2 Years? And She's Still Talking??

I turned on my computer this morning and noticed I had this blank reminder on my computer. Just a little tag reminding me to remember. It took me a minute and then I did.

Today is my 2-year blogoversary.

HFS. Holy. F*cking. Shit. Two years? Two years.

I'm still feeling quiet (but hopeful) so instead of getting too wordy, I think I'll just point you to a pretty decent summary of where we've been recently. And let you know how things went yesterday:

successful surgery.
all "retained tissue" removed.
NO SCARRING. NO ADHESIONS.

Now how fucking cool is that? It is great news. Really great news! It's like after weeks and weeks of stress. After several really hard conversations with M. After more marital and mental stress than I can ever, EVER recall, we can breathe a little sigh of relief. Of course, there's the little issue of getting pregnant that remains, but now we know it is still a possibility.

And that is a fucking big deal.

I'm still trying to get my head around it. It's like I spent so long resigning myself to this particular future, and now I don't have to. At least not yet. It's like bracing yourself for the punch that didn't connect, but you're still there, face scrunched, teeth gritting, waiting for it. I need to unclench my teeth.

And get ready for the next round.

Which will probably happen in a couple of months - after I get this balloon out of my cooch, do about a month of estrogen to heal my endometrium, get some sort of scan to make sure everything is clean and clear (maybe an HSG, maybe a sono, so many choices....) and then have a "normal" period. Then we try again.

It's funny. When I first started blogging, I couldn't really understand the women who were on their 6th, 7th, 8th IVF attempt. I didn't get that the closer you get to having a baby in your arms, the more desperately you want to try to get there again. No, I never thought we would get lucky in one go. But I also didn't see this journey stringing out this long either. Not without something to show for it. Now I am just thankful for the opportunity to be able to try again.

And speaking of being addicted to hope, Tertia's book So Close: Infertile and Addicted to Hope
is finally available in the States. Mel is holding a virtual Book Shower for her. Me, I am waiting patiently for my copy to arrive in the mail.

A Nice Note

How often do you see one of those envelopes with a doctor's office as a return address, sucked in a deep breathe and thought oh crap, what do I owe?

Well there I was, mid-sucking as I opened the envelope. Not a bill, not an invoice, but a tests results memo. But instead of the check marks and OKs in the columns, it was simply stationary for a big note scribbled in (fairly legible) doctor scribble:

Results from bone density scan - normal

And then below it:

Wishing you a speedy recovery from the fracture. Ouch! - Dr. _______

Awww! The note struck me as so sweet, so nice, so, so caring. So strange that we live in a time where we rarely think of our PCP as well, caring, even though it really is part of their job description. His note took all of 10 seconds to write and mail but that's a second or 2 more than it would have been to just send the generic lab results or have one of his secretaries call.

This is a nice little shout out to all those docs that actually give a shit. Holla!

(and thank you)

Four Days Post Transfer - Feeling Groovy

Thanks so much for your comments and good vibes. I swear I can feel them and they feel great.

Tuesday's transfer went smoothly. We were snarled up in traffic and made it to the clinic a few minutes late, only to find that they were running about 1/2 hour late. Plenty of time for my bladder to fill.

We shared the tiny, tiny waiting room with another couple who were much more somber than our giddy selves. When the nurse came out to let us know they were running late and then went to the woman, sat next to her and softly put her hand on her shoulder to say, "I am really sorry we are seeing you today," my suspicions were confirmed.

I found myself in such a strange place. Trying to stay positive and focused on the potential future for us, but at the same time feeling my heart get heavier and heavier for this woman, who was obviously going to have to terminate her pregnancy. Of course, it's not a long distance from that to thinking about how I would feel in such a situation, how I would act. Then I would start to inwardly mourn, thus pushing out all positivity and light that I had been trying to collect within me all morning.

But how could I sit there and not recognize a fellow sister in distress?

I decided that what I would do is close my eyes and practice some deep breathing and some compassionate meditation. It was the only thing I could think to do that might balance the emotions I was feeling.

Soon enough, we were retrieved and taken back to the room we've been in twice before. I was feeling apprehensive since the day before, when the nurse phoned with our embryo report (5 thawed, 4 survived), he casually mentioned they might decide to put in more than 2. This only came out after I asked why they had thawed so many. That in itself had bothered me knowing we have so few left and should we need more...

