The First Big Purchase

Today, I took the day off work for no other reason than I was craving a trip to Trader Joes and Ikea - both are quite a distance from our home, but were frequent stops after good visits with our RE clinic. You know, back in the day.

Hubby and I were reminiscing about our dwindling supply of TJs booty the other day and he suggested, well heck, let's just go. Today's his day off work. My schedule was clear. Got the green light for a "personal day" from the boss. And off we went.

Ikea was, I admit, underwhelming. I think I had in my mind that it was filled with things we wanted and we would come home ready to assemble the nursery with all that we had found.

No dice.

So, I suggested the unthinkable: "You know, ______ Mall is right here. Why don't we saunter around and take a look?"

And the unimaginable happened. Hubby said, "Good idea. Sure. Why not."

He must have seen my mouth drop and before I had a chance to say anything he warned me: "I've said yes. Do you really want me to doubt this decision?"

Um. No. So off we went.

And in the Pottery Barn Kids store, I finally found an item that spoke to me. That said, "Yes! Me! I need to be in the nursery!" And so, when we got home I promptly went online and got it.

Got two. One in pink. One in yellow (minus the calligraphy). Oh yes I did.

Now, this will make me rethink the painting of the room, but that's not a big deal. I actually purchased 3 cans of eco-friendly paint because I had an idea of where I wanted to go with the room, but no real plan. This (this, this, and this) gives me a plan.

And that plan, it seems, involves a lot of doodles and farm animals. Don't ask me how that came to be. I've been wanting this Blik graphic for a while but hadn't figured out where to stick it. Once we felt comfortable enough to actually begin thinking about where to stick the seedlings, their room felt like the obvious choice.

So here we are. No cribs yet, but darn it, I've got the bedding.

Muppets from Space

[Note: Dear Creme de la Creme readers, welcome! Please, please note that since this post, our little seedlings were born too early (21 wks), with us only a short while, and in that while changed our lives and our perspectives on a lot of things. Some things have ended, others started. Please stay tuned for an update.]

Contacted through my breakfast cereal and then confirmed to me by the cosmic fish...I am from outer space.

Sometimes I feel like Gonzo.

Not always. But every once in a while I get that nudge, that reminder. That feeling like in a sea of genes, in a long line of dominant traits and bloodlines, I am a little blip. Seemingly dropped at the doorstep. Origins unknown. With no ability to pass those pieces of myself along either.

Sometimes that's humbling. Sometimes these thoughts feel like the worst kind of hubris. Hey, I'm a one in a million! I could exclaim.

But aren't we all.

Sometimes I wish for a grand reunion. An easy search. Puzzle pieces falling into place, all leading me to one or both of my birth parents. It's not as if I landed in a bad place. My parents love me. H*ll, they adore me. And the support they have shown us ever since we shared our journey to bear children has been amazing. Eager grandparents-to-be is a grand understatement.

But every once in a while there is that desire to look into my cereal bowl or up to the heavens for some answers.

I think about beginning a process. Recently, my brother asked if I was at least going to go in search of my medical records in case we would need then for the seedlings, forgetting that their origins are also a bit unknown. To be honest, I did too for a moment.

What can I do to ease this longing? Will the seedlings have these same feelings? If they do, I will need to remember that this particular kind of curiosity and longing does not go hand in hand with rejecting the life, or family, or love that you have. It really does coexist.

And I have to remember that in the end, Gonzo doesn't run into the spaceship, into the open arms of people who share his nose, his personality, his love of cannons, people just like him. He opts to stay right where he is.

My life is here. This is my home.

Can it be? One year blogging for me.

Is it really my one year blogoversary?

Yep. 365 days ago, I posted my first post, optimistically titled, "Coming Soon."

Since then, there have been 2 canceled cycles (lack of donor response), 1 BFN and a lot of anticipation. Our first FET (frozen embryo transfer) is well underway, complete with extra estrogen patches and acupuncture pokes.

Since I started acupuncture treatments this week, my dreams have amped up in vividness and frequency. Yes! Even more vivid than this one. More realistic than this one here.

So I've decided to take advantage of my overactive mind and try some visualization throughout the days leading up to transfer. Here's the visual I had of myself on the elliptical this morning, once again, trying to get in shape for the rigors I am hoping pregnancy will put my body through:


Ok. That's not nearly as cool as the image in my mind, but you get the idea, right? That's me with super-strong muscles and fortitude,protecting the sunshine and energy (an environment absolutely conducive to life, don't you think?) of my thickening womb.

