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.

Ci-cilia, You're breakin' my heart

You're shakin' my confidence laaaately.....

Don't worry, I can spell, The bad pun will become obvious later.

OK, so I am going to add more, but it's going to be later tonight. I am off to work again, my schedule has been nuts. Ok, I am off to job #2 in an hour- so I will add the gory details!

Summation- the IUI happened, it went well, and the sample lasted just fine while nestled in my cleavage for a little longer than was recommended. I split the difference and showed up 15 minutes early, and there was no comment.

The Man has been put on notice. Neither of us is a morning person, which I know is a factor. To be fair, when he got up and moving, he did apologize for being a poop. And he was very considerate to me while I was practically comatose and convinced that my ovaries were exploding, and actually planned and made food. (Yeah, quesadillas, but he gets points for effort.)

The actual IUI went well, but was weird. First of all, it HURT! This has never happened before. Usually it's just my ovaries, although last cycle I didn't even really get that. This time they were both agitated, not to mention, afterwards, I had major cramping. EVERYONE was pissed off. I don't know if that's good or bad. They did mention at my appointment that my cervix was wiiiide open. (Ack! my cervix is a ho!)

I spoke with my fave tech, and basically put it out there. "Um...so if this cycle is uneventful...well, his sperm are great. My eggs and uterus are great. Why am I taking all these drugs to produce more eggs? I am worrying that either my egg quality sucks, in which case the drugs really won't help, or that things aren't implanting, so ditto, or that The Man's chemistry and mine are incompatible, which really isn't going to become immediately obvious until we do IVF anyway. Do you have any ideas?"

Evidently, she has a theory. She thinks that the cilia in my fallopian tubes may be out of whack, and when that's an issue, they can't waft the egg towards the sperm or vice-versa. Sort of like incompetent crowd-surfing at a rock concert. My cilia may be just like the a**holes who have smoked too much pot and just drop the kid on the concrete floor.

Yes, that is my take on it. First the uterine disco lounge, then the easter egg basket ovaries, and now fallopian crowd surfing. My reproductive anatomy sounds like a freaking theme park! Wooohooo!

In the meantime, the 2ww is officially on, and I am allowing myself to hope. I have a girl's weekend at the coast planned, and I will know by then whether I can drink or not, which I guess is the up-side in case my cilia actually aren't working.

Meanwhile, we are trying to decide what to do in case this cycle is not a success. Do I really want to have IUI #6? This is my free cycle of meds....could I put those towards IVF, or are they only used during an IUI cycle? The next IVF boat departs in November, so I would baaaaarely squeak by with the timing.

I can't answer any of these questions for two weeks. I'm hoping that I won't have to answer them, because the point will be moot. Or if you're a Friends fan, it will be "moo".

So hungry, so angry

After four hours of sleep, I leaped out of bed. This is most unlike me. I have often expressed my admiration for both of our cats, one of whom parks on a chair in the den, the other of whom likes our bed. They will reliably park in their spots, and I will arrive home six hours later to find them both still there.

Those lazy little freaks have a pretty sweet deal, if you ask me.

So, the hungry part is a lot easier to solve than the angry part.
(Hungry? Eat breakfast and stop your whining. Angry? Well.....)


The Man's workplace tends to frown upon taking days off at short notice. We were initially unworried, because he has Fridays off, but with the schedule change, he couldn't get this morning off. He has to be at work by 7:30, and it takes 20-30 minutes for me to drive to the clinic. It's technically do-able, if I do all the ferrying.

I don't know if I have mentioned that The Man is in the military, but he is. He has assured me that he can't find privacy at work to complete a sample, not that I would want him to have to do that, but hey.

The morning of the IUI is always a disaster. I end up upset and stressed out every time. Like last month, when it was his day off and he assured me that he would take care of everything, allegedly set his alarm, and then slept through it. Having been awake most of the previous night, and thinking I only had to be awake for my appointment at 10:45, I was in no condition to remind him. I ended up waking up to his swearing at around 9, and we ended up calling the clinic and bringing the sample in late. Then he refused to go to the clinic with me, because he had forgotten that it was the big day and made other plans.

Or the time before that, when we got in a huge fight the morning of- I had given him all the info, what time I needed to leave by, etc., and he didn't remember any of it, so he didn't allot enough time to get dressed for work and do the deed. Or the time before that....you get the picture.

