May might be a little rough

Or maybe my niggling fear that I won't gracefully handle it means things will go just fine.

Mother's Day isn't the issue.

Rather, it's that last year's May, which began so full of promise (holy moly, IVF "worked" after almost 5 years of constant failure!), ended so very badly. Without that May in the picture, I can imagine a life in which the devastation and isolation that marked the whole damned rest of the year — a late-June miscarriage; a suddenly in-crisis relationship; a November pregnancy that was shaky from the get-go; a Christmastime miscarriage; and the clear end to our family-building efforts — DID NOT HAPPEN.

I know, I know, May is not a person or a force, but that doesn't stop me from resenting it. In my mind it betrayed me, and I'm holding it responsible. All I'm asking of it, though, is to beat a path out of my sight this year. I want May 2009 over and done with so I can mutter into the 12:01-a.m., starry-night sky of June 1 . . .

"Screw you, Universe, I'm still here!"

Nutshell goings-on

Hanging on, and in. Still flinging, but not as much. Feeling sad, mad, and nowhere near the glad.

Trying to make sense of everything that came before and everything still to come. Knowing what has come but not fully "getting" how we got here. Questioning. Answering. Surrendering. Accepting.

Reminding myself what's good. Seeking more of the same. Trusting we'll come out the other side. Getting up every day to give it another whirl.

It's hard.




*****
Saturday morning chuckle: I noticed that nutshell also reads Nuts Hell. How unintentionally apropos. :)

Behold the negative HPT!

The poor little "Not Pregnant" ones never seem to get photographed, so I thought I'd make mine feel loved.

(To digress: Does anyone else chuckle a little at photos of "Pregnant" digitals? Am I the only one who doesn't see the point of that particular pic?!)

As I think I mentioned, I opted out of officially following my HCG levels down. I decided I didn't need the hassles related to continued fertility-clinic visits, such as . . .

• Taking time out of every few workday mornings to crawl along ice-covered roads, to and from the clinic.
• Feeling compelled to tell the (truly) sweet, sunny, young receptionist who is young enough to be my daughter that I'm "great" while checking in to track my failed-pregnancy hormones back down to zero.
• Wincing at the harried phlebotomist's tale of how unbelievably hard it is to hide gifts and create a faux Santa sighting for the toddlers at home. Heard it already. I am genuinely happy to hear such accounts from friends and family and even total strangers in the insanely long holiday lines at Tarjay. It's normal chatter about real events in people's lives, and I like it. But in the clinic setting, this very particular type of small talk is sometimes hard to take.
• Deciding to let the afternoon bloodwork-report call go to voicemail so I don't have to reply to another pitying "How are you doing?" or strangely chipper "Have a WONDERFUL holiday!"

Last week was a veritable bust for me. After my ER visit, I experienced some heavy clean-out bleeding, and I stayed on meds for a few days to deal with a crushing hormonal headache and its accompanying nausea. Somehow I powered through one of my year-end projects and finished that on Thursday. (Did I do a good job? Well, I couldn't judge it AT ALL, but nobody has said anything!)

Friday was my first day totally drug, headache, and blood free. A relief that then opened the door to my starting to "feel." Oh boy. I spent that day doing nothing but feeling everything to the core, barely able to move. DH and I had dinner reservations and tickets to the Nutcracker that night, and I managed to pull myself together to go. While dressing, I really worried I might lose it at any number of points in the evening. But it was good to get out and I did well. The swarms of adorable costumed children (both in the audience and onstage) made me smile, as did the requistite dozens of glowing, belly-rubbing preggos who'd bought tickets for the same damn night. It helped that attendance was greatly reduced due to the weather and DH and I had several rows of a nosebleed-box-seat section to ourselves. The lovely wine we had with dinner helped too.

I spent Saturday alone with thousands of other sardines buying groceries, hitting the discount stores, mailing packages, and returning library books (okay, nobody else was at the library). And since Sunday, I've been doing my best to catch up on my other year-end work project. It's moving along. Not as quickly as is typical. But I am doing the best I can with it.

Sunday night brought another spate of cramping and bleeding. Monday morning, I felt like the HCG was gone. Not sure a person can tell, so I used the digital test pictured up top — along with a pink-lined one that was taking up too much space in the cabinet — to see what I'd see. I learned in words and a stark-white testing area that I'm in the clear. The hormones left my system about 2 weeks faster than with the June miscarriage, and that makes sense since I was about 2 weeks farther along with that pregnancy.

So, here I sit. Ready to move on. Or, to be precise, ready to figure out how to.

Enjoy yourself!