And yes, my sneakers are purple.

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.

Giving Thanks

I love hubby.

I mean, I LOVE him with all my heart. And soul and self.

And dammit, it sure helps that he is the best shot giver in the world.

We've both been a little queasy thinking about these PIO shots. We studied. I printed off these fantastic tips from Nearly Dawn. He practiced. And finally, just a few minutes ago we did it.

Poke!

And it was fine. Just don't tell anyone I have big magic marker X's across my cheeks to make sure he aims it right.

Creme de la Creme

Wow! Wow! Wow! Welcome to you lovely ladies who have wandered over from the Creme de la Creme and thank you for your awesome comments. I am going to set aside a good chunk of tomorrow evening to read through more of the great posts that Melissa has compiled here. Have I mentioned that I love Stirrup Queens and Sperm Palace Jesters? D*mn. What a great site.

If you liked hearing about Fertile Hope, please let me share some other links with you:

The Surviving and Moving Forward (SAMFund) offers grants and scholarships to young adult survivors. I have the SAMFund to thank for $2500 that will go towards our donor egg IVF (which, by the way, is just around the corner). The application process is a little long and detailed (be prepared to dig up your old tax returns) but worth it.

The International Council on Infertility Information Dissemination, Inc (INCID) offers scholarships to those considering IVF but in financial need. I haven't applied for this so I am not sure how extensive this application is, but hey, might as well try, right?

In just a day, I'll be heading to my clinic for an ultrasound and some blood work. If all goes well, retrieval and transfer are just a week away. When I reminded hubby that his next trip to the spankatorium was just days away, he started to panic just a little. Oh how different things are now that he'll be the one that has to do the shooting (as it were).

Things are starting to feel a little real.

Pills vs. Pokes

If mom knows, she didn't give any indication of it over the holidays. And I appreciate that. There's something to be said for bourgeois suppression of emotions.

Got a call from the clinic the day after Xmas to let us know our donor is in tip top shape and began her protocol on the 27th. I was relieved to hear that we'd only be ruining her New Year's Eve and not her entire holiday. I really was.

Me, I'm just poking along. Literally. A daily morning injection of lupron now supplemented with estrace in pill form. You know the routine. First 2 mg, then 4, now 6. And after several "oh sh*t! the pills!" moments in the first few days, I think I am finally on a pill taking schedule that I can remember and follow.

Why is it that, even though the pills are just as vital to this whole process, I see them as less important or rather, easier to forget than any injection? My body's alarm clock is fine tuned to jump out of bed in time for my morning shot yet twice this week the afternoon has whiled away before I remember to take my lunchtime dose of estrace? I could blame the holidays and the disruption in my routine. Or, I could admit that I am just like scores of cancer patients who are not as timely with their meds as they should be.

I was not surprised by an article entitled, "Use as Directed" in the Fall issue of my Cure magazine.

Therapy in a pill has recently freed many people with cancer from an I.V. pole, giving them the ease of treatment already available to those with heart disease, diabetes, asthma, and other conditions. But with convenience comes a phenomenon long known in other fields: Treatment that is easy is also easy to forget.

Too true! The article states that costs and side effects are among the top reasons that patients neglect or choose not to take their oral meds but also

sometimes, when viewed through the prism of surgery, radiation, and hours in a recliner watching medicine drip into your veins, a little tablet can seem inconsequential.

I am fully aware that taking/not taking those little white pills is not inconsequential. And I will have ultrasonic proof of that come January 4th. But I do understand the dilemma. I even remember seeing my switch to radiation therapy from chemo as a sort of "down grade" when it happened so long ago. (How ironic, then, that radiation has caused so much more permanent and irreversible damage than chemo ever did). In a way, I am almost relieved that I didn't have the option of chemotherapy in pill form when I was in treatment. It would have been that much more for me to screw up.

So, to recap:
me and our donor are doing just fine.
She with her meds; me with mine.
I promise not to forget.
And in two weeks we'll be set
To start jamming that PIO in my behind.

I hadn't meant for that limerick to happen. It just did. Sorry.

Old Habits Dye Hard

I woke up this morning from a bad dream to a splitting headache, a huge zit forming on my right cheek and later, a dizzy spell that made me want to puke. Thank you, lupron.

Needless to say, I was feeling neither attractive nor functional. Useless. To myself and others. What could I do to get myself out of this nasty funk? I knew. Oh, I knew.

I broke open the bottle.

Oh no she di'nt.

Oh yes, she did.

And now my hair is a lovely dark chestnut brown for the holidays. Ms. Clairol, you saved the day, like you always do.