I have adopted a policy of not getting visibly upset, because it just makes things worse, although I am sure that the "internally boiling with rage" reaction that is happening can't be a good thing.

A big part of me feels that his avoidance of going to the clinic with me and his attitude (which, if I am honest, is that of a pissy 14 year old) on "collection day" is some weird passive aggressive thing. I know he wants to have kids, because he is the one who wanted to start trying. Maybe he just can't accept that we need medical intervention?

The thing is, I am spending tons of money, time, and my sanity on this. I have rearranged my entire life for this, and a big part of me resents it that I go through doctor's visits, shots, surgery, ultrasounds, and suppositories, while he can't manage to get out of bed on time and be civil on what amounts to less than one day a month.

Last month, I finally confronted him, and asked, "Do you still want to do this?" And he got upset, offended, defensive (which is worrisome) and assured me that he did indeed want us to have a child together in this lifetime. I told him that if that was the case, he needed to step up, so I could see that he meant it.

So anyway, "collection day" has become a loaded experience...no pun intended. And it seems like we go through this every stinking time, and this time is no exception- with the added complication that the RE's note that I get each month has changed.

Every month we have brought in the sample at 8AM on the dot, and now that I look at this note- 8:30.

Which is totally impossible with our schedule, and I have not one freaking clue what I can do, other than stick a vial in my bra for almost an hour and hope that quality will not be affected. I have already googled "sperm longevity" and "How long do sperm live outside the body" while knowing that my clinic wants it there in 30 minutes, tops. Like Domino's pizza. And of course I can't call them, because even though they show up to the office around 8, they won't answer the phone until nine. Garrrrrrrgh!

My only other option is to show up at 8AM anyway and force them to let me in.

I just tried going to The Man with these options, and he totally snapped at me. And while I am not going to let myself explode, I am through making excuses for him.

Has anyone else gone through something like this? I'm pretty much at the end of my tether.

Guess which night it is?

'Twas the night before IUI

And all through the house

Jenna did all the laundry

And set dishes to douse.

The Man was out cold

Snuggled up in his bed

While visions of sample vials

Danced in his head.


Oh, why can't I sleep? Why? WHY?!!!!

It's been one of those days. Two people called in sick to work, so I came in and covered for six hours, but of course, all the stuff I was supposed to do at home didn't happen. Bleah!

Also, for those of you who may be taking/have taken Menopur, did it give you some seriously, um, vivid, pornographic dreams?

Um, no reason, just asking.

I injected the Ovidrel last night, and I know it's working: my left ovary is killing me, which is par for the course.

Now I just need my brain to calm down so I can sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!

Intermission

I am stalled.

That's the news I got during the ultrasound today. I still have one dominant follicle on the right, one on the left, but they are still where they were on Monday. The two smaller follicles seem to have joined forces, so I actually can expect three follicles this cycle...but the IUI has been postponed.

I have to order some more pens of Gonal-f, and also Menopur on top of that.

I am feeling disillusioned, and also, am freaking out because this is costing a lot more than I was expecting.

When I said something to this effect, along with the fact that if it's just egg production that they want, Clomid seems to produce better results and is covered by my insurance, the tech said, "Well, would you like to see the doctor?"

Confession: I haven't seen the actual doctor since my laprascopic exploratory surgery checkup over a year ago. I have to get to work and order my new meds, so I'll expound on all of this tonight.

IUI is rescheduled for Monday.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

Ok, I'll just get down to the brass tacks.

Well, and then I will waffle. We all know how I love waffles!

I was worried due to lack of twinging, but lo! something must be working. My first clue was this morning, when I had a protracted battle with the top button on my jeans. And then proceeded to need to pee every 10 minutes. But it's all worth it. Thank goodness.

Here are the stats for IUI cycle #5! (Holy crap. FIVE!)

Once again, I have four follicles: two big fat 14's, one each for Lefty and Righty, and then as usual, Lefty is the overachiever with two smaller follicles, eight and ten. My levels are at 290.

300 more IU of Gonal-f tonight, and again tomorrow. Then another ultrasound on Wednesday. If all goes well, I trigger Wednesday night, and the IUI is Friday morning. Righty, if you go south on me, you are getting evicted. I mean it. You gotta earn your keep around here.

