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!

Let's do this thing! (playing catch-up)

So! I do have another blog- where I seem to be talking about everything EXCEPT infertility. If you're interested in that, it's over here.

General update: The Man and I just celebrated our 10th anniversary. Which means, 9 years of infertility. NINE years!!!! Ugh.

But- I am jumping back into the seemingly bottomless lake of infertility treatments, and frankly: this is the only place I can talk about that. People who deal with me day-to-day probably don't want to know about crazy shizz like "assisted hatching." Hell, _I_ don't even know what that is. Yet. But I probably will soon.

Because if infertility is a bottomless lake, I am finally going to do more than just stick the occasional toe in the water. As of a couple of weeks ago, I started paddling around in the shallow end, and am girding my loins (somewhat literally) to jump off the high dive in a few weeks. IVF, baby.

So we got started with one clinic, only to decide in the early stages that they were too far away- an hour and a half isn't a great drive to have to make. They also were really lackadaisical about doing things like answering my questions, leading to situations where I got test results back and FREAKED- and continued to freak over the 4th of July weekend, with no call back. It took six days to get my question answered, and of course, by then, I had whipped myself into a frenzy. No bueno.

So the question I needed answered was-My FSH is now around 12.1: not too terribly bad, as I am now an old-ish lady of 38. It's actually improved from 2009, when it was 14.9.  The AMH however, is pretty dismal: 0.16. The frantic calls about that were the ones that caused the meltdown. I was concerned that they would flat-out refuse to treat me. So after all the googling of "low AMH"  that I did- hopefully some other woman who is desperately googling at 2AM might run across this. Neither of the two clinics I was looking at said that my low AMH was a deal breaker. In fact, they seemed intrigued. And also flat out stated: "You need to hurry."

So, that's what we are doing. All the preliminary tests have been done. The Man still has his stellar numbers. I keep calling him "The Sperminator", which he seems alternately delighted and humiliated by. In all seriousness, I think the most awkward conversations I have had have been IF related, and having a lab tech wax rhapsodic about how great your husband's numbers are over the phone has to be experienced to be believed.  Luckily, after a saline sonogram and a pelvic exam, my uterus has been pronounced "beautiful." So per medical science, I am actually beautiful inside and out. ;) And we are still "unexplained".

I didn't want to do this. I have done my utmost to get as healthy as I can, but obviously, we still have some deeper issue which is not being addressed, because we don't know what it is. the thought of subjecting my body to this roller coaster again is not one I make lightly.Unfortunately, we are to the point where we simply can't afford to sit around and wait.  

I really like my new R.E.. He is young (by which I mean close to my age- LOL), earnest, and has disconcertingly beautiful eyes. He's also roughly 1000% nicer and more charismatic than Dr. Combover was- not being difficult to accomplish, as Dr. Combover had roughly the same bedside manner as a necrotic whelk.

 I automatically checked to see if he was married, as I have many awesome single lady friends, and I am always acting in their best interests-although I may have earmarked him for my sister as a matter of course- but alas, he was wearing a wedding ring.

Also, he has a great sense of humor. By which I mean, he laughs at my jokes. How to make your RE laugh: when he points out your right ovary on the monitor during a procedure, tell him it looks like "a high pressure system coming in from the north." Evidently, not many ladies tell jokes while they are in the stirrups. And when the R.E. tells them he'll see them in his office in a minute, they probably don't cheerfully say, "Sure, I'll be right there- just let me put on some pants."

Oh man, I am so jaded. This doesn't even seem weird anymore. Hopefully I can continue along this trajectory, and not the sad, cookie-eating, hormonally incapacitated and psychotic iteration of the past. 

Speaking of ovaries, Lazy Righty is evidently cooking up a follicle this month. I am going to send it some flowers.

In other news, my temps are great. I am still seeing an acupuncturist, and my temps have slowly crept up from being in the 95's and 96's to the 97's and 98's- AKA, normal human temperature ranges. Acupuncture is once a week, and I take about a bajillion herbal supplements twice a day.

My acupuncturist and I do argue occasionally- he says I am healthy enough to conceive on my own, but after 9 years of this, and two years with him, I am more than a little dubious. I am doing my best to make it clear that I can't afford to wait anymore. We were given "permission to try" this month and last month as well, so it is go time this week. He keeps insisting that IVF is not necessary, and I told him that I would be ecstatic if we managed to do it on our own, as we would use the money earmarked for the procedure to go on a fantastic European vacation instead, and I would send him a postcard from every country we visited lauding his acupuncturey prowess. I still don't think he agrees, but at least he shut up about it.

SO! Due to my super-low AMH, my RE told me that we were going to do something "A little unorthodox", and wrote me a prescription for testosterone gel. He also warned me that the pharmacy wasn't going to handle it well, as it is typically a male-only prescription, and just to brazen it out. Having done all my research during the Low-AMH meltdown of early July, I determined that he was trying to take a little bit of a shortcut- low AMH is typically addressed with DHEA supplementation- which bumps up your testosterone levels.

All I can say is, if there is any other way to get testosterone gel than walking into Rite Aid, I am all for it. Black market? Internet pharmacy? Muscular man in sunglasses lurking in the alley? Go for it (OK, maybe not the last one.)

The Pharmacist and the tech seriously freaked out. It doesn't help that the Pharmacist has a loud, booming Russian accent, and immediately blustered, "But- this is for men only!" in a voice that carried clear over into the cosmetics area. I quietly explained the issue, and he admitted that it was not that unheard of as he had "given it to one other lady in the past." I would like to thank you, other lady. If it was this much of a shell-shocker for me, I can only imagine how it was for you!

I now have two giant tubes of really expensive testosterone gel. The pharmacist helpfully said that I would have a lot left over, and told The Man that he should try it "If he ever wanted to take up the weightlifting."
He gave me a 20% discount, but even with that- since it is out-of-pocket, it was $360. #$%^!

So now, The Man is under orders to tell me if I start developing facial hair or my voice starts cracking. I have to rub this stuff into my shoulders every night, and am paranoid that I am going to grow some furry epaulettes. I was cautioned to avoid contact with anyone until the stuff dries, and am wearing a special t-shirt to bed. Like a chump. So it begins.

So the next Day One, my schedule and meds are set. I just need to call, and I will get my baseline ultrasound. It looks like Gonal-F, Menopur, Possibly an ovulation suppressant of some kind, and then the trigger shot, and then progesterone- seemingly forever. 

Oh God. I am really doing this. Sometime this month!