Shut 'Em Down

Even though my husband attended the same orientations, sat in the same little square room as me several month ago, he still gets confused over which injectable is for what purpose, what magic elixer will produce which results.

When he saw me prep for my lupron injection this morning he asked, "so, now, are you starting up or shutting down?"

"Um, shutting down, I suppose."

And then he proceeded to perform his version of Public Enemy's Shut 'Em Down. How sweet. I'm guessing I'll get my share of the Rolling Stones next week when I begin adding estrace to my daily routine. Start me up, baby. Don't you ever stop.

So it's day 6 of lupron and aside from feeling pretty lethargic and short tempered, which, let's face it, could be me on any day, I'm doing just fine.

Feng Shui-ing It Up

The Second Happiness Challenge comes at a very good time: October our most stressful month at work due to a huge conference at the end of it and a boss that thrives on procrastination and pressure. And it seems we have some time on our hands until our cycle begins. All the more time to get our minds and bodies prepared.

Still struggling with meditation but I think I've found the book for me. Mark Thornton, author of Meditation in a New York Minute, promises me that I "can be super busy, super successful and super calm at the same time." I am down with that.

I am sure that meditation purists will cringe at that statement. But hey, I am willing to give it a shot - at least a read.

In the meantime, I've decided maybe I need to get some more positive chi flowing. Not only through me but our apartment as well. Hence my recent library acquisitions regarding feng shui. So far, it's all a little too new-agey for me, but there are definitely some pieces of it that make sense. De-cluttering and always making the bed are a good things. Trying to avoid dark corners, sharp edges and dampness - cool. Before I start balancing the ying and yan in my living room, I am just going to work towards this goal:

"Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful."

-William Morris

I started on the kitchen this morning this morning. Now I'm taking a break before I continue feng shu-ing it up. At the very least, I hope to use the exercise itself as a type of meditation. Freeing up space around me to hopefuly air out some dark corners and sharp edges in my mind.

Um, ohm?

So there I was, sitting here in my little sun room this morning, trying to be a good blogger and participant in the Second Happiness Challenge, and, well, shit.

I don't think I know how to meditate.

I mean, 10 minutes is a really long time, don't you think?

I'm not really sure what to do with my Self.

If I start thinking about work, do I need to start over? If I start thinking about blogging, do I need to start over? Does it not count if I have a cup of coffee next to me? If I get bored can I do some stretches or sun salutations or something? Do I have to be still?

Can I just go hang out on my back porch with my cup of coffee and be quiet? Does that count?

Oh man. You already know I'm not down with the yoga, and I think I am pretty self-focused and aware (perhaps a little too focused?), but I really do want to give this a shot. Any helpful sites or sources I should look to?

Wow, that's a long post....

I am swimming in a sea of post-it notes! Gone cross-eyed from the chessboard that is my calendar. Up to my ears in projects, tasks and good intentions spanning work, personal and baby-making life and getting absolutely nothing done.

Sometimes (when it suits her) my boss will sigh and say, perfection is the enemy of good. As in, we try so hard to get something just right, we end up not accomplishing anything at all. This happens a lot in my office and alas, I think its a habit that I have acquired. In my quest to wax literary about all the good things happening lately, to turn them into sweet little vignettes both poignant and funny, it seems I am left staring at a blank page.

Sigh.

All of this to say, sorry for not posting. Here's what's new:

Hubby and I jumped in the car after work last Monday and drove down to Slower Lower Delaware to assist my folks in assembling their computer, look for a house and oh yes, get some sun. The first night there, I got myself worked up about the perceived cold shoulder I felt I was getting from the clinic and couldn't get back to sleep. First thing the next morning, I sent Nurse a very plain email - What's up? Call me!

And she did.

And that started a flurry of phone calls from her, the clinic, the pharmacy, the financial person at the clinic (of course) and before you know it, I am on day five of lupron injections, trying to get back on the wellness track (more exercise, less beer. more pilates, less stress. happy womb, happy womb.....) waiting patiently for our donor to have her monthly flow.

Once she bleeds (which should be within the next week or so), we will begin a whole new protocol using ganarelix and follistim - one that will allow the docs to know right away whether or not she will respond to artificial stimulation. While last time felt planful and almost too leisurely, this time, if all goes well, we are looking for a retrieval and transfer around 14 days after she begins stim. Wow.

Let's assume her period is regular, my uterine liner gets all plump and juicy and her follicles are in a frenzy to produce, that would put us around Sept. 15th for the transfer, approx. two months after we had originally planned.