Hey there, my sweet bloggy friends. I'm still around, just taking a step back from the day-by-day, play-by-play analysis of my early pregnancy, both online and in real life.

I had one ticked-off-yet-cleansing sobbing episode about how crazy IVF (and all its possible outcomes) makes a girl. It started right after I did the greyhound Heimlich on my choking doggie. The incident happened quickly, as these things do, but in the moment I believed I was losing my precious furbaby, and you would not BELIEVE the bargaining chips I flung at God while thrusting at the spot where my pup's barrel chest turns to teeny-tiny tummy. It worked on the fourth or fifth try, thank goodness, and she was and is fine. The only after effects for her were a cough and a curiosity as to why I (a) wouldn't let her eat the bloodied treat she'd spewed across the floor and (b) couldn't stop hugging her for the next 3 days.

That happened the night after my third beta. The crisis helped snap me out of my head and realize that I was going to be on my own with the pregnancy — with no new official word about anything — for another 2 weeks. From then until my ultrasound, it was going to just be me, myself's ever-changing symptoms, and I. (Sorry, bad grammar all around.) And I had to start letting go and letting things be.

I can't say that I won't be super nervous when scan day arrives next Wednesday. But while there's still a bit of a buffer between now and then, I've been sticking to my even keel, keeping myself calm, and focusing on OTHER THINGS.

For ince, of late, I've been doing an excellent job of really concentrating on work for a change. I have my holiday gift-giving plans mapped out. I'm about to stop pretending to work for this day and go make the world's best pumpkin pie (or so I am assured by the recipe). And I plan on reveling in my entire wine-less holiday tomorrow, taking a special moment to express my deep-down gratitude for all that has gone right this year. DH and I started 2008 with a low 15% chance for pregnancy using IVF and rapidly lost ground when an RE retrieved, literally, no eggs from the henhouse. Since then, we've had 2 pregnancies from 2 IVF transfers (!) — and somewhere in the midst of this, that, and the other we managed to grab our beloved marriage by its hair and yank it to safety *just* as it tried to step in front of a speeding bus.

I have a lot to be thankful for. And I'm going to enjoy it.

Hope you enjoy a happy Thanksgiving, too!

Video time. Yes, I've posted two versions of the same song. The first has the best sound, but the costumes in the second demand to be shared.

Spotting as an accessory

Yeah, well, I started spotting beige last night, and it's still here today.

I spent most of the night praying, playing my meditation CDs in my head, and reminding myself that spotting before beta happens all the time with perfectly viable pregnancies. Spotting is not uncommon with IVF-ers. It could be old blood or other internal goo from the ER or ET. It could be leftover from the start of implantation. It could come from one of two implanting embryos deciding to disengage. It could be nothing specific. Or it could be my period trying to start. (DH rightly pointed out last night that the period option is, at least, outnumbered.)

I'm at 12dpo/9dp3dt. My tests are still getting darker and I'm seeing "Pregnant" on digitals. All that's reassuring for now.

Once I finished approving this morning's HPTs, I shot myself up with a nice dose of womb-enhancing progesterone, breathed deeply, and got dressed. For my own brand of "I refuse to wig out" calming distraction, I accessorized externally to complement the shade of my unseen companion: beige-based argyle sweater, light khaki socks, camel eyeshadow, and a small spritz of Coco for kicks and whiffs. Oh, and I'm listening to Diana Krall in my office. She's kind of beige.

Doing my best to go with the flow.

Dare ya to call me a weirdo to my face!

Tusk!

When I was 14, I used to substitute "Tusk!" for one of the more popular 4-letter expletives. I only did this around one friend. We thought it was funny. Private joke.

I hadn't thought about that in YEARS until I shouted it out in frustration today. This afternoon's report from my coordinator gave me a different take than I'd had just hours before about where I sit on the stimmed-up scale. I seem to be losing ground, or at least several potentially viable follicles. Tomorrow's measurements will give a better picture. So I am trying to stay calm, collected, controlled.

After my blast-from-the past outburst, I said "Tusk!" the rest of the day.

"Tusk!" I said at hearing today's drug re-order would cost more than yesterday's.

"Tusk!" I said at grasping that I seem to have just 4 good follies to root for now.

"Tusk, tusk, tusk!" I said at developing a purple bruise, itchy red rash, AND nausea after tonight's 3 injections.

Cussin' around has made me slightly smiley instead of fully frowny.

Meanwhile, look how young the Fleetwood Mac-ers look in this video from 1979!

The even, pulsing beat of the music suits me right now: Hormones coursing; me marching, marching onward.

