The Day After

I guess you can probably anticipate a bender if you see someone pulling estrogen patches off in the liquor store.

They seriously took me by surprise. Sorry little remnants of this routine we had been dutifully doing for the last two weeks. Same with the alarm on my cell phone that was still set to remind me to take my afternoon pills. What the f....oh, I know what that is. By the time M and I made it to the store, its like we had already erased the possibilities and hopes we had been harboring. Nurturing. Allowing to grow.

Feeling the patches on my belly felt like a slap.

So how do I respond to any perceived insult or injury? Aggressively, of course. Liquor store first. Happy Hour next. One of our BFFs of all time joined us and helped us down huge plates of irish nachos and onion rings (you can't drink on an empty stomach, right? That would be irresponsible!) After another stop or two, we ended the night at the pizza shop - the one that has seen us drunk and speaking spanish, has seen me pregnant, me not pregnant, me post pregnant, me thinking I was pregnant but really not. Honestly, this little hole in the wall has witnessed all phases of our lives. So its good that the pizza is probably the last thing M remembers.

Oh poor M.

He's working all day today. Working through his hangover and with a colleague he absolutely cannot stand. I'm picturing him in his cubicle, earphones on, daring anyone to come near. Working through it. That's all he can do.

Me, I'm trying to figure out how exactly I feel and the best I can come up with is nothing. I feel nothing.

M said something so profound on the way to the RE yesterday. He said the last two weeks have been wonderful. With their shots and inconveniences and various appointments, still wonderful. Like we both remembered what it was like to be happy. To let just a bit of hope into our lives again. That's something we can't forget. That hoping feels good. Even when its not enough to make something happen.

If I let it, the anger, the sorrow, the general pissed off at the world seeps in. But god, that just feels awful and unsustainable. And I know furrowed brows have increased my wrinkle count this year. Shit! I will not be ushered so easily into botox! Must. Not. Furrow!

So, I'm gonna go shower now. Maybe clean up the apartment. Because I can. Heavy lifting and all. And then perhaps, just maybe, I will go for a run. After the headache wears off, of course.

More of Me

It's day 3 of lupron for this here FET cycle. And I'm feeling a little sleepy. More than a little lazy. Which doesn't bode well for my weekend plans. Not as monumentous as last weekend, but fun all the same.

Yes, that's a link to one of my other online projects that I mentioned a few months ago. It doesn't mean I won't be writing here. It just means that now I'm writing more. In fact, as soon as I open my eyelids a little wider, I'll tell you how and why I said thanks but no thanks to a "mock cycle" ending in an endometrial biopsy and opted instead to go full on into our first FET (with a little added pin action).

Talk to you soon.

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.

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.

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.

If It Feels So Right....

Sometimes, I freak myself out a little bit thinking too hard about the whole ART thing.

Have you ever seen Gattica? There's a scene in it where the parents of the protagonist are meeting with their geneticist to discuss their second son (their firstborn, the protagonist, was a product of a natural conception and birth - unheard of in the future!) the geneticist was mixing and cutting and pasting their genetic material via computer screen to minimize disease, maximize potential. The parents were pretty freaked out. As were we as we watched the scene and realized how similar it was to how we felt when we had the mandatory meeting with the geneticist in the previous weeks, drawing family trees and thinking back to any defects or disabilities anyone in our family may have had.

The whole concept of human intervention in the most sacred of acts, reproduction and conception does bother me if I let it.

But then I remember that human intervention was the reason that I'm going down this path in the first place and I'm like, "F*** you you F***ers. [to no one in particular] You OWE me. Big. Letting me borrow an egg or two is the LEAST you can do. "

I've had far too much time to think between our last canceled cycle and our next attempt (still waiting for an update. Call me! Dammit!) so these are where my thoughts stray.

But then we get paid a visit by some of our most favorite people in the world, who happen to bring their little 8 month old son in tow. This beautiful little thing is the product of IVF, after several failed attempts.

We babysat the little one while our pals went to a concert Saturday night. They were thrilled to have a "date." We were thrilled to see if we could actually manage a baby by ourselves.

We could. We did. We kicked a**.

Ok, so it wasn't as uneventful as our first babysitting attempt, but this one was much more fun. Sure, he woke up from his nap totally disoriented and bothered that his parents weren't around (I probably would have too), but we improvised, we entertained, we found a middle ground (no, we are not going to go for walks all night long, but we can hang out on this bench for a while since you seen to be so fascinated with cars). It was awesome.