Sure enough, our doctor arrived and showed us the 3 embryos she wanted to use for the transfer. Two gorgeous 12- and 14-celled beauties and one little 7-celled guy. I think we caught her off guard when hubby and I both said, "um, sorry. we don't want that."

What?

Hubby and I have discussed this time and time again and, for us, we never felt comfortable transferring more than two embryos at a time. I never want to be put into a position hoping that one or two make it and....More important, I don't ever want to hear the words "selective reduction" uttered around me, let alone given to me as a decision to make. Not if I can help it.

Understood three embryos do not necessarily equal one baby let alone three. Yeah, I got that. But our choice, since we had one here, was to put all of our thoughts and love towards two little ones growing inside me. Little #7 is hopefully still growing towards blastocyst stage where he will be frozen and hopefully ready for the future. It just didn't feel right to us having that large a crowd in my uterus.

So, I spent a little bit of the first day feeling bad about leaving one behind. Like I had abandoned him. I'm still not sure we made the right decision, but it felt like the right decision for us.

Once she understood where we were coming from, our doc was completely supportive of us and continued on with an incident-free, stitch-free, polyp-free transfer, supported this time by double doses of progesterone just for good measure.

It's day four post-transfer. My feet are up as often as they can be. Stairs are being avoided. Nothing more than 10 lbs. is being lifted.

Day four post transfer and we are feeling groovy.

Jimmy Ain't Here

No Jimmy Hoffa. No E.T.s snarfing reese's pieces yearning to go home. Here's what the little camera saw:

• 1 pesky polyp found. Removed. Out! Damned polyp.
• A little fibroid in an upper right corner - nothing worth removing says doc.
• All else looks good!

We will no longer insert a stitch for future transfers. Doc did another mock transfer (why not? while you're down there....) and saw no need to irritate my cervix next time since the catheter went in smooth as silk without it. The sedation was wonderful. I nearly kissed the anesthesiologist when I saw him walk in. He asked me if my palms were always that sweaty. I said only in anticipation of seeing you, buddy.

It will take 7-10 days for the biopsy results to come back. But Doc seemed very pleased with all she found and did not find. Even hubby noticed it.

Her optimism is contagious.

Tonight, hubby is tired (it was a long drive and a long day for my patient and waiting partner). I am a little crampy, but happy.

And hopeful? I think we are both feeling hopeful for the first time in a while.

Leaving Right Now

For my coochie photo shoot.

And can I just say, that I love you guys. Really, really love you.

I was chained to my computer yesterday, trying to get ready for a few days off work (I have like, a million sick days, why not take them, right?) and I was totally amazed by the number of texts, emails, and my gosh, phone calls that I received from friends and co-workers just saying they were thinking of me this week and just wishing me well.

Well shit. At first, I was like, oh my gosh - how does everybody know?

And then I remembered. Like by birthday, I have spent the last month talking about it.

Oh. Right. Sorry about that. I'm guessing you are pretty tired of the subject by now, hey?

At any rate, we're heading out. It takes about 2 hours to get to our RE so I'll have a nice long drive to dwell on things. With the rest of the week free from work obligations, I am hoping to catch up on NaComLeavMo and blog like a woman possessed. That might happen. It might not.

At any rate, thank you so much for your well wishes. I know so many of you have already been through these procedures. And I so appreciated your words of advice and your shared experience.

Did I mention I love you guys?

A Plan

I am hesitant to post because I don't want the jokes to stop!

Ladies, thank you. Thank you so much for sharing your worst. Wow. You didn't hold back did you? I think I need to print these all out right now and just have them. In my pocket. For when I need them. Like a talis(wo)man.

So what's next? Well, I let my body purge itself of these ungrateful b*stards (that's our pet name for them, you see), I walk around in my undies admiring my new lunapads, and get ready to start my next cycle. I should say mock cycle. One ending in a endometrial biopsy and a hysteroscopy to boot.

Yes, yes, I said it. I gave in. Because frankly, it does make sense now, doesn't it? Eggs were great (I can say that; They weren't mine). Fertilized great. Lining beefed up. Transfer was flawless. We didn't even need to tug on the stitch. So what's left but to "evaluate the uterine cavity"? That's how Nurse phrased it.

So what does one learn from an endometrial biopsy? It seems that we learn whether or not my uterus is to blame for all of this and whether or not she is just a little naughty and will be forced into compliance with a little more progesterone, or progesterone given a little differently, or if "childfree" will be one of the words that defines us. Adoption is not an option that we will explore and my ears practically shut themselves off when Nurse mentions the idea of a "carrier" for our remaining embryos should my uterus decide she'd rather act like Carrie with a capital C and keep on bleeding all over the place. I am just not there yet.