October's path

Today in relevant history:

• 1987 — Knew my October AF was everything but normal. Couldn't begin to fathom that the things that do/don't grow inside my uterus would so profoundly affect not just that year, but the next 20+.
• 1995 — Married my sweetheart.
• 2000 — Knew I needed a second myomectomy.
• 2003 — Started TTC for our 8th anniversary.
• 2007 — "Skipped" our 12th anniversary because I was in the hospital for surgery that would allow us to try IVF.
• 2008 (that's today) — Hugged DH extra hard at 5:58 am when he whispered "Happy anniversary," then teared up when he added a soft "thank you."
  

Cycle status:

• Day 4 of stims.
• Feeling strong and not too stressed.
• Bloating is trying to start.
• Headache pops up about an hour before my shots each evening. (Can you say, "Hormone dip"?)
  
• Day 5 monitoring tomorrow.

Things I'm doing to help myself stay calm and focused:

• Staying ahead of my work.
• Listening to meditation CDs and music.
• Reading books.
  
• Watching movies.
• Flipping through magazines.
• Using the "good" lotions and potions.
  
• Going to twice-weekly acupuncture sessions.
• Soaking my feet nightly in warm water. (Gotta get that blood and good Qi moving!)
  
• Taking fistfuls of vitamins and supplements.
• Consuming IVF-/fertility-friendly foods.
• Drinking plenty of water.
• Getting enough sleep.
  
• Walking the dog (see photo for today's path).
  
• Cooking and baking.
• Consciously choosing positivity.
  
• Planning for an "IVF #3 failed" future.
• Trusting that an "IVF #3 worked" future is possible.
  

It's starting already

My IVF cycle won't officially start for another 8 weeks, give or take, and I'm sitting here at my desk right now with a big knot in my stomach.

I start a new acupuncture treatment plan in about an hour, so I guess I'm feeling like all the madness starts NOW. Or in the next in 1 HOUR AND 11 MINUTES, anyway. Plus, the appointment is at the clinic, so I've got the walking-through-the-door thing to make myself do.

DH is funny. He emailed a little bit ago to ask if I was "all buttery" for the acupuncture (when the practitioner checks one of the inserted needles, she wants it to feel like it's moving in butter). I replied that I felt anxious. About a minute later he called to invite me out for dinner. But I had no idea what he was talking about:

DH: Do you want to go home right after or stay out?

Me: Stay out where?

DH: I could stay at work and get a few more things done.

Me: I have no place to go. But you can work late if you want.

DH: I just thought you might like to eat on the way home.

Me: By myself? Why? Do you need to work really late?

DH: No! I thought I could meet you somewhere since we'll both be on the same side of the bridge. We could eat an early dinner out and wait out rush-hour traffic. Both of us. At the same place.

Me: Oh, wow, I didn't catch your drift there at all. Sure!

Hope we both understand where we're meeting.

Mother's Day turned 100 this year?

How did I miss that one? This year marked its 100th birthday. I realize this is old news. I spent that day in a bad state, then a slightly better one, all but certain that the IVF hadn't worked. But I find it odd that I would have missed news of such a milestone. I must have practiced lots of selective hearing around that time.

If I didn't know that tidbit before, I know it today. Now, this is not a rant about Mother's Day. It just happens to factor into my little anecdote.

You see I received some floral deliveries on Wednesday. (I aged this week!) One arrangement came from someone with whom I've had a difficult time communicating since the miscarriage. Said Someone (SS) found a bizarre way to make my experience all about SS. Quite a feat, that.

Anyway, SS's flowers withered, so I pitched 'em this morning and set about washing the decorative vase. My heart stopped when I noticed something I hadn't before — a painted-on seal that said something like* "Mother's Day 2008 — 100 Years of Celebrating Moms."

My thoughts ran like this:

• Did SS select this from the Mother's Day menu and just not notice?
• Did SS mean to communicate that I am in some way a mother?
• Well, I was pregnant on Mother's Day 2008 . . . is the Universe warning me to remember it because that's the only one I'll ever get?
• Why am I feeling sooo annoyed with SS when I'm sure SS had no idea about the seal?
• And why am I angry with myself for even having that got-kicked-in-the-gut feeling after feeling fairly decent all week?

I am thoroughly satisfied that this was just an unusual coincidence. Yet I can't quite get over feeling annoyed that the item came from SS. Probably, I'm annoyed that I can't justifiably be annoyed with SS about it. SS is totally innocent of malice here, but I'm still hanging on to some negative feelings about an earlier scenario we'll call "Your Miscarriage Is a Particular Hardship for Me — and, By the Way, I've Felt Much Worse Than You're Feeling Right Now."

