In which the blog name is maybe no longer accurate.

Spoilers up front, because if you've found this blog, you either a. Know me, or b. Are in the same spot I was in.

I say was because... (this is the spoiler part) On February 5th, 2015, what we have been working and wishing and hoping for finally came into being- officially. The Man and I welcomed our sweet baby boy into the world.

I debated updating this blog, and actually considered obliterating it. It represents so much pain, struggle, and just general hopelessness. And then I thought of how I felt when I started this journey- my gosh, over 10 years ago! And I figure I can maybe help someone else in a similar situation.

I owe those of you in the same boat an explanation.

Because in spite of the best laid plans, our little guy was a total, unplanned, surprise.  I still have trouble believing it. And if you've been disappointed in a similar way over and over for, well, over a decade...I am sure you'd understand.

Part one of the official story coming soon.

OK.

Oh man.

The Man has been gone for three months so far- away at school in Mississippi. I visited him at the end of October, and am still trying to get my mojo back. And somehow it's like I got back here and got slapped in the face with the holidays.

It's been a year since what I'd characterize of the darkest time in my life. We are back in the house, moving forward, and I was just sort of floating along, and then I realized today that I turn 39 in two days. And I am still here. And I have to face another childless holiday season. And everything else that goes with it. And OMG, how? HOW?!! Am I going to get through it again? I tell myself every year that next year will be different. Yet here we are, again.

Then I popped onto Facebook for some distraction, which was a mistake. A longtime childhood friend of mine just had her 2nd baby, and I congratulated her- and meant it!  But then I started looking through her pictures. One of which featured most of the members of my girl scout troop at a reunion as adults. There they were, smiling, lined up with their mothers, and their babies and toddlers- one, or two, or three each. All I could feel was a sense of gratitude that I had been traveling and couldn't make it to that occasion because just the thought of the questions and the pity and the knowledge that I probably would have had a meltdown in the middle of it, were enough to trigger a monumental crying jag. Pretty much all I did, all morning, was bawl my eyes out.

I called my mom. The Man has enough on his plate with school, my friends are dealing with their own crap, and I just needed to get the poison out. I hate feeling this way, but the truth of the matter is, I am still grieving for an imaginary child. An idea. And it's horrible, but if I were an actual grieving mother, I'd get closure. A funeral. I can't even talk about it without sounding crazy. But that was what I needed to do. To sound crazy, to let it go to the best of my ability, and start working on this horrible 10 year project- one last time.

I set up an appointment with a local RE. I checked reviews. I called The Man. We've agreed that we will put our hat in the ring for adoption, and start the IVF process simultaneously, as soon as he gets back. Either way, this is the end of it.

Then I went out to dinner with my family to celebrate my birthday, a day or so early. It took every ounce of self control I have to get through it, but I did it.

Every Day.

I was sitting in the patio area at Starbucks with my recently married friend, A.

We were sipping iced teas and catching up when the young man came up to us and asked for change.

Of course, he had a story, and whether his version was true or not- He said he needed $1.25 to catch the bus, and I will spare you the (long convoluted) back story, but he claimed that a friend had stolen $80 from his wallet, and he'd arrived at Starbucks to get a coffee and opened his wallet to find zero dinero. Since he had a bag containing a cable box from the Xfinity store, he could have been telling the truth.

I have implemented a policy where I will give out spare change. No folding money. If I have it, I have it, if I don't, sorry. Yeah, I have a policy, because it seems like I get asked for change everywhere I go, lately. 

As it turns out, I had $1.50 in quarters and dimes. I gave him the requested bus fare. He said, "Thank you so much! And I know it's early, but Happy Mother's Day!"

It was like a knife to the heart. I somehow forgot it was coming. All the dreams I had last fall, thinking this would be the year I finally get to celebrate, just rushed over me.  

Yesterday, I went to a function where a casual acquaintance was there with her two daughters. One has a child, but is divorced- the other is single. She was joking around, saying that she would take them out for lunch for Mother's Day, in the spirit of untapped potential, so maybe they would give her some more grandchildren. "Just think of how many eggs are in those ovaries! You need to use them before they all dry up!" The daughter with the child smiled and made a joke of it;  the unmarried daughter looked like she wanted to sink through the floor. And I just couldn't control the expression on my face. I don't even know what it was, just that it was like I was wearing a mask, and the acquaintance asked, "Jen? Are you OK?" And I don't even remember what I said to her. Probably something reassuring.

I managed to make reservations for lunch for my Mom today. We've become a lot closer since we moved back. I have honestly been a lot happier, which helps. My brother will hopefully show up to celebrate with my parents, and The Man and I, since he is in town for the weekend. I don't want to ruin this, Mom deserves her day unsullied by meltdowns, so hopefully I have gotten all my typical emo crap out of my system.

Last night, in the car on the way to dinner with friends, I was telling The Man about the episode with the mother and her two children. And he said, "I have been thinking. We need to move forward. I don't want to stop trying to have biological children, but I think it's time to start looking into adoption. I am still not thrilled with the idea, but we have been waiting long enough for this phase of our lives to start, and my main concern is that I might not bond with an adopted child- but maybe some research will make me feel better about it."

I am still shocked. And so, amazingly grateful. When he uttered those words, it was like a huge weight was lifted off of me.  I feel the same way- I don't want to stop trying, but I don't want to wake up at 42 and still be childless. That part of me that has been so angry and resentful with him for so long over the inequity of the situation was so deeply ingrained, and I just tried to bury it deeply enough so I could forget about it, but- looking over the last few years, and reading entries in this blog, I realized how it's just been poisoning me.

Whatever happens, I think I just received my first Mother's Day gift- a day early.  My road to motherhood may not be conventional, but I finally feel like I am on my way. I have definitely earned my stripes. 

 


 



  

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.