But I do appreciate the idea of hearing 1.) yes, you have a fair shot. Let's give this another go, or 2.) lady, we could pump you with more drugs than Jimi Hendrix and you are still not gonna flower into a pregnant goddess. I think I would appreciate knowing.

So, birth control pills begin soon, then lupron, then estrace....you all know the routine. And then I get scopes and swabs. I asked Nurse to tell me more about the hysteroscopy and she said that most women do fine with just a numbing shot in the cervix (uncontrollable twinge). I reminded her that most women didn't pass the F out during their HSG.

Pause.

"Oh yeah. That's right. Hmmm....I think I'll remind the docs of that and see what they want to do."

Oh hell yes. To be sedated for all of that scraping and scoping would be grand. Thanks, yes, please. See what you can do.

I said no, no, no.....

Not to going to rehab, but to an endometrial biopsy. Here's how it went down:

Nurse called last week, I thought to start scheduling our next cycle. She was actually calling to relay the advice of a new doctor who has apparently joined the practice. This doctor decided that what we really needed was to do a mock cycle and then an endometrial biopsy to see whether or not I needed to add any additional progesterone to our routine. That means, go through an entire cycle, including weeks of PIO injections, ending not in a transfer, but in this new doc taking a swab of my uterine lining. Based on the results of those weeks of hormones, headaches, shots and that swab we would either: a.) know that the protocol was just fine and start a new cycle or b.) add a little more progesterone to it.

I hung up with nurse, slightly stunned. Thinking first of all, "Who the F*ck is Dr. ____ and what does he/she know about me?" Second thought was, "Yes, my lining was slightly under 8 this time around but THEY CHOSE not to increase my estrace. It was less than 8 the first cancelled cycle and we upped the estrace, which seemed the do the trick. It was less than 8 the second cancelled cycle because I was only on estrace for a few days before the first stripe test...."

The more I thought about things, the angrier I got. I turned to hubby for some reason and rational thought. Perhaps I was overreacting or still upset from the BFN. His anger and indignity only added to mine. He broke it down like this: If an endometrial biopsy was what they wanted to do, they had 2 cancelled cycles which they could have continued to that end, AND the several months we were sitting around doing nothing while we were waiting for our donor to be available. Now, they want to waste our time, money, emotions? Now??

I felt slightly better knowing we were on the same page. From my perspective, I simply couldn't imagine going through the stress of a cycle knowing it was a mock one. Shooting up is hard for me as it is. Would I really go forward with that day after day knowing that all I had to look forward to was a cotton swab up my noonie? It would be different if I or they suspected some serious abnormality. It would be different if increasing estrace hadn't already been proven to work. It would be different if we only had 1 or 2 embies left. It would be different if we had a few thousand dollars to throw around on meds and medical tests that serve our clinic's purposes and stats more so than ours. It would be different if Dr. ___ was the person who had taken us through the process up to this point. It would be different if there weren't ample time and opportunity to address this perceived issues without the pain of additional and fake cycle.

But none of this is the case.

So, confident that hubby had my back, I called nurse the next morning. And we talked about all of this. And much more. We talked about how bothered we were that of the 4 people present for our transfer, we knew none of them (nurse had CPR training and had already told us she couldn't be present). We talked about how upset we were that this new and unknown person (Dr. ___) seemed to be calling the shots on our cycles. We talked about how it felt when we felt the (well-respected and university-affiliated) clinic was more interested in keeping their stats above the national average than they were with us as patients. It was a long and hard conversation.

And it was so worth it.

She totally understood and sympathized and made it seem like she, too, was bothered by the message she had to relay. She explained that the clinic was expanding and that a number of doctors had joined the team, hence Dr. ___, hence the unknown faces between my legs at transfer. She explained who the new docs were and which aspects of the clinic they would be in charge of. We told her that we considered her our lifeline and the one real and human point of contact there. We didn't know what we would do without her. Long pause. She said, "then I am going to keep your file. I'm supposed to turn it over to another nurse now that you are doing FET but I won't and I am going to use this conversation as my justification."

And we told her we were so grateful for that. She has been with us since the day I called almost a year ago and set up an appointment for a consult. She was the one that hugged me when I cried during the needle training. She was the one that held my hand when I got my stitch put in before the first transfer. She was the one that had to call and tell me about the BFN. To go through this without her would be rough.