Or, maybe the real source of my "annoyance" has nothing to do with SS or the vase and everything to do with losing a baby.

Hard to say. Just riding it out and writing it out . . .



*I threw that sucker into the trash, so I can't double-check.

Limbo Land

Haven't had much to say recently. Actually, that's not true — I've had too much to say, so I've kept a proper lid on it!

I'm hanging in, still waiting for the post D&C bleeding to completely stop. My HCG levels aren't falling at the rate the RE likes to see, so I'm getting an ultrasound early next week to see what's what.

Limbo Land.

I've really had it up to here (picture my hand gesturing far above my head) with walking through those clinic doors. But it looks like I have at least three more visits to go.

All things considered, I'm doing okay. I think. I can and do still burst into tears out of nowhere (and just about anywhere), but I have more and more moments of feeling fine in between the tears. I'm not typically much for the crying, but letting it happen as it wants to seems best. I've gotten pretty good at keeping it discreet!

I'm guessing that I'll start making quicker progress when the bloodletting stops and I don't have to see a (several-times') daily reminder of the lost dream.

Such a beautiful day

It's good that I think so, right? It's 8:30 am and so sunny. I have windows open, and the house feels fresh and clean. Nice while I sip coffee, check email, and plan a second day of doing next to nothing.

The D&C went fine on Wednesday. The walking-into-the-clinic and waiting-30-minutes-to-get-called parts were hard. Everyone else in the waiting room seemed ultra cheery — and so damn chatty — that morning.

The staff was really sweet to us. And Dr. S was on special-good behavior. After he'd slipped out to see if the OR had opened up, DH replicated the robotic double pat Dr. S had bestowed upon my ankle. DH smiled, shook his head, and said, "He's so flawed." I said, "I know . . . and it just makes me love him." (It's true, that's how I felt.)

My pre- and post-op "room" was in the middle of the larger area, and there was an excited retrieval couple through the curtain wall to my right. An in-training nurse who kept double-checking things with the supervisor had trouble getting the point that she wasn't supposed to shout things like "Did they get 18 or 19 eggs?" and "Is the D&C next up?" across the space for all to hear. She'll learn.

Recovery is under way. The bleeding turned heavy today for some reason, but it's not enough to cause concern. Just annoyance. The cramping is there but not too bad. I don't tolerate most narcotics (good thing, probably), so I haven't taken much for the discomfort. I don't actually need anything most of the time, just maybe once during the day and something before bed.

I can't tell you how glad I am that I took the time off work — I can't imagine mustering up interest in the job today. Yet, emotionally, I feel fairly stable.

Not sure what to do today. As I write this, the day is just getting prettier. I waffle between keeping the feet up and getting outside for something. I'm sure I can incorporate both somehow. I have a stack of books and many DVD possibilities. I'd love to walk the dog but I'm hesitant with the bleeding. I'm positive it's safe. But she likes a long, vigorous stroll, and DH can do that after work. Maybe the pup would like to hang out on the deck with me for a while, before it gets hot.

One quick thing I can do while I'm thinking about it:

I can say thank you to everyone who has sent so much kindness and support my way. It has helped me more than I can say.

Willing away the hours

The D&C will finally happen tomorrow at 11:00 am. For a while it was scheduled for late in the day, so I was glad to have it moved up. Gotta tell ya, though, I spent a couple of days spittin' mad that there was NO room for it — and no way to make room — Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday . . .

It just seemed inhumane to give me the choice between waiting for a natural miscarriage and having the procedure — but then not providing me with that procedure quickly. It will happen 5 days after the confirmation of the loss and who knows how long after the actual end.

The nurse who's been following me since Friday was all but convinced that I'd m/c before the weekend was out. She implored me to pick up the pain meds prescribed for the procedure early. I did (she scared me into it), but I really don't think I'll need them.

I'm cramping all the time now. Mostly in spates of dull aches with occasional sharp pains that take me by surprise. Haven't started bleeding yet, a favor for which I'm so grateful. I took "the law" into my own hands with this and continued my progesterone until the surgery got scheduled once and for all. It doesn't hurt anything and won't affect the procedure, but it may be helping keep the bleeding at bay. I can tell, though, that I must not be producing much progesterone on my own. I can sort of feel it leave my system, and that's happened earlier and earlier each day.

I ended up taking today through the end of the week off from work. I worked over the weekend and was doing pretty well yesterday. My hormones are falling, I think, and I'd work, dissolve into sobs, then feel good and work some more before something assaulted my senses and made me lose it. I was happy with the system. Then I got a single normal/no-big-deal-at-all request to follow up on a project. Someone needed information that would typically take me, oh, an hour to provide. She knew about other stuff I'm working on and so wanted to know when I'd be able to get back to her.

