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.  

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.

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.

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.

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! 

Another year

Yesterday was my birthday.

All in all, it was sort of underwhelming. 36 is hard, harder than 35 for whatever reason. I just sort of went about my business as usual, and then The Man and I went out to a nice dinner. He did get me a nice gift this year, which was much appreciated :)

I did get a little teary at one point. It's hard not to think about what you wanted to have accomplished by now when your birthday rolls around. I was "supposed" to have a few kids by now. I just console myself with the knowledge that I am working on it, that we're in a much better place to raise children, and that I will be a better parent because of what I have been through.

Thanksgiving is also stressful: due to my dietary restrictions, I suspect that staying with my family is going to be a test of my patience, as usual. Last weekend, The Man and I stayed with Mom and Dad. Dad went out "to pick up something for breakfast" and came back with croissants and bagels. And yes, he knows I have a wheat allergy. There's no kind explanation, really! I keep wondering if they will buy a birthday cake for me, and then eat it in front of me. ;) I may have to make a gluten-free version for myself.

Warm The Mansion seems to be working. The acupuncturist is very pleased with my progress, and has asked me to get an ovulation predictor kit, so we can verify that my charts are accurate.

The other thing that is going on: I have started CrossFit, which is literally kicking my butt. I can't complain too much though, because I LOVE it, and also because HOLY MUSCLE DEFINITION BATMAN! The man patted me on the leg last night and then gave my leg an experimental squeeze and said, "That's impressive." I am also noticing that my jeans are beginning to feel roomy, which is something to be thrilled about.

Charting a course

I haven't had much to say: this feels very different from the last go-round. I did go in for tests on my thyroid, and everything is ok. The acupuncturist and I have been worried, because my morning temps when I am charting can get REALLY low (like down into "95 degrees" low) and they fluctuate a lot: although I am happy to report, it looks like I am now ovulating on Day 14 (one chart's worth of evidence) and it ALSO looks like my short luteal phase is no longer short! That's just a guess at the moment, but I feel pretty confident about it.

As Mr. Acupuncture is not happy with newfangled digital thermometers, I have ordered a glass version from Amazon. I have been keeping my feet warm, avoiding alcohol, caffeine, and dairy (chocolate is another story: sigh) I have been obediently taking my "Warm The Mansion" pills, and fish oil, my new Prenatal vitamins should also be arriving soon to replace the crappy Trader Joe's ones that make me barf occasionally....and I am trying not to panic. I am supposed to be going off to Mexico for a week, leaving next Saturday.

My chart went tri-phasic this week. Looking at it, it is pretty easy to see, even with the fluctuations. The "pregnant triphasic chart" example on Fertility friend looks eerily similar. I've told my BFF, and hinted to The Man, although I don't want to say anything definitive, as he will not let me go on the trip. But!!!! The possibility is there. Of course, it's one of those "hindsight is 20-20 signs", but I don't remember seeing anything like it, back when I was charting before. So worst scenario: my body has repaired itself. Best scenario: I don't even have the courage to type it.