So, it's day 5 of lupron. So far, so good. I need to get back in the habit of good breakfasts and healthy days. But we are looking forward to our first FET, scheduled tentatively for early March, with nurse by our side.

Way Too Much Information

"So, if you see something purple coming out of your vagina. Don't worry. Just stick it back in there."

Um. Ok.

Today was a big morning. Hubby spanked. I sobbed. Donor laid back while 20 EGGS (!!!!!!!!) were successfully retrieved....It's one p.m. and I am exhausted.

Hubby is hysterically funny when he's nervous. And his laugh is infectious. So the early part of the morning (his part) went swimmingly. (har har) I thought I was fine until I peeked over on the counter and saw the implements needed to add a (purple, it seems) stitch to my secret spot. (not a cerlage. This actually functions as a handle so that my cervix can be pulled into a straight line during the day of transfer, so there is no navigating tight corners in there when live embies are on board. Imagine if you will, my uterus as marionette...)

So, yeah, I saw the needles and boom. Started as a whimper. Soon developed into a full blown sob. Snot and everything. Poor Nurse, who had just left us as we were laughing and making inappropriate jokes, walked in to find me a wreck.

I calmed myself. Doc came in. Was great. Walked me through the process. Was as gentle as she could be. And like the PIO shots (which we gave a little too close to the sciatic nerve for Nurse's comfort. Oops. Sorry) everything turned out ok. Not a walk in the park, but ok. Damn those needles. It's the thought of them, not the actual act that gets me in knots.

We're home now. We're fine. Just shared the news with my co-worker. And here's another reason why she is the best co-worker in the world. She called me a toughie. I denied it. I cried.
Her response:

So what? That doesn’t' mean you're not tough. :) I cried thinking about my first BM after I crapped [my daughter] out. but I was still tough when I had to do the deed. Hahahaaa. That is so gross.

I hope you are laughing. Because I still am. Love that girl.

100th Post

This is my 100th post here on The Maybe Baby so I'd better make it good, right?

How about this:

Hubby and I were going a little stir crazy today so we went for a long walk and a trip to the gym. Came home to a phone message telling us that our beautiful donor is triggering TONIGHT.

Retrieval is Tuesday. Transfer is Friday.

Nurse friend H. if you are reading this, you are going to be getting a call from me in about a minute to ask for your help with the first progesterone shot tomorrow night.

Update

My lining is measuring "7.5" in whatever they use to measure uterine lining. Our clinic's preference is "8" or higher but Nurse is not bothered. "8...7.5....it's splitting hairs. You're fine." She says. We're waiting for the results of my blood test and then she'll call to let me know if I should up my estrogen or leave well enough alone.

Meanwhile, donor is doing just great. She has 24 (24!!!) follicles all maturing nicely. If all goes well, she'll trigger over the weekend, retrieval will probably be Wednesday (Wednesday!!!) along with a visit to the spankatorium for hubby and a quick procedure to put in a stitch for me. If all goes well there, we are planning on a transfer next Saturday. Dizzy. Yes. I am a little dizzy.

While we were at the clinic, we asked Nurse for a quick refresher course on giving the PIO injections. Remember, it's been months since our first lesson and we've had no experience with the big needles as yet.

The first time we sat through this tutorial, I cried. This time, hubby had the tears in his eyes.

Roadblock

Nurse just called with an update of sorts.

It seems they are a little concerned about our donor. Her estradiol level is still around 30 where they had hoped it would be somewhere between 100-200. 7 tiny follicles are present now. That's normal. What's not is her low estradiol after about a week on medications. In nurse's words, they are "disappointed she's not doing better."

Well, that makes a few of us.

Not like I know what any of those numbers mean. I just know that I asked if there was any possibility of having to call off this cycle and Nurse said, "A possibility. Yes."

They are increasing our donor's Gonal F injections and bringing her back in on Friday for another ultrasound. Us, we're just gonna hang out and wring our hands. We have an appointment at the clinic tomorrow for my ultrasound and mock transfer. Nurse promised we could spend some quality time talking then.

Hubby hasn't given up hope. I'm feeling a little deflated. This beautiful, giving woman. So cool in so many ways. If she doesn't respond to the treatments and stimulation, will we ever find someone like her again?