I still can't quite believe my reaction to that, but it was not good. I didn't just lose it, I sent it speeding off a cliff inside a burning car so it could smash to bits and pieces on the rocks below. I'd been living, hour by hour, focusing on how I'd meet all work obligations without incident (read: w/o having to tell anyone anything was amiss). I'd work up until leaving for the procedure tomorrow, then be back at it right away Thursday. I could use the weekend to make up for lost time Wednesday and any time I spent weeping Thursday. And by next Monday, June 30, I'd be all caught up, on time with everything, and able to take a breather for a couple of days to, oh, do some stuff around the house and maybe start working out again. That one hour of extra work was NOT going to fit in anywhere.

I'm laughing a little bit at my crazy.

In any case, yesterday's afternoon breakdown was good for me. It made me see that I can't, in fact, act like nothing is wrong. I know I will get through it. But I have to give myself a break. And making a few schedule changes was the least I can do toward that end.

All I want right now is to get home from the clinic tomorrow and start the healing.

8 hours till I'm on the road to beta

Yikes, I thought it was 10 pm, but I was wrong. I need to be in my car at 7 am tomorrow to ensure that I make it to my 7:45 beta draw on time. I'll be there. Then I'll have to drive back home, still in rush-hour traffic, and get ready to teach a class at noon. I tried doing the prep work for the class this evening, but that didn't work out. Instead I talked DH to sleep on a different coast, fielded a couple of calls from people wanting to know how I'm holding up (fine today, thanks), and ate a very large artichoke for dinner while watching The Office.

My brain is mush. I did a bunch of work and interacted with several colleagues today. But darned if I can tell you what I really accomplished. I'm a list maker by nature, but my lists usually fade into the background once I finish them. Today, though, I relied on a list to keep me going and, more important, to serve as a record of what I actually did. 'Cause without it, I was unable to reliably track anything. Guess my mind was otherwise engaged.

Shaking it off

It's been 3 hours since my most recent IVF-2ww meltdown. I've cried. Stared at Meet the Press. Breakfasted. Showered. Injected. Hugged the doggie hard. Now I'm just waiting for the mall to open. Can't think of anything I need, but I'm willing to look around.

I'm not the least bit worried about seeing Mother's Day shoppers/brunchers/mothers, btw. My sincere feeling is that someone else's mommy-ness does not affect my fertility or failure to conceive. One thing has nothing to do with the other. In a funny way, I think being out among the living, and life-giving, will make me feel more normal today.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, no, I haven't given up hope. I will keep shooting up the PIO, prayingfor/visualizing success, and behaving as though I just might be pregnant until AF or seriously negative betas tell me otherwise.

BUT, I will not pretend that I don't *think* all my typical markers for an imminent AF aren't going to lead to AF. I'd just be lying. And throwing logic out the window.

Of course I know that anything is possible. It's possible that 1 + 2 will not = 3 this time. Perhaps what I always thought was 1 + 2 was actually always, say, 1.5 + 1.5 . . . or maybe what's really going on here is 1 + 2 for now and another + 1 will join the equation in the coming days, totally throwing evil 3 for a loop. (Still with me?)

So, cheers to you, Possibility. I will stand happily surprised and corrected should you make yourself known.

Friday dance break

I'm hanging in, doing my best to keep hope floating near the top of my well of emotions. As a quick distraction, I searched YouTube for a couple of mood-lifting songs I associate with this cycle.

Every time I drove to the clinic this time, I played "I Don't Feel Like Dancing" by the Scissor Sisters. Kept it on Repeat. The upbeat music paired with world-weary lyrics just worked for me. This fun video features a series of Stephen Colbert dance clips set to the music. Try NOT to smile from the pinata scene forward.




On ER day, the Michael Buble version of "The Best Is Yet to Come" played as I got my sleepy-time IV. My parents had just mentioned seeing Buble's opening act perform. This was in the same call where they passed along all kinds of good hopes, wishes, and prayers for the retrieval, the cycle, and beyond. Hearing the song made me feel all those good vibes — from them, other family and friends, my online peeps. And that's as good a theme song as any. I honestly do believe that the "best" is out there for us, regardless of what happens in the next week or so. Check out Gene Kelly's moves in the video. I find them hypnotic this Friday afternoon.

Pretty sure boys freak out when girls cry

. . . during, uh, you know, a bit of the ole "wink wink, nudge, nudge."