So, yes, it's been a busy week! We only had a few days at the beach since we had to get back to work on Thursday. Friday we provided moral support to hubby's cousin who had an informal high school reunion and Saturday we spent mingling with 70+ members and 4 generations of hubby's family at a good ole fashioned family reunion. That was humbling.

You see, our families are pretty used to hubby and I making big announcements. PS, we're moving to another country. Oh yeah, we're quitting our jobs and traveling for a few years. Hey, we're writing a book. (I'm cringing at that last one as it is among the pile of post it notes). But this time around, our lips were sealed.

"So, what's new with you guys? Anything exciting in the works? Any big plans?"

"Um, no. Nope. Things are pretty quiet these days." and then we would slink off to find more food. It was like Easter dinner all over again.

But besides that, the reunion was good in some ways, not so good in others. We all had a good time while we were there and hubby and I even stole some cousins for a night out on the town. But Sunday saw hubby's mom super sad and missing her mom who passed away a few years ago, his dad drowning in self-pity since his family now consists of us and his one aunty whose health is failing, hubby in an all around funk and me pondering questions of identity, definitions of family, the relevance of blood lines and genes both for myself and my future maybe baby. There are no easy answers, are there? Thank goodness there are books.

Yawn

Weekend was sunny and fabulous. More on that later.

I'm delaying that post because it's all I can do to keep my eyes open right now. It's day 10 of Lupron and I think I am experiencing some extreme fatigue. Made it to the gym this morning, but barely. Did some light weight training hoping it would wake me up. No such luck. Stumbled home and back to sleep until hubby gently woke me in time to get ready for my morning meetings.

It's 3 pm and at least three times today, I found myself stumbling again, but on words. I was chatting with a co-working and for the life of me could not remember the word that means that time of day that someone is supposed to be at work, oh right, shifts. We're not talking rocket science here. I suddenly cannot remember words that are part of my daily vocabulary. And that is a HUGE problem when my job is all about communicating. With words.

I hope this goes away.

To Put it Bluntly

Last night, hubby noticed some bruises on my leg and asked sincerely,

Honey, are you sure you're doing those shots right?

I had to laugh. Not at his concern but at the location of the bruises - my hip and my calf. nowhere near mid-thigh injection sites.

This goes to prove that after all of this angst about needles, its really me and blunt objects that have issues.

Day 6 of lupron shots. So far so good.

Classic

"Wow! The last time I came here they gave me porn and today they send me home with a bag full of syringes. I wonder what I get next."

-hubby, referring to our fertility clinic.

Lupron injections begin tomorrow.

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.

On Your Marks...

I feel like I am training for a frigging marathon.

I mean, how many fruits, veggies and folic acid can one person take? I got through my 35 minutes on the elliptical this morning not out of a fondness for exercise but because I was pretending I was kicking the damn machine.

Let me explain.

Before we even went to our consultation, hubby and I decided that if someone was willing to have eggs extracted from her body and given to us, and all of modern medicine was being summoned to help, the least we could do was get our own bodies right. He = a super sperm making machine able to penetrate and impregnate the thickest of eggs. Me = a well-nourished, organically grown, fit and trim, um, vessel (for lack of a better word.)

It hasn’t been that painful because we started down this fitness thing several months ago. So the gym thing was already happening, as was the better eating, no fried foods, bladdedy blah.

But as we are getting closer to something actually happening, I am feeling an intense desire to get down to my “normal” body mass index (or BMI as those red-shirted personal trainer f*ckers at the gym like to call it). This calculator tells me I have 11.5 lbs. to go. A little more if you don’t believe I’m 5’ 5”, which my husband does not.

Why the urgency? Well, there is a definite connection between successful IVFs and BMI. I’ve read it in enough reputable sources (that, of course, I can’t locate this morning) to become convinced.

So, portion sizes have been reduced, the Mayo Clinic cookbook comes out. This wine-with-dinner gal is sipping iced teas and seltzers and HATING it. But I figure a gradual reduction now will ease the pain of nine months of abstinence, should we be so lucky.

Not that hubby is getting off scott free. I am the cook so my portions are his portions. I think I have inserted pumpkin seeds into every recipe I have. He was working from home yesterday and I actually made him take off his pants to facilitate a free and easy environment for his little guys.

Have I veered into the realm of too much information?

Well, I’ll leave it at that then. With images of me trying to inflict harm on an aging piece of gym equipment and my husband walking around pantless, puzzled but still aiming to please.