On a more entertaining note, I got to hear my uterus described as "gorgeous", which is a new one for me. I also evidently have "perky" ovaries. Is it just me, or is that bizarre? Like being told that your spleen is charming.

Plus, the adjective "perky" always makes me think of Katie Couric. However, considering how many uterii and ovaries this woman has seen in her lifetime, I think I have to choose to believe her.

Somehow, I don't think this is what was meant by "pretty on the inside."

So yeah. My reproductive system is a 10! However, so far it has been purely decorative. Come on, girls. This is the month!

I ordered another stinking pen of Gonal-F. That's six 300 IU pens. I am wondering why my RE ordered this way, instead of two 900 IU pens. Could it have something to do with the "leftovers" inside each 300 IU syringe? When I do the math, there's only a $3 or so price difference, so it doesn't matter much either way (except that priming the pen each night is getting old, and that's a lot of packaging to clog up landfills each month.

Anyone know about this? I'm confuzzled.

They debated about prescribing Menopur as well. Anyone have experience with this? They didn't end up doing it- the consensus was that everything was coming along nicely and that it was unnecessary.

While I still have not seen Dr. Combover, which is another post in itself, the ultrasound tech did say that she will personally reviewing my case. I don't know her name, or her title, or anything else.

Ordinarily, I would be freaking out about this, but....this cycle is weird. I feel very zen, for lack of a better term. Like this is all happening to someone else, and I am taking a detatched and clinical interest in it.

Since I can't remember the last time I was ever detatched and/or clinical about- well, anything, this is one hell of a change. Huh.

Okay. Almost time for work. And since my pants don't fit anyway, I may as well extract myself from them (maybe the Jaws Of Life would work) and eat a boatload of chicken nachos.

So THAT'S why I married him.

We overslept this morning, and while I called the RE's office, The Man threw himself into the shower, then locked himself in the office with his laptop.

I performed the important task of keeping things incubated while he hopped around looking for a clean pair of boxers and made other preparations for the drive across town.

When I went in (alone- I'll explain) the nurses were positively beaming. BEAMING. I found out why when the RN came in with the syringe.

"Tell him he did a fantastic job...again!"

I suspect that this is a big part of the reason The Man doesn't particularly enjoy coming along for the IUI's.

He is evidently some kind of sperm-creating prodigy, but he's also very shy....and the nurses have been known to stop him in the hallway and congratulate him on his plethora of little swimmers, which really freaks him out.

I can't really blame him, because the way they talk about him in there, I get the idea that they might kidnap him and chain him to the radiator along with a supply of porn and sample vials.

"I'll let him know."

"100 million! 95 % motility!" She beams at me. "It's always such a pleasant experience to wash your sample. You're getting-" (she motions at the loaded syringe) 30 million, 100% motility."

Holy crap. The idea of getting injected with 30 million of anything is...a little daunting.

Also, the fact that his numbers are so good leads to my brain working overtime, trying to figure out just what the hell is wrong with ME. Let's face it. 100 million sperm can't be wrong!

Splayed out with my feet in the stirrups, it occurs to me that every time we have sex, it's like committing a mass genocide.

Shut up, brain, shut up!

Ahem.

Anyway, the IUI went off without incident. I came home and informed The Man about his counts for the day. And he said, without missing a beat:

"Yeah, there's 100 million of them. But they're all stupid."

Yeah, I love him.

The Power Of Positive Thinking

"Positive", get it?

Yeah, I know I am lame. Once again, I am awake at 1 AM, and we all know what that means....blood draw and ultrasound this morning.

I have looked up the location in Google Maps AND Mapquest. I have laid out my clothing. I have stocked my purse with Target Brand Hoo-Ha Wipes. It doesn't get any more prepared than this.

Yes, I was a Girl Scout.

Hmmm....if there was an infertility merit badge, what would it have on it? A syringe? A stork? A petri dish? A straitjacket?

Perhaps a maniacally grinning sperm carrying a rose in its teeth?

So, I am trying to do the follicular math. Meds were about $1000 this cycle, so that means we paid about $250 per follicle, not counting the cost of three ultrasounds and the IUI.

I know, I know. This way lies madness.

After doing some reading, I feel a lot better about my four follicles and their measurements. As far as I can tell, average growth is 2mm per day, which will (theoretically)put me smack in the 17-18 mm category for all but one come tomorrow.