Actually, my boy doesn't realize I choked back tears for the whole during last night. Apparently there was no way for me to pick the ideal time, place, or situation to finally have a nice breakdown. It was a while a-coming.

My eyes leaked hot, stinging tears. I held my breath and bit my lip to try to stay quiet. I repositioned myself to keep from choking. And DH, god love him, had no idea.

That cry started with me deciding I'd had my FILL of On-Demand Hanky-Panky. I've been fine with ODHP for most its 4.5-year reign at our house. But I hit a big wall after the February IVF and since then have NOT been on task with it. It seems ludicrous to even try that approach anymore, because doing so implies some expectation that sex with your husband might result in conception. More proof that that scenario is never going to play out for us, I do not need.

I also cried . . .

• Because I hadn't yet had a real cry about the dismal ER. I wondered, "What is wrong with me that I haven't managed a proper fit about THAT?"
  
• Because we're not allowed to TTC this cycle and I'd gotten a positive OPK stick, making it the so-called perfect time to get busy for procreational purposes. I'd also had some ovulation spotting, which — according to popular TTC lore — means you might just be "extra fertile" that cycle. (Riiiiiigggghhhhhht.) We're not allowed to take advantage of any dropping egg because if we got pregnant, the Cetrotide I'll shoot up with next week would kill the fetus. And neither of us wants to be a baby killer.
• Because as I focused on hating the "protective" condom, I couldn't help bitterly thinking how absurd it was to even imagine we'd get to the fetus part under any circumstances . . . and also how even more absurd-er it was that I wanted to say to heck with the love glove to see if we could beat all odds by getting pregnant on our own and watching our miracle bean survive the baby-killing drug. Wowie, wouldn't that be a swell story!
  
• Because the only reason we DTD in the first place was to prepare DH's pipes for making a sperm bank deposit — just in case his plane goes down while he's trying to get home for a fresh deposit on ER day.
  
• Because DH — who never pulls this crap under normal circumstances — tried to "forget," and clearly hoped I would forget, that we needed to DTD last night to accommodate HIS work issues and all the complications they've added to this project for the last, uh, entire time we've been working on it.
  
• Because I admitted to myself that it sometimes makes me mad that all DH ever has to do to further this whole ride is ejaculate. (Yes, I DID just say that!) For crying out loud, the very serious Rx for his severe MFI is frequent ejaculation. Boo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo.
  
• Because I pictured my life if DH's plane goes down — and for a moment, I didn't hate it.
• Because I tried to focus my thoughts elsewhere, but my mind refused to take me anywhere I wanted to go.

It's true, I covered ALL that in my secret-but-right-in-front-of DH's face cry. Impressive, yes? :)

Then I pulled myself together. I felt perfectly calm and composed, ready to stake out some personal space for the night, until DH snuggled close and sweetly said, "I do love you, you know." His simple show of affection knocked my composure back down on its arse.

It reminded me that we're among the lucky ones. And THAT'S when my sobbing really began. DH asked what he could do, I said nothing, and he just stroked my hair while I let it out.

It was a good night for both of us, I think.


******
POST SCRIPT: By its very nature, this whole blog is based upon personal issues. Even so, I still keep lots of things to myself. I almost didn't publish this entry because it's stuff I would typically send to my personal journal. I waited two and a half days before coming back to decide for sure. I figure the experience couldn't be more IF-specific. So I'm posting it for anyone out there who might have had a similar experience and is wondering whether anyone else out there can relate. To you I say, "I can relate. I do relate. And I know that we are totally normal."

Friday, April 11, 2008, 6:00 pm
******

It may not be all good, but it's not all bad, either

Right from the beginning I wanted to keep this blog on topic. To stick to infertility and, more specifically for the time being, my last-gasp attempts at ART. It's a little depressing to read, though, isn't it?

Well of course it is! IF sucks old dirty rotten donkey eggs. (No offense to donkeys. Really, I don't know where that came from.) There's nothing bright and sunny about the topic. If I'm not whining — er, blogging — about my inability to do the ONE thing my body was uniquely created to do, I'm worrying about the emotional and financial tolls 4.5 years of failed TTC efforts have exacted. Or I'm venting about my state's lack of mandated coverage for medically necessary fertility care. OR, I'm reminding myself that it's illegal for me to snatch that tiny, helpless, perfect, crying infant I saw today in the park — the one whose mother kept slamming down her book so she could lean over the stroller and say "SHUT UP."