Time

Sorry, sorry for the delay. Here's a look at our busy July:

• Thursday, July 12th - ultrasound and bloodwork (to make sure my womb is a happy home), mock transfer (practice run)
• Friday and Saturday, July 13th and 14th - round two of my parents' moving sale
• Thursday, July 19th (approx) - egg retrieval from donor, sperm retrieval from hubby
• Sunday, July 22nd (approx) - one of our best pal B's birthday and embryo transfer
• Monday, July 23rd - chilling out at home; Mandatory 24 hrs. bed rest. yes!
• Wednesday and Thursday, July 25th and 26th - mega meetings at work; practice pretending a potentially life-changing event hasn't just occurred.
• Friday, July 27th - Tuesday, July 31st - finishing touches on my parents' move and closure on their house. Next steps...finding them a place to be.

So, that's the news.

Last night we were out with some friends, one of whom knows the deal. Once we were alone, she couldn't stop talking about how excited she was for us and how she couldn't stop thinking about us and the future. It was really lovely and affirming. We have spent the past week so stressed about changes in my parents' lives, we really haven't had time to be excited about our own. Our focus has been timing and when/if to tell, logistics, pros and cons of parents in another state. (Pros: they're not here. Cons: they're not here.) It was nice to just sit back and dream about some what ifs with people we love.

Needles and Pins

It arrived today. Just like they said it would.

A big box of meds. And needles. Lots of needles.

Oy.

Have I mentioned my unhealthy fear of needles? Have we talked about that? I know poor hubby is sick of hearing about it.

I cried at our training yesterday afternoon. Not because anyone was doing anything cruel or unusual to me, I was just wigging out at the prospect of daily injections for the next four months. four months! And that's if everything goes well.

What's the problem? You're wondering. It's just a little prick and then it's done. And think of the potentially wonderful result!

Yes, yes. You are 100% correct. But that doesn't change the fact that the times in my life when I have been in the most pain, in the worst way, can all be attributed to needles. Blown veins. Bone marrow aspirations. Chemo sessions gone bad. Multiple attempts to insert IVs only to hit nerves and then watch as they try again. All of this shit that I have managed not to even think about over the last 20 years comes flooding back at the sight of those fucking bags of needles.

I know my girl Rae knows what I'm talking about.

My pal S, who somehow always says the right things to soothe me and get me thinking straight, said this to me a while back during one of my first needle freak outs: She reminded me that all of those other times were imposed upon me. I had no choice. It was someone else inflicting their cures and treatments on me.

This time, it's all me. It is my choice. My decision. And that in itself should be empowering.

It is. Kind of.

We invited our pal H to dinner last night. Ok, we called her up and forced her to meet us downtown so we could ask her a huge favor. H, you see, just graduated nursing school, is getting ready to pass her boards and is almost a fully qualified nurse. She also lives across the street from us. Both hubby and I knew we would feel better if she were willing and able to walk us through our first couple of big shots (not the Lupron. Don't think all of this is over the Lupron. Its the big "P" that has me shaking.)

This also meant that we had to expand our little circle of folks in the know. Which we feel a little better about now that things are actually happening. Out of the theoretical, into the logistical.

She was completed unsurprised when we told her we were trying to have a maybe baby (which surprised me). She was honored and thrilled at the idea of being asked to shoot me in the ass. She loves this kind of stuff. She, like S, did a lot to allay my fears. I can tell she and hubby are already planning a progesterone poking regiment.

We are also planning to spend some time together this weekend celebrating the great things that are happening in our lives. New career for H. New love interest for our mutual pal C. And possibly, maybe, you know what for us. Good times, man. Good times.

Validation

So then, I am not the only one who was duped by the "mild cramping" line.

"Mild cramping my *ss."

Status Report

Strategic Planning Retreat - successful, and more importantly, over

HSG - Over! Results en route to the clinic.

Email received from my nurse practitioner today confirming

• results of pap, sperm and all other cultures and tests received
• report from genetic counselor received
• she'll be looking for the HSG info in the mail
• and no, the egg transfer does NOT hurt like an HSG

She left me with these little lines:

Let's go over things next week to review next steps. Have a great holiday weekend!!!

Who knows what 'next steps' entail? Is it time to order the meds? Start synchronizing cycles? Put in our final payment? All of the above? My gyn warned me that the clinic might want to do a laparoscopy since the HSG wasn't as thorough as it could have been. I hope not. I think that's a lovely uterus, don't you?

Ouch

So, today was the day. H to the S to the G.