So, the parents came home late that night and found their little one sleeping in the Pack-n-Play we borrowed from hubby's mom and us, glowing, because the apartment was still in one piece and we had gotten him there with minimum effort. We did it!

Spending the weekend with this sweet thing made us realize, yes, we can handle a baby ('cause, sometimes I do wonder if we romanticize this whole endeavor) and dammit, despite what I think about ART and IVF and all those male doctors in white coats, if they can make something like him happen, how can that be wrong?

Have You Ever Done It in a Van?

So, as I was perched precariously in the back seat of a rented van, pants down to my knees and peeking out the window to make sure my father-in-law didn't reappear, while all around me, tens of thousands of tailgaters were grilling sausage, drinking beer, playing games and waiting for the first football game of the season to begin, I was wondering.....

What is the weirdest place/situation you have had to give yourself an injection?

Mine was just a tiny Lupron shot and since we left the house at the crack of dawn, I had to bring it along with me to administer it at the right time. Like many of my fellow sisters seeking fertility, only a few friends and family know about it and the processes involved. The rest, like my FIL, are in the dark and will stay there until there is something to report. I know that I am not the only person to be leading a little bit of a double life, pretending that life is totally 100% normal while toting along needles, pills, patches and lucky rabbit's feet.

So let's have it. 'fess up. I did it in a van in the middle of a cow pasture in the shadow of a massive football stadium. You?

The Sound of Music

I was going to write a post today about how different being on lupron this time around has been - it hasn't made me loopy or stupid, no headaches, blurred vision, no mood swings.....

Then I plugged my mp3 player into the radio as I made dinner. Switched it to shuffle.

And every single song had me flying high or on the verge of tears - like high-school-lost-crush- drowning-in-my-own-self-pity-but-loving-it tears. Every house anthem had me ready to rave. (Bring on the strobe lights!) And every Afghan Whigs song made me want to go in search of a creepy yet hot stranger to go make out with and regret later. It was like I had a surge of being-nineteen-ness into my body. It was awesome.

Hormones are great.

And honestly, a whole new life experience for me. I haven't produced my own since age 13. How early is that menopause? But that's exactly what it was: Ovaries shut down and/or gone missing. No estrogen for you! I know hubby is looking forward to the doses of estrace which will begin in about a week. Apparently, my body temperature actually normalizes when I have some estrogen in me. Otherwise, I'm nicknamed the "heat miser."

So, to recap, day 6 of lupron. Waiting patiently for ms. donor to flow. I'll be getting bloodwork in a few days and then begin estrace. In the meantime, I'll chuckle for a few more days as I take my birth control pill along with my pre-natal vitamin. Is that funny to anyone else?

Or just me?

Hormones are great.

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.

Say What?

In one part of my life (the one that pays the bills) my days are filled with acronyms.

I work in the field of mental retardation (some prefer to say intellectual or developmental disabilities) and more recently, autism. In my notes and scribbles, these words usually shrink to MR/DD and ASD.

Add to that ICF/MR, ISP, IPP, SIS+, CH, SD, SC, 4300s, 6500s, CMS, HHS, 2380s, DPW, ODP.... the list of nonsensical letter combined to somehow make sense to somebody is unending.

Say what?

That's what self-advocates (people with disabilities who represent themselves and their community at policy workgroups and committees) have started to say. "You're not speaking my language." They say. "You are creating a dialect that purposefully excludes me and that's not fair."

"Nothing about me without me." They demand.

That's fair. And to be honest, I don't think my brain can retain any more anyway.

That is why I sometimes have trouble reading other blogs, particularly those surrounding issues of infertility and parenthood. I don't know the language. I don't know the code. I think it took me a few days to figure out what IVF meant. Oh yeah. Duh. I get it now.

I'm a newbie to all of this. I have never NOT known that I am infertile. It was stated matter-of-factly before my boobs even finished growing. Sure, I had moments of hope and delusions that maybe if i just stop taking my pills, my period would magically arrive and my body will have healed itself back to normalcy, but for the most part, this whole possibility of pregnancy is a very, very new thing to me.

I am fairly certain that my cycle will be in sync with a lot of other cool female bloggers out there. But I haven't responded to some queries, because I'm not sure. Coincidentally, my cycle also corresponds with yet another life changing event - my parents selling their house and moving to another state. It would be exciting and happy if it weren't for financial reasons. We can talk about that saga later.

I'll be posting my schedule later today.

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?