All that stuff is honest and comes with the experience. It helps for me to express some of it. But I often find myself looking for positive things to write, on topic, too. It's hard to pull off, though, because most of my happy thoughts and news have nothing to do with my theme here. I want to add a different dimension, but I kinda can't and sorta won't. While every day looks like a bad day when viewed through the IF lens, I think writing about that life angle every day is not the best thing for me. So I don't. Except when I hit a streak where I do.

The point to all this? Good question. Let's see if I can work out an answer.

IF takes up a ton of space in my life, to be sure, but I work on staying rooted in the reality of my WHOLE life, both what's going on now and what the future may hold. I'm grateful that IF hasn't erased the rest of me, and I guess maybe that's where I'm going with this today:

I don't know how this IVF will go. I don't know what we'll do if it fails. I can't predict exactly how the pain from these "infertile years" will color the rest of my life. What I do know is that, no matter what happens, I won't be denied a life. Because I already have one. And it's a good one, at that.

Is this weird?

Don't answer that. But here's something I did on Wednesday: I used a FRER. For those of you unfamiliar with the lingo, that is a home pregnancy test (HPT).

No, no, no, I wasn't using it for its normal purpose. I just wanted to confirm that I had HCG in my system. It hit me that I didn't yet know whether they'd tested for HCG on Sunday. And that taking a test might be the only way I'd know for sure that the hormone had successfully made the rounds in my body. (Turns out I haven't been glued to others' tales of testing out the trigger for bupkes.) So as soon as the idea popped into my head, I got to work on hitting that wick. I thought I might be too late to see anything because by then I was 5 days past the trigger. Never mind that I was using something like 5th MU. But that second pink line popped up right away. Mission accomplished!

One perk of that little exercise was the depletion of my HPT stock. I've never been a BIG tester — quick pause to say, "BIG testers, you know who you are" — but I do like to have something in the cupboard for those rare occasions that I make it to 13 dpo. I like to celebrate such uncommonly normal-ish LPs by wasting a perfectly good test or two. Right now, though, I just don't need to have them things around.

Another bonus was to see the pretty pink develop. I've only ever seen that happen one other time. (I'll have to write about that sometime.) For whatever reason on Wednesday, it had a calming effect. For a moment I felt that maybe my body would produce that line-making chemical on its own sometime soon, while it still remembers what it's like to have it swirling about in detectable levels.

Today, I tossed the test in the trash. It served its purpose, and my mind's eye can still see the pink.

Let's limbo some more

It's Friday, already, huh. I finally heard from one of the clinic's IVF nurses late yesterday. She told me that Dr. K was out of town (and had been) and had "just seen in her email" what happened with us on Sunday. Dr. K wanted the nurse to call right away to express concern, see if I needed anything, let me know she was sorry and that "this was not expected at all."

The nurse said, "So how are you doing?"

Long pause from me as I thought about how all of the "expected" words capture squat. "Life goes on, right?" I said.

That Dr. K didn't even know the result until yesterday deviates from what Doctor clearly told us on Sunday. But, her reaction is totally in line with the rest of my experience with her. And DH and I both think that if there's a weak communication link in this scenario, it is the Sunday boob. He must have been mistaken that Dr. K was home watching the procedure. Maybe that's what she'd normally be doing on a Sunday off, when she's not on vacation. I didn't mention this to the nurse. It's not her issue.

I did say that I was stunned and disappointed that it took so many days to hear from anyone. She apologized, profusely, and said that the cycle nurse I've been working with is also on vacation. I just fell off the radar. She asked about my reaction to the anesthesia, lingering pain/ovarian discomfort, etc., and I just had to say, "You know, I do appreciate your asking, but by now I obviously know that I have no need for medical assistance."

Am I still a bit bloated? Do I need a stretchy-cushy bra? Am I getting daily HCG-induced foot and leg cramps? Is my skin falling off from the doxycycline? Am I still spotting a little? Yes. But all of that is normal. None of it is unexpected.

The nurse gave me her direct line and a sincere invitation to call anytime. My cycle nurse will be back before Dr. K (end of next week) and will call pronto. Or relatively so. Then I'll schedule something with the doc, who "REALLY wants to discuss options" with me. I'm not being sarcastic here. It's what the nurse said, and I believe it.

Problem is, I already know the options. There are other protocols out there. Much better ones for me, most likely. But we just did the one IVF we felt we could afford to do with my eggs. And we have paid for it.

We felt somewhat steeled for coping with a failed cycle. In many respects, I'd already grieved my fertility and come out the other side. Hope was there, yes. Otherwise we wouldn't have done it. But we hadn't given serious consideration to this particular possibility.