I mentioned in the previous post that my Right (Prodigal) Ovary was identified as being "heavy" during the last ultrasound. So heavy that it has actually dropped into the place in my pelvic region where it is technically supposed to be. (Where does it normally hang out? My esophagus?) Maybe my threats to send it to the glue factory are working! Left, AKA "Ol' Faithful", is still going strong, and my uterus is "right on target." All great news.

So, continuing in the positive thinking vein, hopefully they'll do the ultrasound and see the uterine equivalent of the HOT NOW neon doughnut sign, so we should trigger tomorrow, and the IUI would be Friday...which would be ideal, because The Man has the day off, so he would actually be able to be in the room with me during the procedure.

Fingers crossed.

Expect the Unexpected

So, we've been diagnosed with unexplained infertility.

July 27th will be the anniversary of the day The Man and I got married...nearly five years ago.
At the end of November, he was deployed to the Middle East. Before he came home the next May, he asked me not to go to the doctor to get my pill prescription refilled.

He was readyfor kids, and I wasn't quite there yet. But he came home, we had lots of unprotected sex, and we bought a house with three bedrooms and a big yard and access to the best schools in town.

When a year had passed and there was no sign of children, I went to the doctor. He checked things out, said everything was in working order. I read books. I charted. I took blood tests. Of course, if you are reading this, you probably know the drill. At this point, they like to check your husband, so the Man got checked. Outwardly at least, we were both supposed to be in stellar health and should have been a shoo-in at baby-making. It was baffling.

Another year went by. I graduated from lying in bed with my hips elevated to trying Clomid, Clomid with Metformin, and peeing on ovulation predictor sticks. A tenative diagnosis of PCOS came up empty. I was disgustingly healthy. My period was never even one day late. My doctor sent me to get an HSG to check to see if my tubes were blocked.

As it turns out, the procedure showed a blockage in my right tube. My wonderful OB/Gyn sent me to a fertility specialist (who has the bedside manner of a dead flounder) to get laprascopic surgery to open things up.

I didn't find out until three weeks later, at my post-op checkup, that the tube was actually open the whole time, and the surgery was unnecessary. Having seen this surgery as something that might solve our problems with starting a family, I was stunned, and crushed.

The specialist had dropped that bombshell, and I guess he wanted a "Plan B" right there and then. He started throwing around percentages and likelihoods and dollar amounts, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I had been cornered by a used car salesman.

It left a really bad taste in my mouth, and took a few more months to come around, and decide that we needed more medical intervention.

My third IUI was today. It was my last cycle with Clomid, and I am up and starting this blog because I can't sleep. I feel like I am being kicked in the left ovary. Repeatedly. By a cross-eyed mule.

Just like last month, I have three big fat follicles on the left side. Just like last month, I slipped into the stirrups and scooted down, and had to be coerced into splaying (I hate it. I hate the splaying) and the lady administering the syringe said, "Well, you're definitely ovulating!"

It made me feel like I have a vaginal version of the Krispy Kreme "HOT NOW" neon doughnut sign in there.

So between the Clomid, the ultrasound, the Ovidrel injection, the IUI procedure, and the prenatal vitamins, baby aspirins, and progesterone suppositores, I am feeling like a walking talking (screaming, crying, bubbling mess of crazy) lab experiment.

At least I know it's working. I can tell by the fact that the way my poor husband is trying to cook chicken is infuriating to me. The RN tells me that three follicles on my Clomid dosage is a big deal, that my husband's counts are amazing! Everything looks fantastic. It's going to be this month! Third time's the charm, she can feel it. I asked her about the next move, which drugs, and she just shook her head. "Focus on this cycle," she said. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

I am the type of person who's like, "What? There's a bridge? Is there a body of water or just a gaping chasm? What about a flesh-eating troll? Can I get a Mapquest printout?

Anyway. On the way out of the office, she wished me luck. So did the other RN, the lady who does my ultrasounds, the two bubbly check-in desk girls, and the lady who took my check for the procedure. It was sort of like that "Good Game!" handslapping thing that kids do at the end of a ball game, except more heartfelt.

I know, I need to be positive. But the thought of what last month was like when our hopes were dashed is making me reluctant to open myself up to it. I need to open myself up to possibilities! And if that means crying inconsolably in my bed for two days again, then so be it. I can't accept the good things in life when I am curled up like a frightened hedgehog, hiding my vulnerable middle from the world.


Right? Right?!!