate four pumps of that stuff is a bit daunting. So I am relieved, but now off on a completely different mental tangent.

I do think the gel is to blame for a couple of new developments: namely, attractive hormonal acne that is forming around my mouth in a telltale circular fashion, and the fact that I am tired. Neither of those things are very welcome. But there are good things: I think it's doing some kind of number on my metabolism. It makes me wonder if my big problem this whole time has been some kind of hormonal imbalance. It's also working the way the R.E. wanted it to. I am getting sharp pings on the left and the right this month, so the ol' ovaries are both evidently cooking something up.

As my AMH and FSH values flag me as a potentially poor responder to drugs, this is amazing news. Hopefully, it is not all in my head. I am also worried because I got a high temperature this morning- which, if it continues, will mean I ovulated early.  Which is good news in a way- my IVF cycle will start sooner than I had hoped! But bad news because they may need to add another drug to my protocol to keep me on schedule.

Since I used an OPK kit yesterday and got a "No Way Jose", I am either worrying about nothing- or I tested too late (on Day 10! Whaaaaat?!) and missed the LH surge. Unlikely, but possible. I am also not experiencing the crippling back pain of my last cycle- I could tell you the minute ovulation occurred, because I was hobbling around like Quasimodo. It got more bearable, but was still present for the rest of my cycle. I hope it isn't like that this time around- I have to get stuff done!