Wednesday night I said, "This was supposed to be transfer day." DH squeezed me and said, "I know. It's actually the first day I thought we could get really bad news."

It feels to me like we didn't really do a cycle. Like we were just pulled out of the game. To paraphrase a local ad we used to mock, "The whole experience was anticlimax."

Pity party done. It is sunny here, I'm caught up on work (for the morning, anyway), and I think it would be fun to wake my office-buddy dog with an unexpectedly early invitation to walkies. She will go pazzo for it.

Processing, second-guessing, waiting, fuming, aching, coping

The good news about yesterday, as Doctor would no doubt concur, is that nobody needed anything tangible from me. I floated through the workday, focusing on the simplest of tasks (filing, invoicing, outlining, staring at a boxelder bug for an hour) and saving any important client communications I felt like initiating for another day. I also managed to cancel the Darvocet Rx we never picked up and ask the clinic (using their online contact form) to be sure to tell the acupuncturist that the transfer was off.

During the day I avoided the guest bathroom, where my Injection Station still exists (cycle meds, syringes, alcohol prep pads, extra needles, biohazardous waste receptacle, injection instructions) and my now-absurd-seeming TCM foot-soaking ritual took place. I also turned a blind eye to the stack of IVF-related propaganda on the coffee table and shoved my detailed cycle calendar into the recycling bin. It was a good grab-and-shove. Barely had to look.

I took no vitamins. Not even a PNV. Nor did I consider the fertility- or cycle-supporting value of any foods I took in.

During an after-work Costco date, I winced at the sight of the fresh pineapple I'd planned to pick up on transfer day. Longtime TTC'ers, you know why. We veered left and snagged an inexpensive bottle of shiraz-cabernet instead. For another time.

I fell asleep at around 8:30 watching Paris When It Sizzles. Haven't heard of it? I know why. (Even so, a bad Audrey Hepburn–William Holden film is still not terrible.)

Now it is midafternoon on Tuesday. Two days after the failed retrieval. No word from my RE. If that trend continues, I will call her (to leave a message to call me, what else?) tomorrow. In the meantime, I am free to continue speculating about what may or may not have happened. Although on-call Doctor was unable (or unwilling?) to even suggest possible reasons ZERO eggs were found, I have had no trouble assembling a fairly straightforward list of my own.

Let me preface my info rundown info with an anecdote from the wee hours of Sunday.

******

At 4:30 I woke up feeling a subtle chemical shift in my body. Something changed, I don't know what. But I know that I feel certain shifts at predictable times during a natural cycle (just before O time, at mid LP, just before AF, etc.). With no previous IVFs or medicated cycles to compare it to, I hoped what I'd felt had to do with the HCG doing its thing and/or my body adjusting to not getting its Follistim/Menopur/Lupron fix.

When the alarm went off at 5:15, I sat straight up and said, "I have a sick feeling that I've ovulated. What if that was the biggest/best follicle releasing its egg?"

"Can that happen?" DH said. "I think so," I said. "But it didn't," we said.

I honestly put that out of my mind — completely — until the car ride home. Can't stop thinking about it now.

*****

Below are up-for-debate tidbits I found about what some call Empty Follicle Syndrome. I gleaned it from sources such as INCIID, "name" clinics, and RE blogs/forums.

• Some REs say that all mature follicles contain eggs. In other words, there is no such thing as an empty follicle or Empty Follicle Syndrome. Eggs may not be good, but they are there and either not ready to come out (immature) or too sticky (damaged) to come out.

• Two common explanations: old eggs; unexplained.

• User error when administering the trigger shot can cause a problem. If you don't do it correctly (wrong time; SubQ instead of IM, maybe?), the eggs might not reach maturity.

• Problem with the drug itself. Some REs have patients take two HCG triggers from different batches at the same time to allow for the possibility of a random bad batch.

• Some women have problems metabolizing certain brands of HCG formulations. Some REs do bloodwork to test for beta HCG before the procedure. If there's a problem, they send you home with a different formulation and schedule the retrieval for 24 hours later.

• Some women ovulate slightly before the scheduled procedure. This, of course, would be next to impossible to detect. To account for this possibility (or, often, during a subsequent attempt), some RE's retrieve at 34 hours instead of 36.
  

• Some REs think that a high-stims protocol damages eggs, particularly in women over 40. This could cause the stickiness problem.

• Some think that the high-stims protocol can recruit follicles that would have been in line for the next natural cycle. In other words, this was not their time but they were hustled to the front. The eggs have been rushed and are of poor quality and/or just aren't ready for any type of action.

No logical post ending. It's just back to work and waiting for I-don't-know-what.