Got up our usual time but instead of heading to the gym, hubby shoved my face full of waffles and Special K so I could take my antibiotic and 2 extra strength Tylenol. Then off the hospital we go.

Hubby waited and read his Gogol. I stripped from the waist down and went to chill out in one of those chilly rooms with big X-ray type equipment. Doctor arrives. Utensils and tools get prepared. They clean off my cervix. Which frankly, I didn’t know was untidy, insert a huge ass needle full of dye (when I say huge I mean longer than my forearm.) Injection begins. I scream and yell because it hurts like nothing I have ever felt and I am absolutely blown away by the pain.

And that’s the last thing I remember.

I passed the F out.

Oh yes girls. Lights out. No one home. Apparently the nurse had to use smelling salts (no response), started pinching me (still no response) then started yelling my name, which I responded to with an annoyed, “what?!?”

I had no idea.

Once I came to, both my doctor and the nurse start laughing in relief because they thought I had gone into anaphalactic shock which, obviously, would have been no laughing matter. My doc stopped mid-injection when she realized my legs had gone totally limp but got enough dye up in there to complete the test. How can 10 cc’s wreak that much havoc?

The screen shows us that my uterus looks fine but instead of the shadowy bits where fallopian tubes and egg sacs should be, the dye spread across my whole lower abdomen making all kinds of Rorschach-type shapes, causing even more concern to doctor and nurse. They call the radiologist to have a look. Not only am I dripping in sweat and still reeling from the pain but now the thought that we just might need to rethink the whole donor egg thing is creeping into my mind faster than that bleeping radioactive dye into my abdomen.

Radiologist comes in, looks at the tape and says, ain’t no thing. I’ve seen it before. Dye just got absorbed into my veins. No big whoop. His nonchalance makes me almost joyful.

We spend the next twenty minutes waiting for my dizziness and nausea to subside enough for me to walk to the dressing room and get dressed. I feel bad because clearly these two women have better things to do than watch my eyes dilate and my face turn colors and I tell them this.

“I’m fine. I’m not dizzy anymore. I can go”

“Are you sure.”

“Yes.”

“Are you lying to me??”

“Yes. I think I need to lay down again.”

Bless their hearts, at this point now that they (and I) know that I am not going to go into cardiac arrest, they think it’s all very funny. My doc does me the disservice of telling me she’s never seen anyone pass out from the procedure before. Nurse agrees. My pride now hurts more than my throbbing gut. I tell them my hubby is waiting outside so I have a ride home and help in the dressing room if I need it. They say, oh, he could have come in while we were doing the procedure. I say, is that some kind of joke? Just how many packs of smelling salts do you have?

So sweet hubby and I drive home and I actually have about an hour to lay down before I need to leave for my three-day meeting. He brings me water and more Tylenol, my favorite stuffed animal and lots of hugs. He also acknowledges that he will not be able to complain about his allergies or any other kind of minor aches and pains for quite a while now.

Damn straight.

What's Next?

I find this whole egg donor process absolutely amazing. What’s even better is that the few people that I have confided in about our little adventure feel the same way. I received a couple of sweet emails this week asking me, so, um, what’s happening in maybe baby land? reminding me to share a little more with you.

The answer right now is not much. In twelve days I go for a hysterosalpingogram, HSG for short. My gynecologist will meet me at the local hospital, inject dye through a long needle into my uterus and then take a series of X-rays to see if there is anything that would prevent a fertilized egg from finding a nice, cozy home there.

I’ve been told that there will be some cramping and bleeding and my gyn strongly suggested I start the day with some breakfast and a substantial dose of Advil. Swell. I am sure that I will be in the best of spirits as I sit through a three-day long Board of Directors strategic planning retreat which begins just a few hours after my procedure.

On the other side of things, our donor is going through the rest of her screening process. More tests, more appointments. After our frustrating visit to the genetic counselor I felt incredibly bad knowing our donor would have to sit through the same thing. Sorry donor.

**

You know, 19 years ago, after I had finished my chemo and radiation and it was pretty obvious that both had made me infertile, my doctor would tell me things like, They told my mother she couldn’t have children after her appendectomy and she popped out three of us! and, With all the advances in science and medicine, you really don’t know what options will be available to you by the time you want to have children.

The first statement I believe was more of a warning against unprotected sex because I would hear it well into my twenties. The second I think was meant to console my parents more than me because frankly what 13 year old gives a crap about having babies?

19 years later, whodathunk my kind doctor was right?